by Vargas, Fred
Guerrec looked at the gendarme, felt like punching him on the jaw, but restrained himself. He was at the end of his tether. He’d spent the night at young Gaël’s bedside with the parents, waiting for a word, a sign, but none had come.
‘Why don’t you try to go in?’ Guerrec said to the priest. ‘Talk to him. I’ll send away the gendarmes, but I’ll stay nearby myself.’
The priest went off through the rain, and Guerrec stationed himself on his own under a tree.
Louis, who hadn’t slept a wink either, was watching the scene from the calvaire, sitting by the miraculous fountain, and trailing his hand in the water. Ever since he had recognised the Piss-master in the bar of the cafe – he’d known that cafe would bring him good luck – his thoughts had been full of darkness and pain. He had only been following the affair of the dog through a mist of confusion and distress. Now the wound was still open, but the filth had been cleaned away. He had washed the hand that had touched the bastard, he’d called his father in Lörrach, he’d called Marthe in Paris. Now it was time to do some local bomb disposal. The boy was still hanging on between life and death in Quimper hospital, and despite his being under police guard, Louis knew that unless they moved fast, a skilful hand could well disconnect his life-support system, it had happened before, as Guerrec might say, and as recently as ten years ago in Quimper. His thoughts returned to the husband falling from the balcony, to Diego’s sudden change of heart, his disappearance, Lina Sevran’s face when she had been found as a runaway, her two shots fired at the dog, the engineer’s protective stance.
Soaked to the skin as he was, it couldn’t make any difference if he plunged his knee directly into the water.
Louis had placed Bufo on the fountain’s edge.
‘Eat up, Bufo, eat up, that’s all I ask you.’
Louis was reordering his thoughts, chapter after chapter, one eye on the toad.
‘Listen to me while you eat, Bufo, it might interest you. Chapter one, Lina pushes her husband off the balcony. Chapter two, Diego realises that Lina was the killer, but keeps his mouth shut, so as not to upset Marie, whom he loves. Are you following? And how does Diego work that out? Between the police interviews in Paris and his return to Brittany, before he’s brought back again for the reconstruction, he sees or notices something, but where and how? There’s only one interesting thing between Paris and Quimper and it’s the train, because they travelled here by train. So, chapter three, Diego sees something in the train, don’t ask me what, and chapter four, Diego keeps his mouth shut for another seven years, same reason, same effect. Chapter five, Lina gets rid of Diego.’
Louis had put his leg to soak in the fountain which was freezing cold. You might perhaps have thought that miraculous waters would be warm, well, no, they weren’t. Bufo had managed to travel a metre in clumsy and prudent little hops.
‘Bufo, stop being so dumb, you’re annoying me.
‘Six, Marie is due to move in with the Sevrans. She is clearing out her little house, and Diego’s possessions from his den, which she’s not touched for five years. She finds some piece of paper, something, where Diego noted what he knew, because it’s always hard to keep a secret like that. Seven, Lina Sevran, who is afraid, and is watching the preparations for the move like a hawk, immediately murders poor old Marie. Then the dog, the beach, the toe, the shit, we know the rest.’
Louis pulled his leg out of the cold water; four minutes of miraculous bathing ought to be enough.
‘Eight, the cops turn up. Lina provides a red herring in the form of an anonymous note, a banal but efficient ploy. She points the finger at the couple in the cabin, and pushes the boy Gaël over the cliff, then they are sure to accuse Jean, who will be incapable of defending himself. Nine, the husband suspects all this and protects her. Ten, she is crazy and dangerous, and is going to pull out Gaël’s life support.’
Louis retrieved Bufo and stood up with an effort. The cold water had been like a hammer blow to his knee. He took a few steps, stretching his leg gently to get the muscles moving again. Another ten minutes in the miracle-working fountain and you’d be a goner.
But there was a catch. How had she managed to type the note on that Virotyp machine? Guerrec had made inquiries, which all corroborated each other: Lina had not left the bar before Louis himself went out with the cops, with that little screw of paper in his pocket. How had she done it? She couldn’t have worked the machine by remote control.
