by Mark Hebden
‘Rensselaer’s,’ Darcy said.
Twenty-one
It seemed they’d finally got their murder, even if they still hadn’t got the body.
The hat was Rensselaer’s all right. His widow would undoubtedly identify it, as doubtless would Durandeaux’, who’d supplied it.
Leguyader already had no doubt. ‘We’ve identified the bloodstains as being of the same blood group as Rensselaer’s,’ he said. ‘Of that there’s little doubt. The hat had been fired at—’
‘I didn’t think the mice had been at it,’ Pel growled.
Leguyader didn’t even miss his stride. ‘ – with a twelve-bore shotgun. At close range. There are fragments of hair, skin and bone on what’s left of it. It would appear that whoever was wearing it took the full force of the shot in the neck and the back of the head.’
Fingerprints had been busy, too. ‘On the broken carboy,’ Prélat reported, ‘nothing. But they’d handle acid carefully and that’s what we found: Smudged prints such as would be made by someone wearing rubber gloves.’
Darcy arrived soon afterwards. ‘We’ve found him, Patron,’ he said. ‘The dogs turned him up. He’d been buried right alongside where we found the acid and the bits of broken carboy. We also found a pair of rubber gloves in the bushes which had been burned – by acid, Leguyader’s boys say – and the remains of a pair of rubber boots, also damaged by acid. They had Fabre’s name in them. There were also tyre marks, which we haven’t yet identified, but I’d say they were the same size as those on Fabre’s van. There was also a fox’s burrow nearby which explained what the hound was doing there. Leguyader’s boys found proof that Archer had been there – tufts of black, white and tan fur. Some of them were charred and looked as if he’d torn them out.’
‘He probably did,’ Pel said. ‘What about the grave?’
‘Very shallow. We found scrape marks. I thought they might have been made by Ros’ spaniel, but Leguyader said they’d been made by something bigger.’
‘Archer?’
‘I expect so.’
‘Was the body destroyed by acid?’
‘Only partly, Patron. I think they broke the carboy and didn’t manage to finish the job. Quite recognisable. No real decomposition. He’d been covered with earth and then with heavy stones.’
Darcy waited for explanations. But none came and he didn’t argue. The workings of Pel’s mind were often a mystery to him, but when he was quiet and withdrawn, as he was now, he was best left alone.
‘I’ve brought the boys in, by the way,’ he said.
‘Send them out again,’ Pel said.
‘What for, Patron?’
‘To dig.’
‘We’ve got Rensselaer.’
‘We haven’t got Michelline.’
Darcy’s jaw dropped. ‘You think she’s out there, too, somewhere?’
‘I know she is.’
As the door closed, Pel started to go through the papers on his desk once more. Leguyader might be an ass but he was right: Success didn’t come from hunches. It came from a good filing system and the minute study of reports.
While he was absorbed, the telephone went. It was the lab to say that both Durandeaux and Madame Rensselaer had identified the hat they’d found. No sooner had Pel put the instrument down, than it went again. This time it was Pujol.
‘I thought you’d like to know, Inspector,’ he said. ‘Madame Rensselaer’s just been in my office. She’s seen the hat.’
‘So I’ve just heard,’ Pel said.
‘She seemed relieved. I suspect she was afraid that everything she was planning might suddenly all be thrown out by her husband turning up. Now that his body’s been found, she’s really getting down to work. She’s been outlining some of her plans to me. There are changes in store for Morand Produits.’
‘Big ones?’
‘Big enough, and she seems to have got the other directors behind her. A lot of dead wood’s being cut. Young Guitton’s out.’
‘Out of the firm?’
‘Completely. She decided it was easier to give him a golden handshake than pay him a large salary every year. It seems he’s out of the family, too, because Marie-Christine’s asked me to institute divorce proceedings. She’s citing Madame Fabre—’
‘I think you might have difficulty bringing her as a witness,’ Pel said.
There was a long silence. ‘She’s dead?’
‘I suspect so.’
