‘You mean – is he seeing him? No – not as far as I know.’
‘Does he have an investigating officer?’
‘Lebatre. But Rodiet is – what you might call taking an interest.’
‘So really I would have to get you in as a private citizen.’
‘Yes.’
‘Impossible.’ Marius’ heart sank; there was a grim finality to Foreman’s voice. Then he said, ‘Wait a minute.’
‘Yes?’
‘We are allowing Fergus Rigby in there – you know, the biographer. He’s doing a book on Nazi war criminals and we’ve given permission for him to interview Kummel. There’s a possibility I could get you in as his research assistant.’
‘That would be marvellous.’
‘But it would be much simpler if Rodiet or Lebatre went officially. Much more straightforward.’
‘Yes. But I have to come clean with you, Daniel. We got to know each other well in Hanover and I believe you trust me and my professional integrity. My objectivity. Do you?’
‘Of course.’
‘Then I have to say that I have reason to suspect Commissaire Rodiet of being the killer. He has a strong motive which I don’t want to go into now.’
‘Good God! But if this comes out – I mean if it’s discovered that you went in as Rigby’s assistant – I’m not involved. You approached Rigby yourself.’
‘Of course. But will he agree?’
‘Without doubt. He’s dependent on me and my French colleagues for access. I shall ring him. But Marius …’
‘Yes?’
‘Be careful. Let me know what happens when it’s all over – if it ever is all over.’
‘Thanks, Daniel.’
‘Don’t thank me now. He may know nothing. Goodbye.’
‘Goodbye.’ Marius put the telephone receiver slowly back on to its rest. He looked at his watch and then out of the window. Mireille Leger was walking up the drive. The intense sunlight gave her a dry, wooden look. But as she came nearer, he could see that there was a strange expression on her face – almost of pleasurable anticipation.
‘Can I get you anything?’
‘No – no, thank you.’
She was sitting on the edge of an armchair, as if her presence was very temporary. The look was still there; it was as if she was looking forward to telling him something – something that was all-absorbing.
‘Monsieur Larche –’
‘Marius, please.’
‘Marius – I believe my sister could have told the police more than she actually did.’
‘Then you should tell Lebatre. He’s in charge of the investigation.’
‘I will. But I’d – I wanted to talk to you first.’
‘You’re very welcome. But why?’
‘I feel I can talk it all through with you. I don’t have any hard facts, you see.’
‘Who does in this case? Try me out with your theories.’
‘My sister was a very foolish woman, but much of her folly arose out of her hatred for our brother, Alain.’
‘After what happened about the estate?’
‘Well, yes. It preyed on her mind – all the time. She hated to live as we did. She hated him for making us live as we did.’
‘And you don’t mind?’
‘I did. But I rather enjoy earning a living – carving it out, so to speak. Marie was different. She would do anything to have a better standard of living – to revenge herself on our brother. I honestly feel she had got herself into a very disturbed state.’
‘The friendship with Jean-Pierre, the visits to Didier?’
‘That and her gossips with Mariola. I’m sure they spread all that vile stuff about your father. And there was the farcical agreement to write for Valier.’
‘But that was all against my father. Not Alain.’
‘I think she felt she was getting at Alain through Henri – by hitting out at Henri she was hurting Alain. They were very close.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘But there’s something else. She’s been seeing someone else, someone she didn’t tell me about.’
‘How do you know?’
‘We’ve lived together all our lives; we can account for almost every second of each other’s movements.’
‘How can you be sure it wasn’t Jean-Pierre?’
‘I saw our car going up the drive to Ste Michelle.’
‘You mean –’
‘It was amazing. I couldn’t believe she would ever set foot up there. To her it was taboo. Yet I saw her driving up there.’
‘Did you question her?’
‘Of course.’
‘And?’
‘She flew into a terrible rage. Said it wasn’t her – it wasn’t our car.’
‘And this happened once.’
‘Yes. But then I saw her with someone –’
‘How did you come across them?’
