Obsession (Year of Fire) Page 41

  “You’re the most valuable thing in my life. Did you really think I was putting you at risk when I shot him?”

  “Yes,” she sobbed.

  “No! You were never at risk. Ever. That guy wanted to take you away. Did you think that I was going to let him take you away from me?” Matilde shook her head, her face still buried in his chest. Al-Saud kissed her on the top of her head and continued to talk to her in French. “Matilde, you don’t know what it meant to me see you in danger. You don’t know what it meant to me when I saw him touch you.”

  “They took my chain with the Médaille Miraculeuse. My medallion…”

  But the Médaille Miraculeuse was still with her. It had fallen off the chain when the assailant had yanked it off and caught inside her bra. She found it when she took it off in the bathroom, and burst into tears again. Al-Saud ended up taking his clothes off and guiding her into the Jacuzzi, where he washed her back with a sponge until the crying passed and she went limp.

  “I didn’t know that you had a gun,” she murmured. Al-Saud could barely hear her over the burbling of the water. “Why do you have it?”

  “To defend myself and protect what’s mine.”

  “I don’t like guns.”

  “I know.”

  “I think they took the key that I had on my chain.”

  Al-Saud remembered seeing it on the estate in Rouen.

  “Where did that key come from?”

  “Roy gave it to me at Jean-Paul’s party.

  She told him what Blahetter had said and Al-Saud didn’t like what he heard. The situation took on another perspective in the light of this revelation. What shady businesses was Blahetter involved in? He would have to have another conversation with him and, if he found out that he had exposed Matilde to danger, he would strangle him right there in the hospital bed. He wouldn’t make allowances for his vulnerable state anymore. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply to calm himself down. She mustn’t sense his concern.

  A little while later he took advantage of Juana’s excitement at having found the movie theater and left Matilde with her friend watching a Gérard Depardieu comedy. He went down to his study in his dressing gown and closed the door to call Chevrikov.

  “I’m in Quai des Orfèvres,” the Russian informed him. “Your attackers are being treated at the Hospital Hôtel-Dieu.” This was one of the oldest hospitals in Paris, a few blocks from the Police Judiciaire. “Your beating almost killed them. They’re actually wondering who attacked who. They’ll bring them here later. I’ll call you when they’re ready to be interrogated.”

  “Did you find out anything about the one that fled?”

  “Nothing. The hospitals have been alerted.”

  He hung up. He tapped the phone against his mouth as he turned the matter over in his mind. He dialed again.

  “Thérèse, it’s Al-Saud.”

  “Good evening, sir.”

  “I’m sorry to bother you at this hour.”

  “No problem, sir.”

  “First thing tomorrow I want you to go back to Emporio Armani and buy another coat like the one you bought for Matilde the first time. The same color. Do you remember it?”

  “Perfectly, sir.”

  “Offer them triple if you have to, but it must be exactly the same.”

  The last call he made was to his friend Edmé de Florian, whom he filled in on the events and asked to come with him to the police station on Île de la Cité. He came out of the office and went to the kitchen. He told Leila to bring a light dinner up to his bedroom. Medes dropped the newspaper and jumped to his feet when he saw his boss, who told him to get ready, they would be going out in an hour. The Arab’s accent had reminded him of his chauffeur, an Iraqi Kurd.

  “How could you tell off the stud for shooting that son of a bitch?” Juana said, annoyed. “Are you crazy, Matilde? What is it that you don’t understand about what just happened? If the stud hadn’t arrived, those psychos would have raped us and slit our throats.”

  “He never told me he had a gun,” she interjected, but contritely as she looked at her own portrait, the one she had given to Eliah. She had found it on his bedside table.

  “Oh, that’s rich! There are some very important things that you haven’t told the stud, much more important than having a gun! So don’t play the victim here.”

  “What’s happening?” Al-Saud asked, coming into the room.

  “Nothing, stud. I’m sorry for invading your room. Mat wanted to show me the flower-shaped room. Your house is the best, stud! I didn’t tell you the other day, but I’ve never seen such a strange, beautiful house. The pool is best of all. Thank you for lending me this robe.”

