Free The Killer's Tears by Anne-Laure Bondoux Page A

move,” he whispered.
    Angel felt his heart stop. Again!
    “What do you see?” he asked between clenched teeth.
    “Men,” Paolo answered.
    “What are they doing?”
    “They are behind you, near the market entrance.”
    “What are they doing?” he repeated.
    “They're sticking up posters.”
    Paolo's hands were squeezing Angel's face like a vise, while his anxious eyes followed the movements of the bill stickers.
    “What is on the posters?” Angel asked, though deep down, he already knew.
    “It's your portrait, Angel. Your picture in charcoal.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
    THE MAN AND the child exchanged glances. They did not need to say a word to understand each other. Once the bill stickers had gone inside the market, Angel got up slowly and, hand in hand, he and Paolo walked in the direction of the boxes.
    Under his hood, Angel was dripping with perspiration. The feeling of danger was suffocating him. In the past, when he knew he was hunted, he had just left town. He acted as a trapped animal would, without thinking. It was, after all, a kind of game. The cops, the thieves … who would run faster? And even if he had been arrested and sent to jail, what would have been the difference? To live alone,whether free or locked in a prison cell, would be to endure the same suffering. But this time, it was no longer a game.
    Angel could feel Paolo's small hand in his, and he knew that he could not bear to have Paolo taken away. As a free man he could continue to live with the child. But in a prison cell …
    He dismissed these thoughts. He had to stay focused and alert, and to stop thinking about the terrible things that broke his heart and weakened his legs.
    As the morning went on, the flow of farmers and buyers grew in the adjacent streets. Trucks with muddy wheels parked near the market, unloading their cargo of bleating and bellowing cattle, while men in ponchos shouted and blew on piercing whistles. In the midst of this human and animal commotion, Angel and Paolo welcomed the protection that the crowd offered them, so they let themselves be pushed from right to left and left to right, following the flux.
    When they arrived near the boxes, Angel noticed a man in uniform. He quickly turned back and dragged Paolo along to the shelter of a house porch.
    “Go and look,” he said. “Be careful.”
    Paolo made his way toward the boxes. Posters of Angel were glued on wooden posts. Three policemen were keeping watch over the donkey and horse. The child recognized the farmer from the Pampas, whose horse they had stolen; he was kicking his heels in front of the boxes. The Belgian alpinist was not there. Maybe he was still shouting at thetop of his lungs out on the desolate plain, or maybe his embassy had sent him back to his mountainless country. …
    As fluid as a snake, Paolo left and returned to the porch where Angel was waiting. They no longer had any means of transportation, or money, or place to hide in town. Paolo observed Angel's face, his tense features, the cold glimmer in his eyes.
    “As long as they're looking for me at the market, we have a chance,” Angel said.
    Paolo took his hand. “I'll do what you want,” he said. “But don't leave me.”
    Angel gave Paolo's hand a gentle squeeze and swore that he would never abandon him. Paolo was the only person in the world to whom he could make promises, the only one to whom he could say words as improbable as
always
and
never
. He pulled Paolo onto the crowded street and headed toward the harbor.
    On this festive day, the whole town was in a frenzy. Cars blocked the main roads, horses and pedestrians crowded the sidewalks, and, near the harbor, the cries of the seagulls competed with the honking cars.
    Several trawlers had just docked. It was time to unload the cases. Paolo and Angel did not stay there long. They crossed the congested piers, keeping as low a profile as possible, until they finally reached the marina. There, at the very end, Angel saw what he was