‘Plus he was burning leaves. Probably worked up quite a sweat.’
‘Precisely. So if we say 8.00 to 8.15 – maybe add five minutes either side just to be sure – we can’t rule Thibault out entirely. But – to answer your question – the focus is definitely now on Venturi View.’
Closed circle. She cast her mind back to breakfast. As Lyle had pointed out, no one was there all the time, and to stride up the path and jab a fork into Henri’s neck could be done in three or four minutes. But why would anyone do that?
She was about to speak again when Cyril caused her to jump by suddenly slamming his fist down on the bench. ‘And to think I’m not even there for the fucking interviews!’
She sighed. Just when she was starting to think he’d got over it, here was the little boy again, screaming that it was unfair. ‘Cyril, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t even have brought it up. I’m not supposed to get involved. No one’s asked me to.’
‘You can’t pretend you’re not interested.’
‘Of course I am. Everyone is. I mean, one of us actually did it, so how can we not be?’
‘If you and I are here together, it’s not a coincidence. You know that. There’s a reason.’
‘No, I don’t know that, Cyril. There are far stranger coincidences. But even if there is a reason, it’s not to find out who killed Henri Seibel. I’m here on an art course and you’re here to investigate Eddy Ferrucci. Some sort of scam in Cameroun, Pico said. Mining or something. He didn’t go into detail.’
‘Yeah, I don’t really know myself. Just that Ferrucci played a role in it somewhere.’
‘Anyway, I suggest you stick to that. I don’t know how you’re going to proceed, but I did ask Eddy a couple of questions at lunchtime. He saw me coming a mile away.’
‘I dare say. A smooth operator, I’m sure. I don’t know – my idea was to keep an eye on him while investigating the murder. That’s what I suggested to Pico but with Praud freezing me out like this, I won’t get a look in edgeways. I think I’ll start with a visit to Gino Escarola.’
‘Who?’
‘You heard about the fire, right? On the other side of Saint Abel. Probably saw it on the way here. There was a restaurant, L’Ophrys, which burnt down. It belonged to a local businessman, Gino Escarola, and at the time of the fire, Maya Ferrucci’s paintings were being exhibited there. Insured, would you believe, for eighty thousand euros. Valentin Bondy led the investigation – nothing suspicious, he says, but he hasn’t yet sent in his report. I’d like to check with Escarola myself. Speaking of which, when you get a chance, I’d like you to have a word with Maya Ferrucci. See what she thinks of losing those paintings of hers. I told her Escarola tried to pin the arson suspicion on her husband. He said eighty thousand euros for shit like Maya Ferrucci’s was obviously a scam.’
‘Really? He said that?’
He grinned. ‘Not at all. But I’d like to see if it gets a reaction. With a bit of luck, she’ll dish some dirt. Escarola’s never been nailed but it’s well-known he’s a crook. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s got links to the mining scam too. See what you can get out of Maya – will you do that for me?’
‘If she’s anything like Eddy, not much. But I can try.’ Talk with Maya? Harmless enough, I suppose. ‘Speaking of fire, why was Seibel burning leaves in a heatwave? It’s crazy!’
‘Yeah, I asked Bondy about that. Apparently it’s not the first time. Adeline Forster called him about it in April. Bondy reprimanded him. Told him if he did it again, he’d be subject to a fine, possibly even imprisonment.’
‘Didn’t seem to deter him.’ What did a reprimand consist of? Maybe a little chat round a glass of pastis, the suggestion that in future, Seibel should take greater care, because after all, how many hectares of woodland went up in smoke every year? ‘Surely he must have known what he was doing? In weather like this, a spark is all that’s needed. Why, it’s practically arson in itself.’
‘Stubborn, his son says. They don’t have the best – ah, there he is! Further down, see? Thibault Seibel. Why don’t you go and have a little chat with him too?’
‘Me? What for? I’m not –’
‘Praud hasn’t frozen me out entirely. He can’t.’ He twisted his lips, managing to grin and scowl at the same time. ‘For lunch we grabbed a sandwich in Saint Abel, talked it over with Bondy. For all we’re pretty certain Seibel’s innocent, he’s holding something back. Praud and I spoke to him separately and we both got that impression.’ He tilted his head. ‘Go down there now and see if you can find out what it is.’
