Becwethan (The Leopold Dix Thrillers Book 1)

by mark mctighe

  “She wants the best for you Rufus. But these are your decisions now, the best I can do for you is to support the decisions you make. Look there’s no rush, I’m driving back for a 1st November start; you’ve got a month and a half to decide.” The serious moment passed and the challenge of descending to Rothorn occupied both our minds.

  We spent the next two weeks at home. There were the occasional visits to the hospital for me and physio for Rufus. I arranged with Garage Solioz, in Grimentz, to recover the car from Bendola and carry out the rewiring and general repairs. Pascal’s team had found my laptop; it was duly returned; and much to my delight Simmy had virtually moved in with us, although Rufus had annoyingly started to call her ‘mum’.

  I’d promised Pascal that I would write a full statement of the events for his records. So after two weeks of scribbling, I typed up the report and climbed the mountain to send him a copy.

  The ‘received messages’ went almost immediately, “Jesus Jack what are you sending me now” I muttered under my breath. The computer whirred as a massive document was slowly received. ‘Leo, bedtime reading, thought you’d want to be up to speed on the Masserelli case. Mike’s still gathering information for you, I’ve asked him to forward anything as and when, Jack’. I scanned through the documents and made some notes; ‘think they’ve missed that line’ I thought. I could feel a buzz, an excitement; I’d been away a long time, too long perhaps, but now I was ready to get back in the saddle; I’d forgotten just how much I loved my job. The phone rang.

  “Just got the statement Leo, thanks, thought I’d catch you whilst you were still connected to civilisation.”

  “No worries” it was contagious, but at least I’d dropped the Australian accent.

  “We’ve got a full complement of heads; they both travelled some distance in the fucking river.”

  “Must have been the heavy rainstorm, has Jurgen ID’d them?” I said.

  “Just one to go, but we’re almost certain we know who he is, should be confirmed this afternoon.”

  “Who were they?” Pascal wasn’t offering the information, so I pushed.

  “Bernard, the father, Stephan and we suspect Marc....All Bonvins. Stephan was ‘as thick as thieves’ with Pierre, it was his arm you shattered at the start of this campaign. They were virtually neighbours of yours; Les Luisannes way. It looks like your uncle had helped them to sell land for development, numerous times. I don’t think we’ll ever understand the hold he must have had on them, they were virtually reclusive; there’s no one left to ask. I tried asking Mattieau, but he said he only knew them by sight, that they kept to themselves.”

  “How did things work out with Mattieau?” He was talking now, so I prompted him gently.

  “He’s not considered a flight risk, so for the time being he’s at home. We’ll bring a case.”

  “I’m not familiar with Swiss law, will he do time?” I enquired.

  “Yes, the case against him is good; 18 months to 2 years, if his defence do their work properly, otherwise longer.”

  “And Marc?”

  “We found the car; he drove back up the valley, nicked a fucking quad bike, which we found dumped in Verbier.”

  “The Grand Raid in reverse” I said.

  “Yes, but nothing since, no leads, zippo. He’ll have been siphoning money off for years, private bank account; sunning himself in bloody Buenos Aires for all I know. But look, thanks for the statement, I can largely close the investigation now.”

  “No worries Pascal, you must come up for a drink, supper, I’m here until the end of October.”

  “It’s a date”, he pressed end.

  There was already an email from Mike with an attachment; ‘Leo just touching base, Jack’s asked me to copy you in on all the new Masserelli stuff, see attached. Mike’. I opened the attachment; ‘bloody phone records, your problem for the time being’ I thought.

  Two weeks had transformed my face. The swelling had subsided; the bruising turned yellow; but I was left with a blood red eye and waiting for the cheek to heal properly. Rufus was close to resembling ‘Speedy Gonzales’, the crutches gone, and the physio working its magic.

  Catherine was waiting for me when I returned, I kissed her cheeks.

  “They’re releasing Gustav today” she said, “isn’t it great news”.