  “De rien,” he said, glancing at Matilde, who was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, wrapped in a robe from the George V that was enormous on her, with her portrait in hand. “I thought you might like to eat here. What do you think, my love? We’ll put the table in the flower room and, while we eat, we can look out over the Andalusian patio.” Over the intercom he ordered Marie to turn on the patio lights.

  “Wow!” Juana exclaimed, when the palm trees and the majolica fountain were lit up on the bottom floor. “My God, stud, this house is divine. Have you lived here a long time?”

  “Almost two years. It was in a disastrous state when I inherited it, just like the house in Rouen. That one I practically had to rebuild from the foundation up. What was left of the main house was worthless. So I delayed remodeling this one and I was only able to move in less than two years ago.”

  During dinner, which they shared with a downcast Leila, Juana’s cell phone rang.

  “Hey, baby girl. It’s Ezequiel.”

  “Eze, my love!”

  “Where are you? I’ve been calling Enriqueta’s apartment forever.”

  “We’re at the stud’s house.”

  “Whose?”

  “Eliah, Mat’s boyfriend,” she said, winking conspiratorially at Al-Saud, who was following the conversation stony-faced. “You don’t know what happened to us, Eze! Four guys attacked us outside the institute.”

  “What!”

  “Don’t worry, darling. We’re both fine. The stud got there just in time to save us, just like in the movies. Mat got the worst of it. I’ll hand you to her.”

  “Hi, Eze.”

  “Hi, Mat. How are you?”

  “Fine now, but it was horrible, Eze.”

  “I wish I was there so I could give you a hug.”

  “Yes, I know. Thank you.”

  “Mat, my brother is asking for you.”

  “I don’t want to see him, Eze. Please, don’t insist.”

  “Fine, fine, I won’t insist. But he asked me to tell you that he needs you to return the key. I don’t know what he’s talking about. But give me the damn key and I’ll take it to the hospital.”

  “I don’t have it, Eze. The guys who attacked us stole it.”

  “Shit! Roy’s going to go crazy.”

  As soon as they hung up, Matilde saw Al-Saud’s face, and for a second she was afraid of him.

  “What did he say to you?”

  “He said that Roy wanted me to return the key.”

  “Fils de pute,” Eliah muttered, and went on eating.

  At the end of the meal, which had been mostly silent and uncomfortable since Ezequiel’s call, Juana went to bed. Matilde came out of the bathroom and found Eliah getting dressed.

  “Are you going out?”

  “I have to go down to the station to press charges against those guys. Don’t make that face, nothing bad is going to happen.” He walked toward her and embraced her. “There’s a silver lining to all this: you’re in my house and you’re going to spend the night with me.”

  “Yes,” she murmured, “but I don’t want you to go.” She stood on tiptoe and smelled the base of his neck. “Mmmm…what a delicious cologne. What is it?”

  “Givenchy Gentleman.”

  “I love it,” she enthused, and looked up.

&nb
sp; The bags that naturally formed under Eliah’s eyes were a purplish color, so she could tell he was tired. She trailed the tip of her index finger across his forehead, went down his temple and gently pressed the bag under his right eye. The she traced the straight line of his jaw and felt how prickly his beard was; she continued until she reached the softness of his lower lip, where she lingered, going back and forth from one corner to the other. His mouth had almost a feminine shape: small, full and with well-defined edges. She felt Al-Saud’s fingers digging into the small of her back.

  “Are you trying to turn me on so I’ll stay with you?”

  “Yes.”

  They laughed and embraced, trying to end the tension between them. They looked at each other with an intensity that reflected their growing desire. Both sets of eyes had darkened.

  “Matilde, I have to go.” He moved her away from his body. “Do you remember the number of the key Blahetter gave you?”

  “Seventy-one. I remember because it was the year I was born. Why do you want to know?”

  Al-Saud shrugged.

  “In case the police ask me.”

