The Prone Gunman Read Online Free PDF Page B

yet.”
    â€œGreat!” Félix seemed truly happy. “We’ll have a drink? Wait!” Terrier waited. “Would you like to come eat at home?” asked Félix after a moment.
    â€œI wouldn’t want to impose.”
    Félix said not at all, not at all, he had to come, that very evening.
    â€œSay,” he asked, “did you know that I married Anne Freux?”
    â€œI heard. Congratulations.”
    â€œThanks. I’ll give you the address. Eight o’clock this evening, okay?”
    Terrier said it was okay and took down the address. He lay down on the bed, his glass within reach, his hands under his neck. Later, he suddenly awoke bathed in sweat, with a coated tongue. It was dark outside the window and in the room. He turned on the lights. In the mirror of the armoire his yellow reflection looked back with suspicion. It was exactly seven in the evening.
    Because of the damage done his wardrobe during the ransacking of his apartment, Terrier didn’t have much choice in what to wear. He went into the bathroom with a powder-blue suit, a blue shirt, and a tie with blue stripes. He showered, shaved, and changed. No matter how hard he brushed his teeth, he couldn’t get rid of the metallic taste in his mouth.
    The hotel lobby was brilliantly illuminated when Terrier came downstairs, and people were heading toward the bar and chattering. There were two or three affluent couples and a group of loudmouthed males. Everyone was obviously over forty-five and pretty well heeled.
    A counter sold newspapers, cigarettes, and trinkets. Terrier bought Gauloises and glanced at the newspapers. A bad photograph of Alex was on the front page of France-Soir. Terrier bought the newspaper and got into his car, which was parked in the driveway. He checked his watch and turned on the overhead light to read what they were saying about Alex.
    She had been killed between midnight and three in the morning, after being raped and tortured at length. It was the cleaning lady who had discovered the corpse in the morning. According to her neighbors, the young woman led a very free life. According to investigators, there were at least three aggressors. The police claimed to have a solid lead.
    As he read, Terrier brought his thumb and index finger to his face and mechanically smoothed his eyebrows. Then he threw the newspaper on the floor of the DS, turned off the overhead light, and passed the palm of his hand across his forehead to smooth it out. He seemed to reflect for a moment. He did not seem shocked. Perhaps he experienced a little sadness. Certainly he must have been thinking, for his face was screwed up in concentration.
    After a moment, he clicked his tongue and started the engine. He continued to frown all the way to his destination.
    The Schraders’ house was a sort of elegant wooden chalet painted white and bright blue, with a well-kept yard, in the middle of a neighborhood of analogous residences. It had a wooden awning over the front door, and under the awning was an electric lamp that lit up as soon as Terrier rang the doorbell. And so, when the door swung open on Anne, there she was in the bright light, just as beautiful as he remembered her.

6
    He remembered. Anne Freux had promised to wait ten years for him.
    â€œI’m asking you for ten years,” said Martin. “It could be less if I’m lucky. If not, I’ve calculated it will take me ten years.”
    Anne swore that she would wait for him. She tearfully kissed him. She was sixteen and a half. Martin was eighteen—tall, strong, stupid, and calculating. His calculations weren’t intelligent, either.
    He said goodbye to Dédé that same night. He said nothing to his father. Charles Terrier had arrived in Nauzac a little after the Second World War, accompanied by his pregnant wife and his pal Dédé. The two men had just made themselves a little nest egg in scrap and rags, especially in the salvaging of