L'appel Du Vide [Call Of The Void]

[9]

Philippe stared at the blood winding down from his shoes into the river Seine as he washed them. The image of Thibault's troubled face refused to fade away from his mind's eye.

Parisians were making their way down to the spots next to him to wash themselves or to collect water for their cooking in metal buckets. Every time someone shouted, or a twig cracked under someone's feet, Philippe would get the distinct impression that the men from Bordeaux had found him again. A bolt of panic would shoot up his spine, propelling him to run away like a gazelle.

He was still in utter shock about the fact that the men from Bordeaux had found him so quickly. Of course, they would have known that he could be found in the slums, but that still meant finding him amongst three hundred and fifty thousand people.

Perhaps it was mere luck. Philippe fervently hoped that it was.

Another thing that worried him was the fact that Thibault had joined the men. Was it possible that the man had somehow traced him, despite knowing nothing about him but his appearance and joined the manhunt?

It was highly unlikely. There was another probability. What if Carpentier and the nobles in Bordeaux had joined forces?

It was definitely the more plausible of the two. The more frightening one as well.

He would have to find Marie and ask her to enquire into it. It was not entirely impossible that since Carpentier was helping the men from Bordeaux find him, they would join the hunt for Marie as well. They would face a joint threat, then. A formidable one, at that.

But in the meanwhile, Philippe also had another case to crack. The manner in which Helene had reacted to his questions wasn't entirely suspicious, but it was not convincing either.

Perhaps Armand Renaudin would give him the answers he was seeking. It was not too late yet, he would go to Belle de-jour, the cafe where Maurice's sister said he worked. If he did work the evening shift, as Philippe hoped he was, he would find an opportunity to corner him and ask some questions.

After some enquiring, he found out that it was located in one of the posher locations in Paris, where the richer businessmen lived.

Ignoring the pain that shot up his feet every time he took a step, he made his way to Rue du quartoze juillet to find the murderer of the man he considered to be his best friend.

*

It was like the fairytale land Maman told him about while he was a child had come alive. Fountains of Fair Fortune lined the Rue du quartoze juillet, each drop shimmering like a crystal when the sunlight fell on it. The shrubs, their multicoloured flowers in full bloom, resembled rainbows.

Philippe felt like he was dirtying the street by merely walking on it, for there wasn't a single speck of dust on it save for the places where his mud-ridden feet tread.

Cafes, theatres and boutiques stood tall, flanked by marvellous sculptures. One of humbler ones, sandwiched between two magnificent towers, was Cafe Belle de-jour.

It had a small door to the sides for employees. Philippe swung it open and walked in.

He was greeted by cartons haphazardly stacked one on top of the other, vegetables and fruits sticking out of them. The aroma of coffee and buttery baked treats enveloped him in a warm hug.

He supposed that the door on the other end of the room, the wood it was made of rotting on its hinges, led to the kitchen.

Just then, the door swung open to reveal a heaving, red man carrying a carton almost twice his size. The sounds of a kitchen filled his ears.