“Good God, that’s enough!” she exclaimed, throwing open the passenger-side door and getting out before Ludovic could get the vehicle properly positioned.
She looked at her notes and checked the numbers along the street. The house turned out to be very handsome, just the sort of dwelling she’d have liked to own. The entrance was through an archway into a covered courtyard with stone benches that matched the façade. The upstairs windows were adorned with flower boxes overflowing with bright-pink petunia blooms. The front entrance to the house was a double door of dark wood with heavy iron rings fixed on either side.
“I’ll do the talking,” she warned Ludovic before she knocked. This was their little game. She knew it would be impossible to keep her smart-ass junior partner quiet, but she liked to goad him to see just how much he’d take.
“Whatever, boss. Just remember my Spanish, Italian, and Portuguese are great.”
“But you can’t drive worth a damn,” she muttered maliciously as she rapped on the door. “And besides, the lady speaks French.”
The slim, elegant middle-aged woman who opened the door was dressed in slacks and a high-collared sweater. She wore her hair in a bun. Anne-France smiled, for this was exactly how the inspector had imagined her when they’d spoken over the phone the previous afternoon.
“Engrasi Salazar?”
“Yes. At your service.”
“Inspector Anne-France Renaud, French National Police.”
“Of course. Did you locate the car?”
Anne-France continued without answering that question. “I assume the girl is in school, as you said. Are the other witnesses here?”
Engrasi nodded and stepped to one side to let them in. A border collie showed his fangs and silently stalked stiff legged toward them. “Don’t be alarmed. This is Ipar. He’s just checking you out. He’ll be done in a moment.”
And indeed, a few seconds later, the dog withdrew and stationed himself between them and the front door. The house interior was warm and smelled of wood smoke. As Engrasi ushered them through the living room to the kitchen, Anne-France noticed, perhaps a bit enviously, a couple of wing chairs facing the fireplace where logs were burning merrily. A man and woman stood at the kitchen table, waiting for them. They looked about Engrasi’s age. The woman, Joxepi, was short and perky, with close-cropped hair. The man, Ignacio, was tall and sinewy. He seemed very serious, and his strong features evidenced a distinct mistrust of the new arrivals.
“Did you find the car?” Joxepi asked immediately. “Is that why you’re here?”
The inspector gave them an ambiguous nod accompanied by a shrug. “Before we get into that, Assistant Inspector Bélanger and I would like to hear your account of what happened.” She looked at Ignacio. “It seems that you, Monsieur Aldecoa, had a better view than the others.”
“I’ve thought about it a lot,” he said. “I went over it, trying to remember every detail, and now I’m sure that the car went up and down Calle Santiago twice before it stopped. I remember thinking it was a French tourist who’d lost his way and was trying to find the border crossing.”
“What happened when the car stopped?”
“I thought the person on the passenger side would lower the window and ask for directions, but the rear door opened instead. Someone inside said something to the child. I didn’t hear the voice. The open door partly hid the person, but I did catch a glimpse of the sleeve of a white blouse, loose and practically transparent, and a woman’s hand. She was beckoning, trying to get the girl to come closer. Amaia is normally a careful child, but she took a couple of steps in that direction. That’s when I shouted a warning and the child froze. Everything happened very quickly after that. I ran toward the girl; the woman stepped out of the car and grabbed Amaia’s arm. I got to them just in time to tear the girl out of her grip. I saw . . .” He pointed to the garment Engrasi had laid out on the table. The overcoat displayed a rip that ran the length of the lower half of the sleeve. “The deep scratches on Amaia’s hand are still healing. The woman jumped back into the car and they took off.”
“Did you get a good look at her?”
“Yes, and I wish I hadn’t.” His mind presented him with that unforgettable image of the smiling she-wolf. “I described her to the Guardia Civil.”
Ludovic spoke for the first time. “Yes, we have their report. Several things caught our attention—” He sounded ready to plunge into a lengthy commentary, but Ignacio’s wife interrupted him.
“Did you find the car or not?”
The assistant inspector sighed in disgust. “We are immediately notified of stolen cars via antiterrorism channels. The Guardia sent us a license number that was very close to that of a car stolen in Bordeaux two days earlier. It wasn’t detected at the border because the thieves had changed a number on the plate. It wasn’t the first time we’ve run into that trick. But what actually caught our attention was the way they tried to snatch the girl.”
Horrified, Engrasi put both hands to her mouth. “You’re sure they were trying to kidnap her? It couldn’t have been something else?”
Anne-France nodded. “There’s no doubt, because Señor Aldecoa’s account matches almost word for word those of witness statements in four other cases. Four young girls have been abducted over the past five years, all of them prepubescent, approximately the same age as Amaia.”
Ignacio was astounded. “How is that possible? Four girls? This is the first we’ve heard of such a thing!”
Assistant Inspector Bélanger laid out photographs of the four missing girls. They all had long blond hair, more or less similar to Amaia’s, and they clearly resembled one another. The choices hadn’t been random. “Three disappeared in different localities in France, and the fourth was taken in Belgium.”
“And then what?” Engrasi demanded, anguished. “Tell me they were found!”
Inspector Renaud’s grim expression brought out harsh lines caused by years of smoking. “Unfortunately, they have not yet been located.”
“But who did this? Who’s carrying them off?” Engrasi insisted. “Who was that woman?”
“We doubt she’s acting on her own. We believe she’s part of a human trafficking ring.”
Aldecoa’s wife surveyed the visiting officers from head to toe. “And why would that group abduct young girls? I don’t understand.” Joxepi cast about for an explanation. “Maybe some woman couldn’t have her own children, so she’s sick, you know, out of her mind . . .”
Ludovic happily stepped into the gap. “We believe it’s a well-organized group, but we can’t be absolutely sure of their aims. Maybe trafficking in young girls, exotic rites of some fringe cult—”
“Cult?” Ignacio exclaimed, surprised.
“The choice of prepubescent girls is a clue, and we’ve heard rumors that various quasi-religious groups are active in different areas of France. They present themselves as law abiding, but some have been accused of conducting strange rites supposedly connected to witchcraft. Animal sacrifices and so on.”
“Devil worshippers?” Ignacio asked him.