LITMIR.BIZ

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familiar scent of his aftershave on someone else’s skin, making her turn her head in hope. The feel of his arms around her, drawing her close and blocking out all her nightmares. He was there when she closed her eyes at night, the space in the bed next to her cold because she couldn’t bring herself to cross the invisible line over to his side.

      You couldn’t simply brush away the best part of two years. Close the door on all the memories made together and expect them never to come back. She still remembered the first time she saw him, would cling to that picture in her darkest moments and try to recall the exact curve of his lip as he held out his hand to her.

      ***

      ‘Guillaume,’ he said with a smile that stretched the full width of his face as he strode across to her. ‘Enchanté.’

      ‘Veronique,’ she replied, registering the warmth of his palm and how it enveloped hers completely. His grip was assured, eyes the colour of forget-me-nots, and he had a smattering of stubble along his jaw. She was lost in an instant, the sensation of falling through time and seeing herself as an old woman with him sat beside her.

      ‘Christophe was just telling me about what it is that you do.’ He kept hold of her hand and with reluctance she let go, moving around the table to put a barrier between them. ‘About how you have a knack for finding things, people, and getting them to talk.’

      ‘Was he now?’ Veronique looked over at Christophe, at the way he was hopping from one foot to the next like a child who needed the toilet. Add to that the two thumbs up he was giving her as he left the office and she had a feeling that she wasn’t here to take Christophe out to lunch. ‘And what is it you do?’

      ‘I’m a Capitaine for the National Police here in Paris.’

      She couldn’t help but widen her eyes.

      ‘Does that surprise you?’

      ‘Only that I’m not used to requests from the police.’ Normally they were trying to block her investigations rather than hire her. ‘Christophe hasn’t mentioned you before. I assume you work together – that’s how you know one another?’

      ‘Non, I have only recently transferred across from the Ministry of the Interior. Christophe and I met here, at the clinic.’

      And it all fell into place. The impossibly handsome man Christophe had, with the subtlety of an axe, been dropping into conversation of late. The new Captain who voluntarily gave up his post at the Ministry to help with an on-going narcotics investigation. A man who had also been attending rehabilitation sessions at the clinic with his brother and then asking questions about the increasing number of patients being admitted with similar symptoms.

      ‘You’re Pascal’s brother, n’est-ce-pas?’ Veronique asked, the shroud that came across the Captain’s features too apparent to miss.

      ‘I am.’ He cleared his throat. ‘In a way it’s him I wanted to speak to you about. Specifically the drugs he was taking when he overdosed.’

      ‘Ecstasy?’

      ‘Yes. No doubt you are aware that there have been several cases in recent months of young people overdosing from MDMA laced with lethal quantities of methamphetamine.’

      ‘It’s been all over the news.’

      ‘What hasn’t been in the news is that we suspect each batch is coming from a single supplier. One who is bringing the drugs in from outside of France and mixing them here, in Paris.’

      ‘Based on what evidence?’

      He broke eye contact for the first time since she walked into the room. ‘That’s confidential.’

      ‘With all due respect, Capitaine, if you’re asking for my help you’re going to have to give me more than that.’

      The look on his face – one that she would come to recognise without the need for words – it was an internal process, a weighing up of the odds and potential risks involved, a process she never would be able to understand or empathise with. Especially when it involved family.

      Guillaume’s brother ended up in a coma after taking what he thought was a pure ecstasy pill on a night out. He was only seventeen years old and under the care of his older brother whilst their parents were at a wedding in Toulouse. The end result was that Pascal now required round-the-clock care, his future wiped out through one bad decision. A decision that Guillaume felt responsible for.

      If the same thing had happened to Christophe, Veronique didn’t know what she would have done, what lengths she would go to in order to find, and obliterate, the people responsible.

      But Guillaume was a veritable knight in shining armour. His mistake that night, allowing Pascal to go out even though he had a test at school the next day, was the driving force behind all subsequent decisions. He would not allow himself to make any more errors in judgement, and that meant following the rules to their absolute limit.

      It was something they argued about, over and over. His refusal to go with her, to punish the drug dealers in a way far more appropriate than prison. He’d stopped her then, just as he’d tried to stop her every time since.

      ***

      Coming to a halt she rested her palm against the wall, its bricks soaking up heat from the threatening sun. She leaned against the door, waiting for her heartbeat to return to a more normal level as a wet nose found her shin. She bent down to ruffle behind the dog’s ears.

      ‘Bonjour, Barney.’

      ‘Barney! Allez!’ An elderly woman shuffled across the small courtyard, waving at the dog.

      ‘Delphine, how are you today?’ Veronique enquired as Barney continued to jump at her like a small child, desperate for attention.

      ‘Pas mal, pas mal,’ Delphine replied between heavy breaths and Veronique couldn’t help but notice the yellow tinge to her skin.

      ‘Have you been outside lately?’

      She avoided Veronique’s eyes. ‘Now and then,’ she said, walking back to an armchair positioned in an open doorway. She sank into its battered cushions, swollen ankles spilling out of stained ruby slippers.

      ‘And what does the doctor say?’ Veronique reached inside the door and poured Madame a glass of chilled lemonade from the turquoise ceramic jug set on a narrow table in the hallway. She took it with shaking hands, chapped lips sucking the liquid into her mouth.

      ‘What do they know? Barely old enough to write their own name and yet they want to pump me full of drugs I can’t even pronounce.’

      ‘Has your son been to visit this week? I thought he was going to take you to the house near La Rochelle?’

      ‘He is busy with his work. I understand he will come another time.’

      More likely busy with another woman, Veronique thought. He probably lay in bed at night, imagining the size of his bank balance once the cancer destroyed what was left of his mother.

      ‘Why don’t I take Barney for a run tomorrow?’ she offered, squeezing Delphine’s hand.

      Delphine smiled in response. ‘Yes, he would like that. Tires him out for the rest of the day.’

      ‘And perhaps later we can go for a walk to the bistro. Some of their home cooking would do you the world of good.’

      ‘Peut-être.’ She smiled, sorrow clouding her eyes. ‘But for now you have a visitor.’

      Veronique looked up towards the small balcon on the top floor of the building where the shadow of a man could be seen.

      ***

      ‘Remind me to ask for your key back,’ she said as she opened the door to her appartement and walked through to the open-plan living area. Christophe was sitting at the wrought-iron table out on the small balcon, plucking

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