‘Cyril, I thought we just agreed –’
‘What? I take my instructions from Plodder Praud – fair enough. Well, I’ll tell you something: I’m not going to justify why I’m here. I’ll do as I see fit according to the mission Pico has given me.’
‘A mission that has nothing to do with Thibault Seibel.’
‘That remains to be seen. It so happens that Gino Escarola and Henri Seibel were friends. Until I know otherwise, I’ll assume that everything here is pertinent to my mission. Are you with me?’
Warily, she stood up. ‘With you? We’ll see. But in for a penny, in for a pound so... Thibault Seibel it is.’
‘Thank you.’ Grinning broadly, he put his hands on his hips. ‘Soulmates, Sophie, remember? Soulmates.’
Chapter 17 Bull-headed Bastard
Cautiously, she approached the fish pond. When he saw her, there was, for a moment, puzzlement in his eyes, as if he didn’t know where he was.
‘I’m sorry.’ She made to go. ‘I’m disturbing.’
He didn’t answer. He seemed elsewhere. Then his eyes focused. ‘You’re from next door.’
‘Yes.’
‘The painting course.’
‘Yes.’
‘Mmm.’ He sat up straight, his attitude purposeful. The goldfish wriggled in the pond, and Sophie recalled Claire, trapped in the glassy, rapacious glare of Thibault’s father.
‘Tyson,’ he said. ‘Quite a monster, isn’t he?’
‘The name rings a bell. A boxer, right?’
‘Dad was a fan. Of the sport as a whole, I mean. Used to box himself a long time ago.’
She couldn’t think of a follow-up to that but he wasn’t expecting one anyway. They sat for a moment in silence, staring at the fish. Then she said, ‘Tyson. I must bring my daughter to see him. She’s four. I don’t think she’s ever seen one like that.’
‘Ah. Same age as Jérôme. My son.’
‘I’ve got a boy too but he’s only three months. Four is a nicer age, I must say. And Jérôme? Any brothers or sisters?’
‘One on the way. January.’ He clasped his hands behind his neck, smiling. ‘A girl. Melissa. That’s the latest, anyway. Could change a dozen times between now and then.’
‘It’s a lovely name. I’d keep it.’ She paused. ‘And how has Jérôme been taking it? His grandfather...’
‘He doesn’t know yet. For the moment he thinks it’s great fun, police all over the place. It’s hard to explain to a kid that age. I’ve stuck him in front of the telly.’ He grunted. ‘The Lion King. Not much else I can do, at least till my sister gets here.’
‘Your wife’s away, I heard.’
‘Amsterdam. She’ll be back Thursday. I told her not to rush, we’ll manage till then. She’s meeting with horticulturalists – the techniques they have there, way ahead of us.’
‘Well, you’ve done pretty well, I’d say. This garden...’
‘Oh, that’s Dad. He knew his stuff, all right. A labour of love, this was.’ Another grunt. ‘I don’t know how we’ll keep it up with the rest of the business to see to.’
‘It would be a shame not to.’
‘More than a shame. It’s practically a tourist attraction. People come out, wander round, it gives them ideas. They drive away with a boot full of plants.’ He turned to her and drew back his head. ‘What possible reason could I have for killing him?’
The directness took her aback. ‘I... Mo
nsieur Seibel, I don’t want to dissimulate. I’m here for the art course, like I said, but I also happen to be a private investigator.’ She watched the eyes narrow, the face cloud over. He seemed about to reply but said nothing, and she went on, ‘I’m not investigating your father’s death, not officially anyway, that’s up to Captain Praud. But I won’t deny that I’m curious, and for a very good reason. I was speaking just now with Captain Eveno, who said that in all likelihood your father was killed by someone in Venturi View. We’re all being treated as suspects, myself included. They won’t have told you yet that you’re in the clear because... well, they’re keeping their options open. I’m probably not supposed to tell you myself. But effectively, you are.’
