One Green Bottle (Magali Rousseau mystery series Book 1)

by Curtis Bausse

  ‘What about you?’ said Sophie. ‘You’re coming too, I presume?’

  ‘No. I’m going to stay here.’

  ‘No way.’ Sophie wagged a finger at her. ‘You’re not bundling me off to Paris while you stay here.’

  ‘He’s after you, not me. You’re the one who got the book.’

  ‘You got one too, remember? And he killed Antoine at your place. And before me, it was Luc. Frankly, I think he’s after all of us.’

  She was right, of course. He was out for revenge and he didn’t care how he got it. Magali wasn’t sure what to reply. Finally, raising a hand from the wheel, she said, ‘I’m not sure I can trust Marty.’

  ‘That’s why you’re staying? You don’t trust the police to do their job?’ Sophie tossed back her head. ‘Now that is stupid.’

  ‘I’m not going to take any risks.’

  ‘So simply being here is a risk for me but not for you?’ Sophie folded her arms. ‘I’m not going unless you come with me.’

  Magali was silent for a while. Sophie was making perfect sense. And having no solid argument to offer, she ended up saying, ‘All right, you win again.’ She didn’t say that if they both went to Charlotte’s, the killer would be more likely to track them down. ‘I don’t know what’ll happen if he disappears, though. We can’t stay there for ever.’

  ‘But the hunt is on for him now. They’re bound to catch him.’

  Magali wished she could feel as optimistic. ‘All right, your place and my place to pick up some things. Then Paris.’

  At Luc and Sophie’s there was more activity than expected. Marty was walking round the perimeter of the garden with three policemen in tow; a fourth was standing by the front door.

  ‘Well, he seems to be taking it seriously, anyway.’ Magali parked the car and got out.

  ‘More than can be said for my reception at the station. They thought I was being hysterical.’ Sophie pulled a face. ‘Well, I suppose I was, but even so.’

  When Marty spotted them, he gave some instructions to his men, who dispersed, before striding over to greet them. ‘We’ll be keeping an eye on the place throughout the night. If it’s all right with you,’ he said to Sophie, ‘I’ll put a man inside with the lights on. Make it look as if you’re at home.’

  Sophie nodded. ‘You think he might come this evening?’

  ‘We’ll be ready for him if he does,’ said Marty with a shrug. He turned to Magali. ‘You were in Clermont-Ferrand?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘A bit long to explain.’ Magali gestured to the house. ‘You’re really going to town here. Have you come up with something, or what?’

  ‘Not here.’ He narrowed his eyes at her. ‘You haven’t answered my question.’

  ‘A wild-goose chase, basically,’ she said with a sigh. ‘I was keeping watch on a house. Like you are here, except on my own. But this is the one to be watching – I was led astray.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that.’ Marty furrowed his brow. ‘The reason we’re going to town, as you say, is that news came through not long ago of a murder in Clermont-Ferrand. Fellow by the name of Metot.’

  Chapter 30

  ‘Where are you going?’ said Sophie when Magali missed the turning towards her house.

  ‘Do you mind if we just drive round for a bit? I’m looking for Paul.’ She told Sophie about the phone call. ‘He makes me feel so guilty. I know I shouldn’t but I do.’

  ‘I think it’s called manipulation,’ said Sophie.

  ‘Absolutely. And he’s good at it. And I’m lousy at resisting.’

  ‘Do you seriously think he’d kill himself?’

  ‘No. But if by any chance he did and I’d just gone off to Paris without at least looking for him…’ She turned to Sophie with a helpless smile. ‘I’ve been trying to call him but he’s not answering. I suppose because he knows it’s me. Maybe if you tried from your phone?’

  But he didn’t answer Sophie either, which meant he’d decided to cut himself off from the world. ‘Probably just switched off his phone,’ said Sophie.

  ‘Or himself.’ Magali drove slowly, glancing to left and right, but she saw no sign of Paul. The Christmas lights in the main street seemed to be out of place, as if someone had made a monumental mistake. How can the world be festive, she wondered, when the forces of dark are at large?