  Before going to the police headquarters on Quai des Orfèvres, Al-Saud told Medes to drive him to the Gare du Nord train station. He asked one of the many policemen patrolling the station where he could find the lockers. He wasn’t surprised to find number seventy-one open and empty. The intrigue that surrounded the key and Blahetter involved Matilde somehow, and the possibility that she could be the target of a violent group made him feel something that he hadn’t experienced very often in his life: fear. He told Medes to bring him to the Hospital Européen Georges Pompidou. It wasn’t easy to get into Blahetter’s room at that hour. He had to dodge two nurses before he could slip inside. They must have given Blahetter a strong sedative, because Al-Saud wasn’t able to wake him up. Blahetter’s eyelids flickered open and closed again.

  “What are you doing here? Visiting hours ended hours ago.”

  “I’m sorry, nurse. I just got back from a trip and was told that my friend Roy Blahetter was hospitalized. I couldn’t wait until the morning to see him. How is he?”

  “Better, though still in a lot of pain,” the woman informed him, still angry. “We gave him a sedative to get him to sleep. Now you must go.”

  “Of course.”

  On the way to Île de la Cité, Chevrikov called his cell phone to inform him that they would be interrogating the attackers shortly. At the police station, they met him in the Criminal Brigade section. Edmé de Florian and Chevrikov were waiting to introduce him to Inspector Dussollier, who stretched out his hand and looked him up and down appreciatively. Eliah was put off by the sweaty palm and weak grip, as well as the way Dussollier licked his bottom lip as he looked at him. Chevrikov hadn’t warned him that the inspector was homosexual. Maybe the policeman’s sexual orientation would be an advantage.

  “Tell me what happened, Eliah,” he said, blithely taking the liberty of using his first name. Al-Saud told him what had happened. “We’ll need witness statements from the girls,” Dussollier stated.

  “Is that necessary, Olivier?” Al-Saud said. “They’re very upset by what they went through.”

  “Really, Olivier,” de Florian interjected, “why bother the girls if Eliah has just given an eminently detailed report?”

  “Did they steal anything?” he asked, without any real interest; he was treating it as a typical mugging.

  “Nothing,” he lied. “I got there just in time.”

  “Olivier,” Chevrikov intervened, “will you allow Eliah to speak to the detainees?”

  “What for?” The inspector was surprised. “That would be very irregular, Vladimir.”

  “They’re Arabs,” Al-Saud interjected. “I speak the language very well. I could facilitate things.”

  The excuse wouldn’t hold up to scrutiny. However, Dussollier allowed Al-Saud to talk to the detainees because he owed Chevrikov a few favors, and because who could deny that green-eyed gaze? They all set up behind a one-way mirror that separated them from the interrogation room. Even Al-Saud’s chauffeur was there. Dussollier knew beforehand that he wouldn’t be able to understand a word. He noticed the way the three boys shrank in their seats at the apparition of the man who had beaten them up on Rue Vitruve. He didn’t blame them. This tall, athletic Adonis moved like a murderous panther, and had given them a beating from hell.

  “If you tell me who sent you to steal the key, I’ll get you out of here tomorrow. If not, I’ll leave you at the mercy of the police. I wonder what your visa status is.”

  The one who had been knocked out first spoke. He did so with difficulty, in a raspy voice. He swore that he didn’t know the name of the man who had paid them to steal the key. He had offered them money to do the job and showed them a photo of Matilde. After this statement, Al-Saud felt a cold sensation in the pit of his stomach. He ground his teeth mechanically, and Dussollier saw that he was clenching the muscles in his jaw.

  “How did he get to you? I doubt he just came up to you on the street and offered you the job. Start telling me what you know or I’ll make your lives a nightmare. You know I have the power to do that, right?”

  “A mutual friend put us in touch.”

  “Who is he and where can I find this mutual friend?”

  The boys looked at each other.

  “His name is Fauzi Dahlan.”

  “Where can I find him?”

  “We really don’t know! He calls us from abroad. We don’t know where he is. We never know.”

  “From abroad?”

  “From Iraq. At least that’s what we think.”

  “Are you Iraqis?”

  The three nodded at once.

  “Describe the man that hired you to get the key.”

  “He looked German or maybe Swedish,” offered the one who had been at the wheel of the Renault Laguna. “His hair was cut very short. He was blond with a few gray hairs. Blue eyes.”

