by Nell Goddin
She saw a workman pushing a wheelbarrow over by a ruin and ignored him, going up the front steps and rapping hard with the knocker.
“Bonjour, chief!” called the workman, walking over. It was only when he got closer that Charlot realized he was Simon Valette. She hid her surprise.
“Bonjour, Monsieur Valette. I am here to interview each of you formally. I hope this is a convenient time.” She spoke in such a way as to make plain that Simon’s convenience was not her concern at all.
“I…well, of course, anything we can do to help. Would it be all right if you spoke to my wife first, while I do a quick wash-up? It’s sweaty work, stone walls.”
Charlot squinted at him. She liked that he was sweaty and shirtless, thinking that it gave her a bit of an advantage; a fancy big shot from Paris would be far more comfortable in his native clothing, freshly showered. “This shouldn’t take long,” she said. “Is there someplace we can sit down?”
Simon shrugged and led her inside, through a small sitting room on the other side of the foyer from the dining room, and through a door to a terrace.
“Would you like coffee? Or anything to drink?”
“This is not a social call, Monsieur Valette,” said Charlot, taking a seat and pulling out a notepad. “Now, I know I asked some of these questions last night, but I am going to ask them again. Sometimes in the heat of a crisis, the proper detail gets left out.”
Simon nodded. He swatted a bug from his arm but maintained eye contact.
“Mademoiselle Crespelle, Violette Crespelle, that is the name of the deceased?”
“Yes.”
“How long had she been in your employ?”
“Six months? Possibly less? I can look it up if you need an exact date.”
“Yes, do that. You may call later on to give it to me. Were you pleased with Mademoiselle Crespelle’s acquittal of her duties?”
“Yes, quite.”
“The children liked her?”
“Very much.”
“How about your wife? Would you say that Madame Valette also approved of the nanny?”
“You’ll have to ask her.”
“Neatly done, Monsieur, but I am asking for your assessment of your wife’s opinion.”
Simon drew in a breath. He did not seem at all discomfited by his sweaty, shirtless appearance, and gave the question some calm thought before answering. “The situation, you see, is like this: my wife has some health problems which make it impossible for her to give the children the attention they need. That is why we hired Violette in the first place—obviously the girls are old enough that they don’t need someone looking out for them every minute. But the…their mother needs a great deal of rest, and so we thought hiring a nanny to be a good solution for everyone. For the most part, I handled it—the hiring, paying of salary, and overseeing her. Camille, as I said, needs rest. She has not interacted all that much with Violette…did not interact, I suppose I should say…” Simon’s voice trailed off, and he looked away from the chief for the first time.
Charlot did not write this down but she made a mental note of it.
“And your relationship with Mademoiselle Crespelle. Would you say it was businesslike? Cordial? Warm?”
“Are those my only choices?” he said with a laugh. “Violette and I got along just fine. It isn’t easy bringing a third adult into a household, as you can imagine. But she accepted the duties that Camille and I outlined for her and did not stray beyond that. In other words, she was not a bossy, controlling sort of person, interested in instructing us how to raise our children. She followed our directions cheerfully and was responsible and attentive to Chloë and Gisele. So we got along well with her, as I’ve said. And the children adored her. This whole thing is very, very hard on them.”
“Do you plan for them to receive any counseling?”
“I’ve thought of it, but it’s…it was only yesterday. I haven’t done anything yet. Perhaps you can direct me to some resources?”
“I’ll have Monsour, the junior officer, get in touch. I’m afraid I haven’t been in Castillac much longer than you have, Monsieur Valette.”
“Ah, the blind leading the blind,” he said with a laugh.
Chief Charlot squinted at him again, not hiding her distaste for him.
They sat on the terrace for close to an hour while she asked him every question she could think of in order to elicit the clearest possible picture of the nanny’s life in the Valette household, and the relationships of all the family members to her. Finally, when Simon was on the verge of losing his patience at her repeated questions, she asked to see Madame Valette, and after directing the chief upstairs, he went back to his pile of rocks.
15
Sunday morning at La Baraque. Ben and Molly were enjoying a hearty breakfast on the terrace when someone rapped on the door and Bobo began barking wildly.
They exchanged glances, neither of them expecting anyone.
“Bonjour, Monsieur Valette!” said Ben, opening the door wide and allowing himself the faintest hope that the man had come to hire them to solve the nanny’s murder.
“Please, call me Simon,” he said.
“Bonjour, Simon,” said Molly. “Please excuse the house, we’ve been a bit slothy of late.”
Simon waved her excuse away. “I’m the one who’s sorry, for barging in on a Sunday morning when people should be allowed a civilized breakfast in peace. I’ve come to talk to you about something of importance, something that would require your immediate attention, if you are so inclined.”
Molly allowed her flicker of hope to turn into a solid flame. “Of course, come on in. Would you like coffee?”
Simon said he would and Molly went to make a fresh pot, keeping her hands out of sight so that no one could see she had her fingers crossed.
