Blacklight Blue by Peter May Page A

held down two jobs to pay off the loan he had taken to convert the old
miroiterie
into a successful gymnasium, how he had worked to graduate from the CREPS centre in Toulouse with his degree in
musculation
, all the while supporting his widowed mother.
    ‘Is he okay?’
    ‘He closed up about an hour before it happened. We heard the fire engines before we saw the light in the sky. Someone phoned to say it was the gym.’ He heard the catch in her voice. ‘We stood on the Pont de Cabessut and watched it burn.’
    ‘He’s insured, though, yes?’
    ‘Papa, you know how long that’ll take to pay out. Bertrand doesn’t know what he’s going to do. He’ll have to find the money to repay all the customers who’ve paid subscriptions.’ He could tell that she was on the verge of tears. ‘Papa, where are you?’
    ‘I’m still in Strasbourg.’
    There was a strange moment of silence, and then her voice fell away to barely a whisper. ‘The police have been looking for you.’
    ‘What? Why?’
    ‘They wouldn’t say. They’ve been at the door twice. Several of them. Papa, it wasn’t a social call. I told them you’d gone to Strasbourg, but they didn’t look like they believed me when I said I didn’t have an address.’
    Enzo was suddenly on full alert, his mind working overtime, slicing through the fatigue, making connections, drawing unpleasant conclusions. ‘Sophie, I want you to leave the apartment immediately. You and Bertrand pack a bag each. Get him to take you to Nicole’s father’s farm in the Aveyron. You know where it is, don’t you?’
    ‘Papa why?’
    ‘Just do it, Sophie. Trust me. It may be that the fire at the gym wasn’t an accident. It’s possible that there’s a connection with what’s been happening here in Strasbourg.’
    ‘I don’t understand…’
    ‘You don’t need to. Just believe me when I tell you that you could be in danger. I’ll call Nicole’s papa to let him know you’re coming.’
    When he hung up, Kirsty was looking at him perplexed. ‘How can a fire in Cahors be connected with someone trying to kill me here?’
    Enzo met her gaze with a steady intensity. ‘I’m beginning to think that what’s happened in Strasbourg isn’t about you at all.’
    ‘I think someone trying to kill me is very much about me.’
    He shook his head. ‘No. There’s too much else going on. The mugging in the park. The credit cards—yours
and
mine. Bertrand’s gym burning down, the police looking for me.’
    ‘What do the police want you for?’
    ‘I don’t know. But I think there’s a good chance that none of this has anything to do with you, or Bertrand, or Sophie. I think this might be about me.’
    She looked at him long and hard, then picked up the towel she had dropped on the bed. She sighed wearily. ‘It’s always about you, Dad, isn’t it? Always has been, always will be.’ She turned towards the bathroom. ‘I’m going to have a shower. You can let yourself out.’

Chapter Eleven
    Yellow light reflected darkly off polished wooden floors. Rusted cogs and wheels and screws dipped down into dark waters behind glass walls, the machinery that once powered this old mill. There was only one other person at the bar, a woman nursing a champagne flute of pale, sparkling Dom Perignon.
    Enzo hoisted himself onto a stool at the far end next to a large glass bowl filled with champagne bottles cooling in ice. The room was illuminated by the upward glow of backlit sheets of wafer thin marble that dressed the bar. He ran his eye along glass shelves lined with bottles. Although the hotel promoted this as a champagne bar, it had a decent selection of whiskies. He ordered a Glenlivet from a bored-looking young barman who poured him a large measure and then retreated to polish glasses at a discreet distance.
    Enzo slumped over his drink for some time, simply looking at it, trying to find solace in its pale amber. But it wasn’t the colour that would bring comfort, it was the alcohol. And