He started at the sound of an engine revving down, the sound he heard every time a car pulled into the parking lot. His neighbors, hopefully. Maybe they forgot something. But the engine died, and he walked to the end of the landing to look through the security glass, threaded with wire, to see who it was. A surge of anger scorched his stomach as he saw the American sitting inside the vehicle. He’d known the man might survive, had been content with knowing he’d be able to tell the story of Louise Braud to the world, explain how she’d been reunited with her son.
He had not expected Marston to find him, though, not here, not now. It was too soon.
He watched as the passenger door opened. It might be all right, he thought, if it’s just Marston. His body wouldn’t contaminate the pyre. The Scarab couldn’t risk his and Mimi’s ashes mingling with those of a whore or an old woman, but Marston had some of the qualities he wanted, physical and intellectual. No, Marston’s ashes couldn’t hurt, but the woman he was with, well, another woman couldn’t possibly be a part of the ceremony.
The Scarab watched, his face pressed to the glass, as the two people in the parking lot talked animatedly in the car. They were making an important decision, he knew.
If he comes up alone, he can be a part of it. If they both come up, they die by the bullet.
Yes, he thought. It was an important decision for all of them.
Chapter Forty-three
Claudia drove as Hugo relayed directions from Tom. As they waited at a red light, fuming with impatience, Hugo asked Tom how he’d found the place.
“We came up with a call girl who’d gone missing,” Tom said. “She had a tattoo on her back, a big old lion.”
“Lion?”
“King of the jungle, baby. Kick a leopard’s ass any day.”
“I’m not sure that’s the point here.”
“Yeah, I know. But it’s what we got, and we even got a little bit more.”
“Something that ties her to the Scarab?”
“I’m not a hundred percent sure, but I got the last address she went to. She’d been there once before according to the guy who reported her missing. He called himself her boyfriend, but I assume he’s her pimp. Anyway, I did some research on the address. It’s a three-story place with an old lady on the top floor and a gay couple on the ground floor.”
“Middle floor unoccupied?” Hugo asked.
“No, that’s the one she went to, so there has to be someone living there informally, off the books. Just like you said. And you should see the building, it’s a crap hole, that ugly sixties architecture that needs tearing down. But from the side it looks like a damn pyramid.”
“Seriously, a pyramid? That’s good work, Tom, it fits perfectly.”
“Yeah, like a soggy mitten.”
Claudia gunned the engine as the light turned green.
“The local flics know?” Hugo asked.
“Yeah, I used some of their resources,” Tom said. “And that’s another reason you need to hurry, they’re putting together an army to raid the place. I’m guessing you have about thirty minutes, less if I tell them he’s kidnapped the girl.”
“Then don’t tell them,” Hugo said. “You know as well as I do what’ll happen if the cavalry charges in.”
“They may not charge in, have you thought of that? They might try the negotiation route.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Hugo said. “Somehow this guy is going out in a blaze of glory and he wants to make Amelia Rousseau a part of that. Nothing would make him happier than to have a bunch of SWAT guys hanging around making small talk on his doorstep.”
“You’re sure about the blaze-of-glory thing?”
“Yes. And this missing call girl makes me even more sure. As careful and prepared as he’s been, he left his address with the call girl’s pimp. He’d have known someone would come knocking, but he doesn’t care. And there’s a reason for that.”
“I’ll take your word for it. But be careful, will you? If he’s suicidal, just blow his head off the first chance you get.”
“I plan to,” said Hugo.
“And keep Claudia out of it, for fuck’s sake. Every time you meet this guy someone gets shot, and it’s about time it was you. So make her stay in the damn car.”
“I know, I know.” Hugo glanced at her. “But that’s easier said than done.”
They turned from the street into the parking lot, a patch of concrete with eight poorly marked spaces surrounded by a high wall. Hugo pointed out the Scarab’s apartment and she eased the car into a space that, he hoped, would not be visible should Villier look out his window. For a second, Hugo thought he saw movement on the second-floor landing, but they sat still for a minute, watching, and saw no one.
Hugo opened his door and turned to Claudia. “I’m not sure what he has planned, and we have one gun between us.”
“Did Tom tell you to make me stay?”
“Yes. And he’s right.”
“We’ll do what we did before, I’ll come in behind you, watch your back.”
“We were in a hurry before, and this situation is very different,” Hugo said. “He’s either in the apartment or somewhere else altogether, so it’ll be my front that needs watching. And I sure as hell don’t want you doing that.”
She raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “So I just sit here and wait for you to come back?”
“No. If I’m not out in five minutes, call the cavalry. Tom said they’re already on their way, just make them hurry.”
“And how do I do that?”
“Tom or Raul should be able to help you there.”
“You remember that Raul taught me to shoot, right? How about I come to the building with you, just stop there.”
Hugo put a foot out of the car. “No. But thanks for the offer.” He reached over and took her hand, raising it to his lips. “Wish me luck,” he said.
She nodded. “Be careful, Hugo. This one’s evil.”
Hugo moved quickly across the parking lot, angling in, close to the building so there was less chance of being seen. On his right he noticed a trash dumpster and, wedged behind it next to the high wall, the blue Citroën. So he’s home.
His gun in hand, Hugo darted into the stairway and moved up. He kept his weapon pointed at the door, formulating his plan as he crept forward. His best bet was to check out the interior by looking through the window by the door, at the head of the stairs. If Amelia Rousseau was in there, alive, he might just need to heed Tom’s advice and shoot to kill.
A breeze drifted over him, bringing with it the scent of dirt and decay. He stopped as he heard a noise from the apartment, a woman crying out, but gently. Anger rose and Hugo fought it, knowing he couldn’t control this unfolding situation unless he was in control of himself.
He moved forward again, his eyes darting between the door and the window. He heard footsteps this time, heavy, moving toward him as if the Scarab was preparing to open the window and look out.
Hugo froze. He heard the heavy clunk as the door to the apartment was unlocked from the inside, and he watched as it swung slowly open. He gripped the gun in both hands and aimed.
“Monsieur Marston.” The Scarab’s voice, harsh and guttural. “Come inside. You may bring your weapon, si vous voulez.”
It was fleeting, but a feeling passed through Hugo, one that told him to run, to turn and go, to wait for the French police. He knew he’d never come across a man like this before, someone so indifferent to human life, one so driven to kill. Not one-on-one, face-to-face. And most certainly not on the killer’s own turf.
He let the feeling go, knowing there was no possibility he would leave Amelia Rousseau alone with a man like that.