by Rachel Green
As she turned the corner to go into her lane Margot was halted by the sight of a man outside her house. A tall, thickset man with a number 1 buzz cut was standing by the fence, looking up at her windows. Margot came to her senses and started walking towards him, but the moment she opened her mouth to speak the man turned and walked away. She had half a mind to go after him, but went in through her front door instead.
She dropped her keys into the bowl. As she moved through the living room and into the kitchen something felt different. Was that magazine on the bureau exactly as she’d left it? Had that black mark on the flagstones been there before? She checked the windows, but they were all still shut. She spent a few more moments listening to the silence, certain that someone had been inside her house, but then pushed the thought away, convinced she was being paranoid. Nevertheless, she went back to the front door and slid home the bolts.
***
Margot was in the courtyard, smoking in the dark, when Pierre finally called back. It was eight o’clock and she’d been sitting there, staring into the air, for well over an hour.
“I’m sorry, Margot. It’s been one of those days.” He sounded tired.
“Are you still in the office?”
“Yes. It’s this case …”
She pictured Camille at home with the baby, wondering what time he would be back. So many long nights she’d lain awake waiting for Hugo to finish work.
“What did you want to talk to me about?”
Margot hesitated. Now she was on the spot she wasn’t sure what to say. “I think I may have done something rash.”
She was expecting him to make a joke at her expense but he was clearly not in the mood. Margot imagined him sitting back in his seat, rubbing his eyes, forcing himself to take an interest in the conversation.
“What have you done now?”
“You remember those two dead migrants?”
“Yes.”
Margot told him about the backpack and how she’d come across the address of Garage de Paolo. “I wanted to find out why the boy had that address so I went there last night.”
“And did what?”
Margot drew in a breath. “I didn’t break in. I just wanted to have a look round.”
“And?”
“I overhead them talking, Paolo and his brother. It was Paolo who was involved in the smuggling, he virtually admitted it. And they’ve been faking passports, I saw the evidence with my own eyes. We have to get the place searched as quickly as possible.”
“Margot, slow down. Who are you talking about?”
“Paolo Bellucci. His brother’s Enzo Bellucci.”
“Enzo Bellucci?”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t that who you asked me about the other day?”
“Yes! but you were busy.”
Pierre went silent. Margot heard him tapping away at a keyboard; she got the feeling he was only now looking him up. After a few moments he gave a sharp intake of breath.
“Pierre, what is it?”
“So you broke into the garage and listened in on a conversation between Enzo Bellucci and his brother?”
“I didn’t break in. I had the door code, it was on Aswan’s phone. That’s evidence in itself.”
A series of exasperated noises came from the other end of the line. “Have you any idea how dangerous that was?”
“Don’t patronise me, Pierre.”
“Did anyone see you?”
“I don’t think so … I mean, perhaps.”
“What does that mean?”
Margot drew in another long breath. “They were just coming out the front door as I was heading back to the car. I think they probably did see me.”
“But did they know you’d been snooping around?”
“Possibly. I’m not sure.”
“Oh, Margot!”
“That’s all the more reason to get to the place searched,” Margot responded quickly. “They’re getting rid of evidence, Pierre. They’ll have covered their tracks by the time the local gendarmes do anything. There must be something you can do.”
Pierre sighed lengthily. Margot didn’t like putting him in this position but he was the only one she could turn to.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll make some calls.”
“Thank you.”
“But you have to promise me you won’t do anything else foolish.”
“I’ll try. But what do you know about him?”
“You know I can’t tell you, but it’s nothing good. Are you at home?”
“Yes.”
“Then stay indoors. Don’t do anything until you hear back from me. Okay?”
If anything, his serious tone did the opposite of reassure her but Margot wasn’t going to argue. She assured him she would not go out and then hung up.
***
After a nightcap, Margot went up to the room in the attic. She turned off all the lights and opened the window, leaning out to look both ways along the lane. No one was there.
She took her binoculars from the shelf and trained them on the harbour. A bank of mist had come in from the sea, reducing the streetlamps to fuzzy yellow blurs. She scanned the jumble of tall white masts to see if Carpe Diem was amongst them, but it was hard to tell if it was there. She lowered the binoculars and sighed. Perhaps his daughter had phoned and he’d gone off to Madrid. Or perhaps she’d been too abrupt with him. In spite of everything she did rather like him.
At 00:03 she called it a night. She went downstairs to make sure the doors were all bolted and then retired to her bed.
***
It felt as if dream and reality had decided to combine. Fuelled by her escapade at the garage, Margot had been chasing villains in an open-top sports car, pursuing them up a winding mountain pass with her hair blowing in the wind. Tyres squealed on hairpin bends and gunshots rang out as the villains fired back at her. Then the gunshots became a series of thuds inside the house and Margot woke with a start. That noise had come from downstairs.
Her face was damp with sweat.
Her eyes were wide and searching.
The digital clock showed 03:13.
She listened, but the house went quiet again.