Louis looked down towards the church. The priest had apparently managed to get inside. He went slowly downhill to where people had gathered and touched Sevran on the shoulder. He wanted to know what had happened with Diego, whether anything had happened on the train home, twelve years ago, on the Paris–Quimper line.
Sevran frowned. He didn’t like the question. It was too far back, he couldn’t remember.
‘I don’t see the connection. Don’t you see this is all about some local sex scandal,’ he said, pointing to the church. ‘Can’t you hear him screaming his head off, that chap Jean, who’s not all there?’
‘Yes, I can hear him, but still. It was a special journey,’ Louis insisted. ‘Try and remember. Your good friend Marcel Thomas had just died, you’d stayed on in Paris a day or two for the police investigation. Think, it’s important. Did Diego see anyone on the train? A friend? Perhaps a lover of Lina’s?’
Sevran thought for a few minutes, looking down.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘we did see someone. I only saw him when we arrived. Diego and I were sitting separately in the carriage. But this was someone who travelled regularly, so it was perfectly normal. He didn’t know Lina very well. They would have met occasionally when she and her husband came here on holiday, that’s all, believe me.’
‘And he knew about the death?’
‘I suppose so, it was in the papers.’
‘What if this man seemed happier than the circumstances warranted? And what if Diego could see that from where he was sitting? Where was his seat?’
‘At the back of the carriage, the other man wasn’t far from him, but I was further forward, in a space for four seats. I just caught up with them when we got out, I’ve no idea if they could have spoken.’
‘Is it true that Diego had changed?’
‘Yes, that’s true,’ Sevran recognised. ‘I thought it was delayed reaction to events. Then, because it went on, I thought it might be some trouble in Spain, he had a big and complicated family. But anyway, none of this makes sense.’
‘Who was the man on the train?’
The engineer wiped raindrops from his face. He looked embarrassed and annoyed.
‘It doesn’t make any sense,’ he said, ‘just fantasy, Lina would never –’
‘What was his name?’
‘Darnas,’ said Sevran.
Louis stood thunderstruck in the rain, while the engineer, clearly upset, moved away.
Over by the church porch, the priest was bringing Jean out, propelling him gently. Guerrec approached them. Jean still kept his face covered with his hands and cried out if anyone but the priest touched him.
Louis went back to the hotel to change out of his wet clothes. He kept seeing Darnas’s face. Darnas twelve years ago, not so fat, very rich, and Lina’s first husband, fond of her but older, short of money, a good exchange. But then something had gone wrong. It was Pauline who had married Darnas and Sevran had married Lina, so what was Pauline’s role in all that? Louis squeezed Bufo in his pocket.
‘Things are not looking good, old fellow,’ he said, ‘we’ll have to think about it in the train.’
He picked up a note from Marc. Marc had a serious weakness for communicating by note.
Son of the Rhine, I’m taking the hunter-gatherer to visit the Machine for Pointless Messages. Don’t let your toad run wild in the bathroom etc.
Marc
Louis walked up to the machine. Under Mathias’s impassive gaze, Marc was turning the handle and passing on messages to him. Marc saw Louis approach and came to meet h
im. Mathias stayed where he was, near the plinth of the machine, looking down at the ground.
‘I’m going to Rennes,’ said Louis. ‘I’ve got some books to consult. Back tonight. When you’ve finished with the oracle, can you keep an eye on both the Sevrans’ house and Darnas’s, all day if you can manage it?’
‘Darnas?’ asked Marc.
‘I haven’t time to explain now. It’s a big tangle. Both Darnas and Pauline left the cafe after the 7 ball, but were back in before I left. Think about Gaël, and watch everyone. What’s Mathias up to – looking for moles?’
Marc turned round to see Mathias who was now crouching down and examining the grass.
‘Oh, he’s always doing that,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry, it’s normal for him. Like I said, he’s obsessive, archaeologists are like that. One dandelion out of place and it niggles him, he thinks there’s some flint arrowhead underneath it.’
