Murder in Lascaux (32 page)

As we returned through the darkened corridor, I could hear Dotty giggling about something with Toby in the row behind me. Meanwhile, the guide up front was recounting popular suppositions about the meanings of prehistoric art. None of it was new to me, so my mind began to wander. I was thinking how unlikely it was that any art at all survived from such a distant time.

The train's braking to a halt jolted me out of my reverie, as once again we approached the junction between branches. Our driver paused, waiting for Marc's train, which was now backing up out of the first gallery. I heard a sound I couldn't interpret in the row behind me, but I couldn't see anything in the dark. In another few moments, the beam from the other train lit up the junction. Then the two trains signaled one another by flashing their lights. Ours was given the right of way, and we continued onto the main stem leading back to the entrance. I turned to see if I could catch a glimpse of Marc as he backed through the junction, but all I could see was his train's brilliant light and the silhouettes of Dotty and Toby huddled shoulder to shoulder.

Now, that was too much! Just wait till I get you home, I thought. I fumed for the entire ride back and kept turning around. But a glare is wasted in the dark. In what little light there was, reflected from the headlight on the walls, Toby did look uncomfortable. He scrunched up, giving the hint to Dotty to back off, and when she leaned away from him, he moved as far as he could to his side of the bench. I gave him credit for that, but he shouldn't have been so accommodating in the first place. I told myself Toby had never made me jealous before, but then I remembered that blowsy nurse from Sonoma. Okay, that was before we were married, but, still, we were going out. And then there was that woman who came on to him at the art fair in Santa Rosa. And, of course, there was the time he forgot our anniversary and … Hold on, I thought, this is not the Nora I like. I made a conscious decision to cool off and to not look back again at the row behind me until the ride was over. For the most part I succeeded.

Afterward, I felt ashamed.

As we pulled up to the entrance at our starting point and the lights went on, I turned to make a wisecrack, but it died on my lips as soon as I saw the alarm on Toby's face. He was trying to rouse Dotty, whose head was lolling on her chest. She was slumped at her end of the bench. Her beret was in her lap, and a loop of thin wire, blood oozing out from around it, circled her neck. In the row in front of me, a child began to scream. The last row of the car was empty.

T
HERE WAS CHAOS
at the entrance hall, compounded by the arrival of Marc's train, which disgorged its passengers as news of the murder spread. The cave swarmed with tourists protesting being detained or trying to use their cell phones to call home, while the head guide summoned the police. Some of the nervier tourists tried to leave, simply moving aside the metal chairs that the guides were setting up as a make-shift cordon. I saw several people being snatched back by one of the guides, and we all found ourselves trapped in the huge hall, exchanging accounts of what had happened. In the hubbub I spotted Marianne, who had just arrived, and I ran over to tell her the news. She immediately sought out Roz, to comfort her. I looked for Fernando but didn't see him. Marc was trying to calm a female passenger from his train who was distraught to the point of panic. The emotional temperature rose high enough to compensate for the cold of the cave entrance. Everyone was glad when the police arrived. Maybe they would restore order.

Soon Toby and I were riding in a police van, along with the French family from our train car, on our way to Périgueux for questioning. Jackie was the driver. The other members of our tour group were dispersed in additional vans filing behind us toward the gendarmerie.

Toby was beside himself. “I don't know what happened in there. I really don't!”

“You must have been aware something was wrong. Didn't you hear a struggle?”

“I'm not sure. I mean, going back over it, I should have realized what was happening, but in the dark and with the screeching of the tracks, I didn't.”

“What
do
you remember?”

“Well, you saw how Dotty elbowed her way into the seat. I moved as far as I could away from her so that at least we weren't touching. She joked about hoping you weren't going to be jealous, and then the train started moving again and it was dark. I felt her squirming a little on the seat, adjusting her position. We picked up speed, and we were both holding on to the rail in front. Then, remember when we stopped at the junction to wait to see where the other train was? She shifted closer and I heard something, or maybe it was a movement—I don't know what. And then the train jolted, and I did what I could to get her to give me more space. You know, I hunched my shoulder, squeezed over to the side as far as I could—and she did lean away. After that, the train noise was so loud and it was so dark, that that's all I knew until we stopped and I saw her slumped over. I think she must have been strangled after we started up at the junction and she moved away from me. Whoever did it was sitting behind us. He must have jumped off while the train was still moving slowly, because when we got back to the entrance and I turned around, there was no one there.”

“Did you get a look at whoever was behind you?”

“No, I never did. I remember the seat was empty when I got on, and then I heard someone get on behind us just as we were beginning to move, but I didn't turn around. I was preoccupied with Dotty. I can't even tell you if there was one person sitting behind us or two.”

“One. I caught a glimpse of him but didn't pay much attention. Someone in a blue worker's smock and a cap, but I never saw his face. I was irked about Dotty and not thinking of who else was with us in the car.”

“What about the others from our group?” asked Toby.

“They were sitting in the cars ahead of us. I know I looked for Roz, but I didn't see her. And another thing: I didn't notice anyone on the tour wearing a worker's smock when we started out. I think someone got on the train after we started out and then mingled with us in the gallery without getting noticed.”

“Got on after we were moving?”

“Remember we stopped a couple of times on the way to the first gallery? Someone who knew the route could have waited in the dark and climbed aboard at one of the stops.”

