“Je serai quelques minutes,” the policeman told them before racing up the front steps, his immaculate navy blazer flapping in the cold November breeze.
At the front desk, on asking for Madame Van Beek, Max was directed to the Orangerie Bar, a bright and airy room filled with sumptuous green velvet chairs and highly polished ebony tables. It wasn’t hard to spot the woman whom he sought, as the room was barely a quarter occupied and only one resident met the description of ‘grandmother’, although Annalise Van Beek was far more glamorous and chic than Mallery had expected her to be.
“Madame Van Beek?” He smiled, holding out a hand in anticipation.
“Yes, that’s right.”
The white-haired woman looked up, revealing dazzling pearly teeth and smooth, perfectly made-up features. The few lines that sat tugging at the corners of her eyes were soft and shallow, as though they were a recent addition to the beautifully ageing complexion. Snow-white hair was coiled around the woman’s head like a halo, framing her pretty face and softening her brow.
“Inspector Max Mallery, Bordeaux Police.”
Placing a yellow porcelain tea-cup in its matching saucer, the Dutchwoman rose to her feet and nodded. “Please, call me Annalise.”
“Is it far?” Annalise Van Beek asked as she gently lowered herself into the sports car while Max held the door open. He was silently cursing that he’d expected a woman in her seventies to be comfortable in his pride and joy; perhaps Hobbs’ old Mondeo might have been a better option after all.
“Are you okay?” he ventured, buckling up in the driver’s seat, “I’m afraid this motor looks good, and goes well, but isn’t very practical.”
“Nonsense, it’s a superb car. I have one exactly the same, but in silver.”
Mallery was taken aback and turned to look at the serene woman at his side. “Really? You’re not joking with me?”
“Yes, really. Now, Inspector Mallery, shall we get going?”
Max put the car into gear, silently wondering how Noel Van Beek’s grandmother had come to choose such a vehicle, and pulled into the busy street. Both valet and doorman stood to attention, eyeing the unlikely pair.
Annalise sat back, taking in the multitude of pedestrians and peering at window displays in fashionable high-end boutiques, all the time wondering what she was going to be faced with at the Bordeaux Morgue.
“They should be here in a minute,” Jack told Paul Theron as they stood waiting in the Coroner’s office. “Poor woman, she’s bound to be shocked.”
“You were saying she has doubts about it being her grandson,” Theron prompted. “Do you know why? After all, the passport identifies him.”
“Well, apparently Noel Van Beek had planned a trip down to the Midi-Pyrenees and back. She reckons he never once mentioned coming up here and doesn’t believe that he did. Must say, it’s rather a long detour.”
“Well, we’ll soon find out,” Paul said, gesturing towards the glass front door. “If I’m not mistaken, there’s Max’s car at the entrance now.”
Annalise Van Beek closed her eyes, desperately trying to compose herself, before stepping forward and kissing the young man’s pale forehead. She tried not to cry out, instead focussing all her thoughts on studying her dead grandson’s features as he lay prostrate with only a thin white cotton sheet covering the rest of his body.
“Annalise?” Mallery gently whispered, reaching out to touch the woman’s arm.
The grandmother nodded, holding herself rigid as she stared at the lifeless young man in front of her. “Yes, it is him, it is my Noel.”
“Would you like a few minutes alone?” the Coroner suggested. “Perhaps to say a prayer? To gather your thoughts.”
Annalise caught her breath, just managing to say “Yes,” before pressing a perfectly manicured hand to her mouth. “My poor, sweet, darling boy.”
Mallery, Hobbs and Theron waited in the stark white reception area while Annalise Van Beek sat at her grandson’s side, pulling a set of wooden rosary beads through her nimble fingers. “Who has done this to you?” she cried, pressing her lips to the small golden cross that hung around her slender neck. “What wicked person could do such a thing to my precious Noel, my only family, my darling boy?”