  They reached Paul’s house and she drew up opposite. ‘The bell doesn’t work. Can you try the landline?’ She gave Sophie the number but again no one answered. ‘Lucille’s pretty much a recluse. Her only contact with the outside world is through Paul. Unless you count all the letters she writes to world leaders.’

  ‘Wherever would we be without her, I wonder.’ Sophie peered up at the house, grey and forbidding in the gathering dark. ‘There’s a window open up there.’

  ‘I think it always is. She’s a great one for fresh air.’ Magali got out and rattled the gate but no one stirred in the house and no light went on. She got back in the car. ‘We’ll just take a look by the church. Then I’ll feel I’ve done all I can.’

  ‘You already have, I’m sure. He’s hardly your responsibility now.’

  Magali was silent for a while as she considered it. As Marty had explained, Paul was now officially in the clear. On the day of Antoine’s death, a couple of men in a helicopter, conducting a geological survey, had spotted a man at the top of the Mataroc, waving. Thinking he was in distress, they swooped lower. When they saw he was fine, they continued their work, but not before taking a picture. You couldn’t see Paul’s features clearly, but his clothes were the same as in the picture taken half an hour earlier by the two lads in search of wild boar. Together with Magali’s evidence, it was enough for the charges to be dropped.

  When Magali praised the thoroughness of his work, Marty had grinned a little sheepishly and suggested she read La Provence. It was all down to a certain Thierry Krief. Magali made a note to send the detestable man a message of thanks. Not that it helped to assuage her guilt over Paul. She, no less than Marty, had doubted an innocent man.

  ‘No, I failed him,’ she said to Sophie. ‘He was right, I was always thinking about the murders, he took second place all the time. At the very least, I was clumsy, or I misread the signals, or was just inexperienced and thought it was simpler than it was.’ She gave a short laugh. ‘I’ve been a better detective than a therapist, that’s for sure.’

  Sophie sighed, rubbing her fingers across her forehead. ‘And to think this all goes back to those damn plaques.’

  ‘I’ve already told you not to feel bad about that. I went along willingly, took it all as a joke at first. And that was my fault, not yours. But I’ve been learning fast and learning the hard way. And honestly, I don’t regret it. Yes, I feel terrible about Antoine, I always will. But there’s some satisfaction at least in being proved right.’ She drew up outside the church. ‘I’ll just check the porch. I won’t be a minute.’ She opened the door and got out, then turned. ‘You’d better lock yourself in. Just to be sure.’

  Sophie looked incredulous. ‘What about you?’ she shouted, but Magali was already striding up the path.

  The porch was empty. She’d expected it would be but she was disappointed all the same. Paul was unfinished business and she very much wanted to talk to him, to explain. She didn’t know if he’d accept it, but she wanted to offer an apology.

  She stood for a while, hugging her arms around her, staring at the floor. In many ways, it was easier to deal with the psychopath. You classified him as a monster and you didn’t bother trying to understand him. The only emotions were hatred and fear. Strong, simple emotions that made you reject him. The psychopath wasn’t human, whereas Paul was complex and fragile, and she didn’t want to abandon him yet again. Because unfortunately, although she’d never previously admitted it to herself, it was obvious he was in love with her. A fixation seemed more manageable than love. You could hope that, like a sore, it would eventually disappear by itself.
But love was complicated at the best of times, and unrequited love was tragic. Eventually most people got over it, but Paul was unlike most. In his case it would just get more demanding and that wasn’t something he’d be able to cope with.

  Then she shook her head. This was her own inadequacy coming through. In therapy these things happened, and it was up to him to deal with it, not her. There was nothing for her to apologise about, no reason to go seeking his forgiveness. Perhaps there were times she could have been more attentive, but the whole point of therapy is for the patient to become self-sufficient, and in that respect she’d done all she could to help.

  She knew very well that later she’d go over it all again and her guilt would come rushing back, but for the moment she was satisfied. She’d searched the whole village for him and now it was time to go to Paris.

  She was stepping out of the porch when she heard a footstep in the gravel. She froze, her senses suddenly alert. There was no further sound. She waited several seconds, then edged out into the path. She moved on to the grass, hugging the wall of the church, and crept along to the corner.

