Death in Saint-Chartier

by Ivo Fornesa

  If she was responsible for her husband’s death, Laurent couldn’t help admitting he admired how she’d carried it off. Yet his sincere, spontaneous admiration withered all at once when he remembered Tum and her disappearance. She didn’t deserve what had happened to her: she was a good girl and Shennan’s victim. Clearly Shennan was the only guilty party, since his age, status and charisma had entranced the naive girl and let him take advantage of her. He felt the sour taste of scorn in his mouth as he imagined Carlos seducing Tum.

  Laurent kept pondering. Tum had vanished, and her key ring had been found under a sofa in the guest room. Xiao Li’s explanation for her departure seemed convincing, as did Madame Mayumi’s words, though he hadn’t failed to notice her remark about Tum’s dubious loyalty: ‘at that age, you can’t expect anything from anyone,’ she had said.

  On the other hand, he found it strange that she’d left Tum alone in Paris; even Yammei had expressed surprise at not hearing from her. What’s more, she’d lied about putting her on a train, since that day there was a strike.

  Several images crowded Laurent’s mind: Madame Mayumi’s expression in the mirror after learning about Tum’s affair with her husband; her surprise when he’d come upon her efficiently sealing off the entrance to the passageway in the guest room, the same place where the key ring he’d made for Tum had been found; her flustered response when, on his last visit, he’d asked her if she’d heard from Tum.

  Where was Tum? Laurent’s alarms were all bright red. If the girl really was in Burma, it would be almost impossible to verify.

  On the other hand, if Madame Mayumi said she’d put her on a train that never came, that might mean Tum had never left the area, and maybe never even got in the car – which, as Xiao Li had pointed out, had occurred very early in the morning, when everyone was still asleep. A very convenient hour to not be seen.

  Laurent again remembered Shennan’s widow kneeling before the entrance to the secret passageway, and just then his mobile rang, startling him. He picked up and heard Cathy’s voice, full of excitement.

  ‘You’re not going to believe this, but we found footage from when we all met in the library. We’ve managed to translate part of the conversation, the part where Madame Mayumi was speaking. Of course, we couldn’t clearly hear the person speaking to her. Even though he was yelling, we can’t be totally sure about what we understood.’

  ‘Get to the point, Cathy. What did they say?’

  ‘You have no idea how many drinks and favours you’re going to owe my colleagues after all your requests. Now don’t get me all in a rush, I’ve got it all written down here, just a moment … Let’s see, first there’s a male voice speaking in Japanese to Madame Mayumi, but instead of calling her by her name he uses some form of family address. Right away Madame Shennan snaps back, saying something like, “I told you to stay put and not call me for any reason. I’m with people, I can’t talk. Stay hidden.” Then there’s a sort of grunt, like an annoyed response, and the other person tries to talk again, but she cuts off the call. By the way, the call came from inside the house, or from somewhere very close by, and was made with a prepaid French mobile – our tech guy is positive. What do you make of all that, Laurent?’

  ‘What do I make of it? She had an accomplice inside the house. My theory is, they broke Shennan’s neck to finish him off after he was knocked out, and while that’s not hard if the victim is unconscious, it does require a significant degree of strength. I’d thought she’d done it herself, but it seems possible she had an accomplice. Odd that the police found no trace of that person. Could you find out whether the lists the police made at the exit included anyone Japanese or Asian?’

  ‘I already have. I’ve checked and there were no Asians. We’d have to watch the footage from the entryway.’

  ‘Who knows if there’s some other secret passage, or another hiding place elsewhere in the château. The building is colossal, and it would be easy for something like that to escape notice. See what you can find and we’ll talk later. By the way, Cathy, thanks. I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to seeing you.’

  Alone again, Laurent continued thinking. The presence of a mysterious Japanese man, along with Madame Mayumi’s orders to remain hidden, showed that something mysterious and secret had been underway almost parallel to Shennan’s death.

