by Paul Halter
‘Starting from the assumption we’re dealing with a flesh-and-bone murderer, it seems obvious it must be someone in the household, because he knew where to find the clothes to dress the scarecrow.’
‘Yes,’ agreed the commissaire. ‘But are we dealing with such a murderer? That’s not what people from around here think. They’re very superstitious, starting with Maria, whom I suggest you talk to first.’
In the huge main room—which possessed several doors, each surmounted by a cross—the mistress of the house, a large, raw-boned woman with the eyes of an owl, tried to moderate her remarks about her late son-in-law.
‘One mustn’t speak ill of the dead, but from the moment Janine introduced Antoine, I knew he had the evil eye. I thought he’d taken it with him when he passed away. How naïve I was! Two years have gone past and it’s just as if he was still alive. And look what he just did to poor Gaston, who did so much for him and ended up treating him like his own son… until Janine realised her mistake. After that, of course—after their divorce—things turned sour. Between him and Gaston it was daggers drawn. Antoine refused to clear out. Until the cancer got him, we all lived in an atmosphere of cold hatred, which could only end badly.’
‘So, as far as you’re concerned, that scarecrow was a reincarnation?’
Dr. Twist had to raise his voice and repeat the question before Maria replied.
‘Of course! It was his work, the work of the Devil. We should have realised and burned it on the spot. He was the one who made it, shortly before his death. Made it with his own hands, with such care it should have made us suspicious. And look what happened to poor Gaston. It all reminds me of the ancient Greeks with their famous horse, which sowed terror once it was inside….’
Questioned about Janine’s nightmare, Maria was rather vague. With a sad smile, pointing to her ear, she said she was a sound sleeper. She added it wasn’t the first time her niece had had nightmares, for the Devil didn’t relinquish his prey easily.
‘Poor child!’ she sighed, looking at the cross above the door leading to the kitchen. ‘If only she’d followed our advice. She should never have married him… She paid heavily for her mistake… Let’s hope she finds happiness with that nice Daniel and God’s help.’
Shortly afterwards, the two detectives listened to the other woman of the house, the lovely Janine. Grief did not appear to have marred her doll-like face, with its large brown eyes and pouting lips, surrounded by honey-coloured curls.
She told them about her visit to the cemetery on the day before the tragedy and of the detestable memory of her ex-husband, who followed her like a shadow. And she described her frightful nightmare, where she clearly saw Antoine in the ghostly silhouette of the scarecrow which had attacked her father and killed him with vengeful blows from a pitchfork.
‘What time was it when you woke up?’ asked Twist in a soothing voice.
Janine played with a lock of her hair while she tried to remember.
‘About one o’clock…But didn’t I answer that question already?’
‘Possibly. But you might have forgotten a detail.’
‘I cried out so loudly that Marc, my father and my uncle came straight away. They seemed so frightened I felt as though I was seeing three ghosts. I described my nightmare. Uncle René quickly ordered Marc to return to his room. He was very angry—not at me, obviously, but at the situation I was trapped in. He swore the first thing he would do the next morning was burn the scarecrow.’
‘Like a witch at the stake, to get rid of the evil spirit,’ observed the commissaire.
‘Exactly. My father was very upset as well. And very sorry to see me in such a state, which he blamed on himself.’
‘Why?’ asked Twist in surprise.
‘In the beginning, he’d done his utmost to spoil my relationship with Antoine. He’d had nothing against him as an individual, it was the age difference. Then they became friendly and he trusted him…until the day I…I met someone else and didn’t want anything more to do with Antoine. He was so jealous, life became impossible. My father came to his defence and tried everything to “keep me on the straight and narrow.” He was very upset with me about the break-up. And I understood his position, of course… Until the day he realised there was no going back. So when Antoine insisted on staying here, under this roof, after the divorce… once he understood that Antoine’s motive was to harm us as much as possible, that’s when he began to hate him, maybe even more than I did. It goes without saying that his illness and rapid death were an enormous relief to us. But we underestimated his demoniacal nature. I can’t repeat the odious things he said to me on his deathbed.’
‘Threats?’
Janine swallowed painfully and tears welled in her eyes.
‘Yes, against me, against my father… And… and he achieved his ends.’
She buried her face in her hands to hide her sobbing.
After a silence, Dr. Twist continued:
‘You must forget the past, Madame. Time heals all wounds. Life will begin again. I think your friend Daniel will devote himself to bringing back your smile.’
‘Ah, someone told you about us? You’re right, Dr. Twist, I’m sure Daniel will do everything in his power. But I don’t think I shall ever have a normal life, particularly since this new tragedy. It’s all my fault. My father would still be alive if I hadn’t stubbornly refused to take his advice when I first met that louse.’
‘You have the excuse of youth, Madame. I’ve known people in worse situations than yours who managed to drag themselves back from the abyss. Well, we won’t bother you any more. Just one final question. Did you ever have similar dreams in the past?’
‘Yes, indeed!’
‘I mean involving a vengeful scarecrow?’
After a moment’s though, Janine shook her head.
‘No, never. It’s the first time Antoine appeared in such a get-up.’
