Death in Saint-Chartier

by Ivo Fornesa

  Yael looked out toward the shop. ‘It’s a very long story and I have to work. Can we meet later?’

  ‘We’ve got all morning, and I doubt you’re so indispensable in that orthodox emporium. You’ll come up with an excuse. The sooner you tell me everything the sooner you can go, and hopefully we’ll never see each other again.’

  A sarcastic smile blossomed on Yael’s lips. ‘You know, when you play the bad guy, you’re much more attractive than as the clean-cut ski instructor. You should work on that; you’d be irresistible.’ Then she studied him again, and again smiled. ‘Now I see. You’ve found someone else.’

  ‘My love life isn’t on the agenda today. Just answer the questions. Women only pay attention to men who ignore them.’

  She thought about this. ‘Not always, but that’s pretty close to the truth. Listen, I’ll tell you everything, and hopefully this will stay between us. Do you mind if I order a raki?’

  ‘Order two and get to the point.’

  Yael seemed to sink into a trance. She closed her eyes, put her hands together and murmured something that had the cadence of a prayer.

  ‘Before I moved to Saint-Chartier, I’d worked in this shop for two years. Before that I wasn’t religious, or rather I was in the way non-practising Israeli Jews are: we carry on traditions because that’s what’s allowed us to survive for centuries. Yemenites like me are seen as the gypsies of Judaism, partly because many of us make music and art. I myself studied voice and worked as a model in the School of Fine Arts to earn some cash. Had my parents known, they would have stoned me. Still, perhaps because of our common past with the Arabs, we hold the family in very high regard and are very close.

  ‘In my case, I was very close to my sister Myriam until she went abroad to study. I did my military service in the Nahal Brigade, where I met a lieutenant in the special forces, in a Palsar unit, a Sephardic Jew who I eventually married. I was madly in love with him, and I desperately wanted to have his child. But Eliah was very reluctant, and spent a lot of time in the north, crossing into Lebanon to fight against Hezbollah – you’re familiar with the situation. Three years ago he disappeared in combat, and shortly thereafter I was notified they’d recovered his body, with clear signs of torture. He’d been emasculated, something they often do to their prisoners, even dead soldiers.

  ‘I felt very alone, and one day I ran into a friend from university who’d married a Lubavitcher. Little by little, they brought me into their way of living Judaism, and it was a great consolation. You may think I’m lying, but I don’t miss my past life.’

  Laurent raised his hand to interrupt her. ‘All right, I understand what you’re doing in that shop, and believe me when I say I’m sorry about your husband. But now the rest makes even less sense: why did you come to Saint-Chartier? Were you taking a sabbatical from your orthodox life?’

  ‘That’s because of my sister Myriam. As I said, she’d gone abroad for school, to Buenos Aires, which has a huge Jewish population …’

  ‘Ah, Buenos Aires … so I suppose this is where Carlos Shennan makes his entrance.’

  ‘Exactly. No doubt you also know that Shennan was a very successful arms trafficker, specifically in chemical weapons, and he didn’t turn up his nose at any clients. On one occasion Myriam was invited to a big party in honour of a Jewish Argentine painter, and there she met Shennan, who turned out to be the host. I don’t think I need to explain the effect he has on women when he deploys all his tactics of seduction. My sister Myriam is stunningly beautiful but, unlike me, she’s quite innocent and tends to believe what she’s told.

  ‘A few months later, she wrote and told me all about it: she said Shennan was the love of her life, and she didn’t care if he was married, they were going to go travelling together … Through my late husband, I had my contacts in the army, and didn’t have trouble getting my hands on Shennan’s notorious file. As you can imagine, the first thing I did was act like a big sister. I called Myriam to alert her and suggested she get away from him as soon as possible, but it was already too late: she was pregnant with his child and sounded deliriously happy. I begged her to leave him and come back, but she told me I was just jealous because I hadn’t been able to have a child with Eliah. I hung up on her and didn’t hear from her again until much later.

