Isobel

by A J Griffiths-Jones

  ‘Did she ever mention what had happened to your wife?’ Jack inquired.

  ‘No, she said nothing. But every now and again there would be a look on Simone’s face… It’s hard to describe, but it was almost as though she was telling me that one day, she’d seek her revenge.’

  ‘I know this might sound like a tough question to answer, Monsieur, but do you think Simone Dupuis was capable of murdering Cecile?’

  Hubert Vidal looked startled. ‘No, never. They were best friends!’

  ‘Thank you. You’ve been very helpful. Now, if you could just explain to me again the details of the document that were removed from your safe on the night of the break-in…’

  Maurice was alone in the boulangerie. He’d told Telo to go out and get some fresh air but to stay away from the florist’s shop. The young man had no intention of going anywhere near his Aunt Simone’s place after she’d told those lies about him to Papa and he headed home to sit in the garden with a book.

  As soon as the boulangerie owner was certain that his son was safely back at the ‘Maison de Maitre’, he called upstairs to the apartment. Maurice had a lot to apologise for, he realised that now, and it was about time he spoke to Isobel.

  ‘What’s up, Maurice?’ the Englishwoman asked as she closed the door to her personal stairway, her voice low and faint. Even in a few days, it was obvious to see that his former assistant had lost weight. The casual jeans and t-shirt she wore were hanging off Isobel’s slender frame.

  ‘Izzy,’ the baker smiled, ‘please come and sit with me… have something to eat.’

  ‘Look, if this is about me going out for dinner with Gaston…’

  ‘Non,’ Maurice assured her, ‘it has nothing to do with that. I just want to make sure that you are alright, and to apologise.’

  Isobel took a seat in the café area and looked expectantly at her former employer, unsure of whether she could face another heart-to-heart, or whatever it was that he intended to get off his chest.

  ‘I think the police are going to arrest Simone for Cecile’s murder.’ Maurice told her openly, bringing a fresh bagel filled with smoked salmon and cream cheese to the table. ‘I am so sorry for everything, Izzy, I should have believed you. What you have had to endure has been terrible.’

  ‘Simone?’ Isobel repeated, hardly able to believe her ears. ‘I knew it!’

  ‘You did? How?’

  ‘Well,’ Izzy explained as Maurice fussed with coffee, ‘on the night that the bread knife disappeared from your kitchen, Simone Dupuis was there. I’m sure she must have taken the lighter out of my bag while I was there as well. She was also in Bordeaux on the day of the murder. I found a receipt from that expensive boutique in the bottom of the bag she gave me to put my clothes in at the police station.’

  Monsieur Fabron was quiet for a moment, mulling over what he’d just heard, and then came to sit down with two cups of fresh coffee in his hands.

  ‘On that Wednesday,’ he urged, eyes lighting up, ‘you went to the train station, but you didn’t buy a ticket, oui? Did you see Simone there?’

  Izzy was sure that she hadn’t. ‘No, I only noticed Cecile. But I was only at the ticket office for about a minute. There weren’t many people on the platform, but I didn’t see Simone, I’m absolutely sure.’

  ‘That’s a pity,’ Maurice sighed. ‘You could have been an important witness.’

  Isobel smiled for the first time in many days. ‘I hope the police are on to her now. You had a lucky escape, Maurice. You were out on a date with Simone!’

  The baker scowled, annoyed at such a supposition. ‘I most certainly was not! Simone Dupuis and I were friends, nothing more. I took her out to dinner because I felt bad for being rude to her the previous day. At the time, I had absolutely no clue that she could have carried out poor Cecile’s murder.’

  Izzy took a sip of coffee and raised her eyes to the handsome man’s face. ‘Tell me, Maurice, why are you willing to believe that Simone is guilty now?’

  ‘Because she dared to accuse my son of the crime, and in that moment, I knew that only someone with a twisted mind would say such a thing about Telo.’

  Jack Hobbs handed the DNA samples to Gabriella, who immediately raced off to the lab with them. His mind was still full of unanswered questions but suddenly there was light at the end of the tunnel. There were still a few more links to work out, but when this was over, he was going to celebrate with Angélique.