The detectives spoke next to young Marc in his room upstairs, where all the bedrooms were located. The boy greeted them with some suspicion. Dr. Twist detected a note of fear in his blue eyes and tried to put him at ease by complimenting him on the arrangement of the room, with adventure stories stacked high, a model fortress and various other toys. The walls were covered with posters of action films like Sea Hawk, They Died with Their Boots On, Silver River and Ivanhoe.
‘Very good choices,’ observed Twist, who had adjusted his pince-nez to examine the books. ‘You like adventure, by the looks of it?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I did too, at your age. And I still re-read some of the classics like Treasure Island, for example. You seem to be a fan of Errol Flynn….’
‘Yes, sir. He’s my favourite actor. I saw two of his films with Papa. He’s great. I’d like to be like him.’
‘You’re not the only one, my lad. But we didn’t just come to talk about the cinema, as I expect you know.’
‘I already told the commissaire all I know.’
Dr. Twist glanced briefly at Pierre Legrand and continued:
‘Can you tell us about your cousin’s scream, which woke everyone up?’
‘If you like. It woke me up because her room’s right next door. I went there straight away and Papa and Uncle Gaston arrived just afterwards.’
‘How long after?’
Marc scratched his head.
‘I don’t know…not even a minute, maybe thirty seconds. Janine started to describe her nightmare and Papa ordered me back to my room….’
‘And is that what you did?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘And then?’
‘I went back to sleep. What else could I do?’
Dr. Twist went over to the window, where there was a direct view over the garden and the scarecrow.
‘You weren’t curious enough to take a look out of the window here, after what Janine had described?’
The boy blinked, hesitated, and then said:
‘Well…yes. But there was nothing special. Everything looked no
rmal.’
‘What about the scarecrow? How was it dressed? Was it wearing Antoine’s clothes already?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You did look, though?’
‘That’s true. But there wasn’t much light. Just the light from Janine’s window.’
‘But there was a full moon, wasn’t there?’
‘Maybe, but there must have been some clouds at the time I looked out. I could see the shape of the scarecrow but I couldn’t tell you what he wore. And I didn’t pay that much attention.’
‘I understand,’ replied Twist with an understanding smile.
Turning round, the detective noticed a rectangular space on the wall, of a slightly lighter colour.
‘There seems to be a poster missing here, or am I mistaken?’
‘Er, no sir.’
‘It was for which film?’
‘I can’t remember, sir. I change them quite a lot.’
‘Why didn’t you use it somewhere else?’
‘Wait, I remember. I spilt ink on it.’
‘You need to put another one up.’
‘That’s what I’m going to do, sir.’
Dr. Twist nodded, and after a brief pause, asked:
‘Tell me, Marc, did you have a nightmare yourself last night?’
The boy’s face darkened suddenly.
‘Well, sort of… I kept thinking about what my cousin said and… and… You won’t tell anyone will you, sir? I don’t want anyone to think I’m a baby.’
Seated on a chair by the fireplace, René Roussel, a stocky fifty- year-old with greying hair, took his time answering Dr. Twist’s question.
‘No, sir. And I realise it was an error. We should have taken a look at the scarecrow then and there. But I didn’t think to do so. Nor did any of the others, for that matter. Janine’s nightmare seemed so surreal.’
‘What did you do, in fact?’
‘Why nothing. What else could we do but comfort Janine and try to restrain our anger?’
‘At what time did you and your brother get back to your rooms?’
‘I don’t know… after half an hour, I suppose. Let’s say half past one.’
‘And what did your brother say?’
‘Nothing in particular. He just said goodnight and went back to his room.’
Dr. Twist looked at him through half-closed eyes:
‘And half an hour later he wandered over to the scarecrow and had a pitchfork stuck in him….’
René Roussel gritted his teeth.
‘Now I think back, he did seem strangely quiet.’
‘As if he had something on his mind?’
‘Possibly. But I’ve no idea what it was….’
‘Hadn’t you announced you were going to burn the scarecrow the next day?’
‘Yes I did. But I was angry to see poor Janine in such a state, all because of that bastard who continued to haunt us from beyond the grave.’
‘And the following day you found your brother’s body, at eight o’clock or thereabouts.’
Roussel ran a hand nervously through his hair.
‘Yes… And it was a hell of a shock, believe me! I was in the middle of lighting up on the doorstep when I realised the scarecrow’s silhouette was different somehow. I went to take a closer look and saw it was wearing Antoine’s cap and clothes. Then I saw a shape lying on the ground in front of it… and there were bits of straw all around. I thought straight away of Janine’s nightmare… about the pitchfork planted in the back… and that’s when I recognised him! The body was cold and obviously nothing could be done for him… I stood there motionless for a time while my mind tried to take it all in…Then I turned round and went back. Lambert took charge. He told us not to touch anything and sent Daniel to get the gendarmes. Don’t ask me what I was thinking at the time. My mind’s a blank. Even sitting here now I don’t know what to think.’
There was a silence, broken only by crackling from the logs in the hearth.
‘You know, you could have been in a delicate position if our investigation hadn’t established conclusively that your prints were quite fresh.’
