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-learning 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), Mag
ali 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 divorced 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.
But in the end, evasiveness had won.
***
‘Everything’s in there. Autopsy report, email transcripts, phone messages, interviews. I’ve made copies of the photos. Not as good as the originals but they’ll do.’ It was a fortnight after the dinner and Magali was sitting with Vincent Darlier in the garden of Les Oliviers, perhaps not Sentabour’s best restaurant but its prettiest. He’d called to say he was going to a meeting in Marseilles and could he pop in to see her? ‘I’ll bring a copy of the Perle file. I’d like you to help me move forward with this.’
‘Help?’ What does he think I am, a detective? ‘But how?’
‘Study the file, see what you find. Then we talk it through.’ Hearing no answer, he added, ‘Or if you prefer, I’m helping you. It’s not an easy job on your own.’
As soon as she put down the phone, the crest she’d been riding acquired a new momentum.
Freed from the confinement of his uniform, Darlier was casual and chirpy. ‘Take your time. A day or two here or there won’t make much difference at this point.’ As he handed the folder to her, he added, ‘I need hardly tell you it’s strictly confidential.’
‘Of course.’ Magali put the folder on the chair beside her. ‘And not the usual procedure, I imagine.’
‘It’s never bad to get a second opinion.’
‘From a novice?’
‘You have to start somewhere. I’m hardly an expert myself.’ In twenty-eight years, posted to six different places, he’d dealt with four cases of murder, a dozen or so of manslaughter. None had taken more than a month to elucidate. ‘Maybe I was lucky. There are plenty of crimes like that still out there unsolved. But these days it isn’t easy to get away with murder.’
‘Whoever killed Enzo is doing all right so far.’
‘We’ll get him in the end. Or her.’
Magali raised her eyebrows. ‘A new suspect?’
‘You probably know Perle was calling it off with Brigitte Bussert. She didn’t like that. Not a bit.’
‘Enough to kill him?’
He shrugged. ‘A jealous rage. They’re not exclusive to men.’
‘And she’d have the strength? Charlotte said the blow was massive.’
‘I’ve seen her chopping wood.’ He nodded towards the folder. ‘But I’ll let you read that first. I don’t want to go putting ideas in your head,’ he added, though of course he already had. He leant back and let out an off-duty sigh of contentment. ‘So tell me, what do you get up to when you’re not hunting murderers?’
‘Oh, this and that.’ Would you like to see my etchings of Enzo’s house? ‘Actually, I’ve signed up to follow a course. That’ll be keeping me busy.’
‘Really? In what?’
She hesitated – but he knew the half of it already. ‘The official title is private research agent.’
‘Ah!’ He gave a knowing smile and nodded again to the folder. ‘So you’re taking it all very seriously.’
‘I need a qualification,’ she said. ‘I’m sure not everyone would cooperate with me as you are. I’m very grateful for that.’
He dipped his head. ‘It’s nice to have someone else take an interest.’
‘You mean no one else does?’
‘I have a couple of subordinates on the case. And the investigating judge follows our progress, of course. But basically, yes, as far as the day-to-day decisions are concerned, I’m pretty much on my own. So I’m not bothered a bit if Madame Perle wanted another point of view, as it were.’ He raised his glass towards her. ‘And she made a very good choice.’
‘Thank you.’ She wished it didn’t sound so much like a pick-up line. ‘You know, what I find hardest is getting my mind around it.’
‘Around what?’
‘Planning to put an end to someone’s life. Because that’s what we’re looking at with Enzo. It wasn’t just an accident or a fight. It was premeditated. I can understand thinking about it. But actually going ahead and doing it… I find it fascinating, in a way.’ She looked up anxiously. ‘Does that sound terribly morbid?’
‘Not at all. I know exactly what you mean.’ Darlier frowned as he fiddled with the cuff of his shirt. ‘But I don’t think it was as premeditated as you say.’
‘You mean she decided on the spur of the moment?’
‘She had it in her, obviously. The capability. But that doesn’t mean she planned it.’ He spoke almost curtly, inviting no further comment. She guessed he’d rather be talking about something else. Let’s find out what we’ve got in common, shall we? Then he said, ‘Did you see the news yesterday? That double murder near Royan?’
‘Uh, vagu
ely,’ Magali lied. She was so wrapped up in her painting, she wouldn’t have known if a third world war had begun.
‘Somebody cut their throats, a burglar probably. You could check it out if you want.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Just an idea. If you want to know what makes people kill. I know what you mean, it’s hard to imagine. Yet it happens all the time.’
Magali looked at him, uncertain what he was saying. ‘How do you mean, check it out?’
‘Go along, look at the way the police investigate. Offer your services, maybe.’
‘But I can’t just barge in like that. Turn up and say, “Hi, can I work with you?”’
‘The man in charge is Commander Balland. I could put in a word.’
‘You know him?’
‘We worked together for a while.’
‘Well… It’s very kind of you.’
‘But?’
‘No but. It just seems a bit… It’s quite a step to take.’
‘As you wish. It’s only if you’re interested. I don’t want to throw you in the deep end.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I think I’ll have time for a stroll round the village after lunch. Any particular spot you’d recommend? Or perhaps you’d care to come with me.’
***
‘Paul? Magali Rousseau here. Listen, can we postpone tomorrow’s appointment?’
There was a pause as Daveney took it in. ‘Why?’
‘I have to go to Royan. Just for a couple of days. Can we say Thursday instead? Same time.’
‘Why?’ It came out annoyed this time.
‘Well… I’m investigating a murder, if you must know.’
For all the curiosity it aroused, she might as well have said she was going shopping.
‘I thought you wanted to hear about my dad.’
The answer brought her up sharp. How long had he been keeping it ready? She felt like shouting at him. Two months into the therapy, she knew his mother had Special K for breakfast, spent most of the day in her dressing gown and religiously watched Plus Belle la Vie before her afternoon nap.
One Green Bottle (Magali Rousseau mystery series Book 1) Page 5
