We collided again and the BMW was flung into the fruit and vegetable display of a mini-mart. Produce scattered everywhere and we came to a crashing halt in the doorway of the store.
“Are you okay?” I asked Justine, who nodded.
I waved apologetically at the shocked man behind the checkout counter and reversed the BMW out of the entrance. We backed across the sidewalk and when we bounced off the curb and straightened up, I saw Michel jump out the cop car, which had collided with a streetlamp up ahead.
“He’s making a run for it!”
I accelerated and the car devoured the distance between us. When we were thirty meters away and our target was just a blur running through the street market that sprawled across an entire block to our right, I stamped on the brakes so hard that Justine had to slap her hands against the dash to keep herself upright.
“I’m going after him,” I told her. “Those cops will want your phone. Get out of here and I’ll meet you at the apartment.”
“Okay,” she replied, taking my hand. “Be careful.”
“You too,” I said, squeezing her fingers.
I jumped out of the car and sprinted across the road, running at a diagonal, on a course to intercept Michel at the intersection with a side street leading to a church.
I heard the BMW engine roar and glanced over my shoulder to see Justine in the driver’s seat, steering the car into an aggressive U-turn.
As I’d suspected, the cops mirrored the move and gave chase. Even though Justine had taken advanced evasion training and I had no doubt about her abilities as a driver, the part of me that loved and cherished her couldn’t help but be worried.
I pushed these concerns from my mind and focused on the man who could unlock our investigation. I could see him now, running across the busy market square, and sprinted in pursuit of him.
Chapter 47
Justine thought back to the hostile driving and evasion course she’d taken and recalled her instructor’s advice: “Stay calm, be aware of your surroundings and use them to your advantage.”
She glanced in the rear-view mirror to see the police car gaining on her. Ahead, the street was clear, the traffic pulled up haphazardly to either side in deference to the sirens and flashing lights.
Pedestrians clustered on the sidewalks, phones out, filming the chase. Justine hoped no one would capture more of her face than a blur as she sped by.
The BMW roared along the Route de Nice, west toward the edge of town where rustic buildings thinned out, giving way to the highway that connected La Turbie with the city of Nice.
Justine knew the open road wouldn’t be her friend and made a sharp left turn onto a narrow alleyway that cut through a quarter of old buildings.
She heard more sirens in the distance and felt the pressure. Without the suspicious presence of Michel in their car, the cops hot on her trail would appear to be in honest pursuit of a suspect, and she had no doubt they’d summoned backup.
As she raced south, Justine saw a break in the buildings ahead of her and in the distance, the shimmering blue of the sea. She followed the alleyway between low apartment buildings and villas with brightly painted wooden shutters until it joined a wider road where she raced east, tracking the sweep of a long bend so the sea was to her right.
Justine saw another police car further up the hill directly ahead of her, so she took the next right fork, down toward the seafront. She dodged around a blue-and-white bus that had pulled over in response to the sirens, and caught the expressions of amazement on the faces of the passengers, their noses pressed against the windows as she roared by.
Moments after passing the large vehicle, Justine saw a potential escape route. She floored the accelerator and the BMW growled as it found more torque, pushing her back in her seat. She glanced in the mirror as a parking lot flashed by on her right, and saw the crooked cops behind her swerve around the bus.
Justine swung a left into a tiny alleyway marked with a dead-end sign. The street was just wide enough for a car to drive down it. The sides of the BMW ground against the high drystone wall on her left and the yellow house on her right. She opened the sunroof, and when she drew near a bend in the alley, slammed on the brakes, unbuckled her seatbelt before the car had drawn to a complete halt, and pulled herself up through the sunroof.
The police car screeched to a halt behind her and the cops tried to jump out, but they couldn’t open their doors in the narrow alleyway and the vehicle had no sunroof.
Justine jumped onto the hood of the BMW then skipped down onto the road ahead and ran toward a flight of steep steps with white-painted iron handrails to help pedestrians climb them. There was the roar of an engine behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder to see the cop car reversing back along the alleyway at speed. The driver wasn’t calm or mindful enough of his surroundings and collided with a second police car that had just turned into the narrow route.
Justine left the corrupt cops to inspect the mangled wreckage and ran up the steps that took her to a courtyard behind a charming Mediterranean church. She slowed to a walk as she entered the quiet building. A sign told her it was the church of St Michel de La Turbie, which she thought was ironic given the name of the man they were hunting. She gave silent thanks to the saint and all the angels who’d watched over her as she made her way through a small crowd of tourists who were admiring the polychrome marble, devotional paintings, high organ and ornate Baroque ornamentation.
Justine walked through the building and emerged on Rue Capouane, a broad street lined with tall evergreens. A warren of alleyways ran off the square in front of the church. She picked one that would take her east to safety.
Chapter 48
The man calling himself Michel Augarde cleared the market and set off along Avenue du Cap-d’Ail, a claustrophobic street lined with old buildings set close to the single-lane road. I hurried past the last of the bountiful market stalls and trailed him. The passing cars and motorcycles were so close I could have reached out and touched them. Ahead of me, Michel ran on, slowing slightly, legs starting to fail as fatigue hit him. He glanced back and saw me thirty feet behind him.
The sighting spurred him on. When he passed a terrace to his right, he dashed in front of a car, crossed the street and sprinted into an open-air restaurant, darting around tables and chairs shaded by parasols that bore the logo and name of Le Sol. He collided with a waiter who was carrying a tray of drinks, sending the man tumbling in a spray of beverages.
The waiter cried out as the cups and glasses shattered against the stone flags and some of the patrons got to their feet, muttering, but no one tried to stop Michel who ran into the covered part of the restaurant.
My heels reverberated against the cobblestones like bullets, pounding out a rattling beat. I sidestepped waiters, chairs and tables and dashed into the building.
Peripheral vision saved me as Michel swung a punch at me from his hiding place beside the entrance. I dodged the blow and barged into him, driving my shoulder into his gut and forcing him back until he collided with the far wall. I felt the air rush from his lungs, but he desperately tried to compensate by throwing another wild punch. I stepped clear and his fist found nothing but empty space. He lost balance and almost toppled forward. I seized the opportunity to drive a fist into his nose, knocking him back and setting it bleeding.
Dazed and covered in fresh blood, he flailed at me wildly. As I dodged his chaotic punches, I knew I had the advantage.