“I don’t understand what he was doing here,” Annalise Van Beek told the three men as they sat with a pot of green tea between them in the reception area, the beverage being the Dutchwoman’s choice rather than the detectives.
“You say Noel had planned to only go to the Midi-Pyrenees,” Max confirmed. “What was the purpose of his trip? Do you know?”
Annalise sighed and looked at the backs of her hands. “He was filling in some spaces in our family tree. We thought he might find a relative down there.”
“Do you know if he got to his destination?” Jack queried, noting the woman’s concerned face. “I mean, did he contact you at all while he was there?”
“Yes, he did. Noel telephoned me in the afternoon – oh, when was it? Wednesday, I think. Yes, I was playing bridge, it was Wednesday of last week.”
“But you have no idea why he would have come here, to Saint Margaux in particular?” Max urged gently.
“No, really I couldn’t say. He told me that he hadn’t found anyone and would be on his way home within the next few days. I don’t understand why he would change his plans without telling me. It’s so unlike him.”
The old woman’s eyes threatened to fill with tears again and Max placed his hand on top of hers, feeling the warmth of her body temperature despite the coldness of the Coroner’s clinical environment. “Madame Van Beek… Annalise, we will find whoever did this to your grandson.”
“It was poison, you say?” She was looking directly at Paul Theron now and seemed to have composed herself within seconds. “What kind was it?”
The Coroner cleared his throat and shifted forward in his chair. “It’s quite rare, a toxic compound taken from the foxglove wildflower, it’s called…”
“Digitalis,” the woman offered quite casually. “Yes, I know of its effect on the human body if given in large doses. It specifically affects the heart, if I recall correctly.”
“If you don’t mind me saying, Mrs Van Beek,” Jack put in, “that’s not something that a lot of people would claim to know.”
The woman lifted the tea to her lips and flinched at the lukewarm liquid. “No, I don’t suppose it is, Detective Hobbs, but I studied botany a great deal in my youth. In fact, it was one of my favourite and specialist subjects.”
“What a coincidence,” Max uttered aloud. Three faces turned in his direction.
“Do you need help with the… arrangements?” Mallery asked, as he led the Dutchwoman back to the car.“I mean taking your grandson’s body…”
Annalise nodded. “Yes, I… I honestly wasn’t expecting it to be Noel, so I haven’t spoken to the Dutch Embassy about… well, you know.”
The inspector understood, but he was still reeling from the revelation that Noel Van Beek’s grandmother had studied the poison garnered from foxgloves. It seemed an uncanny coincidence.
“I can ask my female detective, Gabriella, to help you,” he offered. “She’s very efficient, and also a caring young woman. Where would you like me to drop you, Madame? Back at your hotel, or somewhere else?”
The elderly lady paused, staring at the concrete building in front of them, no doubt thinking about her beloved grandson lying there on a freezing cold slab.
“Where are Noel’s belongings?”
“At the police station. Would you like to see them now? Or maybe tomorrow?”
Annalise nodded, but her eyes seemed far away as though caught up in a daydream. “Now if you don’t mind, Inspector Mallery.”
“Is that everything?” Annalise asked, carefully lifting her grandson’s clothes out of the nylon rucksack with a bewildered look on her face.
Jack picked up the inventory list and checked it against the belongings heaped on the table. “Yes, that’s all. We’ve
put Noel’s money back in the side pocket and his passport is upstairs. It was given to us by the monks who were looking after him. I can get it for you now.”
“The monks who murdered him, you mean,” Mrs Van Beek snapped back.
Inspector Mallery coughed. “We don’t know that for certain, Madame.”
“But there are no other suspects,” the woman huffed, “it has to be one of them.”
“We’re doing everything we can to narrow down the men who were last in contact with your grandson. It will take some time, but we will find whoever did this, I’m certain of it. Both Detective Hobbs and I are very experienced.”
Although Annalise Van Beek was listening to the detective, she was somewhat preoccupied with the young man’s luggage. Eventually, she opened it up.
“There is something missing.”