‘I know. But for their meticulous work, I would probably have gone to the guillotine. But what reason would I have had to kill my own brother? And so brutally, at that? He didn’t leave me anything in his will.’
‘Did you know that at the time?’
‘Of course. We talked about it. I didn’t need his money. He wanted to protect his daughter, which is quite understandable.’
The sun was going down as the two detectives left the house. Before getting back into the ’s Peugeot 403, Dr. Twist stopped to look at the well. Then he asked Legrand to wait outside while he went to ask Maria one last question.
‘Well,’ asked the commissaire upon his return. ‘Did you find out what you wanted to know?’
Twist nodded. Legrand pulled a face:
‘Something tells me I’m not going to find out what intrigues you about the pump. It’s the water supply for the farm. There’s no running water here. Is it the concrete cover that bothers you? It’s at least thirty metres as the crow flies from there to the scene of the crime. Do you seriously think the murderer could have operated from here by means of some miraculous acrobatics?’
‘No. But I think it wouldn’t be a bad idea to inspect the bottom of the well pretty thoroughly. You might find an important clue.’
‘Wait a moment. Don’t tell me you’ve worked out how the murderer managed to walk on muddy ground without leaving any footprints?’
‘Oh, yes. But it would be nice to have some proof.’
‘Which we may well find at the bottom of the well?’
‘Quite possibly. But for now, I’d like to hear from Lambert and his grandson Daniel, the fiancé of the lovely Janine.’
The two investigators found the door to Lambert’s house closed but, by a stroke of luck, they found Daniel Lesage in the local bar-tabac.
‘You won’t be able to see my grandfather today,’ the young man explained with a charming dimpled smile and a glass of pastis in his hand. ‘He’s gone to a family reunion in Bordeaux with my parents. They won’t be back until tomorrow.’
‘We’ll be perfectly happy to talk to you,’ replied Twist, as the commissaire called the waiter over.
‘You want me to go over the discovery of the crime again?’
‘That, among other things.’
The discussion shed no further light on the events. When Dr. Twist asked him what he thought of the murder, his expression changed suddenly.
‘Strictly from a criminal standpoint, there’s nothing I can add. The odious crime is utterly incomprehensible. Even grandfather, who has a lot of experience, can’t make head or tail of it. Personally, I refuse to believe in any vengeance from beyond the grave, but for many people in the village, that bastard had the evil eye and it wasn’t buried with him.’
‘So, has your fiancée had hallucinations all this time?’
‘That man’s had a terrible influence on her,’ declared Daniel, banging down his empty glass. ‘She needs time to recover fully. There are times when she’s able to forget the past completely. And I’m confident she’ll be all right eventually.’
‘You’re going to marry soon?’
The young man contemplated the empty glass.
‘It had been planned for next summer, but after what’s happened, I don’t know.’
‘In fact, what do you do for a living, young man?’ asked Twist. ‘Are you also in farming?’
‘Heaven forbid! That’s too much like hard work. For now I sell insurance, but I have a lot of plans. I act a bit and I wouldn’t mind trying my luck in Paris.’
‘Daniel’s a good lad,’ declared ex-gendarme Lambert the next day, with an affectionate smile, ‘but he’s still young. Those ideas about the theatre won’t last long. But none of that matters for the moment. Let’s talk about where you are with your investigation.’
‘The central problem,’ declared the co
mmissaire, ‘is still the question of the footprints in the mud.’
‘Or rather the absence of them,’ added Dr. Twist, who seemed absorbed in the contemplation of a water-colour of old Cognac which adorned the walls of the lounge in the Lambert residence.
‘I’ve already said all there is to say on the subject,’ replied their host. ‘From the time the body was discovered, to when the experts arrived, and then their conclusions. Not the slightest evidence of trickery in the victim’s footprints, nor René’s, nor anywhere is the surrounding area, for that matter.’
‘And what do you conclude from that?’
Lambert sighed:
‘That it was physically impossible for anyone to have approached the victim—or, more accurately, the scene of the crime—between two o’clock and eight o’clock that morning.’
After a short pause he added:
‘Needless to say, I had a few thoughts… Gaston could have been attacked elsewhere and could have gone to the scarecrow afterwards, for whatever reason. But the pitchfork was already there with the scarecrow, so he would have had to go there anyway to get it. And what about the new clothes? How did they get there? Again, there was no trickery with Gaston’s footprints. If Gaston had been stabbed earlier, it would have showed in his footprints.’
‘Exactly,’ replied Dr. Twist. ‘I agree with you: no one could have approached the scene of the crime during that period. No human being, that is….’
Lambert frowned:
‘What are you getting at?’
‘Why, that something other than a human being could have travelled there… Something which, I have good reason to believe, will be found at the bottom of the well which feeds the water pump.’
While Lambert sat rooted to the spot, the telephone rang in the corridor. He got up to answer it and handed it to the commissaire.
‘It’s for you. One of your men.’
Legrand got up to take the call. Shortly afterwards he spoke to Twist:
‘We’re going to the farm. The fishing trip is over. They’ve found a bunch of strange objects at the bottom of the well. One of them is very strange indeed….’
As they set off, the said to his companion:
