I am sitting, enjoying a
morning coffee and a cigarette at the
pavement cafe downstairs from my small hotel in Lyon, about to depart
for a fishing trip in the beautiful local hills.
'Excuse me
monsieur,
do you speak English?'
I look up from my newspaper into the distraught
face of a pretty, young woman: her face full of fear, her eyes wide and
tearful.
'Yes, I speak
English, I'm American, but I'm sorry, I don't speak much French.'
'Please monsieur.
I am so sorry but I need your assistance.
I don't know who
else I can turn to.'
'Sit down... please. Tell me what's the matter? I... I... don't know if
I can help you, but please... sit down.' I feel confused by the sudden
interruption
of my
peaceful morning.
'I cannot sit down, there is no time. I am also a guest at your hotel
and I must show you something in my room.'
'Listen
mademoiselle,
I don't want any trouble.' I protest
limply,
but I know I
have to help. 'What is it? What's wrong?...Okay, okay, I'll come with
you but... but... no funny
business,
you understand?'
We take the elevator to the
fifth floor: my floor, and I am
surprised to find she is in 507, next door to me in 505. I am starting
to feel very anxious, this doesn't feel right. But I know I have to
help. We stop outside her door. 'Why not tell the hotel staff, or the
Police?' I ask.
'Non!'
she says
firmly, 'They cannot help me,
they wouldn't understand. Monsieur,
it is only you who can help me.
Please, open the door.' With tears in
her eyes, she places her room key in my hand. I turn the key and push
the door open, she
urges me to enter and puts
the key in my back pants
pocket. Everything is quiet and the curtains are still drawn.
I am beginning to feel a
little scared as I walk into the centre of the
darkened room. Then I notice
some of my things on her bed:
clothes that had been in my suitcase in my room. 'What's... what's
going on? Now listen
mademoiselle..'
I spin
around only to find she is no longer there, she has gone and the door
is closed. Then I realize my shoes feel sticky,
and look down. I am standing in a
pool of blood. On the floor
next to my feet is a knife. My
knife. The fishing knife that had been in my bag in my room. Then I see
the body of a man in the bathroom and feel
dizzy with panic.
Just at that moment, there is a loud banging of fists on the door, and a gruff voice. 'Open the door. This is the Police. Monsieur we know you are there and you cannot escape.'