  She peered round. She could just make out the shapes of tombstones stretching away to the wall at the far end. She waited again, eyes straining into the darkness. The graveyard was silent. She took a few steps forward and stopped. From the corner of her eye she glimpsed a shape at the other end of the church, something flitting in a fraction of a second and disappearing. A prickle of fear spread all through her body. She stood rooted to the spot, her heart pounding in her chest.

  Eventually, she took another step forward. ‘Paul?’ she said in a loud whisper. There was no answer. Must have been a dog. She looked back over her shoulder towards the car. From where she stood it wasn’t visible. She turned to look at the graveyard again. She said to herself that she ought to walk round to make sure. But she didn’t have the courage and her imagination was going wild and Sophie was all alone. She hurried back to the car.

  ‘You took your time. I was starting to freak. I didn’t know what to do. Go out and get you or what?’

  ‘Sorry.’ Magali clasped her hand. ‘Me too. Graveyards in the dark. Not a good idea at the best of times.’

  ‘And “Lock yourself in, I won’t be a minute.” My God! You’re not supposed to say that!’

  ‘Sorry,’ she said again, laughing. ‘Hollywood really messes our minds up, doesn’t it?’

  Sophie let out a long sigh of relief. ‘I looked at the train times. There’s one in forty minutes. And you know what? I think I’d like to be on it.’

  ***

  ‘Sorry, old boy, I’d love to take you with me but you’d hate it, you really would.’

  Toupie had eaten from his newly replenished dish and was now rubbing and purring round Magali’s ankles as she threw her clothes from Clermont-Ferrand in the washing machine and packed a new set.

  Sophie had said she’d give Luc a ring once they were on the train, but he rang as they were getting ready to leave the house. ‘I’m with your mum,’ said Sophie. ‘We’re going to Paris.’ Luc was evidently surprised and the next thing Sophie said was, ‘Look, I’d better hand you over to her… Yes fine. I’ll speak to you after.’

  Magali told him, as briefly as she could, what had happened. ‘I’ll call you from Paris. Everything’s under control, don’t worry. Can you stay where you are? Or join us in Paris? Just don’t go back home till you get the all-clear.’

  ‘You mean what? When that bastard’s been caught?’

  ‘Basically, yes. As long as he’s still at large, none of us is safe. But there’s a full-scale manhunt on now. It can’t be long.’

  ‘But no one knows who he is,’ said Luc reasonably. ‘And since he knows you’re looking for him, surely he’ll just slip away? It could take ages.’

  ‘I don’t think so. Not this time. Now that the police believe me at last, they’ll start to reinterpret the evidence from the other cases. There’s so much more they can get from computer forensics that I never had access to. For me it was just guesswork but they know now exactly what to look for. We’re closing in on him and he knows it.’ And that’s why he’s out there, angry. ‘It’s a matter of days. If that.’ She would have liked to believe it.

  ‘All right. I’ll join you in Paris. We’ll take it from there, I suppose.’

  ‘I’ll hand you back to Sophie.’

  Magali went back to preparing her suitcase while Sophie, fully recovered from her fright, chatted gaily to Luc. He’d convinced the Matisse museum that he was the man for the job and he was eager to get to work. Sophie did her best to assure him their stay in Paris would be brief.

  Magali glanced at her watch and realised she’d been dawdling. Catching the next train would be tight. The fact of the matter was that she didn’t want to leave Sentabour now, and not just because of Paul.

  She thought of all the pain the killer had caused, the unfinished lives, the projects and hopes that would never be fulfilled, the inconsolable sadness in Charlotte’s eyes, the unborn baby in Lucie Terral’s womb that never had the chance to discover what life was about.

  She recalled what Charlotte had said one day about revenge, the fantasy of tearing her son’s killer limb from limb. And although, whenever the topic arose, Magali always maintained that executing murderers was wrong, she could find no reason now why the person she’d been hunting deserved to live. And if leaving Sentabour now was difficult for her, it wasn’t simply to be there at the end of the hunt, but to see for herself what sort of evil she’d been up against.