  Max Mallery was already seated in the Incident Room when Hobbs had arrived back in Bordeaux and eagerly listened as the young detective relayed all the new information that he’d gleaned from Hubert.

  ‘So, why would Madam Dupuis want to break into the Vidals’ safe?’ the Inspector queried, pressing his fingers into a steeple as he pondered the information. ‘What could she possibly gain from it?’

  ‘Well, apparently, the house that Monsieur Fabron lives in was jointly owned by his wife, Valerie, and her sister, Cecile Vidal. They inherited it from their father, who was quite a prominent figure in the area. The documents refer to the complete signing over of the property to Maurice Fabron, officiated by a notary, so that he is now the sole owner. Madam Dupuis was desperate to see what was inside the papers, as her own financial situation was quite dire.’

  ‘In what way?’ Thierry jumped in, sliding his office chair across the room.

  ‘According to Hubert Vidal, Simone is on the verge of bankruptcy due to her extravagant lifestyle. That’s why she rents out rooms to Gaston Lauder every summer, to make extra cash.’

  ‘I’m still confused,’ Max admitted, a deep furrow appearing on his brow. ‘How could that document benefit Madam Dupuis?’

  ‘She’s a gold-digger,’ Jack said bluntly. ‘Basically, with the knowledge that Maurice Fabron owned the large house outright and was also making a healthy living from the boulangerie, she’d set her sights on becoming his next wife.’

  ‘So why murder Cecile?’ the Inspector probed. ‘It makes no sense.’

  ‘It was revenge for being snubbed by Hubert Vidal, after she’d tried to seduce him,’ Hobbs announced proudly. ‘And she broke into the safe quite easily, as the code was Cecile’s birthday, so it wouldn’t have taken much guesswork.’

  ‘It’s all making sense now, Jacques. Simone Dupuis had the opportunity to steal the bread knife and she could easily have taken Madam Green’s lighter and planted it on Cecile’s body. We also know that she got off the train in Salbec and changed her clothes.’

  ‘We have CCTV footage of her exiting Bordeaux station now,’ Luc called across the room. ‘An hour later than we first expected. Clear as anything. Even with all the police around, she just calmly walked off the platform and out into the street.’

  Both men crossed the room to look at the video evidence looping on Luc’s computer screen. It was still in black and white, but Madam Dupuis could clearly be seen wearing a lighter shade of clothes, exiting the station without a second glance at the uniformed officers milling around the taped area, where the earlier train had been cordoned off to preserve the crime scene.

  ‘All we need now is a DNA match,’ Max smiled, rubbing his hands together, ‘and then we’re ready to arrest Madame Dupuis.’

  ‘It shouldn’t be long,’ Gabriella added, coming into the room. ‘I’ve promised to go out for dinner with the lab guy if he gets the results within two hours!’

  ‘Where is she now?’ Isobel asked, peering out into the deserted village square.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Maurice admitted. ‘But with luck, the police will be here soon to arrest her. I told Inspector Mallery about the brooch that Simone gave to Telo. It belonged to Cecile and Hubert confirmed that she would have most certainly have been wearing it on the day she died.’

  Izzy finished the dregs of her black coffee and watched as the boulangerie owner picked up her empty plate. ‘Thanks, Maurice.’

  ‘You need to eat. I’m afraid you’re losing weight.’

  ‘No, I didn’t mean for the bague
tte,’ Izzy smiled, ‘but it was delicious.’

  ‘Then for what?’

  ‘I don’t know… Finally realising that I’m innocent, letting me stay, just thanks.’

  ‘But will you now?’ the baker ventured, tilting his head to one side.

  ‘Will I what?’

  ‘Stay. There’s a job here for you if you want it.’

  Isobel didn’t hesitate in her response. ‘No, not now. Too much has happened. As soon as I can, I’ll move on. I’ve already applied for a job in Spain, so…’

  Maurice turned away, busying himself behind the counter, but tears welled up in his eyes at the thought of everything that had passed between them.

  Simone Dupuis had locked and bolted the florist’s shop and was inside her cottage, changing her clothes. Gone was the demure red dress that she’d been wearing that morning and in its place Simone wore a white shirt and black capri pants with flat leather loafers. She placed a headscarf around her hair, tying it at the nape of her neck, and picked up a pair of designer sunglasses.