“Sorry, this is all we were given. Do you know what is missing from the bag?” Max asked, his eyes darting back and forth over the items on the table.
“A Bible,” the grandmother sighed, “a very, very old Bible. It contains the Old Testament, it’s bound in brown leather and is quite ‘used’, I think you would say. It belonged to Noel’s father.”
The two police officers looked at one another, neither having knowledge of the book. Jack stepped forward and apologised.
“I’m really very sorry, there wasn’t a Bible in Noel’s bag when we got it, but I think Brother Cédric mentioned it.”
“Where is it?” Annalise insisted. “That book was so precious.”
Max opened his mouth as though to say something but thought better of it and instead offered, “We’ll ask about it at Saint Augustin’s, they are probably keeping it safe for you. In the meantime, perhaps you would like me to drive you back to your hotel? I’m sure it’s been a very stressful day for you.”
The elegant old woman nodded, causing her pearl drop earrings to gently sway. “Very well, but I will be expecting to speak to you both again tomorrow.”
Jack suddenly had one of his infamous ‘light-bulb’ moments and stopped the visitor from leaving. “Just one thing before you go, Mrs Van Beek.”
Annalise lifted her face up to meet Jack’s crowning glory of thick ginger hair. “Yes, Detective Hobbs?”
“Did you know that your grandson had a tattoo on his back?”
The woman smiled and pushed the sleeve of her cashmere jacket up to the elbow. “Advocatus Diaboli,” she sighed, revealing the exact same inscription on the inner part of her forearm. “Yes, I knew. Noel’s father had the same tattoo, it was part of a private family joke.”
Arriving back at the police headquarters after dropping the grieving grandmother at the Grand Hotel, Max headed straight to the incident room to catch up with Jack, the urgency in his step revealing his excitement.
“Jacques,” he called, “I couldn’t say anything to you before with Madame Van Beek here but, the description of the Bible – did you…?”
Hobbs swivelled in his chair, eager to give his input before his boss had finished asking the question, “I certainly did, sir. Sounds like the exact same Bible that was on Abbot Arnaud’s bed when we popped in to see him.”
“Very observant!” Mallery grinned. “Now I know why we keep you here!”
Jack ignored the inspector’s attempt at a joke and tilted his head towards the door. “Reckon we get back over to the hospital sharpish then, boss? Early bird catches the worm, you know.”
The inspector snorted. “Now that, I understand. Yes, better we go now before the book has chance to disappear. There’s something going on.”
Abbot Arnaud looked a frail figure lying back against plumped-up pillows, his body clothed in pale blue and white striped pyjamas. Brother Cédric sat at the side of the bed apologising profusely for his late arrival which, he was in no doubt, had been caused by the presence of the police officers at the monastery.
“Father, they have questioned every one of us!” Cédric pouted. “Even I had to endure their suspicion. Naturally, I told them that none of our Order would commit such a terrible crime, but they insisted that everyone must be interviewed. It has caused such problems. The daily rota is turned upside down.”
“The two detectives came here, too,” Arnaud murmured, his dry throat causing the French words to sound forced. “To ask me about the young man.”
Brother Cédric look horrified. “Father, they have no right to bother you when you are so very ill. I will complain. Now is not the time to come here.”
The abbot raised his left hand and brought it to rest on the rough woollen fabric of Cédric’s brown cassock. “It’s fine, really. They are just doing their job.”
The monk wasn’t convinced. “Still, you should be allowed to rest, Father.”
“Brother Cédric, you should have informed me immediately of the death.”
The wind had gathered speed by the time Mallery and Hobbs arrived back at Saint André’s Hospital, causing the icy northern breeze to whip around the men’s ears as they hurried across to the entrance from the car park.
“Brrr, it’s like a day out on the Yorkshire Moors,” Jack commented, zipping his parka up to his neck as they walked. “A right cold wind that.”
“So, Yorkshire is not somewhere you would recommend for a holiday?” Max replied, reminding himself to wear a thicker coat the next day.