  A shudder went down his spine, and he again recalled Madame Mayumi sealing off the passageway, and a horrifying image came to his mind of Tum trapped alive inside. Only that would explain Madame Mayumi’s ceremonious concentration while working, and even the Buddhist music with Shinto mantras seemed to make more sense. No doubt, it would be an appropriately medieval punishment in that château for a disloyal woman who’d taken part in her lord’s adultery. But that was impossible, Laurent thought. Madame Mayumi loved Tum. She’d saved her from child prostitution and given her a new life of luxury and affection.

  Then he realised, therein lay the answer: all Mayumi’s generosity had been repaid with the basest betrayal of her employer, her saviour …

  Laurent threw his cigar stub on the ground and stamped it furiously out. He’d just decided he wanted to contact Madame Mayumi: he’d lay out all these ideas and see her reaction. It was all too monstrous for him not to give her the chance to explain herself. He went home, intending to call Xiao Li, who still worked for her as a secretary.

  POINT BLANK

  Laurent called Xiao Li and, without explaining his true motives, told her he needed to meet with her boss to ask a personal favour, something regarding the people leasing the château. The secretary agreed to call him the next day.

  As luck would have it, Madame Mayumi had a meeting in Paris coming up, and she graciously agreed to meet Laurent in the bar of the Le Bristol hotel, on the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré.

  The time that Laurent had to wait became a veritable torture. As the days went by, new questions and doubts arose, often contradicting one another, and as for the mysterious Japanese man, Cathy’s team hadn’t found any additional evidence. On the police’s list there were no Asians aside from the château service staff, which didn’t surprise Laurent: everything seemed to have been planned with such Machiavellian precision, and executed so meticulously, that it was absurd to think that whoever thought up the crime hadn’t also figured out how to covertly move an accomplice in and out of the château.

  On the other hand, it wasn’t at all hard to spirit someone away in that building: all of Shennan’s cars were large all-terrain vehicles with tinted windows, and all the gates were automatic, allowing direct access to the garage under the terrace. Besides, the hallway from the garage split in two: one part led to the kitchen, and the other led to the second entrance tower, the same one that had no cameras during the party.

  Laurent hoped he was wrong, and that Madame Mayumi had convincing answers to all his questions. In any case, he didn’t have a clear idea of what he should do if his theories turned out to be right. If she confessed to her husband’s murder, he’d have to report her to the police, a thoroughly unappealing option, because Shennan had gone to great lengths to earn his wife’s thirst for revenge, and because he couldn’t deprive those three girls of their only living parent. Laurent’s doubts only grew when he thought of Tum: if she was dead and he’d helped cover it up, he’d feel to a certain extent like an accomplice, though he still couldn’t prove a crime had been committed.

  On the day they’d arranged to meet, he arrived earlier than planned and spent a few minutes pacing back and forth in front of the hotel. The moment he feared was approaching, but he had no choice. He went inside.

  Madame Mayumi sat waiting for him in the bar. It was completely empty, but she had chosen a table in the back, as if she’d guessed the course the conversation would take. When she saw him she held out her hand, and although Laurent promised himself he wouldn’t kiss it, he brought it up to his lips. As always, her skin had an intoxicating scent.

  She studied him.

  ‘Laurent
, I know you better than you imagine, and I’m sure what you want to talk to me about has nothing to do with the Russians leasing the château. Am I wrong?’ She smiled, seeing Laurent blush. ‘It’s one of the things I like about you. Unlike my late husband, you’re transparent and predictable. Have no fear, and tell me the real reason we’re here.’

  Laurent had to make a great effort not to lie to her about why he’d wanted to meet with her. There, sitting across from her, he felt ridiculous. All his theories seemed like children’s games, and he didn’t want to offend her by expounding them.

  That’s when he understood that Madame Mayumi shared her late husband’s astonishing talent for seduction, though in a more sophisticated, less obvious way. When he realised this, he composed himself, ordered a vermouth, and began to speak.

  ‘As you no doubt recall, Madame, I told you a while back I felt intrigued by your husband’s untimely death, and in spite of my limitations and total lack of experience, I set about investigating the circumstances of the tragedy.’

