Murder is a Long Time Coming

by Anthony Masters

  ‘We need to pool information,’ said Marius.

  ‘Listen, Marius. You could be doing severe damage to this enquiry. God knows – you’re a professional, aren’t you? Why do you persist in –’

  ‘Gabriel – I want you to come over. Alain has put forward a theory that – that you should know about.’

  ‘I should know everything that comes up.’

  ‘Lebatre?’ said Marius provocatively.

  ‘To hell with him. What do you propose?’

  ‘Come across now. Let’s have a drink.’

  Gabriel was silent. Then he said reluctantly, ‘Estelle …’

  ‘We’ll talk in the conservatory. Your spy won’t be able to overhear us there.’ Marius laughed at the irony of the situation.

  Where did you leave the car?’

  ‘Right down by the old gates. I walked up.’

  Marius picked up a couple of unopened bottles of Mâcon and the corkscrew. He stumbled.

  ‘You’re drunk already,’ said Gabriel. He was dressed very formally in a light check suit and black shoes.

  Marius said nothing as he led the way down the overgrown path to the conservatory.

  They settled in the deep gloaming of the conservatory and proceeded to absorb enough alcohol to kill memories of Henri’s stiffening body and the gouts of blood that had looked so much like stage paint. Above them, huge dark spiders crawled precariously over the silky network of fly entombed web. The scent of lavender blew in at the door. God – he was beginning to hate it so much. So very much. It seemed to pervade everything. He saw Gabriel’s grimace and wondered if he felt the same about that too.

  Sitting in two old basket chairs, facing each other, Marius said, ‘I saw Alain at lunchtime. He seems to think your mother was friendly with Kummel – that she could have betrayed those young men – and was then shot to silence her.’

  Gabriel listened without emotion, and then asked, ‘How reliable do you think Leger is?’

  ‘He’s an intelligent man of course, but he has no evidence.’

  Gabriel shrugged and drank some more wine.

  ‘Haven’t you ever wondered about your mother?’ prompted Marius.

  ‘No,’ said Gabriel. ‘My mother’s motives have always been very clear to me. I just can’t see her in that role at all. She was a cynical, frustrated woman who had made a bad marriage. She found my father weak and irresolute.’

  ‘Did she know any of the young men who were executed?’

  ‘There was one, Marcel Girard. He came to the house a lot. And then there was Pierre Relais. His mother was a friend.’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘I think she was fond of him. But Marcel was more of a favourite. I remember there was a hell of a row about it between my parents and he never came again. Not to my knowledge anyway.’ There was a long pause and then Gabriel said, ‘I’ve often thought about her – and tried to conjure up what might have happened. She was the daughter of a farmer. Peasant, really. Thought she’d ensnare my dear naïve father – and she did. For the first few months she must have liked the money, the difference in status. But there can’t have been as much of it as she had thought and being a doctor’s wife – here in St Esprit – required the sort of work she just couldn’t handle. Then she became pregnant and things must have begun to deteriorate. It was all too much for her and she resented me for the additional burden I was.’

  ‘Has anyone ever mentioned to you people she knew – like any high-ranking Germans?’ He looked across at Gabriel sharply.

  ‘No.’ Gabriel replied positively and returned to the subject of his childhood. He refilled his glass without asking. ‘She never knocked me around.’ He drank ruminatively. ‘Just despised me. I wish she had hit me. It would be more positive somehow. Don’t you agree? I suppose she despised me like I despise Lebatre. Small man in a small town. No vision.’

  ‘What vision would she have had?’ asked Marius mildly.

  ‘That’s it. I don’t know. She always seemed to be in some vile mood or preoccupied with her own affairs.’

  ‘Any relations?’

  ‘Both my parents were only children – and they perpetuated the solitude and lack of family life by only having me.’

  ‘You don’t remember anything of that – day when she died, do you, Gabriel?’

