Fatal Error

by Michael Ridpath

  My heart sank. I wanted to get out. Quick. I was looking forward to the family crisis Tony had ordered me to invent, now more than ever. ‘Do you have any idea how long that will be?’

  ‘A few days,’ replied the inspector. ‘Perhaps more.’

  ‘You won’t tell Mr Jourdan what I said about his wife, will you?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, we will have to. But I think you’ll find he knows already.’ Sauville winked and smiled gratuitously. ‘Au revoir.’

  I left the room to be met by Patrick Hoyle, who was demanding to see the inspector urgently in fluent French. He pushed past me, almost crushing me against the door-frame with his great stomach, and began to harangue Sauville. I left them to it and went to look for Guy.

  I found him in the garden, sitting against the trunk of the olive tree beside the old watchtower. He was looking down between his knees, ignoring the morning sun throwing golden sparkles across the sea in front of him. Bees were murmuring in the lavender behind. I winced as I remembered this was the spot where his father had seduced Mel.

  ‘Guy!’ He ignored me. I ran over to the watchtower. ‘Guy!’

  He turned to face me. I had never before seen Guy as he looked then. The muscles in his face were clenched tight, his blue eyes were cold and hard and his skin pale.

  ‘Yes, Lane?’

  ‘Look, I’m er, sorry …’

  ‘Sorry? Sorry! For what?’

  ‘Well, about Dominique.’

  ‘What about Dominique? About shagging her? Do you want to apologize for screwing my father’s wife? Is that it? Because if it is, then your apology isn’t accepted.’

  ‘Yeah. I’m sorry about that. I wish I’d never done it.’

  ‘Bullshit. You loved every second of it. You probably thought you were a real stud, didn’t you? I bet it beat fondling some slag’s tits at the school disco. If you could find one desperate enough to let you, which I sincerely doubt.’

  I tried to ignore the venom in his voice. ‘Who told you? The police?’

  ‘They asked me about it. But I’ve just spoken to my father. He told me a lot of things. About you and her. And about him and Mel.’ He watched my face for a reaction. ‘You knew about that, didn’t you?’

  ‘I guessed.’

  ‘You guessed! What the fuck is going on here? My father screws my girlfriend, my friend screws my stepmother, and I don’t have a fucking clue. And you know where my faithful father was when his wife was being smothered with a pillow?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘In some club in Nice. And for club read bordello, by the way. That’s why he didn’t discover her till three o’clock this morning.’

  ‘Guy, I am sorry. If there’s anything I can do …’

  ‘There is. I should never have asked you out here. This isn’t your world, Lane. You’re way out of your depth. Go back to the sad little semi-detached stone that you crawled out from under and leave me alone. OK?’

  He was glaring at me with something close to hatred in his eyes.

  ‘OK,’ I said. I left him alone.

  I hid in my room and tried to make sense of the previous couple of days. I couldn’t. I had never known anyone who had been murdered before. And I wasn’t sure I had ever really known Dominique. The body I had thrilled to touch was now lifeless, the skin cold, the muscles stiff and rigid. But the person? Who was she? The very proximity of death made me shiver, the callous nature of my relationship with the victim made me cringe with guilt. Then there was my friendship with Guy ruined, probably permanently. He had shown me the kind of anger that would take years to die away, if it ever did. He hated me now, and I had so badly wanted him to like and respect me. I even felt guilty about Guy’s father, although I knew his sins were greater than mine. I had done something very wrong, and someone had died, and I would have to live with it.

  I picked up my book. For the first time since I had started to read it, War and Peace came into its own. I wanted to lose myself in Napoleonic Russia, which seemed at that moment much less threatening than twentieth-century France.

  But after two or three hours, hunger began to gnaw at my stomach. I hadn’t eaten anything since a croissant very early that morning and the anxiety was releasing its own juices. I was eighteen. Eighteen-year-old boys get hungry regularly. I decided to brave the possibility of bumping into Guy or Tony for the chance of food.

  I walked through the garden. It was another bright, cloudless day outside. It was hot, but the edge was taken off the heat by the sea breeze. There was no one on the terrace, but I could detect movement and plates of food inside.

