Annalise Van Beek was laying outfits on the top of her bedspread, deciding which was suitable for attending her old lover’s graveside. Black dresses lay amongst trousers and jackets in various shades of grey, each garment as expensive as the next. She wanted her last moments with Benoît to be significant and had chosen a bouquet of tightly-budded yellow roses to leave as a token of her love for him. The woman knew that it would be most unlikely that she would ever return to Saint Margaux, let alone Saint Augustin’s, and hoped that the abbot had taken their special memories with him on his final journey.
A knock at the door of her hotel suite disturbed the Dutchwoman from her reminiscing and she quickly abandoned the clothes to greet the visitors.
“Inspector Mallery, Detective Hobbs,” she smiled weakly, “please do come in, although I’m afraid I’m preparing to make a visit to the monastery this afternoon and need to get ready. I’m trying to select something appropriate.”
Max appraised the woman’s perfect make-up and casual yet elegant outfit of dark jersey trousers and turquoise blouse. She was a very beautiful woman, he thought. Yet the sorrow in her eyes was something that just couldn’t be denied.
“That’s why we’ve come,” he explained gently, “to update you on the investigation into your grandson’s death and to offer you an escort to the monastery, as we need to speak to the senior monks about another matter.”
“Please, take a seat,” Annalise urged, gesturing to a plush velvet sofa. “Tell me what you know and please don’t leave anything out.”
Brother Cédric was beside himself. Not only was the man grief-stricken, but this was also the first funeral service that he would conduct within the monastery walls and his nerves were in shreds. Although Alberon had been an absolute gem in his unwavering support, it fell upon Cédric’s shoulders to see the abbot out of one world and into the next. As if preparations and continuous prayer services weren’t enough to occupy the old man’s mind, he had the added stress of Brother Bénédict’s arrest. Cédric could only guess at the mischief that his fellow monk had been up to, yet he couldn’t believe that one of their Order could be a prospective murderer. It was totally unthinkable. Yet, Mallery had set the evidence before him and therefore punishment for the crime must be meted out. Cédric wondered how Bénédict was faring in the police cell, but he simply couldn’t bring himself to enquire, certainly not today, when such an important event was about to take place. Cédric’s air of authority bore him forward, for, after the ballot yesterday, he was now Abbot of Saint Augustin’s.
To pass an hour before heading to Saint Margaux, Mallery suggested that the trio take a light lunch in the hotel restaurant and he and Jack now browsed the menu while waiting for Annalise Van Beek to get changed.
“She looks a good five years older than when she arrived,” Hobbs commented, raising his eyes to meet those of his boss. “It’s tragic.”
“At least, now we have the truth, it might bring some slight condolence.”
“She doesn’t have any other family though, does she?”
Max shook his head. “Non, nobody else.” Just like me.
When the Dutchwoman joined them at the table, a few of the other diners turned their heads in admiration, so elegant did she look in a grey trouser suit and black cashmere sweater. A string of milky white pearls lay around the woman’s neck and a flash of gold at her wrist showcased a Cartier watch. The detectives were intrigued by the display of obvious wealth.
“Let me get that,” Jack said, jumping from his seat to pull out a vacant chair at the table between himself and Mallery.
“Thank you, detective. It’s lovely to see good manners.”
A short, stocky waiter appeared with a jug of iced water and placed a leather-bound menu in the woman’s delicate hands.
“I’m not sure that I could eat anything,” Annalise confessed, hardly pausing to browse the delicacies on offer. “My emotions are everywhere today.”
“Perhaps something light?” Max persuaded. “It’s a long time until dinner.”
A faint smile spread across coral-painted lips and Madame Van Beek acquiesced, “You’re right. Perhaps a bowl of soup, nothing more.”
“Same for me,” Mallery returned. “Jacques?”
Hobbs nodded. “That sounds great. With a basket of fresh bread.”
