by Katie Penryn
“And she never said a word to you about these letters?”
He shook his head. “Didn’t want to worry me, I suppose. Perhaps she expected him to get tired eventually if she gave him no encouragement.”
I made a mental note to check that out with other friends and acquaintances.
Felix stopped doodling on his notes for a moment. “But do you think he could have set the traps? And if so, why would he have Hélène as his target, the very woman he professed to be deeply in love with? It doesn’t make sense.”
“None of it does,” said Jean-Claude. “I’m living in a nightmare here with no hope of waking up.”
Something had occurred to me while Felix had been reading the letters to himself. What if Jean-Claude had been the intended victim?
I put the idea to him. “Could the traps have been laid for you? Was it customary for Hélène to take that particular ride to the outcrop?”
He thought a moment before replying, working things out in his head. “I hadn’t looked at it that way. I was the one who usually made the daily patrol of the vineyards… on horseback. Hélène’s rides were more for pleasure. She may have decided to go that way on that particular morning because I couldn’t ride with my bad leg, but we hadn’t discussed it so I can’t say for sure.”
“One more thing, Jean-Claude, can you give us the names of Hélène’s particular friends, people she may have confided in?”
He took another sheet of paper out of the drawer and noted down three names. He handed the list to me saying, “Hélène had a vast circle of friends and acquaintances. She was a sociable person. But these are her best friends. They’d go out in a group together for some girl time.”
Felix folded up the two sheets of paper and put them in his pocket. Time for us to leave.
*
In the car on the way back, Felix and I went over what we’d learned.
I began by saying, “Jean-Claude doesn’t strike me as the wife-murdering type.”
Felix countered me with, “Just because he says he and Hélène didn’t discuss where she’d ride that morning doesn’t mean he’s telling the truth. He’s the one person who could have suggested she take that route.”
“But there was someone there in the bushes when we all went looking for her and it couldn’t have been Jean-Claude, remember. He was with us. Once again we’re back to the idea that if Jean-Claude is guilty, he had an accomplice. I can’t see him wanting anyone else to know what he was up to—”
“Unless he had someone on the side, too.”
I changed down as we made the turn onto the main road. “Always possible. We’ll have to make inquiries.”
“Penzi, did you notice he said the letters could have been left in a drop box? That means he has considered the idea that Hélène was complicit in the correspondence.”
“If he’s guilty, why would he hand us the motive in the form of the love-letters?”
“As a diversion? To make himself look innocent?”
“It’s so complicated. I’ve fallen down a rabbit hole and I don’t know where to start.”
“When Alice said that the King told her: Begin at the beginning and go on till you come to the end: then stop. We’ll follow the process that’s served us so well in the past. Take one person at a time and interview them. From what they tell us we’ll widen the circle until everything becomes clear. We’ll interview Gilbert Clancy for a start.”
“And a visit to the BNC to sound them out on the financial health of the business. With Jean-Claude set to receive a handsome insurance payout, it would be interesting to find out how badly he may have needed it.”
“They’ll be able to give us a list of competitors. Maybe we’re looking at some kind of business move here. Force Jean-Claude into selling if he doesn’t have his wife’s business acumen to guide him.”
We pulled in to top up the tank and were back on the road after buying a couple of cans of soda to quench our thirst. My mind spun on the traps, weaving this way and that. Maybe the obvious solution was the one.
“We must interview the local Chef de Chasse, the head of the Cognac hunting society, and ask about illegal hunting.”
Felix pulled out his scrap of paper and added the BNC and the Chasse.
“When we get home, we’ll set up the first interviews and work through our usual people of interest: relatives other than husband, unrequited lovers–there may be others beside Clancy–business rivals, and past or present employees who could bear a grudge.”
“Her girlfriends. One of them may know if Hélène had taken a lover.”
Felix tucked his list away again. “Enough for today. When we get home, we’ll spend some time with Jimbo.”
We stayed silent for the rest of the journey each of us lost in trying to make sense out of the situation we found ourselves in. As I turned down past the Esplanade and onto the cobbled road that runs to our house, an idea that had been niggling away in my subconscious surfaced.
“Felix, what about Jupiter as a possible mate for Zig? He’s a handsome dog and would make great puppies. She’s coming into heat later this month.”
“Have you gone stark, staring mad? You can’t expect Jean-Claude to be interested in a project like that with all that’s been going on.”
“It won’t do any harm to sound him out.”
“Who Jean-Claude or Jupiter?” Felix asked somewhat sarcastically.
“Now, you’re being silly,” I said as I eased to a halt in front of Les Dragons. I pulled on the handbrake and switched off the engine. As I no longer had to watch the road ahead, I turned to Felix to answer his snarky question.
“I hadn’t thought of asking Jupiter, but anyway I know little about how dogs’ minds work. I’m not sure he would have a choice if he met Zig when she was, as they say, in an interesting condition. I’m guessing that biology would simply take over. It is called the biological imperative after all.”
Felix snorted at my reply and we left it at that for the time being.