‘Hmm.’ He turned away, staring into the distance. ‘He was stubborn, you know,’ he said eventually. ‘Bloody-minded, in fact. “Amsterdam? Water management?”’ He mimicked a glowering, gruff old man. ‘“Waste of time. What’s wrong with the old-fashioned way?” Huh!’ In the flick of his hand, there were untold clashes of will. ‘So of course they suspect me. If it wasn’t for the men on the drive, they’d be locking me up. And the phone call to Jackie. And even that... You know what they said? I could be on the phone anywhere. Sure – at the top of the garden, chatting to my wife as I kill my father.’ He gave a short, bitter laugh, then glanced at her, more hesitant now. ‘So you’re here to find out what happened?’
She shrugged, puffing out her cheeks. ‘No one’s asked me to. But the atmosphere next door is tense, to say the least. They’re interviewing us all.’ Before he could answer, she went on, ‘Stubborn, you say. Burning leaves in weather like this... I’m told it wasn’t the first time.’
‘He’s been doing it twenty years. He wasn’t going to change just because they made it illegal.’
‘But the Forsters complained. And he was warned. Yet he went ahead and did it again.’
‘Yep.’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘The old bull-headed bastard.’ For a moment his features crumpled and he pinched the top of his nose.
Sophie left a pause. ‘So relations with the neighbours weren’t exactly... neighbourly.’
‘We get on with them fine, Jackie and me.’
‘But not your father. Do you think he, like, deliberately set out to annoy them?’
‘With the smoke, you mean? He was annoyed, there was...’
‘Yes?’
‘Look, I don’t want to go accusing. Like I said, we get on fine.’
‘But something happened to annoy him. Something the Forsters did. Apart from complaining, I mean. Something else.’
‘I’ve no idea. It could have been anyone. But he grows orchids – grew – he told me one was missing. Bombyliflora. A rare one.’
‘I see.’ They’ve got quite a collection next door, Adeline said. ‘When was that?’
‘He spotted it yesterday. When it was actually taken, I don’t know.’
‘Did you tell Captain Eveno? Or Praud?’
He shook his head. ‘Like I say, it could have been anyone. All the visitors wandering round, weekends especially. They could have slipped into his cabin anytime.’
‘I thought he kept it locked.’
‘Not always. He forgot, or didn’t bother. It’s fenced off, got a Private sign on the gate, so visitors respect that. But if someone wanted, they could just walk in.’
‘But he thought it was the Forsters? And he burnt leaves in retaliation.’
‘Hmm! Curiosity.’ He gave her a sardonic glance ‘You can say that again.’
‘One of my faults, I’m afraid.’ She sighed. ‘And it killed the cat, as my husband keeps reminding me.’
‘Well, do with it what you want. I suppose you’re right, they ought to know.’
‘Probably nothing to it, as you say.’ She gestured around her. ‘I hope you find a way of carrying on with this garden. It’s so beautiful. Like something out of a picture. Maybe it is?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I don’t know, it reminds me... Adeline said he was keen on art. Though not Cézanne, apparently.’
He looked at her sharply. ‘Probably just winding her up.’ He rose from the bench, tucking his hands into the back pocket of his jeans. ‘I have to be going.’
But just then Captain Praud appeared, startling them both. ‘What the –’ He interrupted himself, glaring at Sophie. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Oh, we were just –’
‘Have you found that key?’ Ignoring her, he turned to Thibault.
‘Not yet. It’s not where he usually put it. He must have changed without telling me. There’s a duplicate somewhere but I haven’t put my hand on it. I’ll let you know when I do.’
‘Right.’ He turned back to Sophie. ‘You’re up next. The interview room in twenty minutes. I’ll be wanting an explanation.’
Chapter 18 Every Detail
As she sauntered back through the thicket, gathering leaves and twigs to furnish Chloé’s nature box, Sophie pondered how to play it. Apologise? Or double down in defiance? Her attitude to gendarmes – indeed to authority as a whole – had never been one of open rebellion. Unlike her sister Lexie, who at school had specialised in pushing teachers to the limit, Sophie was more cautious. But despite their stormy relationship, she’d always admired Lexie for going further than she ever dared herself; in a situation like this, Lexie would tell Praud to go fuck himself, and now Sophie was tempted to do the same. She’d advised Cyril to toe the line but that was different – his future was at stake – but what did she risk if she took a leaf out of Lexie’s book for once?
