The Body In the Vestibule (16 page)
Read The Body In the Vestibule Online
Authors: Katherine Hall Page
“First,” Michel said, “let me reassure you that a description and picture of your wife have been circulated all over the country and the newspapers will also carry the information tomorrow morning. Now, let's go back to the beginning, Reverend Fairsheeld.”
“Tom, please call me Tom.”
“Thank you. Well, Tom, what has happened obviously must have an explanation in something that has occurred since your arrival. I am assuming she has never done anything like this before?”
“Never,” Tom answered.
“Then try, if you can, to relax a moment and tell me everything your wife has been doing and how she has been feeling since coming to Lyon. Has she made any friends? Become involved in any activities? Paul, perhaps you can help.”
Tom was suddenly so tired, it seemed almost impossible to talk. Friends, involvements? This was what Faith lived for. Slowly, he began to list what he knew. When he got to Faith's experiences the night of the dinner party, Michel interrupted him. “She told me about this the following evening and we have the report of the two men responding to your call. What has been plaguing me all night is that she may, in fact, have found a corpse. But then how did he come to be outside the church the next morning? I am waiting for the men who responded to her calls. According
to their report, she seemed to think it might not be the same
clochard.
”
to their report, she seemed to think it might not be the same
clochard.
”
“Faith definitely thought he was a fake. Sunday night, she told me she thought the body of the
clochard
she found on Saturday had a scratch on the back of the hand. The man outside St. Nizier the next day didn't.” Tom stood up and walked up and down the room. When he next spoke, his voice was thick. “I suggested it might have been a piece of string or something from the trash. I didn't want to believe it. Everything has been so wonderful. He looked the same to me. And she accepted that, but I know Faith. She must have kept poking around and now ⦔ He couldn't finish.
clochard
she found on Saturday had a scratch on the back of the hand. The man outside St. Nizier the next day didn't.” Tom stood up and walked up and down the room. When he next spoke, his voice was thick. “I suggested it might have been a piece of string or something from the trash. I didn't want to believe it. Everything has been so wonderful. He looked the same to me. And she accepted that, but I know Faith. She must have kept poking around and now ⦔ He couldn't finish.
Â
“
Vite
!” and a loud banging on the outhouse door startled Faith from her misery and she quickly finished. Descending outside, she took a good look at her captor before the figure, all in black, still masked and gloved, moved behind her and jammed the barrel of his gun into the small of her back. He was certainly dressed for the weather, she thought enviously as she began to shiver again. Her spirits had lifted slightly and she took it as a good sign that he retained the mask. If she was to be killed soon, it wouldn't matter if she saw him. And the wool, though warm, must feel scratchy on his face. He was taller than Faith but slight and moved with agility. They walked back to the house and once they were inside, he motioned her back to the chair, locked the door, and started to build a fire. After he got it going, he opened the shutters covering the windows. Was he watching for someone?
Vite
!” and a loud banging on the outhouse door startled Faith from her misery and she quickly finished. Descending outside, she took a good look at her captor before the figure, all in black, still masked and gloved, moved behind her and jammed the barrel of his gun into the small of her back. He was certainly dressed for the weather, she thought enviously as she began to shiver again. Her spirits had lifted slightly and she took it as a good sign that he retained the mask. If she was to be killed soon, it wouldn't matter if she saw him. And the wool, though warm, must feel scratchy on his face. He was taller than Faith but slight and moved with agility. They walked back to the house and once they were inside, he motioned her back to the chair, locked the door, and started to build a fire. After he got it going, he opened the shutters covering the windows. Was he watching for someone?
Things had gone far enough.
“I am an American citizen and I demand to know what is happening. I think you have mistaken me for someoneâ” she said, cut off abruptly by his
“Ferme-la!”
She did, and after he poked at the fire some more, he collapsed in a chair opposite her, with the gun trained somewhere on
the vicinity of her womb. She didn't open her mouth. Neither did he.
“Ferme-la!”