  ‘Predictably, Shennan wasn’t thrilled about the pregnancy and began to distance himself from Myriam with various excuses: his business, his family, his endless trips … all the while, the pregnancy progressed, and Myriam felt increasingly abandoned. She decided to visit Shennan at his office with her already very noticeable belly. When they met, he took on the cold, emotionless manner he was famous for in these situations: he said their relationship was no longer the same and even cynically told her she’d changed. He advised her to abort. He opened his desk drawer and handed her twenty thousand dollars. Myriam spat at him, threw the dollars in his face and marched out.

  ‘Her pregnancy was difficult and she didn’t have a penny. Out of pride, she didn’t let me know and wound up living in destitution, but determined to carry the child to term. Her health deteriorated until in the seventh month of her pregnancy she was rushed to the emergency room.

  ‘To make a long story short, the girl (because it was a girl) was stillborn, and my sister, as a result of a poor diet, a lack of adequate medicine and the sorrow of knowing her daughter had died, fell into a state of depression and had to be hospitalised. She’d given my name when she registered at border control, so the Israeli embassy tracked me down, and when I learnt of her situation, I left to find her right away. When I saw her I understood that she’d never again be the same: my sister was lifeless, deathly pale, with glassy eyes and trembling hands. As soon as she recognised me she told me she wanted to call her daughter Yael, and I broke down and cried, holding her until nightfall. With our community, we managed to get her admitted to a house run by the Lubavitchers, and I hope to bring her here as soon as possible. Now do you understand why I went to Saint-Chartier? I went to find Shennan.’

  ‘To kill him?’ asked Laurent, struck by the story. ‘Tell me the truth. If it was you, I won’t say a word, because I’d understand, even though I don’t approve.’

  Yael shook her head.

  ‘No, I really don’t know what for. I had several plans. On the one hand, I did want to kill him, or at least make him suffer, to find some legal or fiscal irregularity to bring him down – anything to hurt him. I spied on him, I tailed him and I witnessed many of his infidelities and strange meetings. At night at home I gathered all the information I could on him. I even sent letters to those leeches the Monattis. I used a false name and said I was an employee of his, tormented by the secrets of his chemical weapons companies, and I slung as much mud as I could. The Israeli intelligence services found out I’d requested his file, and they contacted me, ordering me to keep an eye on him as best I could. So every two weeks I had to submit a report in Blois, Bourges or Tours. Meanwhile, I’d even thought of punishing Shennan through his family, but when I saw his daughters and wife I knew I just couldn’t.

  ‘Shortly before the party, I’d decided I should return to Israel. I couldn’t go on with this foolishness. My plans went against everything I’d been taught in synagogue. I decided I’d simply tell him he was a selfish bastard, and that one day soon, when he was a decrepit old man, he’d be alone with nothing but the memory of the women he’d used to make himself feel more like a man. But in the end, when I finally had him in front of me, I lost my cool. I shouted Myriam’s story to his face, and slapped him, trying to convey through my eyes the hatred I felt.’

  Laurent stroked his chin. ‘I apologise for being so brusque earlier in the shop. I never imagined any of what you’ve just told me; I’m truly very sorry for Myriam, though perhaps you could have told me earlier. Two questions. When you left for long stretches at a time, was that because you were coming back here to work in the shop? I’d been imagining ghastly things involving the Israeli Secret Service.’

/>   ‘Yes, I’d come back here, explaining my absences by saying my sister was ill, which was partly true,’ admitted Yael. ‘And the other question? I suppose you want to know why you, right?’ Before he could respond, she launched into another explanation. ‘I hadn’t been with a man since Eliah died. I’m a woman and a Yemenite, we’re a sensual people, and before my husband my life was somewhat dissolute in that regard. The day we met at Caroline’s – remember? – I found you attractive, and I liked that you knew a thing or two about us. I often saw you walk past my door, and I won’t deny I even fantasised about the future. But – don’t get angry – you’re not Jewish, and for me that carries a lot of weight at the moment. Years ago it wouldn’t have mattered, but right now I need my faith. That may not always be the case, but for the time being it is.