  ‘I was playing the piano and it was about four o’clock in the afternoon. She’d been out all day. Some German officers came to the door but I carried on playing. Then I felt the weight of something taken away.’

  ‘You were relieved?’

  ‘Yes, I can honestly say that I was.’

  ‘And your father?’

  ‘Well – he was a very spiritual man. And the German officers presumably took the official line with him. He was very proud of her.’

  ‘Did he grieve?’

  ‘No. We became closer immediately. He cried at the funeral.’

  ‘Conventionally.’

  ‘I felt his emotion.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘He loved her. After his fashion. He spoke her name on his deathbed.’

  ‘With affection?’

  ‘With reverence. She was a strong woman.’ Gabriel belched. His voice was thickening.

  ‘Did he never mention the incident?’

  ‘Father? He died a few years after the end of the war but he always revered her as a heroine. A kind of depersonalised legend.’

  ‘No doubts?’

  ‘None that he ever voiced.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘I know she did it – that she somehow intervened. But I could never understand why.’

  ‘Girard?’

  ‘To save a callow youth who maybe she’d slept with? To stand between him and the executioner’s bullet? That is myth.’

  ‘She could well have made the one noble sacrifice of her life.’

  ‘Just not Mother’s style.’

  ‘Gabriel –’

  ‘I mean it.’

  ‘So it’s possible that she was something else?’

  ‘A double agent?’ He laughed. ‘She didn’t have the – subtlety. I couldn’t accept any of that. I’m sure the situation is quite straightforward and it happened as the German officers told it – as we all know it. Alain Leger must have a fanciful imagination.’

  ‘What are we going to do, then?’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Sharing information.’

  ‘All right then, Marius, I’ll turn a blind eye to your enquiry as long as you keep me fully informed.’

  ‘But will you?’ demanded Marius. ‘We’re both drunk now. Will you be saying that in the cold light of day? Or will you change your mind like you did before?’

  Gabriel closed his eyes and shivered slightly. ‘It almost is the cold light of day.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘You have my word. But keep out of Lebatre’s way for God’s sake or you’ll drop me in the shit.’

  ‘I will, and now I’ve shared with you, what have you got to share with me?’

  ‘Regrettably, very little. Lebatre’s getting nowhere.’

  ‘So you have nothing that could help me?’

  Gabriel shook his head. ‘If anything does come up, I’ll let you know at once.’

  Marius opened another bottle. As he did so, he glanced covertly at Gabriel. It was impossible to read anything from his expression, yet Marius had a strong instinct that he was holding out on him.

  They went on drinking and talking until the dawn brought smudged light to the lichen-smeared windows of the conservatory. The conversation rambled, leaving the case, muzzily ranging over other topics – the Maquis, St Esprit, the contempt Gabriel had for Lebatre, the offer from Alain to restore Letoric – and on into half-sleep. At six, Marius rose stiffly, went into the house and made coffee. They sat on a broken stone balustrade, watching the mist hang in swathes over the moss-clad cherubim that stared up at the tiny fragments of light blue sky.

  ‘So what has the night resolved?’ asked Gab
riel, sipping his coffee.

  ‘An understanding between us – that I will hold you to,’ said Marius.

  Gabriel smiled. ‘I’ll honour that understanding.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Marius. ‘That’s an essential part of our agreement.’

  ‘Can I have some advance ideas of your itinerary?’

  ‘I thought I’d go and see Mariola – and the Leger sisters – and the Valiers.’

  ‘Today?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’re going to be busy.’ Gabriel sipped more of the good coffee. ‘And do you have – a central line to your questioning?’

  ‘If I can find out who was the contact with Kummel – your mother or my father – I shall be getting somewhere. But you do realise, Gabriel, I might discover something that could cause you embarrassment?’

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘And is Lebatre on the same trail?’

  ‘Probably. But he’s following up information about the six – and their relatives.’

  ‘I realise I could be missing something there.’