The Yorkshireman stifled a yawn as he closed the menu. The previous night, Jack had been very late going to bed. After finally settling their son down in his cot, Angélique had become overly amorous, causing them to finally fall asleep to the sound of the dawn chorus outside the bedroom window. Now, the young detective regretted having told Luc he’d be sure to arrive early for the briefing.
As the food arrived, the inspector endeavoured to make polite conversation, although his desire to learn more about Madame Van Beek’s evident fortune was piquing his curiosity. He hoped the hints weren’t too blatantly obvious.
“So, Madame,” he ventured, between mouthfuls of creamy mushroom soup, “life must be very interesting in such a wonderful city as Amsterdam.”
Annalise looked up from where she was toying with the crust of a bread roll. “I suppose so, although I still have my business, which keeps me occupied.”
“Oh, I didn’t realise…”
“I run an interior design company. Luckily for me, my eclectic taste for vintage styling is all the trend these days and it keeps me extremely busy.”
“I admire you,” the detective answered honestly, “but life cannot be all work and no play.”
“My work is my passion, Inspector Mallery. Besides, I had Noel to think about and care for after his parent’s accident. Young men can be expensive to clothe and feed, what with the latest training shoes and takeaway pizzas.”
Jack could feel a sombre air falling upon the woman’s mood and ventured to steer the conversation to more trivial topics.
“Noel,” he repeated. “A very French name for a Dutch boy.”
Annalise turned to look at the Englishman, a glimmer in her eye. “Yes, he was named after his father. My son, Noel, was born on Christmas Day, you see, and with his father being French, it seemed a natural choice.”
“Of course,” Hobbs replied softly. It was just as he’d surmised.
“Please, allow me,” Max told Annalise Van Beek, as he reached forward to open the rear door of the black Mercedes Benz.
“Goodness me, Inspector, French policemen must be paid very well for you to own a BMW and a Mercedes,” the woman replied, teasingly.
“This is one of our pool cars, Madame, it is not mine.”
The slender woman merely nodded and climbed in, settling herself against the soft beige leather interior before nestling the bouquet of roses on her lap and then fastening the seatbelt.
Jack Hobbs sat in the passenger’s seat, feeling slightly embarrassed that his boss had opted to use one of the unmarked police cars instead of travelling in the Yorkshireman’s Ford Mondeo. It was yet another nod to his ageing vehicle and something that would be rectified sooner rather than later, if he had his way.
The journey was a sombre one, interspersed with snippets of conversation about the unpredictable weather, heavy traffic, French wine and then finally the Dutchwoman’s plan to return home to Amsterdam the following day.
“The Coroner has arranged for me to take Noel’s body home with me. Monsieur Theron is such a very kind man, he has helped with all of the necessary papers,” Annalise explained. “I don’t know how I would have coped without him.”
Mallery made a mental note to repeat the compliment to Paul Theron.
“The best I can do for my grandson now is arrange a suitable funeral,” the woman was saying. “Noel had so many good friends and the neighbours absolutely adored him. I can honestly say that he never caused me one sleepless night, which is very rare for a male student these days. Such a good boy.”
“No other family at all?” Mallery asked tentatively, hoping for a cousin perhaps, but already knowing the answer.
/> Her eyes creased at the corners before she replied, “Sadly no, only Noel and myself. He was my whole world, after my son and daughter-in-law died. He moved in almost straight away after it happened.”
The air filled with silence as all three took in the enormity of her words. Hobbs felt a tightening in his chest and reminded himself that he must phone his parents that evening. He couldn’t imagine a world where no close family existed. The Yorkshire Dales didn’t seem such a great distance away now.
Mallery was fighting with his own emotions. The final curtain was about to fall on his relationship with Vanessa Chirac and with it, any hopes of him sustaining a meaningful love life. He shot a glance at Jack, once again wondering what it must feel like to have everything you want and to return home each evening to a homecooked meal and then to retire to a warm bed. Memories stirred and Max was reminded of his very brief marriage to Anna, a beautiful but selfish woman whom he’d become engaged to and then whisked up the aisle after an all-too-short romance. It hadn’t been long until the cracks had begun to appear, just a few months into married life. In fact, he mused, it had been more like crazy paving than anything that could be plastered over.
