One Green Bottle

by Curtis Bausse

  This time, though, she walked without fear, camera snapping every item of furniture, clothing and crockery, recording the title of every book, prying into every corner. When she had finished she locked the door and sat in the car, imagining herself back in Sentabour sorting through the pictures till one of them revealed the vital clue that nobody else had spotted. Then, while she still had it in her, she phoned the gendarmerie in Padignac. She was put through to Captain Darlier, who, far from telling her to get lost, said he could see her at 11.30 next morning. She returned to the Hôtel du Clocher.

  ***

  ‘So you know Madame Perle?’

  ‘Not especially well but yes, we’re acquainted.’

  ‘I see.’ Vincent Darlier nodded, hands pressed together at his lips. He was a small, stocky man of about fifty, with hair that was starting to thin, but otherwise only a slightly bulbous nose prevented him from achieving matinée-idol looks. ‘And how can I help you?’ he asked.

  ‘She wanted to know how the enquiry was progressing.’

  He took a couple of seconds to consider this. ‘So she sent you here to ask?’

  ‘Oh, no. I was passing nearby. It wasn’t out of my way.’

  ‘I see.’ He clearly thought it strange but he didn’t insist. He indicated an orange folder in front of him. ‘Slowly, I should say.’

  It was all she could do not to grab the folder and run. ‘But surely?’

  He spread his hands. ‘Who knows? I’ll only be able to say that when we get a result.’

  ‘And the chances of that are…’ She held out a palm, inviting him to finish.

  ‘Good.’ But it was spoken, she thought, without a lot of conviction. ‘Just a matter of time.’

  ‘She was wondering about the first suspects, Gilles Mattell and Loïc Bussert. They’re totally in the clear?’

  Darlier eyed her warily before deciding to answer. His tone was matter-of-fact, as if he was explaining a bit of bureaucracy. ‘Mattell, yes. He was there on the Thursday evening but it was to collect a cheque which he deposited the next day before buying more material. He was back there on Monday morning, when he discovered the body. He had no reason to kill Enzo Perle and he’s considered round about as honest and hard-working. Bussert, not so sure. If there was any evidence he was in the house, I’d lock him up straightaway. But there isn’t.’

  ‘And there has to be some, obviously. Forensic, I mean.’

  ‘Not necessarily. But if he stayed any length of time, you’d expect some.’

  ‘So he could have been in and out very quickly. Taken care not to touch anything.’

  ‘Mmm.’ He stared into the distance for several seconds. Daydreaming? Not very focused, Charlotte had said. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘And the problem with Bussert, surely, is that Enzo would have been suspicious. A jealous husband suddenly appearing on his doorstep. There’d have been a struggle, at least. But instead of that, there were two glasses of wine on the table. It doesn’t fit.’

  Darlier brought his gaze back to her, the eyes flickering, just a split second, on her bosom. ‘Well, it’s nice to talk with someone new,’ he said brightly. ‘Quite a breath of fresh air.

  ‘Oh, I’m glad of that,’ said Magali. She was itching to reach for the folder. ‘I thought I might be disturbing you.’

  ‘Not at all.’ He leant towards her, confiding. ‘There’s quite a bit of pressure in a place like this. Five months. A bit too long.’

  ‘What would be the normal time?’

  ‘There isn’t one. Every case is different. But some people want it sewn up in a matter of days.’

  ‘Well, I suppose that’s understandable. Obviously for Charlotte, the sooner the better.’

  ‘Oh, yes. It takes a bit of time to build a case, though. But we’ll get there eventually, don’t worry. You can tell her that from me.’

  ‘And if the killer wasn’t local at all?’

  He looked at her keenly. ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘Just an idea. From what I gather, Enzo Perle didn’t have any enemies. Not down here, anyway. Apart from Bussert, that is.’

  ‘Mmm.’ He seemed to be lost in thought again. In his voice there was a slight tone of weariness, as if the whole of life was a disappointment. Then he said with a burst of energy, ‘An acquaintance, you say?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘Of Madame Perle. I think she knows she can phone me any time she wants.’ He stared at her, annoyance competing with amusement. I’m not a sucker, you know.

  Magali wriggled uncomfortably. ‘I think she just… She doesn’t want to bother you all the time.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Pull the other one. He sighed and looked at his watch. Magali assumed the talk was over. But then he said, ‘There’s a café just down the road. Can I buy you a drink?’

  ‘What?’

  He laughed. ‘Don’t look so surprised. No one’s invited you for a drink before?’

  ‘No, it’s just…’ Not a gendarme anyway. ‘I’d love a drink. Thank you.’

  They sat at a terrace still largely populated with tourists and for a while they chatted pleasantly about the pros and cons of living in the country. Then after a lull in the conversation, he said with a little smile, ‘Are you some sort of private detective?’

  She opened her mouth and shut it again. She knew she was blushing terribly. It was actually a good description. Hi, I’m Magali Rousseau, some sort of private detective. But you either were or you weren’t. Putting up a sign and pretending to be didn’t count, or at least you couldn’t admit it to a gendarme.