  I walked into the main house, and through the dining-room door I spied a table laden with bread, cold meats, cheese and salad. Mel was standing outside the room, listening. I stopped just behind her. I could hear Guy talking to Patrick Hoyle in an urgent whisper. I couldn’t make out what he was saying, but I heard Hoyle’s response.

  ‘Abdulatif? The man’s name is Abdulatif?’

  Guy murmured in confirmation. Then Mel suddenly became aware of me standing at her shoulder. She reddened and walked into the room. I followed her. Guy turned and glowered. Hoyle coughed and nodded at me. I made straight for the lunch, to be joined a moment later by Mel.

  In the awkward silence, the two of us helped ourselves, a large pile of food for me, a couple of spoonfuls for Mel. As Guy and Hoyle left the room I turned to her. ‘What was that about?’

  She glanced at me quickly and just shook her head. She clearly didn’t want to talk. I knew she must be feeling fragile, and I didn’t want to intrude. So I sat down and began to eat.

  Ingrid appeared at the door. ‘There you are,’ she said. ‘I’m famished.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ I said. ‘Help yourself.’

  Ingrid did just that.

  ‘Are the police still here?’ I asked her, glad to have someone to talk to. ‘I didn’t see any in the garden.’

  ‘They’ve been combing it all morning,’ she said. ‘Perhaps they’ve finished, or maybe it’s just a lunch break.’

  ‘Have you seen Tony?’

  ‘He’s with some French guy in a suit. I think Patrick Hoyle got him a lawyer.’

  ‘I thought Hoyle was a lawyer.’

  ‘He may be. But this guy’s probably a criminal lawyer. I imagine they’re different.’

  ‘Do you think Tony killed her?’

  ‘Your guess is as good as mine. The French cops seem to think he did, though. Hang on, here comes one of them.’

  I looked up. Sauville was marching towards us. My heart sank as I realized his eyes were focused on me. ‘Monsieur Lane. When you have finished your lunch, I would like you to assist us, please.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ I asked doubtfully.

  ‘We need to search your room. And we would like to take samples from the clothes you were wearing yesterday afternoon. Also we need your fingerprints. And afterwards I invite you to the police station.’

  ‘The police station?’ I didn’t like the sound of that. ‘Why do you want me to go to the police station?’

  Sauville glanced at Ingrid and Mel. He coughed. ‘Er … We need some samples.’

  ‘What kind of samples?’ I said, my suspicions aroused by his hesitation.

  Sauville glanced at the girls again. ‘You will find out at the station.’

  He left the three of us alone at the table. Mel remained sullen and withdrawn. But Ingrid looked as if she was trying to control a giggle.

  ‘What is it?’ I asked.

  ‘I think I know what they’re after,’ said Ingrid.

  ‘What?’

  ‘They want your sperm,’ she said.

  I grimaced. ‘Oh, God.’

  Sauville returned to hurry me along with my meal.

  ‘Have fun,’ said Ingrid as I left the room with him.

  A policeman drove me down the switchbacks to the prosperous little town of Beaulieu-sur-Mer. We passed through streets lined with bright awnings, under which parfumeries, boutiques, galeri
es and salons de beauté enticed wealthy tourists in off the pavements. There were flowering trees everywhere. Above and behind the town stretched a curtain of high grey cliffs. Les Sarrasins and its watchtower were clearly distinguishable up there, silhouetted against the brilliant blue sky.

  The Gendarmerie Nationale was a scruffy building near the railway station. It was scruffy inside too: linoleum floors, dog-eared posters, functional metal and chipboard furniture. Thankfully, Ingrid was wrong about the precise nature of the samples they wanted, but I was sure she was right about their purpose. A doctor took a swab of saliva from my cheek, a syringe full of blood from my arm and hairs both from my head and, humiliatingly, from my pubic region. Afterwards I hung around in a waiting room until the policeman who had brought me down the hill came by to drive me back.