  ‘I don’t know. You must see how you get on today. And Marius –’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Remember I know nothing about this. If you run into conflict with Lebatre I’ll jump on you.’

  ‘Obviously,’ said Marius drily.

  ‘And if you get in to see Mariola you’ll be very lucky,’ added Gabriel sharply.

  ‘Gabriel …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Could I ever get in to see Kummel himself?’

  ‘Not you.’

  ‘But – could you?’

  ‘I might,’ he replied.

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Gabriel. ‘Seriously.’

  There was a long silence. Then Marius said, ‘One more thing …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘When will they release my father for burial?’

  ‘I’m hoping they’ll do so the day after tomorrow.’

  ‘I want to bury him – just as soon as I can.’

  ‘You can ring the undertaker – make arrangements.’

  ‘Thank you. Somehow once he’s buried, I’ll feel at the beginning of something again.’

  12

  ‘Estelle.’

  ‘Yes, monsieur?’

  He felt feverish – half hangover, half acute fatigue. The lust had been increased by the alcohol, by the long hours of talking with Gabriel. All he wanted was her long sinewy body; he had to have her. Now.

  ‘I – want to talk to you.’

  ‘I’m here.’ She gave him a faintly mocking smile.

  ‘In my father’s study.’

  ‘Very well, monsieur.’

  She preceded him. She was wearing her housecoat and a pair of down-at-heel slippers. When they arrived, the room with its dusty sunbeams seemed cold and sepulchral yet he was running with sweat and had a dry mouth – so dry he could hardly speak.

  ‘Yes, monsieur?’

  ‘I …’

  ‘Monsieur?’

  ‘I’ll be out all day. How is my mother this morning?’

  ‘Quite bright.’

  ‘You mean – not drifting so much?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Do you think she puts it on, exaggerates her dementia?’

  ‘No, monsieur. She is very ill.’ Estelle sounded scornful.

  ‘Yes. Well …’

  ‘Is there anything else, monsieur?’

  ‘No. I’ll be back for dinner.’

  *

  Mariola watched him walking down the lane like a vanquished foe. He was coming to her to ask forgiveness. She leant heavily on the door in the early morning sunshine, curious rather than hostile. A heavy sleep had made her numb, emotionless.

  ‘Madame Claude.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I want to talk to you. I swear I didn’t kill him.’ Marius Larche spoke softly. He was unshaven and wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. He looked younger than his years, she thought, despite the bags under his eyes. She no longer felt the terrible loathing for him – just a deep, inner ache, a mother’s mourning that would never go away.

  ‘I don’t know who killed my son.’

  ‘I thought you were going round saying it was me.’

  ‘I was upset.’

  ‘So you no longer accuse me?’

  ‘I no longer know what to think.’

  ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘If you must.’

  ‘I only want to ask you a few questions.’

  ‘Let’s sit outside.’ She bestirred herself, an old raven dressed in black dowdy feathers. Yet even her bearded cheeks had a certain dignity this morning.

  Outside it was sheltered from the scorching heat of the rising sun by a large chestnut tree. There was a small back yard with a table and a couple of battered white chairs. Somehow he was sure that she often sat here alone. They overlooked the lavender field which dipped and flounced in a light breeze. Further along there was the rough track. Here I am again, thought Marius, sitting at the scene of the crime.

  ‘Do you want something? A little coffee? Or –’

  ‘No thank you. First – please be assured I meant no harm to Jean-Pierre. I was very fond of him – and even asked Rodiet if they would drop the charges.’

  ‘And would they?’

  ‘I think they had the idea of trying to get him into hospital. To dry him out.’

  ‘I know – Lebatre told me.’

  There was no way of telling whether she approved or disapproved.

  ‘I want to know about Suzanne Rodiet.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m wondering if your son knew anything about her – something that might – just might – have caused his death.’

  ‘She was married to a stick of a man. I know my Philippe was a swine, but at least he had some red blood flowing in him.’

  ‘Did she have a lover?’

  ‘I can’t say.’