There was another silence. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. It won’t make any difference, as it happens. She’s found two other women, too. They’re getting rid of the hunt, by the way. Part of the dead wood programme. Everything’s being sold up. Horses, hounds, all equipment and fittings. She’s certainly moved fast. She’s been in touch with the Historic Monuments Department of the Ministry of Cultural Affairs and it seems they’re willing to make a grant to part-way restore the place. She’ll also make money available and the place will be open to the public. At a price, of course. Personally, I think she’s right. She’s turning it from a loss-making affair into which Rensselaer pumped thousands of francs for his own amusement into what could bring in enough to pay for its upkeep and perhaps even make a small profit in the end. The staff goes, of course. Retif’s gone already. You hold Fabre and I suppose, now that you’ve found Rensselaer, he’ll end up in prison. Cottu will also go eventually. For the moment, he’s acting as caretaker.’
Putting down the telephone, Pel sat for a long time in silence, deep in thought. Then he telephoned Judge Polverari and arranged to meet him. The judge had recovered from his flu by this time and was in a good mood. Pel explained that he wanted Fabre released.
‘Why?’ Polverari said.
‘Have you got any information from him?’ Pel countered.
‘Nothing that we haven’t got already. But we have enough to keep him in custody pending further investigation.’
‘I’d like him released,’ Pel insisted.
‘You have something in mind, I suppose? But is it a good idea? Won’t he bolt?’
Pel shook his head. ‘He won’t bolt. And we still haven’t found the ransom money.’
Polverari agreed quickly. ‘Very well. You usually know what you’re doing.’ He paused. ‘I hope it works out, my friend,’ he added.
Late in the afternoon, Pel climbed into his car and headed out of the city towards the abbey. It appeared to be empty apart from Fabre who was standing in the courtyard staring round him, his hands in his pockets.
‘You on your own?’ Pel asked.
Fabre nodded. ‘What do you expect at this time of the day?’ he growled. He glared at Pel, his eyes full of bitterness. ‘Why did you have to arrest me like that?’ he demanded.
‘You weren’t arrested,’ Pel said. ‘Judge Polverari wished to question you and you had to be brought in. That’s how judges work.’
‘Well, things have gone to pot here while I’ve been away. Everything’s been neglected. There’s not much comfort now. Especially now there’s only me to look after things.’ Fabre stared about him. ‘It’s like living in a ghost town. You’ll have heard they’re selling up, I suppose?’
Pel nodded. ‘I’ve heard. Where will you go?’
Fabre shrugged. ‘God knows. Jobs of this sort aren’t easy to come by and I don’t fancy any other kind.’
‘I hear Cottu’s to be caretaker.’
‘It’s only temporary.’ Fabre gestured. ‘He’ll take over when I leave. He’s off until tomorrow. On his honeymoon. He got married.’
Pel’s eyebrows rose. ‘Who to?’
‘The daughter of the man who keeps the bar in Champette.’ Fabre’s look was sour. ‘I hope he makes a better job of it than I did. I suppose you’ve heard nothing of her.’
‘No,’ Pel said.
‘She’s dead, isn’t she?’
Pel nodded, watching him carefully. ‘I think so,’ he admitted.
There was a long silence then Pel gestured at the abbey. ‘Will Cottu bring his wife out he
re?’
Fabre didn’t seem to hear him at first, then he came to life with a start. ‘Shouldn’t think so,’ he said. ‘He’s going to move into Rensselaer’s apartment and there isn’t much comfort there. He’s certainly not moving into my place. I shall be using it until everything’s sold. We’ve had an offer for the hounds; and the horses are good, so they’ll go quickly. After that, I expect it’ll be me. Then somebody’ll have to come along and pack up all the documents and pedigrees. Some of them date back for generations and they’re valuable. The Societé des Beaux Arts offered to take some and Maurice said he’d help. I wouldn’t have thought it was his line but it seems he had to get married and there’s a kid on the way, so perhaps he can’t afford to pick and choose any more.’
Pel was still thoughtful as he left the abbey. His ears were filled with the whining of the hounds and Fabre’s figure, receding behind him in the mirror, looked lost as he stood in the middle of the courtyard.