“Let me get right to it,” Simon said to Ben. “This horrible business of the other night…as you might imagine, it’s wreaking havoc on my family, and to be perfectly honest, we do not need this right now. As you doubtless realized, my father suffers from dementia and this sort of thing is extremely difficult for him to process. And my wife…this is just terrible for her…she’s…well, she’s not quite as stable, emotionally, as one would wish, if you see what I mean? It’s terribly upsetting for her.
“I understand how it sounds, as if I am making my wife’s feelings count more than the life of Violette. I don’t mean it that way at all. I feel absolutely devastated for the poor girl. But right now I have to stay focused on the present and do what I can for my family.”
Molly stood behind the counter, absorbing every word. She poured the coffee and brought Simon his cup, which he accepted gratefully. Then remembering there were leftover croissants, she went back and got them, putting them on an antique plate decorated with bluebirds.
“How can we help?” asked Ben.
“Getting straight to the point, as I said…I understand the two of you run an investigation business—you spoke of it briefly during dinner. I would like to hire you to find out who killed Violette. Obviously I know the gendarmes are working the case, but I…” he wasn’t sure how to say what he thought of Chief Charlot without possibly insulting the two locals, so he didn’t finish the sentence.
“We’d be happy to take the case,” Molly said quickly.
Ben nodded his agreement. “Of course, since we were right in the next room when it happened, we’ve taken a particular interest,” he said. “But I’m curious—are you hiring us because for some reason you do not have faith in the local gendarmes to do the job?”
Simon looked out of the window for a long moment. “And I should say, I’m willing to pay your top rate, if indeed you have some sort of scale. I don’t want financial considerations to impede the investigation in any way.”
Molly and Ben almost exchanged a glance at Simon’s dodging of the question, but they didn’t have to; they knew what the other was thinking.
“I’m sorry, I do understand that I need to be forthright w
ith you if you are to do your job successfully. It’s just that there’s a rather long habit of…of not revealing…” he said, clearly struggling. “You see, as I was saying, my wife is not well. We went to doctor after doctor in Paris, and finally, one suggested we leave the city and settle someplace calm, someplace peaceful.”
Molly nearly said, “Ha!” but managed to choke it back at the last second. She couldn’t help remembering that when she moved to Castillac she had been looking for the exact same thing. Castillac had turned out to be many things, but calm and peaceful it was not.
Simon continued, “Chief Charlot came out to the house this morning and talked to me and then Camille. It was something between an interrogation and an interview. She seems…ardent, if I may put it that way. Quite intent on catching the killer. Which is just as it should be. But here is my worry: in her desire to prove herself in her new post and get a quick conviction, she may try to pin the murder on my wife. Charlot could claim she is erratic, mercurial at times. That she was jealous of Violette’s talents and affection from the girls. That is why I want the two of you involved: to prevent a miscarriage of justice as well as the ruin of my family if Charlot accomplishes what I think she has in mind. I know I may be jumping the gun and I shouldn’t infer too much from one conversation, but that is the way it looked to me yesterday after she was gone. I had half a mind to pack the family up and drive away—that’s how much I feared this chief gendarme of yours.”
“Did she say anything specific that led you to believe she suspects your wife?”
Simon smiled ruefully. “Well, she made it quite plain she dislikes us. I suppose in an exceptionally professional detective, dislike and guilt would not be connected. But as I found in my business life, few people in any job are actually exceptional. Do you agree?”
Ben shrugged, agreeing more or less but for some reason not wanting to tell Simon that.
“Camille was not in the dining room when the murder took place,” said Molly, matter-of-factly.
“I know,” Simon said simply. “For that matter, neither was I. It was bedlam, wasn’t it? The loud cracks of thunder, the rain pounding on the roof…”
“The darkness.”
“I will admit that having spent most of my life in Paris, the darkness was quite something. I have never experienced anything like it.”
“You have been in Castillac almost two weeks. Are you saying you’ve not found yourself in the dark in all that time?” asked Ben.
Simon laughed. “Maybe I am a creature of urban habits. When dusk comes, I turn on lights. As I’m sure you realize, most of Paris is well lit after dark, and so bright we can barely make out any stars. But I can see now that using all that electricity is a mistake, or at least a missed opportunity. I will go out in the yard tonight after dark, with no flashlight. Hard to believe that this experience is new to me, at my age, but there it is.”
Is he rambling to distract us, or because he’s that kind of talker? Molly wondered.
“I understand the desire for privacy, but you will need to give us more detail about your wife’s condition. Are you prepared to do that?” asked Ben. “I don’t mean to sound brusque. I just want all the cards on the table before we begin.”
Simon nodded. “Understood. As I said, it’s a habit, keeping all that to ourselves. But this situation calls for a change, and I am prepared to proceed with that.”
“Molly!” someone called from outside.
Molly jumped up. “Excuse me, be right back,” she said, and left through the terrace door.
“All right, I’ll get started with a personal question,” said Ben. “Perhaps it will be easier to answer with Molly out of the room. Having a nanny…that often puts quite a lot of strain on a marriage, does it not? Having a vibrant, young, single woman suddenly joining the household?”