Chapter 17
Felix and I had to undergo an interrogation by Jimbo when we reached home. He was desperate to know how his new-found friends were coping with the death of their mother. He brightened up when Felix told him I would be investigating because their father was now my client. At breakfast the next morning we were deep in discussion of the strangeness of the whole affair when our postwoman, Martine, arrived. As usual, she came breezing into the kitchen to join us for her morning coffee and lowered her bulk into the chair at the end of the table. I asked her if she had any contacts in Cognac.
“Cognac?” she queried putting down her cup and looking at Gwinny for a refill. “Why do you want to know that?”
“We could use some inside information about the death of Madame de Portemorency. You must have heard about it.”
She nodded and said, “Of course. It’s been on the local news for over a week now. And the funeral was reported on TV.”
She narrowed her eyes and squinted across the table at me. “Don’t tell me you’re involved, Penzi?”
“I am. Her husband has asked me to carry out a parallel investigation into how and why the traps were on his land.”
“So, he suspects foul play? What about Inspector Dubois? I heard he was temporarily attached to the Cognac gendarmerie?”
“He’s treating it as a suspicious death.”
Martine leaned forward, her eyes glowing with intrigue. “Why would he do that? Surely it was an accident? There must be hundreds of old traps rusting to bits in the countryside.”
For a moment I was tempted to tell her they weren’t rusty, but Felix kicked me under the table and I changed my answer to: “I can’t divulge the secrets of the police investigation, Martine. Now, contacts in Cognac. Do you have any?”
She crinkled up her brow while she ran through her vast mental database of friends and relations. “Ah,” she answered at last. “I have a second cousin who also works for the post office: Henri Duval, but I don’t know anything a
bout his round. I could phone him and ask him to speak to you.”
“Thank you. The way you all gossip back at the office, he may be able to give us some useful background information on our principal suspects.”
Her eyes brightened. “Who are they?”
I was able to tell her truthfully that we hadn’t drawn up a complete list as yet and would be doing so as soon as we’d finished our breakfast, hoping she’d take the hint and leave, but as usual she wanted yet another cup of coffee before resuming her round.
*
As her yellow van disappeared back down our road towards the Esplanade, Felix and I repaired to the study to draw up our list of interviewees.
Felix opened up his laptop and transferred the notes he’d made during our conversation with Jean-Claude. When he’d finished, he looked up at me. “We should start with the chief of the local hunt, le Chef de la Chasse. There’s no point taking days or weeks looking for the culprit if we can identify him or her immediately through the Chasse.”
“Agreed. Put him at the top of the list. However, it wouldn’t hurt to go ahead with interviewing people we’ve heard are connected to the case, such as the BNC.”
Felix wrote that down as number two. “What are we hoping to learn from them? How healthy the de Portemorency business is? Who Jean-Claude’s main competitors are?”
“All that and anything else they can add. Next Hélène’s girlfriends.”
Felix checked his notes. “That will be Anne-Marie Fortine, Catrine LaForêt and Diane Cordier. Then I guess we’d better meet the hopeful lover, Gilbert Clancy.”
“And add that man de Gonzelles. I didn’t like the way he was slanging off Jean-Claude’s business at the award ceremony. He wasn’t at all happy to come in third. We must ask the BNC representative about him. Discreetly of course.”
“Penzi, that’s seven people already. We’d better get busy setting up the appointments. I suggest you start by letting Monsieur Bonhomie know we’re going ahead with representing Jean-Claude in this matter. Then I’ll put the calls through for you and you can speak to the people concerned.”
I dialed our mayor’s number and caught him as he was leaving the office.
“I’m so glad you’ve decided to help Jean-Claude,” he said. “He’s a fine young man.”
When I told him that Dubois had his suspicions about him, he tutted and said, “That Dubois’s a good policeman, but sometimes he can be over enthusiastic.”
I murmured my agreement, not mentioning that Felix and I were keeping an open mind on the subject of Jean-Claude’s guilt or innocence. As I closed off the call I said to Felix, “This time alibis will be useless. This is a case of murder or manslaughter at a distance. We have to concentrate on who had the opportunity–that is who had access to the traps. The list will be endless with all the visitors and ex-employees. If only we could pin down the motive. Who would want to kill Hélène or, possibly, Jean-Claude?”
Felix closed his laptop. “Don’t put the cart before the horse, Penzi. This is a case where we have to move ahead an inch at a time because the fog is so thick, but it will clear.”
He was right. Impatience was always a failing of mine; I liked to see the way ahead. We spent the rest of the afternoon calling strangers and arranging to visit them. We would start with the chef de la chasse, Monsieur Clément Pointon, the next afternoon. He said he would fit us in after his office hours. Apparently, he was one of the notaries in Cognac and had a full day of clients booked. We agreed to meet at his office in the center of the city at five thirty.
*
Clément Pointon hurried out into the reception area to welcome us, hand outstretched. I would never have guessed he was an ardent hunter if I’d met him socially. He was tall, dark and smooth featured–no hint of outdoors ruggedness. He flashed his hazel eyes at me as we shook hands, and I put him down as a bit of a flirt.
“Come in, come in,” he said holding the door open for us. “Our mayor has asked me to give you all the help I can, but I’m not sure how I can help you.”