‘I didn’t. You can see the forest from the window. I often look at the old house and the forest through my binoculars. I just caught a glimpse of them through the trees.’
Marius sat silently.
‘Could she have been negotiating with Alain?’
‘You don’t understand,’ said Mireille. ‘She had too much pride for that.’
‘But if he were to offer –’
‘Even if he did, he’d have to go on his knees to her. And why should she keep it all from me?’
‘Why didn’t – did you confront her over the second meeting?’
‘She denied it. Again. She said I was mad and we had a terrible row.’
‘And you haven’t told anyone else?’
‘There was no one to tell.’ Mireille sounded very bleak. ‘And now it’s too late. But it may just be important, and you – you know Alain, and could – perhaps ask him?’
‘Yes. I’ll ring him now. While you’re here.’ He went to the phone and dialled Alain’s number, his head swimming with confusion and fatigue.
‘Yes?’
‘Alain. It’s Marius.’
‘How are you this morning?’
‘Exhausted. I’ve got Mireille with me.’
‘I was just going down to see her.’
‘She has a very strange story.’
‘What’s that?’
‘She says Marie came to see you. Twice.’
‘Good heavens!’
‘Did she?’
‘No.’
‘The first time she saw their car disappearing up your drive; the second was when she thought she saw you walking together in the woods.’
‘When was this?’ His voice was crisp.
‘When?’ Marius lowered the receiver, turning to Mireille who looked ill at ease.
‘Last week. Before – Henri was killed. I think Monday – and then Thursday.’
Marius repeated the information.
‘No.’ Alain was completely positive.
‘She never came?’
‘Don’t be absurd, Marius. I’d have told you.’
‘Of course you would. I’m just wondering whether she could have been visiting your couple?’
‘The Descartes? Why should she? Of course I’ll ask. I wish I had seen her. This – enmity – I could have done more –’
‘Just a minute.’ He turned to Mireille. ‘Alain says he didn’t see her but possibly she may have been visiting the Descartes. What do you reckon?’
‘Yes, she could have been, I suppose.’ She seemed suddenly thrown, flurried.
‘Are you quite sure about seeing Alain with her in the woods?’
‘I thought I was. It was only a glimpse. Maybe I was mistaken.’
‘She says she may have been mistaken,’ said Marius back into the receiver.
‘Yes.’ His voice was calm and authoritative. ‘But I’ll ask the Descartes. I’m surprised I didn’t know about it.’
‘Very strange.’
‘Most odd. Will Mireille see me?’
Again Marius turned to her. ‘He wants to see you.’
‘Not today.’ She gave a little gasp.
‘Are you still staying with Annette?’
‘I’m going back to her now. I’ll see him – soon.’
Marius relayed the information, feeling rather weary of his role as go-between. ‘She’d like to see you, soon.’
‘Not today?’
‘No.’
‘Of course. Look, Alain – I’m going to see Didier this afternoon.’
‘Would you like me to come with you?’
‘That would be terrific. I’ll pick you up – say about two.’
‘You don’t think we should check with Rodiet?’
‘No,’ said Marius. ‘I don’t. I’ll see you later.’ When he had put down the receiver Marius turned to Mireille. She still looked flustered.
‘I’ve been wasting your time,’ she said.
‘Are you still sure it was Alain the second time?’
‘No. Not now. I just thought – I’m very sorry. I feel such a fool.’ Tears fell suddenly and Marius reached out to her, putting his arm around her shoulder, squeezing it awkwardly.
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘But it does. Involving Alain …’
‘Maybe this will be a chance for reconciliation.’
‘After what I’ve said?’
‘Yes. He wasn’t in the least put out.’
‘I must go.’ She stumbled to her feet.
‘Are you all right? Would you like a drink?’
‘No. Fatal at the moment, I’m afraid.’
‘Coffee?’
‘No. No, thank you. But there is one thing you could tell me.’
‘Yes?’
‘When can she be buried?’
‘Soon. I gather I can make the arrangements for my father tomorrow. I don’t think you’ll – have to wait long.’
