Son of Holmes (21 page)

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Authors: John Lescroart

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BOOK: Son of Holmes
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“But, Jacques, you haven’t been able to get in touch with me either in all that time, and there’s nothing suspicious about me, is there?”
“I hate to bring it up, Jules, but you don’t work like your common man. Your hours are your own to order.”
I smiled to myself. Probably my wealth would gall him forever. “So you suspect Lupa?”
“Look at the facts,” he said. “Lupa’s the only new man at the party. He’s a foreigner, from Belgrade or somewhere—”
“He’s an American citizen,” I interrupted.
“All right, America. Doesn’t change the fact. Then, Routier’s sitting in Lupa’s seat and even drinking from his glass when he keels over. Lupa hadn’t even taken a sip from that glass. In the confusion of Lavoie’s glass breaking, Lupa dumps cyanide into the glass and arranges it so that Routier goes back to his seat. We don’t know exactly how he did that, but it seems reasonable. We’ve also got some problems with motive, though this international angle might come into play there. Then Lupa can’t be found when we want him, he refuses to cooperate at all, and”—here he paused for effect—“we went to see Vernet, the owner of La Couronne, and got Lupa’s papers, and they’re forged. Cleverly, but definitely. We’re going to pick him up tonight.”
I sighed. “Well, that’s certainly a relief, Jacques. I’m glad you’ve found him. It does look rather bad for him. Forged, you say?”
“Without doubt.”
“What about your inspector? Him, too?”
“We think so. He’s got no alibi. We figure Chatelet—that was his name—was on to something. He questioned Lupa, and Lupa panicked. With his size, he could have strangled him easily, and probably did. He hadn’t reported back to us yet, but his itinerary that morning had him seeing Lupa after the funeral, then the others, and none of the others saw him. He must have seen Lupa first, and been killed before he could see anyone else.”
“But couldn’t it have happened that when Chatelet saw that Lupa’d missed the funeral, he changed his plans and took off on a new tack? In that case he might have run into someone else altogether.”
“Yes, that’s true. But why would he change his plans? Did anything strange happen at the funeral? Anything to make you suspicious?”
“No,” I said truthfully.
“Well, then.”
“Just a thought,” I muttered.
“You just let us handle this, Jules. It’s what we do best.”
I got up to go. “Well, good luck, Jacques. I hope you get him. And thank you.”
He shook my hand warmly. “It’s a pleasure to set the mind of an old friend at ease. Don’t worry about a thing. We’ll have everything straightened out and back to normal in no time.”
I walked out into the cool evening. If that was what they did best . . . I smiled grimly to myself. So no one else had seen Chatelet, which of course meant that Henri had lied to the police. Understandable, but certainly neither wise nor wily. I decided to go to Lupa’s, to warn him. He wouldn’t be any good at all from inside a jail trying to convince a man like Magiot of his innocence. Magiot thought I was supercilious. I shuddered to imagine what he’d think of Lupa.
It wouldn’t do to go directly to La Couronne from the police station, so I walked to my car and drove several blocks back toward my house, checking to see that I wasn’t being tailed. I wasn’t. I parked and began walking, then, back in the direction of Anna’s shop. I knew it was a bit risky entering that way, but it would be better than just dropping in, especially if the police had already arrived.
The walk took me nearly a quarter of an hour, and it was completely dark when I arrived. The door was locked, as I might have expected if I’d been thinking of details, such as Anna lying wounded at Tania’s house, but it presented no problem. Once inside, I crossed to the back door, behind the screen, and opened it. The smell of the flowers rising to meet me was once again overpowering but pleasant as I picked my way back to the tunnel entrance. I remembered roughly where Lupa had reached to turn off the alarm and, after fumbling along the darkened wall for a short while, got it and clicked it to what I hoped was off. The walk was becoming nearly familiar, and I covered the distance to Lupa’s room in less than five minutes. Magiot had said that they were picking up Lupa tonight, and it was now night. There wasn’t much time to waste.