  Simone was spooked. She’d been so careful, disposing of the clothes at Salbec station where she knew nobody would find them for weeks. The porter there was such an idle man and hadn’t done a day’s work in his life, she noted at the time, yet this morning’s visit from the young English detective had come as a complete shock. Still, she smiled. Now that she had formerly accused Telo of the murder, the police would have no choice but to follow up on it. Then the real fun would begin. Madame Dupuis was confident that she had it all worked out.

  The day before Cecile’s murder she’d kindly offered to trim Telo’s hair, a task that Maurice had entrusted to her since his son had been a small boy. It was ironic really, as Telo had begged his father to take him to the barber’s shop in Salbec, yet Maurice had been too busy in the boulangerie with his new attractive employee, giving the florist the perfect opportunity to pacify Telo with a neat haircut. It had also given her chance to collect a few hairs afterwards, as she swept up the young man’s locks from the kitchen floor, and plant them on Cecile’s jacket on that fateful day. Simone had been quick-thinking, too, she told herself, in snatching the brooch from Cecile’s limp body as she lay bleeding out on the seat of the train. It had been her careful planning that had aided Simone in framing Isobel Gilyard, or Green, too. The Englishwoman had been stupid to leave her bag lying around in Maurice’s kitchen on that first day. It had taken Simone just seconds to find something small and light in there to slip into Cecile’s pocket as she lay dying.

  Madame Dupuis was proud of herself. Not only had she managed to accidentally expose Isobel as a murderer – that horrendous past of hers was an unexpected bonus – but she’d also tied Telo into the scene as an added safety net. If one got away with it, then the other would surely be charged. Besides, both were a threat to Simone’s long-term plans. Isobel was younger, prettier and more energetic; it would only be a matter of time before she turned Maurice Fabron’s eye. And young Telo – well, the boulangerie owner would never remarry whilst he had his son to remind him of the wonderful memory of Valerie.

  The brooch had been their secret, hers and Telo’s. The youngster had taken the golden leaf as a sign of his Aunt Simone’s trust and love and had never asked how she’d come by it. Nor did Telo realise that, if the police had ever checked, there would still be traces of blood on the pin, accidentally left on there from the murderer’s fingers as she had tugged the item from her victim.

  The safe-breaking had been a pure whim. Simone had given in to curiosity and just couldn’t let it lie. She’d known that there was something very personal and, she suspected, lucrative in those documents and she had to find out what. Reading the notarisation had only fuelled her desire to dig her claws into Maurice, now that he was richer than she had expected and all because of Cecile Vidal’s generosity.

  Cecile Vidal… Madame Dupuis rolled the name over on her tongue a few times before heading down the footpath towards the river. She felt no remorse at stabbing her best friend, the woman who had everything that Simone wanted yet had failed to achieve. Wealth, happiness, children and Hubert. Lucky, dead Cecile.

  Gabriella lifted the phone on her desk and listened to the speaker with wide eyes, her jaw dropping open before she replaced the receiver.

  ‘Sir, it’s a match.’

  Max strode purposely across the room and grinned. ‘So, we’ve got her!’

  ‘Yes, but there’s another problem,’ the female detective replied, her voice tense. ‘I’m afraid both samples were a match.’

  ‘What? What do you mean, both samples?’

  ‘Well,’ she explained. ‘The skin samples from the bloodied clothing were a match for Simone Dupuis’ DNA, but the hair they found on Cecile Vidal’s jacket was a match for Telo Fabron.’

  ‘Merde!’ Max cursed out loud as he came closer. ‘They were in it together.’

  ‘This just doesn’t make sense,’ Jack told him. ‘Telo had absolutely no reason to become involved in the murder of his own aunt.’

  ‘We’d better get over to Saint Margaux,’ Thierry sighed, picking up his car keys. ‘Gabriella, are you ready?’

  His colleague nodded, stood up and tightened her long, blonde ponytail.

  ‘Right, you two go and pick up Telo Fabron,’ Max instructed. ‘Jacques, you come with me and we’ll find Madame Dupuis.’