She did, and after he poked at the fire some more, he collapsed in a chair opposite her, with the gun trained somewhere on
the vicinity of her womb. She didn't open her mouth. Neither did he.
Â
Ravier sent Tom home with Paul. There was nothing more he could do and so Michel urged Tom to try to get some sleep. It had been a long drive to Avignon and back. “Sleep?” Tom had repeated, and Michel realized what a ridiculous suggestion it had been. “Then pray,
mon brave
. I know
le bon Dieu
will not let anything happen to Faith.”
mon brave
. I know
le bon Dieu
will not let anything happen to Faith.”
A trace of a smile had crossed Tom's weary face. “I have been doing nothing else since this morning.”
After they left, Michel sat with the files in front of him. It wasn't simply the business with the
clochard.
There was Faith's second call reporting that she had information regarding the suicide of the prostitute, Marie. Michel had been on vice not too many years ago and he remembered Marie well. An intelligent girl from the Midi. She would be away from the city on occasion and told him once she used to go to visit her family. He wondered what she told themâthat she worked in a boutique, perhaps. Her
carte d'identité
listed her full name as Marie-Claude Laval, and he sensed she came from a decent family. Like her two friends, she was addicted to various things, but in the last year, she had told him she was straight and hoping to get off the streets. He had wished her well, yet knew it would not be so easy to accomplish. She probably owed her pimp money and he would see she continued to work off her debt until she no longer served his purpose. Then she'd be left with nothing. He felt the angry frustration that had never left him since his first days in the district, talking to the girls. The pimps, working from Italy, Switzerlandâand now South Americaâgrew rich. Parasites. The only consolation was that when they did get caught on French soil, they faced long sentences and stiff fines.
clochard.
There was Faith's second call reporting that she had information regarding the suicide of the prostitute, Marie. Michel had been on vice not too many years ago and he remembered Marie well. An intelligent girl from the Midi. She would be away from the city on occasion and told him once she used to go to visit her family. He wondered what she told themâthat she worked in a boutique, perhaps. Her
carte d'identité
listed her full name as Marie-Claude Laval, and he sensed she came from a decent family. Like her two friends, she was addicted to various things, but in the last year, she had told him she was straight and hoping to get off the streets. He had wished her well, yet knew it would not be so easy to accomplish. She probably owed her pimp money and he would see she continued to work off her debt until she no longer served his purpose. Then she'd be left with nothing. He felt the angry frustration that had never left him since his first days in the district, talking to the girls. The pimps, working from Italy, Switzerlandâand now South Americaâgrew rich. Parasites. The only consolation was that when they did get caught on French soil, they faced long sentences and stiff fines.
So Faith had come to know Marie, too. But how? What would they have in common? The French women he
knew did not chat with the
filles de joie
on the corner but walked quickly past, perhaps a nod of the head to indicate they were
sympa.
knew did not chat with the
filles de joie
on the corner but walked quickly past, perhaps a nod of the head to indicate they were
sympa.
Faith had told Martin and Pollet that Marie was supposed to meet her at the
hôtel de ville
, and earlier Marie had given her some sort of warning. Faith was convinced Marie had been murdered before they could meet. The notes were disgracefully vague and his conversation with the two officers, while making him feel better for letting off steam, didn't garner much more information. They thought her scatty and hadn't paid much attention to what they clearly thought was an overactive imagination, the product of too much American television. The inspector from the
police judiciaire
, Ravier's own division, had not thought it worth his time to go up the stairs to speak with Faith when they found the trash bin empty, but had sent the two
gardiens de la paix
as a formality. Probably also wanted to stick them with the paperwork. Michel had let off some steam on him, too.
hôtel de ville
, and earlier Marie had given her some sort of warning. Faith was convinced Marie had been murdered before they could meet. The notes were disgracefully vague and his conversation with the two officers, while making him feel better for letting off steam, didn't garner much more information. They thought her scatty and hadn't paid much attention to what they clearly thought was an overactive imagination, the product of too much American television. The inspector from the
police judiciaire
, Ravier's own division, had not thought it worth his time to go up the stairs to speak with Faith when they found the trash bin empty, but had sent the two
gardiens de la paix
as a formality. Probably also wanted to stick them with the paperwork. Michel had let off some steam on him, too.