  We were just leaving the building when a police car pulled up outside. Sauville stepped out, followed by another detective and two other figures, Tony and Patrick Hoyle. Tony looked tired and grim. He caught my eye as he entered the station. The hostility of that brief glare made me flinch.

  It looked as if he was going to have some difficult questions to answer.

  14

  As soon as I arrived back at Les Sarrasins I headed for my room and opened up War and Peace again. This time I couldn’t lose myself in its pages. I just kept thinking about Tony.

  Had he murdered his wife? He must have. He had the motive: I had provided that. He had discovered the body in the middle of the night. And I had seen him being led into the police station for questioning. Did he look to me like a murderer? I had no idea what a murderer looked like. He was certainly charming. Just as certainly I would never trust him. But I couldn’t envisage him actually killing Dominique.

  Despite my last bruising meeting with Guy, I couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. I knew how much he admired his father, and now he had to face the possibility that he was a murderer. It would be tough on him.

  Tough on Owen too, but I didn’t care about that.

  There was a gentle knock on the bedroom door. Ingrid put her head round. ‘How was your trip to the police station?’

  ‘Horrible.’

  ‘Look. I’m sorry I teased you about it earlier. That was hardly fair. Mel and I are having a drink. Would you like to join us?’

  I dropped my book with a thud on to the floor by my bed. ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I would.’

  I followed Ingrid out on to the terrace, where Mel was sitting alone at a table under the shade of a pine tree. Two glasses half-full of bubbly clear liquid and ice were standing in front of her. I went to fetch a beer for myself. I couldn’t face a vodka and tonic: vodka reminded me of things I would rather forget.

  ‘I saw Tony at the police station,’ I said, taking the first sip.

  ‘Yeah. They said they wanted to ask him some more questions,’ Ingrid said. ‘He didn’t seem anxious to go.’

  ‘What did Guy say?’

  ‘Nothing. But he looked worried.’

  ‘I bet he did.’

  Despite all that had happened, the sun was shining brightly. Too brightly. Mel was cowering behind dark glasses. I couldn’t blame her. She was drinking determinedly.

  ‘Are you OK?’ I asked her gently. I knew it was a stupid question, but I wanted to show her I cared about how she felt.

  She sniffed and rubbed her nose. She had been crying. ‘Not really. And you?’

  ‘Not really.’

  Mel looked at me awkwardly. ‘Was it your first time?’

  I nodded. ‘And you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Pretty bad way to start, isn’t it?’ I said.

  Mel laughed. ‘Yes. After all those years of saying no, all that saving myself for the right man, and I go and do it with a fifty-year-old pervert.’

  ‘Quite a good-looking fifty-year-old pervert, isn’t he?’

  ‘That’s not the point. He’s old enough to be my father. And that’s what really scares me. Maybe I’m going to be one of those sad girls who chase after men twice their age because they’re trying to get their fathers back.’

  ‘Are your parents divorced?’

  Mel nodded. ‘My dad ran off with his secretary two years ago.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘And yours?’

  ‘No. They seem quite happy. But then, Dominique is nothing like my mother.’

  ‘Or anyone’s mother.’

  ‘It’s strange,’ I said. ‘She didn’t seem like a real person at the time, and she seems even less like one now that she’s dead.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mel. ‘It’s easy to forget that someone has died.’ She shook her head. ‘What if Tony did kill her? I was with him just twenty-four hours before.’ Her face filled with disgust, for herself as much as for Tony, I imagined.

  ‘Don’t beat yourselves up,’ said Ingrid. ‘You were both taken advantage of by two very manipulative people. Tony was trying to prove to himself he can pull girls better than his son. Dominique was having her piece of petty revenge. It wasn’t either of your faults.’

  ‘Of course it was my fault,’ said Mel. ‘I let him do it. In fact, I was a willing accomplice. It seemed so glamorous, so grown-up. I thought I was in control.’ A tear ran down her cheek. ‘You know the worst thing, David?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I really like Guy. I had just about decided that he was the one that, you know … What’s happened has just made me realize how much I like him. And of course now he won’t talk to me. He won’t ever talk to me again.’ She fought back a sob.