‘Thank you.’
He showed her to the door, and watched her walk slowly away down the rutted drive. Then, deep in thought, Marius hurried back inside.
‘Yes – you can see him.’ This time it was another doctor but he seemed just as co-operative as the first one Marius had seen, especially when he recognised Alain as what he called ‘a loyal visitor’.
‘I only come twice a year – if that,’ Alain protested, but the doctor, an elderly, exhausted-looking man, waved his comment away.
‘You come regularly,’ he said. ‘That’s the main thing. There are some patients who receive no visits at all.’
‘Didier’s had quite a lot over the last few weeks,’ Marius ventured, but the old doctor ignored him.
‘Can we go across ourselves?’ asked Alain.
‘Of course.’ He looked at his watch. ‘You may find him taking some exercise.’
‘Where does he do that?’
‘Next door to the unit. It’s a few pine trees with a wall round. Still high security. It’s not much but he loves it out there, especially when it’s hot. He’s even been out there during the siesta when the sun is really fierce.’
‘How is he?’ asked Alain.
‘Not so good the last day or so.’
‘Of course, you know him well.’
‘Yes. I know Didier very well.’
Marius decided to say nothing; clearly Alain had more stature in the doctor’s eyes, commanded more respect for the consistency of his visiting.
‘Has anything upset him?’
‘No. He just appears to be generally restless.’
‘Has he said anything?’
‘He told me he’d said the wrong name to someone.’
Marius felt his scalp tingle and his nerves tighten. He glanced at Alain but there was no change in his expression.
‘That he’d been told to say the wrong name,’ the doctor continued. ‘And that it wasn’t right. That’s all I could get out of him. But he seemed most dreadfully agitated.’
Marius suddenly had a thought. ‘Is Didier allowed to have telephone calls?’ he said sharply.
‘Yes. He is. Incoming only.’
‘Does he get many?’
‘I’m sorry,’ said the doctor stiffly. ‘I didn’t realise this was an inquisition.’
‘I have to say I’m a police officer.’ Marius passed him his identification card.
‘I see. Is this an official visit?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well…’
‘It’s all right,’ said Alain. ‘It’s just that Didier knew someone in the war – someone Inspector Larche was interested in.’
‘Larche – now where have I heard that name?’
‘Do you log the calls?’ asked Marius quickly, conscious that the doctor might bar him entry until higher officialdom had been consulted.
‘We used to.’
‘Used to?’
‘Monsieur Larche, Didier has been here for over forty years – he is not considered a public enemy. No. We don’t log his calls any more, and we’re only too pleased when he has one.’
Alain intervened smoothly. ‘I called him myself a few weeks ago – just to say hallo. I’m sorry that he’s behaving oddly –’
‘Yes.’ The doctor was warmer again. ‘It is odd. It’s almost as if he’s afraid.’
‘Didier,’ Alain called softly. ‘Didier – it’s Alain Leger.’
It was a sandy compound with a few scattered seats among the pine trees. At first Marius couldn’t see him, then he picked him out – almost whited out in the sun, sitting on a bench, staring straight at the high security fence which had barbed wire strands running along its top. Did he ever remember his Maquis days, wondered Marius. Did he ever think of using his past guerilla expertise to escape? Or was Didier happy here?
‘Didier,’ repeated Alain softly.
Slowly he turned. A smile stretched his baby-face. ‘Visitors.’
‘It’s Alain Leger.’
‘Welcome.’
‘And Monsieur Larche. He came to see you the other day.’
‘Is he the shadow on the sun?’
‘Sorry?’
‘The shadow I see on the sun?’ He spoke very slowly, as if he was savouring each word.
‘I don’t understand,’ said Alain.
‘There must never be a shadow on our Provençal sun. Not a rain cloud.’ Didier giggled and then snarled. ‘No shadows.’
‘Didier,’ began Alain.
Didier stood up and Marius felt the leaden pressure of fear. In his hand, he held a thin-bladed knife.
‘Put that down,’ said Alain.