  “His jaw was very prominent, very square,” the other contributed.

  “And he was a bear. As tall as you, but stouter.”

  “He had a strange voice.”

  “What do you mean a strange voice?”

  “It was metallic, as if it were an artificial voice, electronic. I’ve never heard such a weird voice before.”

  “Did you see any apparatus in his throat?” All three shook their heads. “A scar?” They shook their heads again. “Did he have his throat uncovered? Could you see it?”

  “Yes, he was wearing a shirt and, though it was cold, he wasn’t wearing a jacket. We could see him well and he didn’t have anything strange around his throat. That’s just the way he talked.”

  To Inspector Dussollier, Al-Saud announced, “They’re three miserable guys who steal to give to their poor families. I’m not going to press charges against them.”

  As they left the police station, he consulted Medes. “Are they Iraqis?”

  “Without a doubt.”

  “From where?”

  “From the accent, I would say the north of the country, possibly Tikrit.” This was Saddam Hussein’s native city.

  He undressed in the dark, trying not to make any noise. The light from the Andalusian patio filtered through the stained-glass windows and spilled onto his bed. He saw the little mound that Matilde made under the quilt. That day he had witnessed the infrequent but powerful anger of the Pig of Metal, just as Takumi sensei had warned him. If the sight of a gun could provoke that anger in her, what would happen if he confessed his real job to her? He didn’t want to think about it. He heard her stir and jolt. In the absolute silence, she started to moan and say unintelligible words. Al-Saud took off his boxers and went to the bed. Matilde was crying, still asleep. He got under the quilt and embraced her to quiet her. He made soothing noises and kissed away her tears until he felt their briny taste in his mouth.

  “Eliah!” she said desperately.

  “I’m here.”

  “I had a horrible dream,”
she whimpered in the shelter of his chest. Al-Saud ran his hands along her naked body.

  “Did you dream about what happened today at the institute?”

  “No, I was dreaming about my sister Celia. It was awful. She was calling me, asking me to save her, and I couldn’t find her. I ran into so many people who were trying to stop me, I couldn’t find where her cries for help were coming from. I think that she’s alone in the clinic and she needs me. I have to get permission to see her.”

  “Ezequiel told you that the clinic policy is very strict. No visits.”

  “I can’t go on without seeing her! She and I have always gotten along terribly, but I love her, Eliah. She’s my sister!”

  “Yes, my love, yes, she’s your sister, but she’s sick, and she needs the help of well-trained people. You’re a doctor, Matilde. I don’t need to explain it to you.”

  “Yes, I know, but right now I’m not a doctor, I’m a sister who’s suffering.”

  “Please, Matilde, let’s not discuss any more depressing subjects. We need a break. It’s been an awful day.”

  “Eliah,” she sobbed, and clutched him. “Forgive me, my love, forgive me.”

  “For what?”

  “You know for what. I feel so stupid for yelling at you the way I did, for reproaching you for shooting at that man. You did it to save us and I appreciate it from the bottom of my heart. It’s just that I was so frightened. I don’t remember ever being so scared in my life. And I lost control. I’m ashamed.”

  “It’s all over now. And I promise you it won’t happen again. I’m going to protect you, Matilde, I’m always going to. With my life, my love, with my life.”

  “No,” she murmured, “I don’t want you to do it with your life.”

  He kissed her tenderly to calm her down and to communicate what he wasn’t able to say with words. The kiss grew more passionate under the sheets. The friction of their bodies, the damp contact of their lips and the restrained breathing through their noses were the only sounds. Strangely, that made the silence in the room even more absolute, until Matilde pulled her face away; she needed to moan because the hand between her legs was driving her crazy, and so she did, letting out a moan that sounded like a long, resounding lament. It ricocheted off the walls of the bedroom, breaking the peace and making Al-Saud’s penis hard as a rock. His mouth, drawn into a satisfied smile, fell onto her nipple and sucked at it furiously to keep Matilde moaning. She surprised him, suddenly straddling his abdomen. The sight of Matilde bathed in the dim light from the patio took his breath away. He remained still, admiring her in the half-light. Her hair had taken on a white sheen; her lips shone with his saliva.