He gestured towards the chairs in front of his modern glass desk and I was glad I was wearing jeans and not a short skirt. While we were settling, he offered us coffee. I asked for tea. He called the order through and leaned forward smiling broadly.
“Well, where do you want to start?” he asked.
I explained that I was acting for Jean-Claude de Portemorency in the matter of his wife’s unexplained death.
“So, I heard,” he said nodding his agreement with my position. “I know Jean-Claude. He’s a good guy. Such a tragedy. Now, what do you want to know?”
“You heard his wife Hélène was caught in a man trap?”
“Yes. Everyone knows that.”
“We wondered if the traps could have been set by a poacher. Whether you have your eye on any illegal hunting in the area?”
He leaned back. “Hunting is strictly regulated in France. We value our citizens and don’t want them shot by mistake, but we value our wildlife equally. All legal hunters require a permit and to earn it they have to take a written course and prove they can hit a target. I’m talking about hunting with a gun here.”
“What about other forms of hunting?”
“All are controlled. And the hunting season for each type of game is laid down in law as are the numbers allowed to be killed. Of course, we get people breaking the rules: taking down deer over the quota or out of season, but I’ve never heard of a case of anyone using a man trap or wolf trap in modern times. They’ve been outlawed for decades. I’m not even sure where anyone would find one outside a museum.”
“If someone did decide to poach using a wolf trap or a man trap, what game would they hope to catch?”
Pointon thought for a moment before replying. “We don’t get much large game in the vineyards. Occasionally a few deer will stray onto the land. The other possibility would be a wild boar, but it is unusual to find one so far from the cover of the woods.”
The secretary came in with the refreshments and we chatted about unimportant matters until everyone was served and she’d retired.
“Where was I?” Pointon said. “Oh yes, only the odd deer or perhaps a wild boar.”
Felix stirred his coffee, took a mouthful and replaced his cup. He flashed me a glance and I shook my head. He was thinking about the large animal, whether two-legged or four-legged, Jupiter had told us about, but we couldn’t mention that. The only human being who’d witnessed it was Hélène, and she was no longer there to tell her story. We couldn’t of course, say a dog had told us. Pointon would think we were mad.
I finished my tea unable to come up with any more useful questions. I replaced my cup and rose to my feet. “Thank you for seeing us, Monsieur Pointon. To recap: as far as you know, there’s been no illegal hunting with wolf or man traps in the area.”
He pushed back his chair and walked to the door to open it for us. As he shook our hands in farewell, he apologized for being unable to help us.
“On the contrary,” I said, “you have helped us by confirming that the chances of the traps being laid by a poacher are low. We have to concentrate on the more unpleasant task of finding someone who was hunting human beings.”
As we got back in our car Felix said, “Penzi, that was a horrible way of putting things.”
“Horrible but true.”
Chapter 18
We had time for a stroll around the ancient city of Cognac and for lunch at a restaurant overlooking the River Charente before it was time for our appointment with the president of the BNC, Julien Daniel. Because in his day job he was CEO of one of the world’s largest cognac producers, our meeting was to be held at his firm’s distillery, Bennetta’s, set on the riverside for easy access to water.
Alongside the head office, three aircraft hangar sized utilitarian operational buildings lined up against the riverfront. In stark contrast, the main building, a rectangle of two stories fronted by a three-story square building with a mansard roof and a pair of
towering chimneys displayed the best of French renaissance architecture. Palladian style windows set into the roof brought to mind Versailles although on a more modest scale. As usual in that area, the local cut limestone, tailored to within a fraction of an inch, framed the windows and doors. Inside we stepped across a chequered marble floor to the reception desk to be greeted by a middle-aged woman, chic in a tailored suit of fine peach colored wool to highlight her pale skin and blond chignon.
We explained who we were. She gestured towards a pair of fine gilded Louis XIV chairs suggesting we wait in comfort for Monsieur Daniel.
I’d been expecting a man of great stature in keeping with the ceiling towering above us, but Julien Daniel barely scraped in at five five, his head being lower than mine as we shook hands. He may have been small, but he made up for it with his quota of charm, twinkling at me with his button eyes the color of currants set in a face of smudged features. His graying hair lent gravitas to his demeanor counterbalancing his welcoming smile. He led us through to his office which looked out over the river through spacious windows. The second surprise was the modern furniture.
He gave a wry smile when he caught my expression. “This is my workspace, so I chose the ambiance I like. I find all that antique stuff incredibly stuffy… and uncomfortable,” he said, showing us over to a seating area with pale tan Scandinavian leather sofas mounted on polished steel legs.
“Coffee? Tea? A sample of our cognac to go with it?” he asked.
Felix asked for coffee and cognac. For once I chose coffee. I didn’t fancy drinking cognac with tea. While we waited for the drinks to arrive, we exchanged pleasantries. He was good at winkling out information from us about how long we’d been in France, what we did here, and how we foresaw our future now that Brexit was on its way to being a done deal. His easy way with strangers must have been a great bonus when dealing with foreign buyers and his gentle sense of humor when smoothing any ruffled feathers within the BNC.