Marie's body had already been released to her parents. There had been what Michel suspected was a perfunctory autopsy, as was usual in this type of case. He looked at the few lines in front of him. She did have water in her lungs, indicating drowning. Still, there were ways to do thisâif she had been alive but drugged when she entered the water, for example. Even if the autopsy indicated the presence of drugs, it would be assumed she had gone back to her old waysâor never left.
Michel didn't think Faith was scatty. If she thought Marie had been murdered, there must have been a reasonâeven if Madame Fairsheeld
had
cried murder once before. But how would Marie have tied in with the
clochard?
In the morning, he'd go to the Place St. Nizier and talk with Marie's friends. It would be pointless to try to find them tonight.
Clochards
and whores, both on the street and both knowing what went on in those streets better than anyone.
It was possible this knowledge had gotten the two of them killed, which left Faith trying to tie the threads together.
had
cried murder once before. But how would Marie have tied in with the
clochard?
In the morning, he'd go to the Place St. Nizier and talk with Marie's friends. It would be pointless to try to find them tonight.
Clochards
and whores, both on the street and both knowing what went on in those streets better than anyone.
It was possible this knowledge had gotten the two of them killed, which left Faith trying to tie the threads together.
His phone rang. Giovanni Cavelli had been located. Faith had not said anything to him about Avignonâor anywhere else, for that matter. He didn't like to talk with his clients, he told the officers. It distracted him from his work. The receptionist was new. She'd only been there a month and was Italian also. He'd liked having someone around who spoke his language. Her name was Gina Martignetti. She was from Rome and he had an address in Lyon for her on the Croix Rousse. She'd left about eleven that morning and never come back. He was prepared to take her back, but not until he'd said a thing or two, and judging from the rehearsal the police were forced to listen to, it would be a wonder if the woman would continue to work for him. After they finished talking to Cavelli, they'd gone to the address he'd supplied for Gina. It was a rooming house. They proceeded to rouse the owner, who was displeased at being awakened and obviously cherished little affection for the
flics.
She told them Mademoiselle Martignetti had stopped by her apartment at noon, given her what she owed, said good-bye, and left. She didn't know where Gina was going. That was the girl's business, not hers. She'd been a good tenant, paid on time, wasn't around much.
flics.
She told them Mademoiselle Martignetti had stopped by her apartment at noon, given her what she owed, said good-bye, and left. She didn't know where Gina was going. That was the girl's business, not hers. She'd been a good tenant, paid on time, wasn't around much.
Ravier ordered them to circulate a description of Gina Martignetti, particularly at the Italian border, and he had had a call put through to the police in Rome. Her disappearance at the same time as Faith's and after having delivered what was obviously a phony message to Tom, was no coincidence. He also had Giovanni put under surveillance. He'd already been told not to leave Lyon.
The inspector's phone rang again. It was his mother. Did he want to speak with her? He glanced at his watch. She was up late, but then she slept very little. Of course he would take the call. Since his father's death, she had moved
into the city and she missed her old friends and neighbors.
into the city and she missed her old friends and neighbors.
“You had a good trip,
mon fils?”
mon fils?”
“Oui, Maman
, and you? Keeping busy?”
, and you? Keeping busy?”
“But of course. All the things an old lady does. A little walk. Mass in the morning. And I cleaned your apartment. It was disgusting, Michel. That woman is not worth what you pay her.”
His mother had a running battle with the woman who cleaned and, when told, left dinner for him. Neither thought the other adequate for his needs. “Oh,
Maman
, really you mustn't do this.”
Maman
, really you mustn't do this.”
“It's no trouble. Oh, and while I was there, a very nice foreign lady called. Her name was Madame Fairsheeld. I told her you were away and she said you must call her as soon as you get back, so please do. I promised you would.”
“Madame Fairsheeld! When was this?”