  ‘Of course I remember, and you shouldn’t be modest; you did an impressive job,’ she said encouragingly. ‘Unless I’m mistaken, you told me you ultimately concluded that the police version was right, and even publicly admitted defeat by raising a glass to Sergeant Lafonnier.’

  ‘Well, the fact is that I continued to investigate, and a stroke of luck led me to discover a series of facts that have forced me to reconsider the case. Therefore, and out of the respect I have for you, I wanted to lay them out to you.’

  Madame Mayumi did not look the slightest bit surprised. ‘I appreciate that very much, but you don’t have to do me such courtesies. If you think you have something that might concern the police, don’t hesitate to go to them. I more than anyone have an interest in clearing up my husband’s death.’

  ‘Thank you, Madame, but since we’re here, if you don’t mind I’d rather present it all to you, with your permission. I’ve taken the liberty of bringing my computer so I can play some video footage and audio recordings for you.’

  Laurent opened up his laptop, and turned it on. Then he recounted in detail everything he had uncovered since the last time they’d met. Shennan’s widow listened without interruption, only moving a hand once in a while to sip tea or read one of the messages that silently appeared on her mobile. Only when Laurent showed her the footage of her husband passionately kissing Tum did she show any signs of discomfort, though not as much as might be expected.

  Laurent continued presenting his case, played back the call from the Japanese man, and finally asked her about Tum’s whereabouts, though he didn’t go so far as to suggest he feared she was no longer alive.

  Then Madame Mayumi gave him an impressed look, and with a slight smile, began to speak.

  ‘Laurent, you’ve done a magnificent job, and I’m deeply grateful that you’re willing to keep all this information secret to protect me and my daughters, but that won’t be necessary. I think I owe it to you to tell you a different story. It might be a good idea for you to order another vermouth.’

  MADAME’S STORY

  Laurent was dumbfounded by Madame Mayumi’s self-control. Not only had she not moved a muscle when presented with the mountain of evidence that to a greater or lesser extent incriminated her in her husband’s death, but she’d even suggested he order a drink before hearing a story that could apparently refute his theory.

  He hadn’t expected this reaction, and he didn’t know how to respond. He’d imagined inconsolable tears and an out-and-out confession, a speech he’d receive with gentlemanly magnanimity, so that they could find a decorous solution together – as long as Tum was still alive. But no, here sat this ethereal woman delicately sipping a cup of white tea. Her carefully drawn eyebrows wouldn’t budge a centimetre even if she came upon a triceratops with fuchsia lipstick. In any case, he decided her suggestion about the vermouth was wise, so with masculine self-assurance he called the waiter over and, once he’d been served, raised his glass to her.

  ‘Madame, I don’t know if you’ll be able to convince me, but I raise my glass to you, your sangfroid, your courage, and –’ he looked her clothes up and down – ‘and your couturier, who never fails to surprise me.’

  ‘Thank you, Laurent, and now I’m going to ask you to please listen to me, even though you’ll no doubt find what I’m going to tell you hard to believe, just as any jury would find the story you told me hard to believe.

  ‘As I suppose you realise, the only thing that could … not incriminate me, but certainly surprise anyone, is the fact that after witnessing that scene I didn’t kill my husband right then and there. You’ll admit, though, that no matter how intelligent or crafty you think I am, the time between Carlos and Tum’s encounter and the subsequent accident is so short that I would have had a hard time hatching a plan as diabolically perfect as the one you’ve described. You’d make a great novelist, Laurent, and in fact this could perhaps be the plot for that book you’ve never gotten around to writing.

  ‘So I’m going to reveal something that you may or may not believe, but which is no less possible than your version. In the first place, nearly everything you’ve said about my lack of enthusiasm or interest in the château is entirely correct. So is your observation that it was hard not to be exasperated by my husband’s often childish whims, since his compulsion to rub up like a dog in heat against the leg of any woman who crossed his path was not only disgraceful but also an affront to my good taste. But even so, those weaknesses were mere trifles compared to how he progressively lost interest in his business, until he eventually let it go adrift. Fortunately, Xiao Li kept me informed about everything she heard, and she followed my instructions, tempering or averting Carlos’s foolish decisions. The château totally absorbed him, and seemed to monopolise his attention to such an extent that he thought of nothing else but its renovation.