“Sir?” Jack was saying at his side, nudging the inspector’s elbow. “I said we are only a phone call away if there’s anything we can help with, right?”
“Of course.” Max smiled weakly, shaking himself from the painful memories and turned his head to look at Annalise. “Please don’t hesitate to ask.”
In that moment, all three occupants of the sleek Mercedes Benz paused for a moment of reflection. They knew that no call would come.
Annalise Van Beek turned her head to watch the countryside fill the horizon as far as the eye could see. Once lush green hedgerows were turning brittle and brown from the harsh November storms, dried out in the wind like seaweed on a beach. She could only now appreciate the splendid French scenery around Bordeaux but, given the traumatic circumstances in which she had arrived, there was no inclination to plan a return. They turned off the highway where a sign indicated the village of Saint Margaux, the Vidals’ vineyard coming into view almost immediately on the left. Of course, the Dutchwoman had no knowledge of the murdered woman who had lived there only months before; the detectives had remained tight-lipped about the sinister goings-on in the small community.
They drove past idyllic cottages and the central square, where a certain boulangerie advertised sweet treats and the best baguettes in all of France. Only the florist’s shop stood empty, its doors permanently closed, but the woman paid little attention, only pausing to consider that it may not be the season for buying posies in rural France. Onward, past the grey church, where a priest was pinning up a notice on the board outside, the wind whipping around his heels as he fought to lay the paper flat against the wood. Then the final bend, great sandstone walls coming into view, a bevy of colourful, swaying foxgloves marking the entrance of Saint Augustin’s Monastery. For Annalise Van Beek, the final image that would stay in her mind was that of the beautiful, vibrant wildflowers that were responsible for poisoning her beloved Noel.
Two cloaked figures awaited their arrival at the arched entrance door, immediately recognisable as the medium height Cédric, his paunch belly overhanging the belt at his waist and the shorter, slightly more slender figure of Brother Alberon. Max’s eyes were drawn to the older monk’s waistline, in particular the rope belt that swayed as he moved, identical to that used by Brother Bénédict to end his life the night before.
Greetings exchanged, Alberon offered his arm to Annalise and pointed to a path that led around to the rear of the building. The detectives watched as the unlikely pair moved silently away, neither speaking the other’s language, the woman still clutching the bouquet of perfect yellow roses.
Abbot Cédric ushered the detectives into his office, the same room that he had recently inherited from Arnaud upon taking up position as leader of the Order. He smiled weakly, a tired and worried look upon his ageing face, as they sat either side of the broad oak desk.
“So, Brother Alberon will escort Madame Van Beek to Abbot Arnaud’s final resting place,” he explained, splaying his fingers in a gesture of goodwill. “It is most irregular for us to allow a female visitor to… to see where… but under the circumstances, I think…”
His voice trailed off, unwilling to repeat the reasons for Annalise’s laying of flowers on her lover’s grave, followed by an abrupt cough and then resuming with, “You may not be aware, but yesterday there was a ballot to vote in the next Abbot. It’s customary for the Order to vote amongst ourselves.”
“I see…” The inspector nodded, clasping his hands and leaning forward slightly. “Naturally, you were elected to the position?”
“Indeed. A slight burden under the circumstances, but hopefully life will soon return to something of a routine, though I doubt any of us will ever forget these tragic weeks. Nothing like this has been known within these walls before.”
“It must have been very difficult for everyone here,” Jack soothed, trying to sympathise with the monk’s position.
“Yes, but life must go on. So, will Madame Van Beek be returning home soon?”
“Tomorrow,” Max supplied. “She’ll be taking her grandson’s body back to the Netherlands. I imagine it’s very difficult for her to convey her thanks to you, for letting her say a final farewell to Arnaud, but I know the gesture is appreciated.”