  Once again I marvelled at the effect Guy could have on girls. And on this one it was clearly deeper than superficial physical attraction. Did he know? Did he care?

  ‘I’m pretty sure I’ve lost him as a friend,’ I said. ‘If he ever was my friend. He was furious with all of us when I saw him this morning: you, me, his father.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what I think,’ said Ingrid. ‘You’ve both had a bad time. But we’re all young. We can learn from it. You can’t feel guilty about it for ever. Those two, Tony and Dominique, were fucked up. You can’t let them fuck you up too.’

  She was right, of course, but Mel and I had plenty of guilt to wallow in.

  The police came to see us once more that day. They wanted to check the shoes we had been wearing the previous evening. They had found a footprint, I supposed. Not much good that would do them, we had all been tramping around everywhere from what I remembered. But I gave them mine, again.

  There was no sign of Tony. Presumably he was still at the police station, answering questions. Guy managed to avoid us that afternoon and evening and Owen was tucked away in his room playing with his portable computer. But we did see Hoyle. He spent most of the time ensconced with Guy somewhere upstairs, but he dropped in on Ingrid, Mel and me in the living room before he left.

  He was wearing a baggy tan suit and a tie, and beads of sweat sparkled on his broad forehead with the exertion of running up and down the stairs. ‘I trust Miguel is taking good care of you?’

  ‘He certainly is,’ Ingrid answered. She had used her Portuguese to charm the servant and he had responded by looking after us very well.

  ‘Good, good. Let me know if you have any problems. But I’m sure Tony will be back tonight.’

  ‘Mr Hoyle?’ Ingrid said as he tried to leave.

  ‘Yes?’ He frowned. He had things to do.

  ‘Can you tell us how the investigation is going? We’ve been left in the dark up here.’

  ‘Of course,’ Hoyle said reluctantly, lowering himself on to the edge of an armchair. ‘As you know, they’re interviewing Tony at the moment. But they haven’t arrested him yet, and I don’t think they’re going to. He’s innocent, and I’m quite sure we can prove it.’

  ‘How?’ I asked. ‘Does he have an alibi?’

  ‘Yes. But not a reputable one.’ A companion from the Nice bordello Guy had mentioned, I thought. ‘No, we’re, um …’ Hoyle hesitated, ‘working on something else.’

  ‘So wh
o did kill Dominique?’ Ingrid asked.

  ‘It must have been a thief. Someone broke in in the middle of the night, stole some jewellery and disturbed her. When she saw him, he suffocated her with the pillow. She had taken heroin, so she was probably disoriented.’

  ‘So there’s some jewellery missing?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes. Just her day-to-day stuff. But still worth a few hundred thousand francs.’

  ‘And the police are certain she was suffocated?’

  ‘They’ve done the post-mortem. She had some heroin in her bloodstream, but it wasn’t an overdose. She died of asphyxiation. And the pillowcase was missing.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It means the murderer got rid of it to avoid leaving any traces for the police to find. After he’d used the pillow to smother her.’

  ‘Do you have any idea why they wanted to examine our shoes?’

  ‘Not specifically. But it’s good to hear they’re checking other leads. They probably realize they’ve got the wrong man.’ He shook his head. ‘I still can’t believe Dominique has been murdered. It just doesn’t seem real. Tony and I have been in some scrapes together, but nothing like this.’

  I nodded in agreement. It all seemed totally unreal to me.

  Hoyle checked his watch. ‘I need to get back to Beaulieu. I’ve got Tony a good criminal lawyer, the best in Nice. But I want to make sure they don’t try to keep him in the station overnight.’

  With that he heaved himself up out of the armchair and left us.

  Sure enough, he returned an hour later with an exhausted-looking Tony. They ignored us and shut themselves in the study. Tony clearly wasn’t off the hook yet.

  I went to bed but stayed awake reading my book. Guy came in at about eleven. He ignored my greeting, quickly stripped off his clothes and jumped into bed.

  I carried on reading.

  After a minute or so, Guy leaned on his elbow and glared at me. ‘Turn the fucking light off, Lane.’

  I turned the light off. It took me a long time to get to sleep that night.