  “I could have done with another couple of weeks to recover my looks” I replied, “I tried to visit him twice last week, he could barely look at me without hysterics. No, it’s great news, we’ll give him a day or so to settle in and visit, Dom’ll need a break by then; tea?” I enquired.

  “It’s already on, I couldn’t find Rufus either, so I helped myself”.

  We sat outside sipping our tea, the sun still mustering enough warmth to justify it.

  “You don’t know what a pleasure it is to drink tea without a straw” I smiled.

  “You were pretty bashed up when I last saw you; judging by the improvements I’d say Simone’s been looking after you very well;” she gave me a knowing look. “Can I bring dad up? I think he’d enjoy seeing what you’ve done to the place. The distraction would be good and he wants to talk to you; Remy would probably want to come as well.”

  “Of course, I’ve a few questions of my own” I said.

  “I’ll bring some sandwiches, perhaps a rhubarb crumble; tomorrow ok?”

  “That’s good but just remember” I paused and Catherine looked at me seriously, “Rufus has a massive appetite”.

  “I’ll use my biggest dish” she flashed a smile and was gone.

  Mattieau, Remy and Catherine duly arrived at midday; the sun shrouded in cloud so Catherine and Rufus set up the table inside as I gave Mattieau and Remy a guided tour.

  “Your grandfather would have approved of the changes” Mattieau announced. “He was always happiest here. After my mother died he spent an increasing amount of time here, close on 8 months of the year. Emily, Marc and I would take it in turns to visit, then eventually Catherine took it on herself to look after him.” He glanced across at his daughter, clearly proud of her devotion. “We had the place in Grimentz, but this was his real home.”

  “How did your mother die?” I asked, it was something my mother had never discussed. I knew she was young when it had happened, but the causes had remained a mystery.

  “She died when I was eight, a heart defect; it just stopped working one night. When my father woke up she was lying on her back, white and cold. He went to get the doctor and the three of us just stood in the bedroom looking at her. I remember not knowing what to do; Emily stood motionless with tears rolling down her face; Marc and I just stood still waiting for the doctor. I think we both thought he could bring her back.” I could see that the memory was still fresh, his eyes indicating the depth of his feelings of loss. “I don’t think it’s something you ever get over, the feeling of being robbed.” He waved his hand to usher the memory away. “Now what’s Catherine brought us for lunch?”

  The lunch was agricultural; chunks of bread, cheese and dried meat, all washed down with a bottle of sweet white wine.

  “It’s very good of you to show us around” Remy began. “And Dominique has told me what a help you’ve been to her, I must thank you for that.”

  “Please no more thanks” I interrupted and held my hand up to signal how unnecessary it was.

  “You must let me finish Leopold” he said. “I feel bad about the way you were treated when you arrived; there was no proper welcome or recognition that you were Emily’s son.”

  “Let me speak Remy” Mattieau said. “He’s apologising on my behalf Leopold, and it’s something I need to do for myself.” He finished his glass of fendant and filled it up again. “I wanted to see what you’d done to the old place, but it’s not my real reason for being here. I think we owe you an explanation; not a justification, that’s impossible, just an explanation of what’s been going on.” I had a feeling that I was about to get more than the sum of all the police interviews. I kept quiet as Ma
ttieau gathered himself, drinking greedily from the full glass.

  “I think it stems from losing our mother so early. There was a lack of order and discipline in the house. My father had lost the will, the inclination to be a parent.” He thought about what he’d said and nodded his approval at his opening statement. Catherine backed away from the table and disappeared into the kitchen to remove the pie. “There was in effect a vacancy for the head of the family. Emily took it on; organising, planning, and giving us the love of a mother. She’d go to school, work hard and when she got home her work began all over again.” I nodded and listened, Mattieau seemed pleased with the attention of his audience. “It went on like this for years and then one day it all changed. Marc started to call the shots. He would tell Emily and me what to do, and there were nasty consequences if we disobeyed. It started to go to his head. He even worked himself into a position where he could control my father’s actions; he had a sort of psychological grip. Anyway Emily and I just kept our heads down; we were too scared to talk about him, even when he wasn’t there.”