  But perhaps you could never know. Whatever went on in his dark, perverted mind was bound to remain a mystery. All you saw was the acts, and the pain and the grief they caused, and for that she wanted him to suffer.

  Sophie finished her conversation and rang off. ‘We’d better hurry.’

  ‘Right.’ Magali closed her case, wondering what excuse she could find, once they were at the station, to go back on her word at the last minute.

  They moved to the door. Then Sophie froze, holding out her hand. ‘Shh! What’s that?’

  A noise round the back. Magali recognised the dull thud of something – or someone – bumping into the dustbin. ‘Wait here,’ she said, putting her case down. ‘Probably just a dog sniffing round.’ But all the same, before going to check, she went into the kitchen to get a knife.

  All the shutters were closed; she couldn’t look through the window. She stood by the back entrance with her ear to the door. She heard no sound. Gently, she turned the lock and opened the door. She stepped outside, looking around in the dim orange light from the streetlamp. There was nobody.

  The studio was a dozen yards away. She started out but took no more than a couple of paces before stopping. This was precisely what Antoine had done. The thought of it made her sick.

  She went back inside and bolted the door and leant against it, panting. She took a moment to regain her composure before returning to the sitting room. ‘It’s what I thought, a dog snooping round the bin.’ She put the knife back in the kitchen drawer.

  She felt bad about the lie. She should get a torch and go back out and do a thorough search. But the visions of Antoine’s body were too powerful. She didn’t like to think she was a coward, but she had to face it: the killer was clever, he was closing in on her, and she couldn’t overcome her fear.

  ‘We’d better go,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t think we’ll make the train.’ Sophie’s face was worried.

  ‘We’ll wait for the next. Better than hanging round here.’

  There came a loud knock on the front door. They both jumped and Sophie let out an involuntary scream and grabbed hold of Magali’s arm. ‘Stay here,’ said Magali. ‘Don’t worry, everything’s locked.’

  ‘The front door? You locked it behind you?’

  ‘Yes. It’s just someone calling. I’ll go and see.’

  She fetched the knife again and went to the door and listened. She heard the scrape of a foot on the step. ‘Who is it?
’ she called.

  ‘Bernard Marty.’

  She recognised his voice but was cautious all the same, not opening the door fully till she saw his face.

  ‘No need to go to Paris after all,’ he said. His eyes went to the knife she was still holding and a look of alarm crossed his face. She put the knife down hastily on the windowsill. Marty smiled broadly and spread his arms. ‘We’ve got him.’

  Chapter 31

  Barely, said Marty, had the two women left Sophie’s house than the men detected movement nearby. A few minutes later they pounced on a man approaching from the bushes. He put up no resistance.

  ‘He’s at the station now. I just thought I’d pop in on the way.’ He tipped his head in Sophie’s direction. ‘You were right to get out of that house. It seems he had you down as his next victim.’

  Sophie blew an emphatic sigh of relief. ‘All thanks to Magali,’ she said.

  ‘Indeed.’ Marty acknowledged it with a brief nod. ‘It seemed so preposterous I didn’t take it seriously. I should have listened to you earlier.’

  ‘Well, I…’ Magali didn’t know what to say and after an awkward silence he turned to go. ‘Wait!’ she said.

  Marty looked back at her. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Do you know anything about him?’

  ‘His name. I’m on my way to question him now.’

  ‘And what is his name?’

  ‘Franck Courdais. He’s in our database. Petty criminal, lives in Marseilles.’

  ‘Petty criminal?’

  ‘A bit of dealing. Theft. He was given a suspended sentence a few years back. Nothing since.’

  She was surprised. There was nothing petty about the person she’d imagined. ‘Has he confessed?’

  ‘Well, he can hardly deny he was breaking in. We caught him red-handed.’

  ‘To the murders, I mean.’

  ‘Hold your horses.’ He smiled at her impatience. ‘We’ve only just nabbed him.’

  ‘Well, he’s certainly graduated to harder stuff. Dealer to serial killer. How does that happen?’