“Well, yes I would, actually,” his colleague explained. “It’s absolutely beautiful scenery, but it can’t half get cold up there. Brass monkey weather, we’d call it.”
“Brass monkey,” the inspector repeated, confused by the way in which his English counterpart used these expressions so frequently and freely.
An ambulance with its blue lights flashing distracted the officers. They stood back to allow the emergency team to get to work on an elderly woman and the conversation was forgotten, although Max still clung on to the image of a metal ornament in the shape of a great baboon. One day, he’d be able to converse with Jack in normal language, he mused. Perhaps a miracle might happen, and the young man would learn French. Now, that really would be something!
“Abbot Arnaud?” Max called tentatively from the doorway. “May we come in?”
Brother Cédric tutted quite loudly on seeing the detectives and rose from his chair. “Is this really necessary, Inspector? Abbot Arnaud is still very weak.”
Max took a step into the humid room, closely followed by Jack, whose eyes immediately went to the old man’s bedsheets, the place where they’d recalled seeing the ancient leather Bible.
“I’m sorry, but it really is very important that we speak with Abbot Arnaud, and in private too, if you don’t mind leaving us for a while, Brother Cédric.”
“Really! I must object to this…” the monk started, beads of sweat forming on his brow. “Do you realise that Our Father has heart failure?”
“Go to the café, Cédric,” the abbot soothed. “Have a cup of tea. Please.”
“I’m sorry about Brother Cédric.” Arnaud smiled faintly as the door closed behind his fellow monk. “He means well, but sometimes he is… you know.”
Max nodded. “I’m sure he does, Monsieur, but we are still in the middle of a murder investigation. A young man lies dead in the morgue from poison.”
The ageing monk pursed his lips, waiting for the inspector to continue.
“When we last spoke to you, we noticed an Old Testament Bible here…”
Abbot Arnaud pointed to the bedside cabinet with a gnarled finger. “In there, Inspector. The nurses moved it when they changed the sheets earlier.”
Jack stooped down to pull open the wooden cupboard doors, lifting the heavy volume carefully onto the portable table. “Ah, yes. Here it is, sir.”
“Is this your property, Abbot Arnaud?” Mallery enquired, trying to mask the urgency in his voice. “Or does it happen to belong to Noel Van Beek?”
The old man sighed, rubbing his forehead with a mottled hand. “Yes, it is the young man’s. Brother Cédric brought it here, thought I might
like to see it.”
“You didn’t think to tell us? Even though it might be relevant to our inquiry?”
“It really didn’t seem important,” Arnaud offered. “It’s quite a remarkable book. Not many left as old as this. How did you find out about it, Inspector?”
“Noel’s grandmother noticed it was missing from his bag,” Jack explained, studying the intricate patterns cut into the leather cover. “It was his father’s.”
Abbot Arnaud gasped. It sounded as though the air was trapped in his throat as he struggled to breathe. The old man’s face became quite red.
“Water, quickly,” Max gestured to Hobbs, who stood closest to the jug.
Gulping down the cool liquid, the monk slowly began to recover, the colour draining from his cheeks as he tried to regulate his breathing.
“Are you alright?” Max asked, genuinely concerned. “Do you need a nurse?”
Abbot Arnaud shook his head. “I’ll be all right in a minute. Tell me, Inspector, is she here, in Bordeaux?”
“Who?”
“Annalise,” the eighty-year-old sighed, letting his hands fall to his side.
“You know Annalise Van Beek?” Jack prompted. “How? Where from?”
Arnaud allowed a tear to fall from his left eye before hastily wiping at it with the back of his hand. His lips trembled as he formed the next words.
“I didn’t know that she went by the name Van Beek, but yes, I knew Annalise a long time ago, and now everything about the young man’s arrival makes sense. I only knew her by the name Sister Anna. No surname.”
The detectives looked at one another across the narrow hospital bed, both confused by the abbot’s revelation and each determined to find out more.
Noel Page 13