“It is the least I can do.” The monk smiled faintly. “She is very welcome to visit us at any time.”
“It is very good of you,” Mallery assured the old man, “but unfortunately, Madame Van Beek’s request is not the only reason we needed to speak to you.”
“Ah, Brother Bénédict’s arrest.” Abbot Cédric nodded. “Has he confessed?”
“Oui, Monsieur,” the inspector confirmed, “but there is more.”
“I see. Well, nothing can shock me after the recent revelations, so please feel free to tell all. Brother Alberon and I had suspected for a long time that our fellow brethren was searching through our belongings from time to time, so now it makes perfect sense that he had seen the map well before he decided to steal it. Sometimes you just don’t know those close to you and it’s very sad. But well, I suppose he will now be suitably punished?”
Max looked across at Jack who visibly stiffened in his chair.
“Abbot Cédric, I’m afraid there was an unfortunate incident last night…”
CHAPTER TWENTY – CLOSURE
Standing on the monastery driveway, Max Mallery felt a familiar buzzing in his jacket pocket. Slipping the phone into view he read the caller identification and cleared his throat.
Vanessa.
Stepping a few paces away from Jack and Annalise, he answered, but spoke quietly. The Commissioner’s wife could certainly pick her moments. In fact, if he didn’t know better, Max would have bet on her having surveillance set up to track his movements.
“Salut. Je ne peux pas parler maintenant.”
The woman on the other end of the line wouldn’t accept that her lover might be tied up with important police work and continued to speak, desperate for Max to pinpoint a time when she could join him in Bordeaux once again. She sounded excited, although the volume level of her speech was low, furtive, as though she expected to be caught red-handed at any second. Mallery couldn’t help but wonder if that was part of the married woman’s attraction towards him, the fact that she might get caught out and be forced to confess.
He listened, but said nothing, eyes flicking towards Annalise and Jack who appeared to be deep in conversation themselves. “Je t’appellerai plus tard,” he told Vanessa irritably. I’ll call you later.
The inspector stood still for a moment, looking out over the surrounding countryside of Saint Margaux, biting his lip in frustration, before turning back to his companions. How he craved a double espresso and a cigarette.
“Sorry about that. Right, shall we get going?”
A second round of
buzzing began before either of them could reply and Max let out a deep sigh, prepared to ignore the caller. However, glancing at the screen he saw that it was actually one of his own detectives phoning him.
“Bonjour, Thierry, quoi de neuf?”
Jack Hobbs watched his boss’s features change from annoyance to surprise.
“Sensationnel! Nous sommes en route.”
“Madame Van Beek,” Max asked awkwardly, shoving the phone back into his pocket, “this probably sounds highly irregular, but would you mind if we make a detour on the way back to the city? It’s very important.”
Annalise put a hand to her lips and gently shook her head. “Of course not. What has happened, Inspector? Something serious?”
“I’ll explain everything on the way.”
Fifteen minutes later, the black Mercedes pulled to a grinding halt behind Gabriella DuPont’s Mini, the Coroner’s vehicle with its blacked-out windows and a marked police car, in the small village of Riberon. The occupants quickly clambered out.
“Madame, perhaps you would prefer to wait in the car, non?” Max asked.
The Dutchwoman raised an eyebrow. “Not on your life, Inspector Mallery!”
Jack Hobbs paused to point out a battered old bicycle propped up against the gate. “Looks like the vicar is here already.”
Making their way through the slightly overgrown churchyard, the trio soon spotted the three detectives, together with the Coroner, his assistant and two uniformed officers who stood slightly to one side. Another, more disgruntled-looking man leaned against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest as he watched the scene unfold. He was wearing a dog-collar and wide-brimmed hat and Jack Hobbs immediately recognised him as Father Pierre Pelletier from Saint Magdalena’s in Salbec. Of course, he remembered, the priest presided over both churches and was most likely here to watch over the exhumation of one of his ancient parishioners.
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