  ‘Come on, Mariola. Be straight with me.’

  ‘I don’t know whether she had a lover or not. But she’d have been a fool not to take one.’

  Marius tried another tack. ‘Is there anything that Jean-Pierre knew – anything he knew about anybody that might have caused his death?’

  ‘He knew a lot.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘He was curious,’ she said flatly.

  ‘Do you mean he liked to get information on people?’

  Mariola was resolutely silent.

  ‘So he could use it against them? Like he did with me?’

  She was still silent.

  ‘Come on, Mariola. Do you want to track your son’s killer down or not?’

  ‘He wasn’t all bad, my boy,’ she said defensively.

  ‘I didn’t say he was.’

  ‘We were very poor. Philippe had left us like that. It wasn’t the boy’s fault.’

  ‘No.’

  Marius still felt raw from his desire for Estelle – the same desire he had had for Jean-Pierre. Why hadn’t he taken her when he could? What instinct made him stand off? Suddenly he felt terribly thirsty.

  ‘Do you have any cold water?’

  ‘Lemonade,’ she pronounced firmly and got up.

  ‘Well. Yes. All right.’ Marius was concerned about the kind of concoction she would bring back. But when she returned he was pleasantly surprised. It was home-made, long and cool and full of flavour, as if it had lain for some time in a deep cellar. He drank it carefully, savouring each drop. He looked out beyond the lavender field and thought for a moment he could see Jean-Pierre hunched at the wheel of a tractor. Then the shimmering stopped – and there was nothing to be seen except the rustling fields of sunflowers beyond.

  ‘So who else did he gather information on?’

  She was silent.

  ‘Anybody he could blackmail?’

  Mariola frowned.

  ‘He went to see Didier – with Marie.’

  ‘Who’s Didier? And
do you – can you mean Marie Leger?’

  Her voice quavered. ‘Yes. Marie. Marie Leger.’

  Marius, determined to be patient, asked again, ‘And Didier?’

  ‘He was in the Maquis but they tortured him. He attacked his mother – and they put him away.’

  ‘In prison?’

  ‘In an asylum.’

  ‘Why should Jean-Pierre and Marie Leger visit this Didier?’

  ‘They thought he knew something.’

  ‘Knew what?’

  ‘I don’t know – something about your father, maybe.’

  ‘Did they both have blackmail in mind?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She began to emit hard dry sobs. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘And has Marie Leger spoken to anyone about her visits – and her motives?’

  ‘Her sister made her call him. She told me her sister insisted on it. And that was the first I knew of it.’

  ‘Call who?’

  ‘Rodiet. Commissaire Rodiet.’

  Marius was quiet while she continued to give vent to the ugly sobs. Then he said, ‘Can I use your phone?’

  ‘You won’t get me into trouble –’

  ‘No. But please – stay in the garden. It’s a private call.’

  ‘It’s in the main room.’

  He left her and walked into the cool dinginess of the house. Once in the dark and overcrowded sitting-room, he dialled Gabriel’s number and then asked for his extension.

  ‘Rodiet.’

  ‘It’s Marius.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I’m with Mariola.’

  ‘Anything?’

  ‘You said you had nothing to tell me. Didn’t you realise how close Marie Leger and Mariola are? That she would tell her that she had you contacted about seeing Didier?’

  ‘Marie Leger phoned me. But I’ve yet to interview Didier. That’s why I didn’t tell you. I don’t know anything yet.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ said Marius bleakly. ‘Total bollocks. You never had any intention of pooling information, did you?’

  ‘Of course I damn well did. It’s just that I had nothing –’

  ‘You’re a fool,’ said Marius, furiously cutting in on him, ‘a damned fool. Marie would have told me –’

  ‘You’re wrong. I told her not to.’ Gabriel’s voice was expressionless. ‘And I didn’t know how close to the old woman she was.’

  ‘And you never meant what you said.’

  ‘I’d have told you – when the time was right –’