Emerging from the wood, she spotted Gareth to her right, feeding his diminishing pile of branches into the shredder. When he saw her approach, he switched the machine off and tipped the contents of the bag onto the heap behind him. He turned to face her, hands on hips. ‘Been for a walk?’
‘A little stroll. Against the rules, I know, but it’s nice and cool in the wood.’
‘They say they’ve finished in the garden, except for the side path. I’m taking the opportunity to get through what’s left of this.’
‘You do it all by yourself?’ She extended an arm to the expanse of garden. ‘It’s enormous!’
‘Oh no, we have a gardener comes every Friday. But this is my speciality.’ He wiped his forehead. ‘I’m no gardener myself, that’s Adeline’s department. She tells me what to cut, I cut it. And I like doing this. It’s surprisingly relaxing.’
She pointed to the shredder. ‘A handy machine.’
‘We couldn’t do without it. No tip nearby so it’s the only way.’
‘Not for everyone.’ She took out the leaves from her pocket. ‘For my daughter’s nature box. But Henri Seibel would have burnt them.’
‘Ah.’ He pressed his lips together. ‘Well, stuff as small as that doesn’t shred very easily. But sure, it could have gone on the compost. Anyway,’ – he shook his head – ‘it’s terribly upsetting. Such a nice man. Adeline’s coping well, but inside... It’s a shock.’
Nice? Was this some sort of policy? Diplomacy, all right? As far as the guests are concerned, he’s a sweet old man. Isadora must be in on it too: He wouldn’t hurt a fly, haw, haw! And that was before he died – how much more important was it to maintain the pretence now that he was dead? Deference to the departed? Or did it cover up something more sinister?
Changing the subject, she approached the heap of clippings: the brown and ivory of wood, the copper and russet of leaves, dotted with flecks of green. If her pockets hadn’t been full, she’d have taken a sample for Chloé. ‘And you put these for the flower beds?’
He came to stand in front of her. ‘Most of them. They keep the weeds down. And turn into compost eventually. All very ecological.’ He pointed to the house. ‘Well, I think I’ll call it a day. Sweating all over. How about a nice cool drink? Isadora’s homemade lemonade. Alcohol free, I promise.’
‘Gladly. I’d go for a litre of beer if I wasn’t breastfeeding. I’m next up for an interview.’
/>
‘Ah, no worries. They’re harmless enough, you’ll see.’
Thus reassured, she entered the utility room with the brightness of someone totally sure of her innocence. Whatever else he might accuse her of, at least it wouldn’t be murder. But he quickly dispelled her optimism with a fingered gesture to Bondy, who somewhat awkwardly took her fingerprints, followed by a swab of saliva.
‘So I’m a suspect?’ She tried to make it a joke, but the last syllable came out unnaturally shrill. Why not a mug shot while you’re at it?
It drew no answer. Praud waited patiently till Bondy had finished, his expression grim and hostile, starched as the shirt he’d put on that morning, which he wasn’t about to unbutton. Bondy looked uncomfortable.
Then Praud leant forward, hands clasped, stern eyes fixed on her across the trestle table. ‘Breakfast.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Everything. The times, the movements, yours and everyone else’s. Every single detail you remember.’ He switched on a recorder. ‘Proceed.’
To the best of her ability, Sophie answered. The incident with Penelope on the stairs, Maya outside on her own, the conversation with Lyle, Claire coming down, Maya’s complaint about the smoke, Eddy’s about the shower. Praud interrupted often, barely looking up from his notebook as he took copious notes despite the presence of the recorder. What time precisely? Who replenished the buffet? Was the hatch open or shut at that point? What could you see in the kitchen? She made her answers concise but complete, as accurate and detailed as she could. All except for the times: ‘about’, ‘roughly’, ‘probably’ – till Praud gave an exasperated sigh. ‘What time precisely? Make an effort.’
Painter Palaver Page 11