Louis’s train got to Rennes at three. They had to move fast, and he was anxious. He hoped Marc had stopped consulting the machine’s Delphic utterances and that Mathias had been able to tear himself away from his archaeological suspicions. He needed them to keep watch.
XXVIII
LOUIS SPENT THE return trip making visits to the toilet to moisten Bufo’s skin – his carriage was overheated, dry and uncomfortable for amphibians – and changing seats frequently. He was trying to observe what was reflected in the mirror running the length of the luggage rack along the carriage, while attempting to rearrange his thoughts, which his visit to the Rennes public library had sent off in a different direction. Without a shred of evidence, there was no way he could take direct action. It would have to be by ricochet, a three-ball French billiards game which was particularly delicate. What did that spectator in the cafe say? ‘French billiards is more straightforward, you know straight away if you’re useless’. You just don’t have to miss your shot. He fell into a deep sleep, an hour before the train reached Quimper.
It was only at the last moment that he saw Marc, who was standing, dressed in black, on the dark station forecourt. This guy had the gift for appearing out of the blue and making you as jumpy as himself, if you didn’t watch out.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Louis asked. ‘Aren’t you keeping watch?’
‘Mathias is outside the Sevrans’ house and Pauline and Darnas are having dinner with the mayor. I came to meet you. Nice of me, wasn’t it?’
‘OK, tell me what’s happening, but please, Marc, make it snappy.’
‘Lina Sevran is secretly planning a getaway.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I climbed up on to the roof of the house opposite and looked in. She’s packed a small case, a rucksack, just the bare minimum. When Sevran went out, she went to order a taxi for tomorrow morning at 6 a.m. Shall I give more details or the short version?’
‘Find us a taxi now,’ said Louis. ‘We need to hurry. Where’s Guerrec?’
‘He’s taken Jean into custody, and the priest is upset. This afternoon, Guerrec went and sat with Gaël, but nothing new. Mathias has been working very hard on his archaeological site.’
‘Quick, a taxi!’
‘But I was telling you about Mathias’s site, dammit.’
‘For the love of God,’ said Louis, now getting agitated in turn, ‘can’t you give a bit of priority to what’s urgent? What has Mathias’s dig to do with anything? What’s it to me if the pair of you are totally nuts?’
‘You’re very lucky that I’m a nice guy who lends you my leg and my patience, but anyway, the fact is that Mathias’s dig is a grave. And if you want me to be snappy and cut to the chase, it’s Diego’s grave, quite shallow, the body is covered with a layer of pebbles and the whole lot sealed by two of the feet of the colossal Machine of Pointlessness. There you are, that’s it.’
Louis pulled Marc aside from the station entrance.
‘Explain please, Marc. You’ve dug it up?’
‘Mathias doesn’t need to dig up the earth to know what’s underneath. A patch of nettles that looks different from the others is enough for him. The rectangle made by the grave is right under the Machine, like I said. Machine for nothing, a likely story. It did surprise me that someone like Sevran would go to all that trouble for no reason, it’s not like him. With the engineer, everything has to have a purpose. I can spot people who have a taste for the futile, because it takes one to know one. He has a very heightened sense of the useful, so his machine is certainly useful for something. To conceal Diego’s grave, two big iron feet clamped on top, and no one’s going to touch it. I found out a few things at lunchtime, from the mayor. It was on that spot that they were due to build the supermarket. See what would have happened when they started digging the foundations? But Sevran proposed putting up his machine, he convinced the mayor, he chose the exact spot in among the undergrowth. Out of love of art, they moved the ground plan of the supermarket 120 metres further back. And Sevran put his machine up on top of the grave.’
Looking satisfied, Marc shot across the forecourt to hail a taxi. Louis looked at him, biting his lip. Jesus, he hadn’t been quick off the mark about the machine. Marc was quite right, Sevran wasn’t a man who liked pointless things. A piston has to push, a lever has to lift, and a machine has to have a purpose.
XXIX
THEY STOPPED THE taxi fifty metres from the sevrans’ house.
‘I’ll pick Mathias up,’ said Marc.
‘Where is he?’
