by Betsy Draine
“Are you saying she was mentally unstable after her husband died?”
“That’s harsher wording than I would have used, but maybe it’s true. Even before Ben’s death, I thought she had an unhealthy focus on her brother. She was always saying how much she missed him and how they were soul mates. But after Ben died, it became an obsession, and I wasn’t surprised when she returned to live with him here.”
“This morning, when Guillaume asked her what she had done, she said she had done it all for him.”
“Committed murder?” asked Roz.
I hated to admit how it all fit together, but it was time to say it. “It appears Marianne knew all about Guillaume’s religious cult and his insistence that the shrine should remain secret, known only to devotees. When Malbert kept pushing in his attempts to inspect the cave, both of them must have been upset about it, but it was Marianne who decided to act. Guillaume probably never thought Marianne could go so far as to kill for him.”
Roz frowned. “But what about Dotty? Are you saying Marianne killed her too? Why?”
“By mistake. From the start, Toby thought whoever killed Dotty really meant to kill me. Marianne must have worried I’d find out Guillaume’s secret from all the questions I was asking. So she tried to end my poking around, and poor Dotty got in the way. On the train and in the dark we must have looked alike from behind. We were both wearing those berets Dotty bought us. And Dotty was sitting next to Toby, where I should have been.”
Lily broke into the conversation. “Marianne didn’t go with you to Rouffignac because she said she had shopping to do. But she must have found a way to get into the cave and join your group without being seen.”
Roz put her hand to her brow as if fending off a headache. “If only I had stayed with Dotty at the cave. I was trying to avoid her. Maybe if I hadn’t been so childish, she’d still be alive.”
Yes, and maybe I’d be dead.
I went back to our room, hoping to get in a nap before the inspector returned, and noticed that my international cell phone was still charging in the outlet next to the chair; I had forgotten about it. I unplugged it, turned it on, and checked for messages. There was one, left overnight, from Angie. When it came to calculating time differences, she took after Mom. I fit the phone against my ear.
“Hi, Nora!” Angie had never sounded cheerier. “Just wanted to say, don’t worry about me. I decided not to go for that motorbike thing. In fact, Hank and I are over, which you’ll be happy to hear. Gramps wanted that money used for education, so I’ve got this great idea. I’m going to London for a month of training in hair-styling, and my salon is cool with that. They’ll keep my job waiting for me. I’ll tell you all about it when you get back. Bye.”
I broke out laughing: maybe it was the result of pent-up nerves. Angie always lands on her feet, with a little help. I should have known that. And I had my brother, Eddie, to thank when I got home.
I stretched out on the bed not expecting to fall asleep, but when Toby nudged me awake, it was an hour later.
Around one o’clock Madame Martin reported that Inspector Daglan had called to say he was returning to distribute our passports. We were all assembled when he entered the grand salon, looking smug.
“I know your holiday has been disrupted, but the investigation is now over. If any of you have been inconvenienced, I apologize.” Eager to retrieve our passports, we kept silent. Daglan searched our faces. “Bon.” He wore a satisfied expression as Jackie went around the room handing back the passports. “I can tell you we already have a signed confession to the murders and that you all are free to return to the United States when you wish.”
“That’s good news,” said Toby. “But would you mind answering some questions for us?”
“Not at all.”
David was the first to get an oar in. “What about Guillaume’s part in all of this? Has he been charged?”
“No, Monsieur. His sister has made a full confession. As for Monsieur de Cazelle, he insists he knew nothing of her crimes, which she confirms. He seems profoundly affected by his sister’s actions, and unless there is additional evidence to implicate him, he will not be charged. Of course, we will question him further before releasing him.”
David looked dubious and pursed his lips.
“Inspector, did Marianne explain why she acted as she did?”
“Oui, Madame Barnes. She spoke quite freely once she began her confession. She seemed eager, in fact, to describe her actions.”
“And she admitted she killed Malbert for her brother’s sake?”
“For the sake of his delusions, I would say, this affair about a Cathar statue and her brother’s dedication to the ancient ways—all nonsense in my opinion. But it appears Guillaume’s entire life was devoted to the cult and to his shrine, which he insisted be kept secret. Well, it’s a secret no longer. But yes, to protect him she killed Malbert. And she went about it very cleverly.”
“How did she manage to get into Lascaux?” asked Toby.
“According to what she has told us, she acquired the key and the security code information from her brother without his knowledge. And how did Guillaume come into their possession? From Monsieur Gounot, the guardian of the cave.”
That seemed to put Marc in the clear. I was glad to hear it.
“You see, every year at the time of the Félibrée, Guillaume presides over a Cathar ceremony for his band of followers at some location that has special meaning for them. This year it was held here. Last year, it was held in Lascaux, thanks to Monsieur Gounot, who is a member of the cult. But Gounot got sick at the last minute and gave the key and code to Guillaume so that the ceremony could take place. That, by the way, was a grave indiscretion, and Gounot will certainly lose his position over it. In any event, Guillaume held his ceremony in the Hall of Bulls, and then copied the key and wrote down the code, for future use. And Marianne knew where he kept them.”
