Page 88

Edwards leaned out through the door and shouted to the pilot. “Lower the sling!”

Marple could feel Holmes pulling her back from the door as the harness swung down toward the flaming water. She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted. “Oliver!”

Paul looked up. His hands flailed one more time.

Then he went under.

“It’s too hot! I’m pulling out!” called the pilot. Marple felt a sudden lurch as the chopper banked away from the flames. The snipers rocked back. She grabbed on to Holmes and held tight.

“Margaret!” he shouted. “Are you okay?”

Marple ran her hand down the left side of her body. She reached into her dislocated padding and pulled out a three-inch shard of metal. She dropped the shrapnel onto the cabin floor and pulled Holmes close. Her lips brushed his ear. “Saved by a hip,” she whispered. As the chopper leveled off, she took his face between her hands and kissed him, hard and deep.

It was the first time in a very long time.

CHAPTER 91

AGNES MATTS DIDN’T sleep well on her hard prison slab, but last night had been worse than most. She had been fitful the whole time, tossing from side to side under the thin institutional blanket. Her subconscious percolated with disturbing images. Guns. Blood. Fire.

She was awakened at 5:00 a.m. by the sound of her cell door banging. When she opened her eyes and sat up, two guards were stepping inside her enclosure. One male, one female, both tall and sturdy. She’d never seen either one before.

“Let’s go, Agnes,” the female guard said.

Matts rubbed her eyes and slid her legs out to sit upright on the edge of the bed. “What now?” she muttered. She hadn’t been out of this stinking cell in five days. Not once. Not even to shower. She’d been wearing the same clothes since she got here.

“You’re going home,” said the male guard.

“Home?” Matts felt a quick flutter of hope. For a moment, she pictured a shiny jet touching down at Heathrow.

“Back to Bedford,” said the guard. “Put on your slippers.”

The flutter was replaced by bitter indignation. The female guard stepped over and pulled Matts to her feet. “Hands, please.” Agnes watched as the steel cuffs were clamped around her wrists. She slid her feet into her flimsy prison slippers. Then abruptly she stepped back. “Wait! Where’s my husband? Where’s Oliver? He said he could get me out. I talked to his lawyer…!”

The female guard shook her head. “We’re not authorized to tell you anything. But I can say for sure that your husband won’t be helping you.”

“Why? What happened?”

“I told you, we’re not authorized.”

“Bullshit!” Matts backed against the cell wall. She thrashed her cuffed hands up and down and screamed. “Is he dead? Did they kill him?”

The male guard put his hand on the grip of his pepper spray. The female guard grabbed Matts’s upper arm and tugged her toward the open cell door. “Calm down, Agnes. Like I said—we can’t say.”

“They did it! They killed him! He’s dead!” Matts banged her cuffs against the metal door. The guards pulled her away and escorted her down the pristine white corridor.

Matts was quiet now. The feeling in her gut bloomed into a silent fury. With every step toward the elevator, she made a mental list of the people who would pay for this.

Starting with Holmes, Marple, and Poe.

CHAPTER 92

GABRIELLE DESAN WAS so nervous she was shaking. Margaret Marple took her hand as they walked through the darkened dining room at La Forêt. When they approached the kitchen doors, Marple stopped and put her hands on the young woman’s shoulders. “Stand tall,” she said. “He can’t hurt you now.”

Desan took a deep breath. She nodded. Marple pushed one of the doors open.

Luc Gestard was standing at the stove, wearing jeans and an open-necked shirt. The second he spotted the two women, he grabbed a fry pan off a burner and hurled it across the kitchen. It cracked the window of the convection oven and clattered onto the tile floor.

“Don’t worry, Chef,” said Marple. “We didn’t bring the police.”