Read Online The Tenth Chamber by Glenn Cooper - Free Book Online Page B

loudly declaring he was ready to move, and the feeling passed. He quickly rejoined him under the juniper and said nothing of it.
    It was late morning when they wearily arrived at the Land Rover, and true to his word, despite the phantasms of the night, Luc had insisted they stop and pick up the litter.
    He saw the damage first and swore loudly, ‘Shit, Hugo, would you look at that!’
    The driver’s side window was smashed and rounded pellets of safety glass filled the seat. And the cardboard University of Bordeaux sign was torn in half and tucked under the wiper blades as a clear taunt.
    ‘Friendly locals,’ Hugo sneered. ‘Shall we return the beer cans to their rightful place?’
    ‘I’m not going to let this spoil my mood,’ Luc insisted, through gritted teeth. He began sweeping up the glass with the torn pieces of cardboard. ‘Nothing’s going to spoil my mood.’
    Before putting the car in gear, he rummaged through the glove box and started swearing.
    ‘I thought nothing was going to spoil your mood,’ Hugo said.
    ‘My registration’s gone. Why the hell would someone steal my logbook?’ He snapped the cover closed and drove off muttering.
    In the centre of Ruac, they stopped at the small café, nameless, just a sign: C AFÉ, T ABAC. When Hugo attempted to lock the car, Luc pointed to the smashed window and ridiculed him, but before they went inside he cautioned, ‘Be careful what you say. We have a big secret to protect.’
    The café was dimly lit, six tables with plastic tablecloths, only one of them occupied. The owner was behind the bar. He had leathery skin, a full head of white hair and a salt and peppar flecked moustache. His gut was round and protruding. Two diners, a young man and an older woman stopped talking and stared as if a couple of spacemen had arrived.
    ‘Serving?’ Hugo asked.
    The owner pointed to one of the tables and gruffly laid down two paper menus before retreating towards his kitchen, shuffling his heavy legs across the floorboards.
    Luc called after the fellow about the location of the nearest gendarmerie. The owner slowly turned and answered with a question: ‘Why?’
    ‘Someone broke my car window.’
    ‘While you were driving?
    ‘No, I was parked.’
    ‘Where were you parked?’
    In the face of this interrogation, Luc glanced incredulously at Hugo before blowing the guy off. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
    ‘Probably somewhere illegal,’ the old man mumbled under his breath loud enough for them to hear. Then, with more volume, ‘Sarlat. There’s a station in Sarlat.’
    Hugo sniffed at the air. He knew that odour anywhere. His bread-and-butter aroma. ‘Was there a fire nearby?’ he asked the old man.
    ‘Fire? You smell something?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘It’s probably my clothes. I’m the local SPV chief. That’s what you smell.’
    Hugo shrugged and began eyeing the pretty raven-haired woman at the corner table. She was no more than forty. There was a natural curl and bounciness to her hair and she had pouty lips and nice bare olive legs showing beneath a clingy dress. Her companion was younger by at least a decade, with the thick shoulders and ruddy complexion of a farmer, and since it was unlikely this was her boyfriend or husband, Luc guessed that Hugo would therefore be unimpeded from being Hugo.
    True to form, Hugo said, ‘Nice day,’ in her direction with a grin and a nod.
    She replied with a small facial gesture that, if it was a smile, lasted no longer than a second. To put the period on the sentence, her scowling companion purposely tapped her forearm and reengaged her in conversation.
    ‘Friendly place,’ Hugo said to Luc. ‘They’re having omelettes. So will I. Let the natives lead the way, I always say.’
    Luc excused himself and came back in a few minutes to find that Hugo had ordered beers. ‘Was it clean?’ Hugo asked.
    ‘Not really.’ He laid his mobile phone on the table. ‘Here’s to us,’ Luc toasted with the beer Hugo had