“But how did she know Monsieur Malbert would be in the cave on that particular day?” I asked.
“Malbert visited the château the day before he was murdered, to press for access to the Cazelle cave. At that time, Marianne learned he was planning an inspection visit to Lascaux on the following afternoon. So the next morning she lets herself into Lascaux and hides in the pit, which the tour never visits. Now she stalks her victim, using the darkness of the cave for cover. She observes that Malbert is always the last in line, trips the lights, strikes, and gets away back to her hiding place in the ensuing confusion.”
David asked, “How did she escape from the cave without being seen? Didn’t the police search it carefully?”
“Her plan was simple. She waited until you all ran out. While everyone was back at the guide’s station, out of sight of the entrance to the cave, waiting for us to arrive, she quietly walked out and went home. Voilà!”
We sat transfixed, following Daglan’s description. Then Toby spoke up. “Inspector, what about the second murder? Am I right that she killed Dotty by mistake?”
“No, Monsieur, and that is what I find most astonishing about this case. Naturally, once Marianne had confessed to two murders, I concluded, as you have done, that her motives in both were identical: to protect her brother. But it appears I was wrong.”
I could hardly believe my ears. What other motive could there be?
Daglan wagged his finger. “It was no mistake that Marianne killed Madame Dexter in Rouffignac; that was her intention.”
“That can’t possibly be true!” Roz protested. “Why would she do that to Dotty? Why would she do that to me?”
“Not to you, Madame Belnord. For you.”
“What?”
“Marianne had already committed one murder to protect her brother. She knew she could not be punished more severely for a second murder to protect her friend; the penalty was the same. I understand, Madame, that there are some questions about your brother’s will and that Madame Dexter was an obstacle to your interests. Marianne decided to remove that ob
stacle.”
“Oh, no!”
“I’m afraid so. That she carried out her plan successfully in Lascaux gave her the confidence to try a second attack in Rouffignac. I wonder, Madame Belnord, if Marianne said anything to you that hinted she was planning to harm your sister-in-law.”
“No! I can hardly believe it. We talked about Dotty, and I did mention the problems over my brother’s will. But that couldn’t have given Marianne the idea I wanted Dotty dead.”
“Did she say anything at all to you about Madame Dexter?”
Roz’s face clouded. “Well, yes. She was angry that Dotty was ignoring my brother’s wishes, and she did say something that took me aback. She said that Dotty lacked respect for our family, that she lacked respect for a sister’s love. The awful thing was that when she said it, it rang true. I hated to think it, but that’s how I felt. Yes, I said, Dotty did lack respect for my feelings, and she did lack respect for my brother’s intentions. But I never meant any harm to come to her. I never imagined that Marianne would …” Roz began to cry. Lily comforted her, leading her to a sofa with an arm protectively around her shoulder.
That Marianne had committed both murders for the sake of people dear to her was beginning to make sense. I thought of that moment in Macbeth when Shakespeare’s protagonist realizes that once he’s stepped into a river of blood, he might just as well go forward as go back; in fact, there is no going back to the shore of innocence.
I am in blood
Stepp’d in so far that, should I wade no more,
Returning were as tedious as go o’er.
The logic was pernicious.
“How did she get away with it?” asked Toby.
“Her plan in Rouffignac was ingenious, but it depended on exact timing. She simply bought a ticket for the last tour before lunch. She was familiar with the trains’ stopping points. At the right moment, she got off in the dark without being noticed and found a comfortable hiding place in one of those bear’s dens along the tracks. She chose her spot well. It was just a few meters away from the section of track where the train always stops on its return from the first chamber. While waiting for you, she changed into her disguise, the workman’s smock and cap, which she had carried in her bag. When your group came through on the first train of the afternoon, she was able to climb aboard while your train was parked at the customary position, close to her hiding place. No one saw her get on, and no one noticed her when your group entered the second gallery. When the train was ready to begin its return journey, she got on in the seat behind you, in disguise. She knew exactly when to use the garrote—after your train made its next stop, as it always did, at the junction on its return trip.
“As the train pulled out again, she got off, removed her disguise, stuffed it in her bag, and waited at her hiding place until the next train came through and stopped at the same place. The final step was obvious. She mounted the second train and then got off, no longer in disguise, with the other passengers. You were expecting to meet her at the entrance after your tour, so there was no reason for you to be surprised at finding her there. In the confusion no one noticed she had dismounted from the second train instead of entering the hall from outside.”
I thought hard about Daglan’s summary. The pieces fit.
“But why did she try to poison the rest of us?” Patrick demanded.
“The mushrooms? Well, Monsieur, by then things were out of her control. After Rouffignac, as far as Marianne was concerned, both her friend’s problem and her brother’s had been solved. That is, until the three of you (he pointed at David, Toby, and me) discovered the shrine, and then she felt compelled to go one step further.”
“But all of us? Did she think she could get away with it?” asked Patrick.
“Not all of you. Her friend Madame Belnord was in her room. Yes, it was reckless, but an accident in the cooking class would draw the least suspicion, she reasoned, and so she tried to feed you those mushrooms this morning. Afterward she could try to claim she had made an unfortunate mistake. The rest you know.”