There was a doctor at Champette Pel had decided to look up and it was late when he returned to his office. The telephone went even as he sat down, and he snatched at it, expecting it to be Darcy reporting what they’d discovered. But the voice that answered him was quiet and warm.
‘Evariste—’
‘Geneviève—’; he was so surprised and so humbly pleased, for the first time he spoke the name naturally.
‘I had to ring you.’
Pel’s heart skidded about under his shirt like aspic on a hot plate.
‘I happened to meet your colleague, Inspector Darcy. We got talking. He told me a lot about you.’
Pel was immediately suspicious. ‘What did he say?’
‘He’s a great admirer of yours.’
‘He is?’ It was news to Pel.
‘He told me of the strain you’ve been under.’
‘Did he?’ This was also news. Pel didn’t suffer from strain when he was working – just bad temper. But he realised Darcy had been doing his best for him.
‘I should have been more understanding.’
‘That’s very generous of you.’ Pel stumbled over his words in his happiness. ‘I’ve been trying to pluck up courage to telephone you to say the same thing.’ He swallowed. ‘Geneviève – I think we should try to have dinner together again and talk about it. Perhaps we might try St Seine L’Abbaye again. Last time we tried, you’ll remember, I was detained in Innsbruck, with two dead men.’
‘Then perhaps St Seine’s unlucky. Let’s make it my place, Evariste. And please bring your own car.’ There was a faint chuckle down the wire. ‘I know it’s old and that it’s not very pretty. But it doesn’t matter. Truly it doesn’t.’
Pel put the telephone down wonderingly. She knew his car and it didn’t matter! Perhaps she knew his house, too, and perhaps that didn’t matter either!
He smiled. Poor Madame Routy, he thought. She was going to get a nasty shock one of these days. He’d have to see her properly compensated. Find her a job. Preferably with a deaf old man who enjoyed television, had no sense of taste, and spent half his time visiting relations. That would suit Madame Routy down to the ground.
Grinning uncharacteristically, he snatched up a pile of papers from his desk, tossed them into the air and did a little jig. He was just in the middle of it when Darcy appeared and he changed it abruptly to a hurried limp.
‘Cramp,’ he said. ‘Get’s me sometimes. What do you want?’
‘We found her, Patron.’ Darcy had the look of someone who thought Pel could work miracles. ‘Not far from where we found Rensselaer. Shotgun, same as Rensselaer. Doc Minet’s out there now with Leguyader and all the others. How did you know, Patron?’
‘The hound,’ Pel said. ‘Archer. Lying in the stuff, Leguyader said. Lying in acid. He couldn’t understand why and neither could I. I was worried for a long time when I saw those stags’ feet and the cows they cut up, and the fact that they fed Marie-Christine’s pony to the pack. They ate anything, he said, so long as it was meat. I thought that was where Rensselaer had gone. Then I realised it was pointless taking the risk of being caught cutting up a body when they had the whole of those woods to bury it in. That was much easier. They just didn’t allow for Archer.’
Pel seemed far away. ‘It was you who set me thinking,’ he said slowly. ‘When we were looking at that coat of Sammy Belec’s. We were talking about perfume and you said Sammy had a smell all his own. These cases we’ve been working on have all been separate, but they all led indirectly one to another. Rodsky’s reference to Armoire à Glace’s perfect timing set Nosjean thinking, and your reference to Sammy’s smell set me thinking. Teamwork. That’s what the new setup’s all about. The concerted effort of a group in which individual ability’s subordinated to general efficiency.’
Darcy was staring at him. It wasn’t like Pel to go in for philosophising, and he was actually smiling, too, which was a sight that didn’t occur very often.
But Pel could hardly hold his spirits down. Teamwork, he was thinking, had not only sorted out the Rensselaer case, it had sorted out his own affairs, too. Thanks to Didier, Darcy and Claudie Darel, his love life seemed set for a period of prosperity.