‘Over there, a black shape under a black shape, against a black shape.’
Screwing up his eyes, Louis made out the large form of the hunter-gatherer, pressed against a wall, under a fine rain, watching the door. With a sentry like that outside, it was hard to see that anyone could get away.
Louis approached the door and rang the bell.
‘As I feared, they’re not answering. Mark, break the French window.’
Marc stepped over the broken glass of the French window and helped Louis through. They heard Sevran running downstairs, and stopped him halfway. Wild-eyed, he was holding a pistol.
‘It’s all right, Sevran, it’s only us. Where is she?’
‘No, please, you don’t understand –’
Louis pushed the engineer gently aside and went up to Lina’s bedroom, followed closely by Marc and Mathias. Lina Sevran was sitting at a small round table. She had stopped writing. Mouth too wide, eyes too big, hair too long, the hand gripping the pen, everything about her frozen and defeated posture alarmed Marc. Louis went over to her, picked up the paper and read in a murmur:
‘I am guilty of the murders of Marie, Diego and my first husband. I am guilty and I’m going to disappear. I am writing this in the hope that my children . . .’
Louis put the paper down with a tired movement. The engineer was wringing his hands in a kind of tortured prayer.
‘Please,’ said Sevran, almost shouting, ‘let her go. What would that change? . . . The children. Let her go away somewhere. Tell her, I beg you. I wanted her to run away, but she won’t listen to me, she says it’s all over for her, I found her writing this with the pistol beside her. Do something, Kehlweiler, tell her to go!’
‘What about Jean?’ asked Louis.
‘What proof is there against him either! We could say it was Diego, couldn’t we? Diego! We could say he’s still alive, he came back to kill everyone, and Lina can get away!’
Louis pulled a face. He gestured to the engineer, who had collapsed on to a chair, and held a whispered conference with Marc and Mathias.
‘Agreed?’ said Louis.
‘It’s a big risk,’ muttered Marc.
‘We must try it for her sake, or she’s had it. OK, Mathias, off you go.’
Mathias went downstairs and out through the broken window.
‘All right,’ Louis said to the engineer. ‘We’ll do it your way. But first we have to go round by the machine – there’s a reason. Lina,’ he said in a low voice, ‘bring your suitcase.’
Since Li
na hadn’t moved, he raised her gently by both arms and pushed her towards the door.
‘Marc, take her suitcase and rucksack, and bring her coat too, it’s pouring with rain.’
‘Where’s the other one gone, the big man?’ asked Sevran anxiously. ‘Has he gone to tell someone?’
‘He’s gone to cover us.’
The three men and Lina walked through the rain. When they saw the giant silhouette of the pointless machine, Louis asked Marc to stay behind on guard. Marc stopped and watched them going on in silence. Louis was still holding Lina by the arm; she allowed herself to be pushed with no more reaction than a terrified madwoman.
‘Here we are then,’ said Louis, stopping at the foot of the installation. ‘What do we do about this, Sevran?’ he asked, pointing to the ground. ‘That’s where Diego is, right?’
‘How did you know?’
‘We have someone here who is able to distinguish between the really pointless and the fake pointless, and another who can read signs from underground. Between the pair of them, they realised that this monument to pointlessness actually served to seal Diego in. Am I right?’
‘Yes,’ whispered Sevran in the dark. ‘When Lina realised that Diego had decided to accuse her of Thomas’s murder, she lured him outside. Diego agreed to talk, but he took his rifle with him. The old man was fragile, she easily got it away from him, and she shot him. I had followed them, I saw Lina fire the shot, I was absolutely horrified. I learned it all that night, how Thomas had been murdered, and then this next crime. It only took me a few seconds to make up my mind, I decided I’d help her, always. I took her back into the house, I got a shovel, and I ran back. I dragged the body up to the woods, dug a grave, and put stones on top of it. I was scared stiff. I covered everything back up, stamped it down and spread pine needles over it. Then I went and left the gun by the quayside and untied a boat and sent it off. It wasn’t a brilliant solution, but I had to improvise quickly. Then everything settled down, and Lina did too.’