  ‘What about me?’ Luc cried, wanting a piece of the action. ‘I suppose I get to sit here and answer the phones, as usual?’

  ‘Come on then!’ The Inspector grinned. ‘We can use an extra pair of hands today. Let’s go.’

  With a whooping cheer, Luc was out through the door and down the stairs before Inspector Mallery could change his mind.

  Gaston Lauder had been on the riverbank since dawn. He was determined to finish his work on the field of poppies that day and stood at his easel in deep concentration. Vibrant reds clashed with the blues of the sky and he was pleased with his progress so far, but the recent meal with Isobel Green was still weighing heavily on his mind, especially as Simone had refused to speak to him since she had spotted the couple at the bistro.

  He wondered whether it was time to return to Paris. Although he’d arranged to stay until the end of August, Gaston didn’t want to upset the florist and, given the strained relationships amongst the Saint Margaux residents at present, he thought it might be a good idea to leave early.

  There was also the fate of Isobel to consider, the artist mused, as sweeping brushstrokes flitted across the canvas. He’d felt a connection with the Englishwoman and had enjoyed her company, despite what the villagers were saying about her. Gaston felt he would let Isobel down if he just disappeared. Perhaps a few more days to see that she was okay would suffice.

  As sunlight filled the skies, the young man stopped to take a drink from the water bottle he’d brought with him to the river, unaware of events unfolding in Saint Margaux. He’d been out so early this morning, intentionally avoiding the wrath of his landlady, that Gaston had no idea of the accusations and lies that Simone had been telling. He loved Simone dearly. She’d been so generous in always preparing his meals, ensuring that the guest bedroom was comfortable and warm and giving him full use of the workshop during his summer sojourns.

  Seeing Simone at dinner with Maurice at the bistro had given Gaston a ray of hope that the woman who cared for him like a mother, might now have found love. The artist regretted flaunting his new friendship with Isobel in front of his dear friends, although Maurice had understood, and he wondered whether Madame Dupuis would forgive his indiscretion. Therefore, when Gaston’s landlady appeared on the footpath that ran behind the village that afternoon, he expected to have to deliver an apology and to get an earful in exchange.

  CHAPTER TWENTY – TO CATCH A KILLER

  As Max pushed himself out of Jack’s Ford Mondeo, the leather seat squeaked with relief and a shrill ringing alerted him to an incoming call on his mobile phone. He pulled it from the top pocket of his shirt and gla
nced at the screen. The caller ID was withheld.

  ‘Oui, Mallery,’ he responded, aware that Hobbs was watching him covertly from the driver’s side of the car. Max lowered his voice and turned away, ‘Oh, ma chérie!’

  Jack tapped the bonnet of the car to get his boss’s attention and signalled that he would meet him over at the florist’s shop. He couldn’t help noticing the light in Mallery’s eyes as he spoke softly into his phone. It was obviously a woman.

  A few drops of heavy rain landed on Gaston Lauder’s canvas, causing blood-red lines to drop from the newly painted poppies like macabre tears, but he was too intrigued by Simone Dupuis’ words to notice.

  ‘I have done something terrible,’ she confessed in slow French, twisting her hands together in frustration. ‘Please forgive me.’

  ‘Why? What have you done?’

  ‘I planted Telo’s hair on Cecile’s jacket. I think the police will soon be here to arrest him.’

  The artist gripped his curly locks in frustration and took a deep breath.

  ‘Why the hell would you do that?’ he shouted, looking around to check they were completely alone. ‘You were supposed to use Isobel’s hair.’

  Simone pursed her lips, thinking. ‘I know, but I couldn’t get to her and I thought, by using Telo’s hair, it might solve a lot of problems for us.’

  ‘For you, you mean,’ Gaston spat. ‘With Telo out of the way, you could have Maurice all to yourself. Admit it, that’s the reason you’ve been so stupid.’

  ‘Don’t you dare put all the blame on me!’ the woman countered. ‘You had just as much to do with Cecile’s death as I did and, if you keep quiet and accept Telo’s fate, we’ll get away with it.’

  Gaston paced across the grass, unable to believe that his landlady would let an innocent young man get locked up. Telo didn’t deserve that. They were friends and trusted one another.