  He saw her discomfort and his smile broadened, but he opted for discretion. ‘No matter.’ He waved a hand as if batting away an insect. ‘You’ve obviously given it plenty of thought, in any case. Someone he knew from before his arrival. Could be.’

  She glanced at him gratefully. ‘Has there been any progress on that front? His emails and so on?’

  He shook his head. ‘Apparently he had no visits planned. Nor any enemies further afield. We’ve been through all his finances. Nothing out of the ordinary. Now it’s a matter of sifting through all his contacts, Facebook and so on, people from his past. It takes time.’

  ‘If there wasn’t a fight,’ she said, ‘that must make it premeditated, right? Someone bore a grudge against him, big enough to want to kill him, and they hit him from behind. Took him completely by surprise.’

  ‘Or else an argument that got out of control.’

  ‘What about the weapon?’ she asked. ‘A heavy blunt instrument. What exactly was it?’

  ‘If we knew exactly, we wouldn’t call it an instrument,’ he said patiently. ‘But we’re working on the assumption it was a piece of pipe that was found outside. There was a pile of debris that had been cleared from the land. And traces of rust and dirt in Perle’s wounds which tally with that.’

  ‘So if it was an argument, the killer would have had to go outside and pick up the pipe in the dark and come back in and still take Enzo by surprise.’ Magali shook her head. ‘I can’t see it.’

  Darlier folded his arms and emitted a soft whistle. ‘Carry on like that and I’ll be hiring you.’ Was he mocking? Patronising? It was a joke, of course, but he sounded genuinely impressed – she couldn’t help squirming with pleasure. But he’d been through all that reasoning himself. He looked at his watch and became serious. ‘I have to go.’ The eyes flickered again, longer this time, prompting her hand to go to her blouse to check it was still buttoned up. ‘Here.’ He took a card from his wallet. ‘If you ever want to –’ he left a slight pause – ‘check on the progress again, feel free.’ Then he stood up and shook her hand. ‘It’s been a pleasure.’

  ***

  On the way back to Sentabour, she stopped in Nîmes to enquire about the research agent course. Yes, said the secretary, enrolment was still open and depending on their professional skills and situation, mature students could indeed apply. When Magali, who had no wish or intention to sit in a classroom for hours, asked if a distance-l
earning option was available, the secretary said, ‘Ah. You’d better see the Director of Studies about that.’

  Alain Verney, an overweight man with heavy jowls and a manner as imposing as his physique, studied Magali for a moment, leaning back in his chair, hands crossed on top of his belly. ‘Why do you want to take this course?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m at a bit of a dead end.’ Magali hadn’t expected an interview but her stint at the Job Centre stood her in good stead. ‘Professionally, that is. Personally too, to be honest. I’ve just come through a divorce and I need a project to focus on. Some income as well, of course, but it’s mainly to start afresh, a new challenge.’

  ‘There are plenty of ways to start afresh. Why a research agent?’

  ‘I think it would suit me,’ she improvised. ‘I’m quite methodical – perhaps a little stubborn, even – but I’m not very keen on office work. I like to get out and about, even if I know it can involve a lot of waiting, that doesn’t worry me. Um... I have a good attention to detail and I can deal with – ’

  ‘Right.’ He held up his hand. ’You need to know it’s a tough course. There’s a lot to read and a lot to learn. Some of it very dull. We’re not talking philosophy here. We’re talking company law, insurance, administration. There’ll be assignments too, some of them also dull.’ He glared at her from beneath a pair of bushy eyebrows. ‘Can you handle that?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she said breezily. ‘I’ve been in many a dull situation. I can be very patient when I need to be.’ In the back of her mind, she wondered who she was talking about, but since her talk with Darlier, she was bobbing along on a crest of elation. She knew from experience it wasn’t the best place to be – crests have a habit of becoming crestfallen – but she’d been listened to, apparently in all seriousness, by the man who held the key, or at least the file, to Enzo’s murder, and now she was on a roll.

  Verney clearly felt he had to make it plain. ‘If you fulfil the conditions administratively – you’ll get all that from my secretary – you’ll be among our very first intake of distance learners. My initiative largely, and I had to push hard to get it through. So I’ll be following you closely – I don’t want any slackers amongst you. We set a high standard and expect you to reach it. You’ll need to remain focused at all times. Distance learning takes commitment, motivation, discipline. So,’ he said, placing both hands on the table and looking her squarely in the face, ‘can I count on you?’

  Chapter 6

  Three weeks later, Magali feeling nervous, Antoine at his most affable, Luc the cherished only child and Sophie the radiant hostess were seated round a dinner table being exceptionally nice to poor Charlotte Perle. Magali tried not to make the epithet permanent but how could she help it? You admired Ghandi, you hated Hitler, you pitied poor Charlotte. No one, obviously, brought up the topic of Enzo. But his ghost hovered round the table like a smell coming up from the drain.