I stood at the curtains and listened to see if Lupa had guests. There was a faint glow around one edge of the curtain, so at least one of the room’s lights was on. I heard no sound, so I quietly pulled the curtain open and stepped in. My training had not entirely deserted me, and I could still move quietly and effectively if I had to. Lupa sat at his desk, absorbed in some reading. He turned a page, and I cleared my throat.
Normally, a man surprised in that manner will start. Lupa didn’t move a muscle. Without the merest glance at me, he closed the book and stared ahead of him. Finally, he turned his head to see me.
“How did you get in here?” he snapped.
“Spontaneous generation.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Under a minute. Now relax. It was necessary. You’re in a lot of trouble, and we’ve got to move right away.”
“So the tunnel’s been unguarded for ten minutes . . .
pfui
.” He reached for the button on his desk and activated the alarm again.
“You can check all that later,” I said. “Get Charles in here, and Vernet as soon as he can be reached. I’ve just come from the police, and you’re to be arrested tonight for Marcel’s murder.”
He glared at me. “The fools!”
“I couldn’t agree more, but that doesn’t matter much at this point. We’ve got to get you out of here and covered before the police arrive.”
“The fools!” he repeated.
“Yes,” I said. “It seems that they’ve checked your papers and discovered the forgeries, and that Henri has denied seeing Chatelet, and naturally they assume, then, that you killed him before he could have seen anyone else. Now, does Charles know about the tunnel?”
“Yes. So does Vernet.”
“Anyone else?”
“Besides you, Anna, Watkins, and myself? No. Not that I know of.”
“All right. Let’s get you out that way then. Call in your men.”
“No,” he said. “No, I’m not leaving here. Simply impossible. I’m a marked man, and I’ve decided to stick it out here, and I will do so. I’ll call the others.”
“But how—”
He cut me off by ignoring me and calling out into the kitchen. Charles appeared shortly, clad in an apron and chef’s cap, smiling. He was surprised to see me, but nodded courteously.
Lupa began talking. “Close the front door immediately and go fetch Monsieur Vernet. We are closed for business tonight due to the loss of our chef. I beg your pardon, Charles, but it does have nothing to do with you. After you’ve gotten Vernet here, continue on out to Monsieur Giraud’s house—you remember where it is? Good. Talk to his chef, a Fritz Benet, and tell him to stop whatever he is doing and come along here as quickly as possible. Tell him Monsieur Giraud is in trouble, and we need him. Bring him through the back way. Try to do all this in under an hour, and start now.” Charles already had stripped himself of accoutrements and stood ready to go. Lupa turned to me. “You have a car,
n’est-çe pas
?
Bien.
Give the keys to Charles. You can drive, can’t you? Use the car. Speed is everything.
Va-t-en!
Go!”
When he’d left, Lupa excused himself and left me sitting wondering what he planned to do. I heard him moving about in the adjoining room, evidently rearranging things in some way. In a short while he reappeared, carrying two beers in each hand. He set them on his desk and opened two, offering one to me without a word. Then he sat with his eyes closed and breathed deeply for what seemed an hour but was actually probably less than a minute. Finally he sat up, opened his eyes, and glanced at the beer glass, presumably to see that the foam had settled adequately, and drank. When he put the glass down, it was empty, and he immediately reached for another beer. He looked at me after pouring.
“So.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, what are you planning to do? You can’t stay here, and every minute we sit here threatens you more. Why don’t we just go over to my place, or at least through the tunnel? Here you are too vulnerable.”
“Nonsense. What I did in the outer room just then will prevent any interference from the police. The huge tapestries covering the other walls? Well, for such an eventuality as this, I’ve another on hand. I’ve simply covered the door to the office and the wall surrounding it. No one will suspect there is a room there.”
“But if they search, it’s transparent.”
“Why would they search? If they’re capable of thinking me guilty of Marcel’s death, they are no danger to me. They will look in the rooms that remain, which are certainly ample for one man living alone. They won’t suspect a hidden room. Why should there be one? Monsieur Vernet will tell them he fired me because of my papers, and Charles will corroborate. Then, of course, there will be a new chef, newly hired, and living in these quarters.”