Perhaps it had been a dream; she contented herself to wish it away and sank back into the pillows.
But then came the tinkle of breaking glass and this time Margot sat up with conviction. That sound had definitely come from inside.
Snatching back the covers, she swung her legs out of the bed. Perched on the edge of the mattress she strained to hear, her pulse beating loudly in her ears. She went to the window and pulled the blind just in time to see a figure hurrying away. And despite the poor light, Margot was certain it was the man she’d seen earlier.
She quickly put on her dressing gown. She thrust open her door and went onto the landing, but was instantly halted by a terrifying sound: a drawing of air, a hiss and a crackle. Margot’s eyes widened in disbelief. No. It couldn’t be what it sounded like, surely not. But then a wisp of smoke crept out from under the sitting room door.
Panic seized her.
She ran down the stairs and reached for the door handle. She paused to cover her mouth with a corner of her robe. Part of her was afraid to go in, certain in the knowledge of what she would find, but adrenaline made her thrust the door open.
A wall of heat stopped her dead in her tracks.
Now there could be no mistaking dream from reality. Margot’s sitting room was on fire.
Chapter 14
Margot dashed through the kitchen and out into the courtyard. The logical part of her brain was telling her to call the fire brigade, but she couldn’t just stand by and watch her house burn. The hosepipe was already connected so all she had to do was turn on the tap and run back in. Standing on the threshold of her living room, squirting water into her house, she could barely believe what she was doing. The fiercest flames were in front of the window, but small fires were popping up everywhere, filling the room with thick black smoke.
Margot couldn’t bear to leave it. She could only hope the neighbours had heard and would call for help. Her heart fluttered as black smoke billowed out from her bookcases, horrified by the damage it would be doing. She tried to get closer, but the heat was too intense.
Time warped and it seemed she’d only been there a few minutes when the room started to flash with red and blue light. Shouts came in off the street; someone started banging on the front door. Still Margot delayed, unable to tear herself away. She had to stay and fight, however useless her efforts might be. But then the door burst open and a jet of water shot in, making the decision for her. Margot dropped the hosepipe and ran.
A fire officer was charging down the passageway and they almost collided. He grabbed her by the forearm and pulled her into the lane, and then ushered her into the safety of the waiting fire truck. The next thing she knew someone was stretching an oxygen mask over her face and telling her to stay calm, but that was the last thing Margot could do. With stinging eyes, she leaned forward to look through the big windscreen, desperate to see what was happening. The sight of her lovely blue shutters going up in flame was almost too much to bear.
***
It didn’t take long to put out the fire. Once the flames had been extinguished and the worst of the smoke had died down, two of the officers went in to carry out checks. They emerged a short time later and gave the all-clear. The water was turned off and the crew stood down. Tall columns of grey-black smoke funnelled out through the remains of her front window as they packed away their equipment.
“You were very brave, Madame,” the fire chief said when he came to check on her. “It didn’t spread much beyond the sitting room. Your little hosepipe kept it at bay.”
Margot was too numb to respond with anything intelligible.
An ambulance drew up and a paramedic gave her a once-over. Her eyes were still stinging and she felt sick from inhaling the smoke, but she refused to go to the hospital. Monsieur and Madame Barbier took charge of her, and when the emergency crews left they insisted she go in with them. They poured her a glass of something strong and sat with her for the few hours that remained of the night. Everyone agreed what a horrible experience it had been.
At first light, Margot and Madame Barbier went back to assess the damage. Margot ducked under the tape that had been fixed across her front door and hesitantly stepped into the blackened mess that used to be her sitting room. Just a small fire, the fire chief had said, but the amount of destruction was shocking. Her bookcases were gone – Hugo’s record collection reduced to a puddle of melted plastic; her books turned to ashes. The tin that had housed her photographs lay on the floor, its lid to one side. Those photos that hadn’t been destroyed by the fire were ruined by water. The only crumb of comfort was that Hugo’s medal had survived unscathed. The flames may not have spread beyond the sitting room, but everything else in the house – the carpets, the walls, the curtains – were covered in soot and stank of smoke.
“How on earth did it happen?” Madame Barbier asked, trailing at a respectful distance. “Could it have been an electrical fault?”
Margot shook her head. She pulled out a stool from beneath the kitchen table and sat down, numb to her core. She couldn’t explain how the fire had started but the fleeing figure in the lane surely had something to do with it. For now, she chose not to think about who might have sent him.
***
Madame Barbier had to go to work at eight but she promised to return later to help clear up the mess. Ten minutes after she’d gone, another figure darkened her doorway – Margot was surprised to find Captain Bouchard standing on her threshold. He greeted her with a small nod of his head before stepping inside, uninvited, his eyes travelling around the room with an increasing level of surprise. Margot stood on the spot, observing him coldly, sickened by the sight of his thick leather boots clomping through the remains of her sitting room.
“What a horrible mess.”
“Thank you.”
His eyes snapped to hers, not quite getting the sarcasm. “I understand you were at home when it happened.”