  ‘To top it off, the sedate character of the locals had such an effect on him that he forgot that the deals he made required quick decisions and the reflexes and reactions of a tiger. But in the arms of the French countryside, Carlos let himself go, and our financial world began to collapse. As you can understand, I was not happy; I told him as much on several occasions, but he preferred to devote himself to hitting on women and making banal, trivial conversation with the locals.

  ‘Sadly, he learnt he was ill and his days were numbered. That brought him back to reality. I lashed out at him, and didn’t pull any punches. I told him his death would only bring us misery, and when he realised this, he was distraught. I once told you that hiding under a layer of narcissistic, childish egotism was a good person. He was ashamed and he asked for my help to save us from being ruined. That’s when he once again became the Carlos Shennan I fell in love with, a man who took bold decisions and could find the most convoluted solutions to any problem – a man who didn’t fear anything and whose willingness to put family above all else made him capable of the greatest sacrifices and the most audacious actions. Am I boring you with this show of conjugal admiration?’

  Laurent was absorbed. ‘No, go on, please.’

  ‘Carlos found a way to take out a comprehensive insurance policy with a scandalously high premium. Of course, he was sick, and it must not have been easy, but medicine is a profession that has lost the heroic glamour it once had, and many doctors have buried their Hippocratic oath in the dung-heap of youthful ideals.

  ‘Carlos was going to die, that much was certain. And he had no illusions: the policy he took out was so generous and so recent that there was no way the insurance company wouldn’t send their experts to review the case in depth. He couldn’t take that risk. That’s when he came up with his plan and decided to share it with me when he realised he needed more than one accomplice and various scenarios to create a maze of heavy veils that would confuse anyone who dared enter.

  ‘My husband adored the château and knew its most secret corners, so for his plan he had one condition: if he had to die, he’d die inside. In his half-m
adness he also thought the château would help him in his plan: he said it was only fair, since without his restoration the building wouldn’t have survived. So he began to discreetly seek advice to get everything ready, and as he was an intelligent man, he soon understood the path he had to take.

  ‘He prepared everything to carry out his plan on the day of the celebration, and when he hired the security agency he knew all too well, since he’d always worked in the field of defence, that the agency would place cameras and microphones inside.

  ‘That’s why he decided we needed to act out a series of scenes specially intended to be filmed by those cameras, which would corroborate our plan if anyone ever methodically watched them all in search of a culprit. If you look closely at the footage, Laurent, you’ll see that at some points we walk through one location, then later through another, then back to the first, and so on, always trying not to look at the cameras. All that was to pretend we didn’t know they existed, and to confuse any spectators with our movements inside and outside the château.

  ‘With the same care, Carlos also planned to have a line-up of people who could become hypothetical suspects. Some of these he sought out intentionally, but others were brought by chance, and my husband was a virtuoso at the art of using them. That’s why, for example, he made a point of hiring Thierry, because he knew perfectly well he was the brother of the baker who killed himself in Lignières. He found a way to make the landscape designer believe she’d seduced my husband, not realising she was just a pawn in his game. The business with Pia was a pity, but he had no choice but to attract her, use her and dispose of her to give her grounds for spite. As for the Muslim construction worker, he was an unexpected windfall, and it was too bad he later disappeared. The Monattis were guided without realising it: they don’t remember that someone in a bar in Montgivray planted in their minds the idea of robbing an instrument, and they’ll never know that that someone was sent by my husband. The same goes for many others: that dreadful farmer filing his complaints, the festival organiser … they all played their part as planned. Except for one person: your Israeli neighbour, who we didn’t at all expect. In the end that theatrical slap in the face that you and the Monattis witnessed became another ace in our hand.