“I suppose that would be . . .”
“Exactly. Fritz.” He drank more beer, and I joined him.
“Did it occur to you that I might not approve of this? That perhaps Fritz is my private chef and of some worth to me, both personally and professionally?”
“Certainly, my dear Jules.” He smiled. “That’s why I did-n’t want to discuss any of this with you before sending Charles on his errand. I didn’t want to waste the time. You see, there really isn’t much choice. I can be very effective here, and I intend to remain. Come. It won’t be for long. Enjoy your beer.”
I sat and thought in silence. He was right, but it was aggravating. What was I to do with Fritz gone? Suddenly I realized what had begun to nag me.
“I gather, then, that you’ve cleared Fritz? You might have mentioned it to me.”
He did not respond in any way.
“Well?” I said.
He sighed. “There are simply some matters that I can’t disclose at this time, even to you, Jules.”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“Patently, it is not.”
“Might I ask why?”
He searched for the least objectionable way to phrase it. “You are a valuable ally, Jules, and becoming a good friend, but there is a certain ingenuousness in your character that I can turn to my advantage. I must ask you to trust me in this.”
“I find it highly insulting.”
He got up from the desk and crossed over to me, placing his hand on my shoulder. “It is not that, I assure you.” He leaned his huge bulk back against the desk. “My father, Jules, had a companion for many years—a very good man of impeccable character and great bravery. But his goodness was so ingrained, his honesty so natural, that he was absolutely incapable of dissembling. My father knew this, of course, and occasionally had to leave this man in the dark, or in a few cases actually mislead him, so that he might not unwittingly tip a winning hand.”
Again, his hand came to rest on my shoulder. “Jules, forgive me, but you are not an actor. You are an agent, and a valuable man of action, but if you were closing in on Marcel’s murderer, I doubt if you could altogether suppress your feelings until the optimum moment. And that, in this case, is essential.”
“But Fritz . . . ?” I began.
“For the time being, let Fritz be my problem. I will say this much: if he is our man, what better place to monitor his activities than under my own roof?”
I was not completely happy or convinced by his rationale, but I could see that his mind was made up. He went back around his desk and sat, and we waited for the others to return. Lupa opened the last beer, poured it for himself, and had nearly finished when Vernet entered.
He was of average height but distinguished by a full red beard and, incongruously, piercing dark eyes. It was an odd combination, which his dress reinforced. He wore an English derby hat and a large plaid overcoat, which, when removed, gave way to more conventional attire—a dark suit and tie. The color scheme of his face became even more bizarre when he took off the hat, revealing a head of gray hair. He entered by the tunnel, so of course we’d been warned of his entrance.
“See here, Auguste, what’s this about closing down the restaurant? I realize that ‘M’ and Altamont have asked me to cooperate in every way I could, but we’re beginning to lose customers, what with Charles’s cooking and your irregular hours. What’s the explanation this time?”
Perfectly unruffled, Lupa introduced us.
“Now, sit down, monsieur. I am sorry, but it’s really unavoidable. We should be open for business again within the hour, but in the meantime I am going to need your help. Will you have some beer? Cognac?”
The owner sat and nodded. “Courvoisier,
s’il vous plait
.” To my surprise, Lupa attended him. When they had both been seated, Lupa began again.
“We have a real problem, though we could possibly have foreseen it, given the way the police have handled everything so far. They’ve reached the inescapable conclusion that I am Monsieur Routier’s murderer. Monsieur Giraud has just given me that report, and the police are supposedly to be here this evening to arrest me. Unfortunately, that would be most inconvenient, so I’ve covered over the door to the office and decided to remain here until I’ve settled this matter. Let it look to the police as if I’ve run. That’s fine; in fact, it suits my purposes, since now the heat will be off the actual murderer. They’ll of course question you as to my whereabouts, and you should tell them that you dismissed me immediately upon learning that my papers were forged and you haven’t seen me since.”

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