That Marianne could be so cold-blooded was appalling.
“Any other questions?” asked Daglan.
“There’s still something that puzzles me about the first murder,” said Toby. “That dead bird Marianne left next to the corpse, why?”
“Ah, the dead dove. I think she calculated that the bird would throw us off her trail and cast suspicion elsewhere. For a while, that’s exactly what happened. We assumed the murderer was someone who had knowledge of the Lascaux symbolism, a prehistorian most likely. We wasted our time going over Malbert’s old cases, looking for a colleague or a researcher who might bear him a grudge. That’s how Marc Gounot became a suspect.”
“And now you’re sure he wasn’t involved?” I asked.
“Yes, and he has been released. We have a confession. As far as I am concerned, the case is closed.”
Was it? I thought of all the people whose lives had been altered by what Marianne had done. The case would never be closed for them. Roz would grieve for the sister-in-law whom she had just begun to understand and for her dearest friend, whom she had not understood at all. Guillaume’s shrine would be the focus of a media circus, and his sister would spend the rest of her life in prison. Gounot would lose his position as the guardian at Lascaux. And who knows who would grieve for Malbert?
I felt very tired. The others seemed subdued as well, as we said goodbye to Inspector Daglan and his assistant. We lingered on in the salon, talking through the logistics of our departure. David offered to help Roz make phone calls back to the United States. We realized she would need to stay on for at least a few more days, to arrange for transport of Dotty’s body to Baltimore. Patrick, who of all of us had been least touched by the whole affair, proved a good friend in this regard. Insisting he had no immediate need to return home, he offered to stay with Roz and help her through the arrangements. He would book hotel rooms for them in Sarlat. We were thinking of doing the same thing ourselves.
We were just settling the details when we heard a knock at the front door. We tensed, expecting the awkward return of Guillaume. But when the door swung open, it was Marc Gounot who walked in. “I was waiting for that policeman to leave. I’ve seen quite enough of him. I’ve come to say how sorry I am about Dotty,” he said apologetically. “Roz, I especially want to offer you my sympathy.” He walked across the room and took Roz’s hand. Lily stood and left them talking quietly for a few minutes, Roz occasionally patting her cheeks to dry tears.
After a while he rose to go, but Toby was waiting for him near the door. “Would you mind if we talked to you before you leave?” Marc nodded and followed us out the front door. Across the driveway, under a linden tree, there were a few metal tables set out for the guests, and he and I sat down at one while Toby dragged over a third chair. By now Marc knew Marianne had been arrested, but he hadn’t heard the details of her confession, and he was eager to know what Inspector Daglan had told us. When we finished our summary of events, he scratched his head in disbelief. Then it was our turn to ask him questions. First, about Rouffignac.
Yes, he knew in advance about our group’s visit to Rouffignac, because Dotty had mentioned it to him at Domme. He told Dotty he was scheduled to work at Rouffignac that day and that it would be fun to keep it a surprise for the rest of us in case he ended up as the driver of our train. As it turned out, he enjoyed seeing our reaction when he waved to us.
Fernando? Yes, they did business from time to time. Fernando would bring his finds to the mineral shop for sale: rocks, artifacts if he was lucky, once in a while an arrowhead or spear point. He had good eyes for the ground and was something of a magpie. He also did odd jobs for the owner of the Château of Castelnaud. That day we saw them together, Fernando was finishing some masonry work at Castelnaud and had dropped in to try to sell Marc an old flintstone.
“So that’s how Inspector Daglan came up with the idea Fernando and I were involved in a conspiracy, is it? It was be
cause you told him you had seen us talking together.”
I admitted that we had.
“Well, perhaps I shouldn’t blame you. I know that Fernando has a police record and that he’s not the most agreeable sort, but I seem to get on with him pretty well.”
I was glad Marc wasn’t resentful that I had shared my suspicions with the inspector. And I was glad that Fernando had played no role in the murders. In fact, I felt somewhat guilty about him. My grandfather had been a Portuguese laborer too. How might his life had been different had he not come to America? I regretted my hostility toward Fernando. I might have been more generous.
There was one other matter I wanted to clear up before we parted. I needed to ask Marc how much he knew about his father’s relationship with the German archaeologist who had visited Cazelle during the war. I told him what I had learned about his father and Anders Voellmer from reading Jenny Marie’s notebook.
“Anders Voellmer? Of course, I know about him. How could I not know? It was the work my father did with Voellmer that got him into trouble. It’s true they worked together, on one research project, mind you, but my father wasn’t a Nazi. In fact, he was completely naive about politics. His only interest was his research, and Voellmer was interested in the same subject. It’s unfortunate Voellmer also was a member of the Nazi Party.”
Marc’s claim that his father had been an innocent when it came to politics struck me as evasive. According to Daglan, Henri Gounot had purged his Jewish colleagues from their positions to placate the Vichy authorities. For that he was personally responsible. I felt I couldn’t remain silent on this point and confronted Marc about it.