  She’d managed to enrol on Verney’s course and was still in buoyant mood. She’d had to prove she couldn’t attend classes so she went to see Xavier and told him she worked as his secretary. She didn’t tell the truth about the course – she said art history – but then lying to Dickhead didn’t count. He pointed out that she was asking him to write a fake certificate and she said it was the least he could do, which for some reason persuaded him. Perhaps he saw that for all the fakery, she was more the real article now than at any time during their marriage. The certificate was printed out by his real secretary, Juliette, who looked a good five years younger than the last time Magali saw her. Xavier Borelly’s walking advertisement, living her life backwards. And here’s the doll I made, playing with her dolls. Magali couldn’t compete with silicone but thanks to her hard-won genuine curves, she felt immeasurably superior.

  The news of Charlotte’s visit had filled her with anxiety. Charlotte was ostensibly there to see Luc but while she was at it she’d surely be wanting to know what her 1000 euros had achieved. And the answer to that was nothing. Well, I can recommend a charming hotel in Padignac. And the house is lovely, you were right.

  Could a new artistic direction count? In her studio – no longer ‘the garage’ – Magali had dozens of scenes from Enzo’s house, copied from her computer but jumbled up and distorted, transferred to the canvas with the crazy logic of a dream. Gone were Matisse’s apples and Cézanne’s pines – she now had a style of her own and a subject matter to go with it. She said to herself that by doing this she might stumble across a clue. Perhaps there was a multitude of clues scattered around the house, objects that might have been touched or moved that evening, or referred to during the brief conversation before the killer struck. But if she was painting evidence, she didn’t see it and to Charlotte the pictures could only appear as a callous exploitation of the murder.

  It had been Luc who suggested dinner. ‘When we finish the main course, I’ll clear away the plates and that’ll be the cue for Sophie to take Antoine to see her work, leaving Charlotte and you together.’

  ‘And what do I say?’

  ‘I don’t know, Mum. That’s up to you. Do you want to be honest? Or evasive?’

  As the moment approached, although she’d rehearsed evasiveness many times (Oh, I’m learning the lie of the land, as it were), Magali felt herself edging closer to honesty. Charlotte was still no closer at all to the place of less pain – you could tell by the absent smile as she listened to Antoine’s stories, and sometimes, when she glanced at Luc, her eyes betrayed the torment within and you sensed it was all she could do not to howl out loud and overturn the table. Truth is hard, but fantasy, in the end, is even worse. Magali couldn’t let her believe that she had done anything, could ever do anything, to find who killed her son.

  And then, too suddenly, they were on their own. There was a silence as Magali searched for the words to say it and Charlotte closed her eyes and became herself, breathing out the strain of sociability. Magali had the beginning now (straight to the point: ‘Charlotte, I’m giving you back what I haven’t spent’) and waited for Charlotte to return to the world before she could say it, but Charlotte, eyes still closed, spoke first. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve been unfair.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Last time I came,’ she said, finally looking at Magali, ‘calling on you like that. You’ve got a life of your own and here I am laying my burden upon you.’

  ‘Well, I… No, not at all, I put up that sign, I accepted.’

  ‘But still, you’re not to feel there’s any obligation. I want you to know that.’

  ‘Yes, that’s… Actually, I don’t… For the moment there’s nothing to show, I’ve been getting to know the lie of the land, as it were.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘And I spoke with Darlier.’

  ‘Yes, he told me.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘We speak from time to time. Not very often but he keeps me informed, up to a point. Actually, the reason he called was to know the nature of our relationship.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘The truth. I hope you don’t mind.’

  ‘So he knows I’m…’

  ‘Not genuine? It didn’t seem to bother him.’

  Magali felt less relaxed. Deceitful behaviour, breaking the law – how could a gendarme turn a blind eye to that? ‘I’ve been to Nîmes,’ she said, pleading her case already. ‘They do a course there. I signed up. If all goes well, ten months from now, I’ll be qualified.’

  Charlotte’s eyes widened. ‘Not just for me, I hope?’

  ‘Oh, no. I have to get some sort of job in any case. Then I’ll be able to put up the plaque again and sit in my car taking photos of adulterers. Legitimately.’

  ‘So that’ll be a point in your favour if anyone starts to bother you. But I don’t think Darlier will. What did you think of him?’

  ‘Pleasant enough. And doing what he can, I think. But a little bit… As you say, every so often he seems to go off in a world of his own.’

  ‘He got divorc
ed last year. Messy, from what I gather. Perhaps that explains it.’

  ‘Could do.’

  ‘Another member of the club,’ said Charlotte.

  ‘You too?’

  ‘Ages ago. Enzo was barely a toddler.’

  ‘That makes you smarter than me. I put up with him for twenty-six years.’

  ‘Yes, Luc said.’ The soft glow of the wall lights brought out her sadness and beauty in equal measure. ‘You have a wonderful son,’ she added, just as Luc appeared with dessert, pretending not to have heard. He cast a glance at his mother and she gave a tiny nod: Everything’s all right. Thank you.