  ‘The day I slept over at your place, I meant it as a farewell. I liked you quite a bit, I felt a real affection. You’d been really good to me, and I thought you deserved that night of love. And I can’t lie, I wanted to treat myself, too, not just out of physical attraction, but also as a sort of last hurrah. My rabbi has decided I have to marry, and I need to follow his recommendations on my future spouse. But I’ve had a glimpse, and I know it will be hard, very hard. That’s why I want to say again that it was all my fault, Laurent. You’re a wonderful man, and I’ll never deserve you. Forgive me.’

  Laurent was a magnanimous, generous sort. ‘I accept your apology, and I appreciate your finally opening up to me, though I still think you were wrong not to do so earlier. Probably everything would have been easier that way. As for my not being Jewish, isn’t that what the mikveh are for?’ he joked. ‘But seriously, I’m sure you’re right when you say that what can’t be can’t be, and that there’s no one wiser than providence in bringing people together or pulling them apart. Don’t worry, Yael, I won’t bother you again, and I’ll cross you off the list. The bad thing is, I don’t have any suspects left.’

  Yael smiled mischievously. ‘I’m sorry to disagree, but from everything you’ve just told me, I’ve come up with a sketch of the culprit. But it wouldn’t be right for me to tell you their name. It’s just a hunch with no evidence to back it up, and besides, I can’t help sympathising with their actions.’

  ‘How can you say that? Please, give me a clue, even a small one,’ Laurent begged her.

  ‘No, really, I can’t. Don’t insist. Maybe one day, but not now. I should go, Laurent. It saddens me we won’t see each other again, though who knows … Let me give you a hug.’

  And as she did she showed a feeling she’d never shown before.

  For the first time since he’d met her, Laurent felt Yael’s warmth. Meanwhile, the waitress looked on, entertained and oblivious to their sad story.

  REVIEWING SUSPECTS IN

  LA COCADRILLE

  A week had gone by since his short trip to Paris, and Laurent hadn’t found time to go over his notes, so his investigation had reached a standstill. He went down to the living room to get to work, but he realised with a shiver that an unpleasant cold had settled into the house. It was December, and he’d forgotten to order fuel for the boiler.

  Annoyed, he phoned the fuel suppliers in La Châtre. They were conscientious, obliging people, but they said they were overwhelmed with orders, since no one wanted to be without heat over the approaching holidays. They couldn’t tell him with any certainty until the following day when the tanker truck would arrive.

  Laurent wasn’t the sort to be daunted by such a trifle, and decided that La Cocadrille could become his temporary study. He’d talk to Le Juanch about using the little spot in the back of the tavern, a pleasant corner consisting of a room that had been extended with a glass wall and a large stone hearth on the inner wall that they kept permanently lit. Of course, he’d have lunch, tea and dinner right there.

  On the way to the tavern he passed by the city hall. The mayor was trying to post some pages on the outside bulletin board. Laurent stopped for one of those brief, inconsequential conversations that are the soul of small towns.

  ‘Morning, Monsieur de Rodergues,’ said the mayor. ‘Looks like you’re heading to Le Juanch’s. How I envy you … My wife’s worried about my cholesterol, and has forbidden me to set foot inside if she’s not with me.’

  ‘Good morning, Monsieur Jancelle. Don’t tell me you’re announcing some new tax, or worse, some new septic tank regulations. I’ll have you know I’ve had it up to here with that issue.’

  ‘I assure you, I don’t know anyone, myself included, who isn’t sick of it,’ laughed the mayor in reply. ‘But no, what I’m posting are the results of the latest land auction. Lands that were seized by the bank or belonged to farmers who died without a will or next of kin. I expect Tonton Boussard will be especially happy when he sees them.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ asked Laurent, intrigued.

  ‘He successfully bid on the Chanceau farm, with 126 hectares, and in my opinion, he got it for a song.’

  ‘What does he want it for? He already has more land than he needs, and he lives alone. He’s going to work himself to death.’

  ‘Farmers are like that, Monsieur de Rodergues. They complain all day, but they’re always buying up land. As I understand it, Tonton’s had his eye on the plot for years, but he thought he might not get it, because Monsieur Shennan also wanted to bid. Apparently his lawyer, Jablard, on the express orders of Madame Shennan, stopped bidding, against the instructions he gave before he died. That’s understandable, though. Madame’s in charge now.’