He managed to avoid a smirk and hurried on. ‘It was Ros’ dog that made me realise,’ he said. ‘It was a puppy and full of life and it ran into the acid without thinking. But Archer was older, an experienced animal. Ordinarily he’d be more careful. So why was he more severely burned and why were his front pads in such a state? But everybody has a smell, remember, and dogs can pick them out. They can tell their master’s outside the door before they’ve even seen him. That’s why we use them in police work. And if a police dog can track a man down, why not a hound? Especially Archer, who was the best in the pack. He knew Rensselaer’s smell. He’d brought him up in his own home and he adored him. He wasn’t after a bitch up there. He hadn’t found a fox’s burrow. He’d found Rensselaer. He knew he was there, and he’d been scratching at the earth. That’s why his pads were in such a terrible state.’
He gestured at a pile of books on his desk. They’d come from the police library and they were all on the subject of acids.
‘It doesn’t evaporate, Leguyader said,’ Pel went on. ‘So that when it was spilled in quantity on the clayey ground up there, it remained there, enough of it left to have a corrosive effect on anything it came into contact with.’
‘But why wallow in it?’ Darcy said. ‘Leguyader said he’d been wallowing in it.’
Pel gestured. ‘There were burns on the underside of his forelegs.’ he said. ‘On his stomach, his chops, his genitalia, his tail. If a dog lies down with its head on its paws, which parts touch the ground?’
‘Those parts.’
‘Exactly. Archer wasn’t wallowing in the stuff. He was just lying down in it. He didn’t know it was acid. It probably wouldn’t have mattered if he had. Retif thought he was waiting at a fox’s burrow, but he wasn’t. He was lying there because that was where his favourite human being was.’ Didier’s Alphonse, Pel remembered, had needed Didier. Ros’ Marco had needed Ros. Rensselaer’s Archer had needed Rensselaer.
‘Rensselaer was under the soil there,’ he went on. ‘And the hound knew. You’ve seen those sentimental pictures of shepherds’ dogs lying across their. graves. “Faithful Unto Death,” they call them. That was what Archer was doing. His adoration of Rensselaer overcame his instinct to be careful and the acid hadn’t dispersed.’
‘Then why was Rensselaer shot?’ Darcy asked. ‘Because he was Michelline’s lover?’
‘No. Because someone else was and he’d found out. At first Rensselaer went with Fabre to buy horses, then he started sending him on his own so that he’d be free to be with his wife. He’d been her lover before in Forzée when they were young and when he was looking for someone to take care of his hounds he stumbled on Fabre and, lo and behold, Fabre’s wife was the girl who’d been his mistress in Forzée. Fabre didn’t know it but that probably counted for far more than his skill with animals.’
‘Guitton?’
‘That was why Rensselaer cut him out of the firm. It must have been made doubly obvious to him that her attitude to him had changed. Originally, she was only too eager to go to the abbey – because Rensselaer was there – but lately all she did was grumble about it. She was tired of Rensselaer, but she still wanted all the good things he was prepared to give her. So she didn’t reject him. She took another lover. Unfortunately, Rensselaer caught on and started watching her. Retif saw him more than once parked along the valley, and you don’t check feed bills and accounts with a pair of binoculars. On the 16th, Michelline didn’t go shopping in the van as she said. She came back, left the van in the woods and slipped back into the abbey without being seen – perhaps through Lausse’s place. But Rensselaer had sufficient evidence on her by this time. He saw her come back, and he arrived at the abbey – on foot from where he’d left his car, in the hope of catching her at it.’
‘That was when Retif saw him shouting at someone in the stables.’
‘Yes. But it wasn’t at Michelline. It was at lover boy. There must have been a scuffle, a gun was grabbed and Rensselaer was shot. But Retif didn’t know that because he’s deaf and didn’t hear the gun. They panicked and stuck the body in the back of the van. I’m not sure how, but it’ll come out eventually. It wouldn’t be hard to hide it until Retif wasn’t about – perhaps under straw, something like that – and then carry it out in a sack as if it were oats or something. They put it in the van – again probably at the back of the abbey near Lausse’s place, so that Retif didn’t see it – and since the van carried meat for the hounds, who’d notice if there were blood inside?’