‘No shadows.’
‘He’s a friend.’
‘A shadow,’ repeated Didier triumphantly. ‘He’s going to punish Didier.’
‘No,’ protested Alain. ‘Why should you be punished?’
‘Liars must be punished. I was told to lie. And I did. And I was wrong. And when I’m wrong there’s a shadow on the sun.’
‘Who told you to lie?’ asked Marius quietly. He had disarmed a man before, but many years ago.
‘I won’t say.’ There was a cunning look in Didier’s eyes. ‘I’ll have to stay here forever if I do.’
‘Was it Commissaire Rodiet?’
‘Who?’ The cunning look was still there.
‘Gabriel Rodiet.’
‘I don’t answer questions. Not any more. I keep quiet.’ He began to circle them as Alain moved forward.
‘No,’ hissed Marius. ‘Leave him to me.’ But as he spoke Didier lunged.
Marius staggered and sweated; it was as if his entire body had become huge and immovable – as if Didier was enormously light on his feet, playing with him in a nightmarish game. He lunged and lunged again, never quite striking, his face wreathed in a beatific smile. He was chewing something. Marius could smell the bon-bon. Glancing at Alain, hovering beside him, he gasped out, ‘Leave him to me. Don’t get involved.’
‘Marius –’
‘I said – don’t get involved.’
Didier’s breathing was even as they circled and Marius’ came in gasps. The sweat was so bad now in the blistering heat th
at it seemed to pour like a torrent into his eyes.
‘Give me the knife.’
‘No.’
‘You’ll be in here forever –’
‘No. Didier won’t. He won’t be kept in. He’s been kept in too long.’
He lunged again and this time they closed, the knife skimming Marius’ wrist and drawing a little surface blood.
‘Damn you.’ Didier’s flesh was soft and moist, spongy like a fungus. ‘Alain, keep back,’ Marius yelled, his fear momentarily eclipsed by revulsion at Didier’s touch.
But despite his soft flabbiness, Didier seemed immensely strong and in a few seconds he was driving Marius back towards a tree, pinning him against it.
‘Estelle.’
‘Yes, my darling?’
‘I don’t feel well.’ The old lady was sitting in the cool of the little sitting-room.
‘Shall I get you a brandy?’
‘Henri will get it.’
‘He’s out at the moment.’
‘He’s dead.’
Estelle looked up at her sharply over the newspaper she was reading in the other armchair. She had been caught out. ‘Sorry.’
‘I had you fooled,’ said Solange triumphantly. ‘Why do you lie to me?’
‘I said I was sorry. Sometimes it’s …’
‘Easier?’
‘Yes. But you know I care about you –’
‘Yes,’ said Solange vaguely. ‘I sometimes feel you do.’
‘Will you tell me something?’
‘What?’
‘Do you put some of this on?’
Solange gave her a shifty look. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘I think you do. How much do you put on?’
‘Sometimes I act up a bit,’ she admitted.
‘I thought so. And at other times you’re confused. Why do you act up, sweetheart?’
‘It’s easier that way.’
‘Why?’
‘It keeps things away – things I don’t want to think about.’
‘Will you tell them to Estelle?’
‘I’ve nothing to say.’
‘They’ll be safe with me. All your secrets.’ Estelle got up and walked over to her. She kissed Solange on the forehead. ‘They’ll all be safe with me,’ she repeated. ‘All those old secrets of yours.’
Annette and Mireille wandered alongside the rocky bed of the river. It was low, sluggish and in places almost dry. Fish moved lazily in the shallows and Mireille thought they looked bloated and obscene. How did they live in that brackish water? Why were they so fat? She kept thinking about them, trying to block out of her mind the lump of meat that had once been her sister. But the fish reminded her of that lifeless figure, and she kept seeing Marie in the water. Driftwood had piled up in the centre of the river and there was some kind of carcass on the other bank. She turned her head away abruptly. There was a smell of rotting vegetation and sour water.
Murder is a Long Time Coming Page 20