  ‘Portrait of a psychopath’ I thought.

  “He was infatuated with Emily, he sought to control her, but as soon as she was old enough, she jumped into the arms of the first caring man, Lucian. She must have thought it was her ticket out of here.” He swallowed hard and prepared himself to say something unpalatable. “Marc’s hatred of Lucian was absolute, he possessed the one thing he wanted, Emily.” Now it was my turn to swallow hard, my body shivered once as I wiped my hand across the top of my head nervously. Remy sat back in his chair his head bowed, he’d heard all this before; Catherine remained out of sight, in the kitchen. I glanced up at Rufus, I could see that all thoughts of the rhubarb crumble had left his head; he craned forward listening with every pore.

  “The last night that Emily stayed at home there was a fight. Marc hit her, went mad, I could hear him shouting that she was too good for Lucian, that he was an outsider; that she should stay with him.” Dread started to fill my chest, my stomach felt tight, and my throat dry. “He attacked her in her own room and I buried my head under the pillow. My father heard the commotion and left the chalet; came up here for the night.” Mattieau finished his glass and pressed on; “she lived with Lucian after that; when they came back married Marc was so apoplectic with rage he went walkabout. Emily was pregnant, and I’m afraid there’s no other way of saying it but; he thought you were his son.” Silence filled the room, I could see it coming, but I refused to believe it.

  “No” Rufus came over and put his hand on my shoulder. I’d have shrugged it off if it was anyone else, but the support was fortifying. I inhaled deeply; “it’s not a possibility I want to consider at the moment Mattieau, besides I’m the spitting image of Lucian”.

  “It was the best thing about meeting you”, he said, “the chin and eyes are unmistakable. I’m not trying to say that Marc was your father, he just thought you were his son.”

  “Carry on”.

  “My father dissolved into himself, barely spoke, like the rest of us he was scared of Marc; Emily never forgave him, for letting Marc ruin her life. Marc spent a lot of time with Uncle Luke after that, they seemed to have a mutual respect for one another.” The emotion of the story was taking its toll on Mattieau; he paused to gather himself again. “Marc killed your father first and ritualised it later. He told me that he had removed every sense that had drawn pleasure from Emily; her smell, her taste, how her skin felt, her beauty, the mellifluence of her voice. He’d said it was Luke’s idea, probably just to create the feeling that he was not acting alone. I did as I was told and buried the body. Emily knew Lucian wasn’t coming back; it was too dangerous to stay.”

  “Do you think Luke was involved?” I asked.

  “No,” Mattieau thought hard, “his politics have always been far right, but I think Marc was just creating an illusion that the family supported his deeds.”

  “What happened to Klaus?”

  “Marc spent the next decades seeking out people he could subjugate. There were his own sons and grandson, Raphy, Pierre and Pascoe, god rest their souls. They all knew what he’d done to Lucian, he told them. We had to come up here and re-enact the ritual on some poor animal. At first the animals were dead, and then Marc forced us to carry it out on live ones, tethered over there, on the grave.” He pointed in the general direction of the discovery sites. “We had plain white cassocks with hoods, a brethren of sorts ‘cleansing our society’ we were told.” He shook his head in disbelief of his own story. “The three Bonvins joined, social misfits welcomed into Marc’s little club. Klaus, yes Klaus” he suddenly remembered my question. “He started to date Pascoe’s girlfriend, he’d thought it was all over, that she was single, but Pascoe had other ideas. They brought him up here; he’d had a vicious knock to the side of the head. I came along as usual only to discover that it was a man not an animal that he wanted me to butcher. Marc had it in his head that Klaus was a reincarnation of Lucian. He wanted us to do it properly this time.”

  “Properly?” I quizzed.

  “Whilst he was alive; I think his ulterior motive was to get human blood on all our hands, then he’d really have us. I ran off, left them to it; I went home. The consequences for Klaus were terrible, they told me he was in agony, would pass out, wake up and pass out. And Marc made me suffer for running.”

  “What did he do?” I asked.