Margot nodded. “Upstairs. In bed.”
“You had a lucky escape.”
“I don’t feel very lucky.”
The captain had the kind of demeanour that was unsuited to showing compassion, even if he might be feeling it. After a failed attempt at a smile, he went back to picking his way around the room. It seemed no square centimetre of the floor or wall space was going to escape his attention.
“Do you have any idea how it started?”
Despite everything that had happened Margot was still reluctant to come clean with him. The chances of receiving a sympathetic ear seemed slim.
“I heard a noise downstairs, glass being smashed.” It was all still a bit hazy, even though it had only been a few hours. “I went to my bedroom window and saw a man running away.”
Captain Bouchard paused, turning to frown at her. “Running away from your house?”
“Yes.”
“You’re suggesting this wasn’t an accident?”
“You’re the policeman.”
He straightened his back. “Arson is a serious crime, Madame.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
Margot quickly admonished herself. This wasn’t the time for point scoring.
“Could you describe him?”
“I couldn’t see very well. It was dark. He was tall and well-built. When I came home this afternoon I’m sure he was standing outside, looking up at my windows. I didn’t think much of it at the time.”
Captain Bouchard spent a few moments mulling that over. He nodded to himself a couple of times and then moved towards the broken front window. His eyes scanned the debris on the floor until he spotted something of interest, at which point he crouched next to the pile of broken glass. With a pencil he took from the top pocket of his tunic, he moved around some of the shards until he’d isolated a small piece. He picked it up and held it under his nose. Margot stepped closer.
“What is it?”
The captain stood. “Most of these pieces of glass are from the broken window. You can tell from the way it has shattered. But this one—” He extended his arm and held the shard in the air between them “—is from a bottle.”
Margot peered at it.
“What’s more, it smells of petrol.”
“You mean—”
“The burn pattern on the rug also suggests an accelerant was used. You see the ‘V’ shape?”
Now that he pointed it out Margot could see it clearly.
“It has all the hallmarks of a petrol bomb,” the captain declared. He lowered his arm and faced her squarely, a deep frown creasing his forehead. “It’s hardly a common crime in Argents-sur-Mer. So tell me, Madame, why would someone want to throw a petrol bomb through your window?”
Margot looked away. It was time to do some explaining.
***
The captain escorted her into the gendarmerie via a back door and led her down a corridor that turned through several corners. He opened a door to a small, windowless room and indicated one of the two chairs on the far side of a table. Margot pulled one a little way out before sitting down, shuffling to get comfortable on the hard wood seat. It had been a five-minute walk from her house to the gendarmerie but for the entire three hundred seconds neither of them had uttered a word.
The captain closed the door behind him. He seated himself on the nearside of the table and took off his cap, placing it squarely in one corner. He leaned forward with his fingers laced, elbows on the table, a posture that intensified his stare. “Am I to take it you know who was responsible for the fire?”
Margot folded her arms. “I have my suspicions.”
“Would you care to share them?”
The logical side of her brain told her to open up to him, that they were both on the same side, that she’d got herself in far too deeply and needed help, but she still had to drag the words out of herself. She sighed wea
rily, and then described her visit to the garage, who she’d seen there, what she’d overheard. “From what I understood, it was Paolo who was behind the migrant smuggling. I think the boat was owned by a man named Etienne.”
“And the man who was talking to Paolo?”
“I assumed it was his brother – Enzo Bellucci.”
The captain appeared unmoved. A silence formed as he took a pen from his pocket and wrote something down on a notepad. When he was done, he leaned back in his chair and allowed his eyes to roam, almost as if he’d forgotten Margot was still there. He nodded to himself a number of times before bringing his attention back to the table.
“Where did you hire the car?”
She told him. “You’ll speak to the owner, I presume?”
“Naturally.”
“If he was the one who gave them my address I want him prosecuted.”
The captain raised an eyebrow but otherwise didn’t respond. He made another small note on his pad. Margot went on, “I’m guessing they found out where I lived and threw the bomb through my window as a warning.”
“More than that, Madame. If they knew you were at home at the time their motive could have been far more serious.”
Margot raised her chin. “I won’t be intimidated, whatever their motive.” A little bit of ice set into her veins. She didn’t like being threatened, and she would not be bullied by anyone. An animal was at its most dangerous when it was being backed into a corner.
Captain Bouchard didn’t speak for a while and the silence lengthened. Margot cleared her throat. “Well,” she said. “What are you going to do about it?”
He looked away, seeming unsure. “We need to check for fingerprints. I’ll have a crime-scene squad sent to your house as soon as possible.”
“What about the garage? And the fake passports?”
“That’s a separate matter. I’ll have to consult with a different department.”
Margot tutted in frustration. “By the time you’ve finished ‘consulting’ all the evidence will be gone.”
“We have to follow procedure. I only have your say-so that the passports are there at all.”
“I handed you the backpack. You had the same information as I did. Why didn’t you go there and see for yourself?”