“Or here's another possibility. The killer could have been on board all along and changed into a disguise when we were in the second gallery.”

“Someone would have seen him change, wouldn't they?”

“Not if he wandered out of the gallery a little way back up the track where it was pitch dark, changed, waited for the train to start pulling out, and then jumped back on at the last minute.”

“But who would want to kill Dotty?”

“You don't get it, do you?” Toby locked eyes with me. He looked somber. “Someone was trying to kill
you
! Whoever it was mistook Dotty for you in the dark. He got on at the last minute as the train was leaving the second gallery, sat behind us—that is, sat behind me and Dotty thinking it was you and me—and attacked her just before we reached the junction.”

I shuddered. I could see Toby was right. With both of us wearing the berets, somebody could have mistaken Dotty for me as she snuggled up against Toby. But that possibility raised the next question. Why me?

“Because the killer thought you were getting close to figuring out who murdered Malbert.”

“But I don't know who killed Malbert.”

“The killer thinks you do. Whoever killed Dotty is the same person who killed Malbert. The method is identical: strangulation using a loop of wire, the garrote. Silent but fatal. And you know what? I'm thinking it's Marc.”

“Why Marc?”

“One, he's already the prime suspect for the murder in Lascaux; two, he shows up today in Rouffignac; and three, you may be getting close to uncovering information he doesn't want revealed.”

“But look at the logistics. We just saw him driving the second train into the first gallery. Someone in his group would have noticed if their guide disappeared between driving them in and driving them out, don't you think? And even if he could have gotten away from his group without being noticed, how could he have gone so quickly from the first gallery to the second gallery unless there's a passage between them?”

“Maybe there is. That's one thing that should be easy to find out.”

“I suppose. But here's something else. Fernando was also in the cave today. At least, I saw him in the orientation hall, and at the time, I thought it was unusual to see him there. He always stays behind with the van when he takes us on excursions. Today he comes inside with us. Why?”

“I'll give you one reason. He could be working with Marc. Remember we saw them together the other day in Castelnaud? What if Marc uses Fernando to do his dirty work?” Toby paused, thinking for a moment and glancing out the window as trees blurred by. “Since we're talking about Fernando and what-ifs, what if he does his dirty work for the Cazelles?”

“You mean Guillaume?”

“Any of them. Last night at dinner you might have raised some hackles with your questions. Someone could have started worrying you were getting too close to the family secrets.”

I remembered Guillaume's penetrating glance in my direction.

“If these two murders are connected,” Toby was saying, “we can't forget about David, either. He was also listening to the conversation last night, and he was with us in Lascaux when Malbert was strangled. Two caves, two murders, present at both. By the way, did you notice where he was sitting when the train pulled out?”

I had no recollection of seeing David as we made ready to leave the second gallery. Toby and I rode on in silence for a few minutes, listening to the chattering of our fellow passengers in the van. Suddenly, a new thought entered my mind.

“Toby, what if we've been going at this the wrong way?”

He looked at me expectantly.

“What if the killer was after Dotty all along and knew it was Dotty and not me sitting with you?”

He raised his eyebrows, looking skeptical. “That's not very likely, if you ask me. There's no connection between Dotty and the Lascaux murder. And who would have a reason to kill Dotty?”

“About Lascaux, I agree. But I've been thinking about motive, and I don't like where it's leading.”

“You don't mean Roz?”

“I don't want to mean Roz, but she does have a motive. Roz has been delaying the execution of her brother's will, arguing that a bequest he made orally should preempt the written will. She's determined to get that gift to the community center. With Dotty gone, the money will probably come through. Maybe all her brother's money, now that I think of it.”

“And they had a quarrel at the dance last night, you told me. Was it about the will?”

“No, it was about Dotty throwing herself at men, namely Marc.”

“Marc again. You don't suppose he had any reason to want Dotty dead?”

“No, that doesn't wash. But Roz has been having trouble containing her animosity against Dotty, and this might have been her opportunity to let it out.”

“Nora, this wasn't a matter of letting out a little animosity. This was a calculated murder. And your friend Roz doesn't seem that cold-blooded. But, just for argument's sake, let's say she planned it. How would she have been able to carry it off ? Besides, I thought you said it was a man who climbed aboard behind us.”

“That's what I thought.”

“But now you're saying it could have been a woman?”

“I'm just not sure.”

“Think hard. Who else would have a motive for attacking Dotty?”

I thought about it. What if one of the men were sleeping with Dotty, and what if she wanted to let it be known? Would he have been desperate enough to kill her to keep the affair secret? Patrick? No, he was single and had nothing to lose if such an affair became public. Guillaume? He was a ladies' man, so why should he care if anyone learned of his conquest? David? Well, that was another matter. His young wife was pregnant and definitely concerned about some aspect of their relationship. If David had broken his marriage vows, he might well have wanted to preserve the secret. But would he have killed to do so?

“That brings us back to you,” said Toby grimly. “It wasn't Dotty the killer was after.”

A
t the Périgueux gendarmerie, we were ushered into a large room, where we waited our turns to be interrogated. Within minutes, the room was full, and new arrivals were shunted upstairs. Roz, Patrick, and David were among them. That left more than twenty of us in the downstairs waiting room—adults on the benches, teenagers standing, children on the floor. Toby was called first. Inspector Daglan himself led Toby down a narrow hallway. Shortly afterward, Jackie appeared at the hallway entrance.