  “The following week we reconvened, a grave had been dug, they forced me into a wooden crate and buried me alive, after their supper they dug me up.” He started to shake uncontrollably. Remy filled his glass and offered it to him. “I thought it was all over.”

  “Did anyone else know what had happened?”

  “No, no one else, they’re all dead now, and for the first time in my life I feel able to talk. I had to keep it away from my children; I didn’t want Marc exercising his control over them.”

  “What happened with Gustav?” I asked.

  “They never trusted me after I’d run, I was more on the outside than the inside. Interfering with Gustav was an attack on my family; I went to Marc and asked him to release him. He wouldn’t, he thought he was a bad influence on his son”, he pointed at me, “Yes, in his mind that’s what you were Leo; and that Gustav was not appropriate for Dominique. Once again he had become a self appointed executioner.”

  The story continued in great detail leaving Rufus and me emotionally exhausted. By mid afternoon Catherine started to pack up the food and readied herself to go.

  “Gustav’s asked me to give you this” Catherine passed me a small envelope as she kissed me goodbye. “And don’t worry Leo, you couldn’t be anything other than a Dix, just look at that chin, she ran her finger down the distinctive cleave.”

  “Thanks Catherine” we stood outside and waved our visitors goodbye.

  “It would have been a lot easier if he’d done that two months ago” Rufus stated the obvious.

  “He’s been terrified of his brother all his life. Jesus, what kind of crazy mixed up guy this Marc is, mum did well to get out when she did. She actually got to have a life.”

  We went back inside, the crumble was largely untouched, our appetites subdued by the nature of the conversation.

  “Think I can manage a wedge now” Rufus said, “it smells divine”.

  I pulled out my laptop and spent the next forty five minutes documenting the conversation. Not only would it support Mattieau, but it would help Pascal to fill in the empty spaces, the whys, and wherefores.

  “I’ll send that to Pascal this evening”, I said, Rufus had embarked on a second tranche of crumble so didn’t reply. “Oh and I wonder why Gustav’s taken to writing to me”. I pulled out the envelope and opened it. ‘Dear Leo, I would be delighted if you, Simone, oh and Rufus could come to our wedding on 5th October 10.00 at Grimentz church and 12.00 for Bendola reception. Ah one last favour I need a new best man, last one fell away! (Bastard), looking forward to the speech. Gustav.’

  I re
ad it again, out loud this time, for Rufus.

  “It’s funny how twisted things can become” Rufus began, “Pascoe was such a laugh, he’d become a mate of mine, probably Gustav’s closest friend in the valley, until you came along; turns out to be a murderer, I mean how can that be, we’re talking a major split in personality here dad.”

  “It’s the power and influence that Marc had; those with their own minds scarpered, like mum” I said.

  “I know it’s a delicate subject but when Mattieau said he attacked her he was saying rape wasn’t he? Not that Marc figured you to be some kind of immaculate conception?”

  “He didn’t actually say it, but he certainly implied attempted rape at best. Jesus, with brothers and fathers like that…” I let the thought go.

  “A wedding” Rufus started up again, “something to celebrate, I’ll need to borrow your jacket, they’ll have you in lederhosen for sure”.

  “Yeh yeh.”

  Simone returned just before 6.00. I barbequed steaks and fried up the rostii with cheese and egg; tomatoes and lettuce made up the ‘greens’. Whilst Simmy grabbed a shower Rufus and I drank from our bottles of beer and added the finishing touches to the meal.

  “What are all those packets of cheese doing in the kitchen?” Rufus enquired.

  “I’ve got a little experiment. Remember how Simmy said she could differentiate between cheese made from cattle grazing at say 1500m and those at 1750m.”

  “Yes” Rufus looked amused.

  “Well it’s the taste test tonight. I’ve got the same cheese type from four altitudes and I’m going to see if it’s true.”

  “Wicked, you’ve got to let me have a go as well.” Rufus was getting into the idea, “I may need a few more of these to really refine the taste buds” he lifted up his nearly empty bottle. “Fancy another one?”