  Laurent hesitated a few seconds before asking his question. ‘Do you know what Shennan planned to do with that land, Monsieur Jancelle?’

  ‘No, I can only guess that perhaps he wanted it to grow barley and other grains for the beer he was making with Le Juanch. Or maybe he just wanted them to annoy Tonton. The truth is, I have no idea, but as you know he was constantly dreaming up projects.’ He turned to leave. ‘Well, I’ve got work to do, I’m going back inside. Take care, Monsieur.’

  La Cocadrille was half full that morning. The cold made people not want to go outside, and it still wasn’t lunchtime. Laurent explained his problem to Le Juanch, who, with his usual good humour, led him to the back room. But first he gave him some advice: ‘Don’t order beer this morning, Laurent. Have a light wine instead, a Chablis, for example. Today’s menu will be heavy, for men with hair on their chest. And on no account should you miss it.’

  From his table Laurent smiled, and once he was alone, he began to spread out his papers. He reread everything twice, jotting down notes that he immediately crossed out. Frustrated, he put his head in his hands to see if it helped him concentrate, but he still couldn’t come to any conclusions.

  He decided to write the list out again, adding details and questions he hadn’t foreseen the first time, which he gleaned from the information he’d gathered. Next he’d examine each suspect and cross them out if he couldn’t find any possible sign of guilt in them. But first he needed to order a very strong coffee, so that he wouldn’t fall into a coma after the gargantuan feast he knew Le Juanch was preparing for lunch.

  After a long while working intensely, adding his latest conjectures and inferences, Laurent arrived at the following conclusions about his suspects.

  Jean-Pierre Gimbault: he’d strike him off the list. Not only had he come across as convincing during their meeting, Laurent also couldn’t see what he had to gain from Shennan’s death. On the contrary, Gimbault would be adversely affected, since he’d indicated that they’d discussed potential future plans.

  True, Gimbault had, on the other hand, known about the secret passage, as he’d been organising the festival since he was a young man. That position had given him access to the château from top to bottom on several occasions, not to mention the old floor plans of the premises provided by the Historical Archives of Châteauroux, which clearly indicated the passageway.

  Silently Le Juanch slipped in and left some warm punch and cheese petits fours on the table. L
aurent, absorbed in his work, didn’t noticed his fleeting presence, but when he saw the cup, he raised it an imaginary toast and sipped the punch, which, like everything that came out of that kitchen, was of the highest quality. He couldn’t help eating all the flaky pastries one after another. And with his strength restored, he set about tackling the next suspects on his list, the outlandish instrument-maker couple.

  Jeannette and Claude Monatti: Laurent couldn’t deny he couldn’t stand them and would have happily saddled them with any crime at all. They were a despicable pair of petty con artists who pretended to be artisans, but in fact brazenly lived off slander, defamation and a motley assortment of scams and swindles. Still, they weren’t guilty of anything more than that.

  He crossed them off the list too. They were vultures, but they didn’t have the instinct or the guts to commit a crime like Shennan’s murder. The murder – because even though Laurent still lacked any conclusive evidence, he was ever more convinced the death was premeditated and malicious – bore the traces of genius, whereas the Monattis were rank amateurs.

  Thierry Chanteau: Laurent closed his eyes in thought after reading his name. In the forester’s case too, he lacked any evidence against him, though he did have two possible motives for committing the murder: first, his brother’s suicide, which Thierry didn’t blame Shennan for, but which Shennan had been involved in as one of Thierry’s sister-in-law’s lovers. Second, the question of Shennan’s advances on Solange Vartel, Thierry’s current girlfriend. The arboriste-grimpeur had admitted to feeling irritated and jealous, and while Solange had defended his innocence, during his meeting with her, Laurent had caught her in a statement that he found unbelievable: she’d claimed that Thierry had never set foot in the château. But that seemed impossible, especially since during the restoration the area was in chaos, with people coming and going unmonitored.