“It must have been Wednesday. I remember I went to your apartment after confession.”
“You are sure?”
“About my confession,
bien sûr!”
bien sûr!”
“No,
chérie,
about what day Madame Fairsheeld called,” he said patiently, wondering not for the first time what his mother could possibly have to confess. Impure thoughts? He hoped so.
chérie,
about what day Madame Fairsheeld called,” he said patiently, wondering not for the first time what his mother could possibly have to confess. Impure thoughts? He hoped so.
“Yes, yes, I am sure. Is it important?”
“Perhaps. Now, I must say good night. Go to sleep. I will call you tomorrow.”
“Ã demain
,” she agreed in her soft, slightly chirping voice.
,” she agreed in her soft, slightly chirping voice.
He picked up the file on Marie. Her body had been discovered on Wednesday. It had been on Wednesday that Martin and Pollet had responded to Faith's call. Obviously, she'd called him first. But she hadn't disappeared until two days later. What had happened in between? He looked at the notes he had taken while Tom talked. The lavomatique, the
marché,
a tea party, dinner at a
bouchon
.
marché,
a tea party, dinner at a
bouchon
.
It would not be light for some hours and he was eager to start questioning everyone Faith had come in contact with during those daysâand the days preceding. She'd visited one of the shelters for the
clochards
on Monday, Tom had said. To learn what the French were doing about the problem, she'd told her husband. Yet, Faith had not struck Michel as a woman who told her husband everything as it happened. Not that she lied, but perhaps there was more than one reason for her visit.
clochards
on Monday, Tom had said. To learn what the French were doing about the problem, she'd told her husband. Yet, Faith had not struck Michel as a woman who told her husband everything as it happened. Not that she lied, but perhaps there was more than one reason for her visit.
He stretched out on his couch to get some sleep. Soup kitchens, the
hôtel de ville
, the prostitutes on the corner, and at the beginningâthe
clochard
of St. Nizier in the
poubelle.
The answer had to be somewhere among them.
hôtel de ville
, the prostitutes on the corner, and at the beginningâthe
clochard
of St. Nizier in the
poubelle.
The answer had to be somewhere among them.
Faith Fairchild had gotten to know Lyon very well indeed.
Â
Faith was getting restless. She wasn't tired. She'd slept enough for a month and the silence was beginning to drive her crazy. Maybe that was the idea. She wasn't going to be killed outright, merely driven insane.
“Do you speak English?” she asked.
There was no reply. She knew her French wasn't that bad. He'd understood her other question. She wondered what would happen if she stood up and calmly walked out the door. Whoever it was seemed passive enough. Still, she didn't want to chance a sudden spurt of energy that might lodge a bullet somewhere about her person. Looking around the room, she'd noted there was another door and, to the right of it, a stone stairway. The stairs probably led to bedrooms or a loft of some sort and the other door no doubt to the kitchen. Kitchen! She was starving. She hadn't had anything since her hasty breakfast. She thought longingly of the picnic she'd packed for the trip to Carcassonne. A huge
marguerite
âcrusty rolls joined together in the shape of the flower. Instead of “he loves me, he loves me not,” you pulled a hunk of bread off and, in today's case,
slathered it with Normandy butter, pate, or cheese. She'd also packed some saladsâtiny vegetables in vinaigrette and hearts of palm with endive. Faith firmly ordered her mind to turn off before she got to dessert, but the chocolate cake with a hint of orange from Tourtillier pushed through insistently.
marguerite
âcrusty rolls joined together in the shape of the flower. Instead of “he loves me, he loves me not,” you pulled a hunk of bread off and, in today's case,
slathered it with Normandy butter, pate, or cheese. She'd also packed some saladsâtiny vegetables in vinaigrette and hearts of palm with endive. Faith firmly ordered her mind to turn off before she got to dessert, but the chocolate cake with a hint of orange from Tourtillier pushed through insistently.
“This is ridiculous. I am hungry and cold. I am going to have a baby and I must have some food.” The sentences were non sequiturs, but she didn't care.
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