Simon looked evenly at Ben but said nothing.
“I’m asking if there were tensions of that sort,” Ben said. He was careful not to look Simon in the eye, which Ben knew could make answering easier.
Simon shrugged. “I would be a cad to fool around when my wife isn’t well,” he answered.
“Many men behave like cads but give themselves a dispensation for one reason or another. Or they accept that they are cads, and do what they do regardless.”
Simon took a deep breath. “True enough. I won’t deny that it crossed my mind. But nothing happened, Dufort. This murder is not about that, I can swear to it.”
The two men talked for much longer while Molly attended to Elise Mertens who had eaten a bad cream puff and become violently ill. Molly was gracious and helpful, making sure Elise was comfortable and her husband had the number of Dr. Vernay in case she took a turn for the worse.
Once that situation was managed, Molly trotted back to the house. Valette had left, and Ben spent the next hour relating every word of their conversation. More than once, with Molly often pressing Ben on whether he had believed the man or not.
Was there any other job in which your client’s guilt or innocence was so often at issue?
They were pleased to be hired—more than pleased, close to elated. Perhaps they were both ants instead of grasshoppers, but it gave them both a happy feeling of security to have a solid job as they went into fall and cooler weather. Happy, of course, except for the fact that once again, someone in the village had felt it necessary to kill a neighbor in cold blood.
16
Chief Charlot was not young; although she had joined the gendarmerie as a young woman, her career had not been a smooth rise to the top by any means. But she had, over the years, gotten to know many others in the service—not to call them friends, exactly, because Chantal Charlot was not very good at making those—and when she needed some help with the background checks for the Crespelle case, she knew someone to call who could make it happen.
“See, it’s all who you know,” the chief said to Paul-Henri, who had likely said similar things himself, though hearing it from Charlot made him want to throw something. “Marco Abedin, I went to the Officers’ School with him. I can’t say we keep up, but I can get in touch when something like this comes up.” She smiled at her computer screen and leaned back in her chair, letting Paul-Henri stand in front of her desk in total ignorance of what she was talking about.
“I’ve got hold of some new information. Can’t decide whether it changes anything or not. Lapin still missing?”
“Yes. As far as I know. I drove past his place this morning and his car is still gone. I spoke to Anne-Marie yesterday. Hadn’t heard from him.”
Chantal nodded and steepled her fingers together, which Paul-Henri thought the height of pretension when someone else did it.
“Aren’t you curious?” she said.
“Of course I’m curious,” said Paul-Henri, exerting great will not to clench his fists.
“It’s about Madame Valette…Camille. From what I’ve heard, she’s something of a caged bird. Her husband seems to want her shut up in her room all the time, though to my eye she seemed perfectly capable of being up and about. Some men are like that, you know,” she said, throwing him a glance that he interpreted to mean that she thought he might be among them.
“But now I see that the actual situation is different from how it looks. Often the case,” she said, and Paul-Henri allowed himself slowly to curve his fingers into his palm and squeeze, though of course there was no question of being able to avail himself of the release of actually throwing a punch in the chief’s direction.
“She has spent time in the hospital,” said Charlot, dragging the news out interminably. Just when Paul-Henri was about to lose it, she added, “A psych hospital.”
“Ah,” said Paul-Henri.
“Ah indeed.”
“What was the diagnosis?”
“My friend was not able to get the actual treatment file. Only her name on the list of patients.”
“Well, that would matter quite a bit, wouldn’t it? If she was suicidal or homicidal, just for starters.”
“I’m not sure I like your tone, Officer Monsour. I suggest you stop hanging around my office like a bored teenager and go out and find some evidence. Go on, go!”
He did not need to be told twice. Oh, how he despised her! After a quick trip to the bathroom to check his uniform in the mirror, Paul-Henri left the station.
Chief Charlot stayed in her chair, leaning way back and looking up at the ceiling. It would be so neat, so easy, if the murderer was Lapin, she thought. He has no prior convictions but he has spent time in jail, back when Dufort was chief. He had fled the scene and failed to get in touch with his new wife to let her know where he was. He was, to any person playing the odds, acting guilty, whereas all the other people present at the dinner had gone about their business after the murder as though nothing was any different. At least, as far as she had been able to determine.
But this latest bit of information about Camille threatened to upset Charlot’s assessment of the suspect list. She knew little about psychiatry but surely one could safely say most murderers were a little crazy? She would need to think more about it while she pressured her friend for more details on Camille’s stay. It wouldn’t do to run after a local man when someone in the same household of newcomers had documented mental illness.
Suicidal or homicidal, Charlot wondered, irritated that Monsour had posed the question. Or more likely—neither one, she thought with some satisfaction. Lapin was still at the top of her list of suspects…and still at large.
Molly and Ben had intended to go to Chez Papa for dinner that Sunday, wanting to see friends, unwind, and hear the latest village gossip. But the unexpected appearance of Simon Valette along with Elise Mertens’s illness had thrown off the rhythm of the day, and they found themselves still on the phone taking care of various business when it was past eight o’clock.
