The slate grey 3.2 litre Audi eased its way into Maastricht’s Keizer Karelplein and parked behind a dark, blue Peugeot 407.
It was raining as Didier Grondin tapped on the passenger side window of the Peugeot and then walked toward the entrance to the Basilica of Saint Servatius. Georges Lagrange and Alain Caron opened their doors and followed. Inside, they made their way to the treasury and approached a female assistant who was cleaning a glass display case.
“Can you tell me where the Head of the Treasury is?” Grondin asked, as he fought a growing nauseousness.
“If you mean Father Lens, he’s in the Restoration Laboratory. But you can’t go in…”
Grondin and his two colleagues hurried toward the laboratory with the assistant following them.
They pushed the door open, walked in and shut it, leaving the assistant on the other side.
Father Lens looked up from the book he was studying.
“O heavenly Father!” he said, as he looked into Grondin’s eyes, which were turning red.
“Now Father go and tell your assistant that everything is okay.”
Father Lens got up off his seat, opened the door and said: “It’s okay Symonne carry on with the cleaning.”
“We both know why I’m here. So, to save any unpleasantry’s why don’t you tell me where the Key is?” Grondin said, as Father Lens closed the door.
“Key, what key would this be?”
“Oh Father, you disappoint me,” growled Grondin.
The priest rose into the air and his body became horizontal – belly down.
“Oh!” He cried, as he rose further and further until pinned to the ceiling.
“I’ll ask you once again. Where is the Key?”
The old man sensed a great pressure build up around him as a thousand devils, in his mind, screamed at him to reveal what he knew.
There was a gentle knock on the door.
“Grandfather are you in there,” said a young girl’s voice.
Grondin looked up at Father Lens with even more menacing red eyes and an evil grin.
“Okay, I’ll tell you the little I know just let me send her on her way.”
The priest opened the door onto a small, blond-haired girl with bright, blue eyes after being lowered to the floor.
“I’m busy just now Lisle, you go see your father across the Quad, and I’ll see you later.”
“Okay, all I know is of an abbot called Henri Diebolt,” said Father Lens after the girl had gone.
“And where do we find this Diebolt?” Grondin asked.
“Heavenly Father forgive me. He is abbot of Aren Abbey beside Chartres.”
“Chartres!” Grondin shouted, “you mean to say the Key’s close to where I live.”
“Oh, I don’t think it’s there.”
“Don’t you? Well, there’s only one way to find out,” said Grondin, as he made his way to the door.
“Oh, and Father don’t get handy with the telephone as I’m leaving Georges and Alain here for now,” he said as he opened the door. He then looked at Lagrange and Caron and said: “Keep an eye on him; I’ll phone you when I get there.”
With that he swept out of the Basilica, fired up his Audi and sped out of Maastricht.
Rain drops battered on his windscreen as Didier Grondin turned his car into the driveway which led up to Aren Abbey. The journey from Maastricht had taken over three hours of hard driving, but there were no signs of tiredness written on his face.
The rain eased as Grondin parked the Audi and walked up to the large wooden gates. He expected them to be locked, but he pushed one side open and walked into a dark courtyard. Before
him at the far side was the main door to the Abbey; on either side there were cloisters hidden in shadow. He walked toward the main door when a monk in a grey habit approached.
“Can I help you friend?” asked the man.
“I have urgent business with the Abbot. please tell me where he is.”
“He’ll be at prayer, in the Abbots House. Have you an appointment?”
“I don’t need one,” growled Grondin with flashes of red in his eyes.
He then walked over to the only door visible in the cloisters. The monk walked after him.
“You must leave; you’re not welcome here,” shouted the brother.
Grondin pushed the door open and stepped into a smaller courtyard. He looked around and glimpsed a two-storey building hiding behind a wall with a small wooden gate.
“Ah yes the Abbots House,” he said, walking toward the building.
Greeted by a smoky, musty atmosphere, which made him nauseous after opening the front door Grondin looked around downstairs, but there was no one there. He then climbed the stairs feeling more unwell with every step. At the top of the staircase there were three doors on the landing. He looked in the first, it was the toilet. He looked in another it was an empty bedroom. The final door was ajar, and blue smoke was wafting out of the room.
“Stop!” shouted the monk who came running up the stairs.
Grondin pushed the door open then switched on the light. He then stepped in followed by the monk.
“Oh, heavenly Father!” cried the holy man.
Hanging from one of the high rafters with a noose around his neck was Henri Diebolt. There was a stepladder next to the body, which Grondin climbed until he came face to face with the dead abbot.
“Now why did you do this?” Grondin asked the pale distorted face. “Someone tipped you off about me. But who? Curses... de Longford!”
He climbed down the stepladder, then passed the whimpering monk and looked into the smoldering fire, which had spilled out on to the hearth.
“No clues left, eh!”
Grondin left the building and strode back through the two courtyards. He then left the Abbey grounds in heavy rain, found his car and raced along the driveway. Before he reached the main road, he pulled into the side. What now? he thought as he watched the raindrops run down the windscreen. He had to find these two brats. But where would he look? De Longford was pivotal.
Where was he last seen? Ah yes… Amsterdam.
Grondin took out his mobile phone and called Lagrange. “Georges.”
“Yes.”
“It’s Amsterdam, that’s where these two interfering brats are, and I’ll wager that’s where the Key is. But we’ll need to tread carefully, because there’s an old enemy of mine there. You and Alain head through there, and I’ll meet you tomorrow.”
Didier Grondin then eased the car out onto the main road and headed for Chartres. He was much more satisfied now things had started to fit into place.