The Ghost Who Fed Them Bones (24 page)

“And why is that of interest to the British press?” Dad continues.

“One of the victims was British. Her parents moved out here a few years ago.”

“And you met Mike how?”

“I’l be honest.” Honesty is clearly a privilege for the privileged. “I heard that Michael and Paul were in the party that had been there when the corpses were exhumed, so I was looking for them. Final y, I found somebody who knew you and it just so happened that Michael was within pointing distance, so I introduced myself.”

“You never told me that!” Mike protests.

“I wonder why. So, Paul, can you talk to ghosts or not?”

“No, Chloe. We were there accompanying the Earl who can.”

“Yes, I have heard al about him. Can you introduce me to him?”

“I don’t think he would appreciate that much.”

“You could pretend that I am just a friend.”

“Why would I do that?”

Chloe is al charm, inlaid with menace. “Paul, it is like business referrals. If you manage to palm me off onto someone else who interests me, I go away.”

“Maybe we want you to stay anyway,” says Dad confusingly.

“That’s kind.”

“So what has happened since the bodies were dug up?” Dad inquires.

“Don’t you know? Haven’t you been kept informed?”

“No,” I reply.

“Wel , it was obviously al pretty gruesome.”

“He certainly seems to have gone on the rampage,” comments Dad.

“I was referring more to the way they were kil ed. That is why there is so much press attention. They are besieging the Earl of Affligem’s holiday home as we speak. Obviously I am the first to track you guys down to here. Maybe you should get out quick. So you haven’t heard the police statement of this morning?”

“No,” I reply again.

“Do you know what he did to them?”

“We don’t even know who he is.” The conversation is exclusively between Chloe and me now.

Chloe takes a deep breath, which is strangely appealing around her chest area. I am getting to like her. “His name is Bertrand Dubois, ironical y enough as al his al eged victims were found buried in woods – or it could have been deliberate. He is certainly screwy enough. The victims are al young women, girls real y, and they al knew his daughter, Marina, who kil ed herself nearly nine years ago. This tragedy derailed the whole family, as you might imagine. Mr. Dubois and his wife split up (Marina was their only child), and Bertrand flipped basical y. He went raving bonkers. He decided that he wanted to understand where Marina’s soul had gone to when she died so that he would have a chance of tracking it down and, as a surgeon, he suddenly had an idea. It was too late to do anything with Marina because she was dead already, but he could go off in search of the location of the soul in the brain by experimenting on other living people, and who better than the girls he believed to have bul ied his daughter to death? He was completely wrong about that, by the way. I have found out that his daughter Marina was a relentless bul y in her own right, and she was actual y bul ying the other girls, not vice-versa, but that is not the way he understood it. So he tracked down the first girl, Marie-Laure Durand, he kidnapped her, he took her to his cel ar which he had set up as an operating theatre, and he started experimenting on her. I am sorry if this shocks you, and I’l stop if you wish, but basical y he dissected her brain while she was stil alive and conscious. Nobody knows whether his quest for the seat of the soul was a genuine obsession or just a rationalisation of his desire for revenge, but that is basical y what he did with each of the girls until they died and, as I say, one of them, Rosie Fletcher, was British.”

Natalie’s eyes have almost crossed the room in shock, and the rest of us have al gone completely white.

“It must have been the most appal ing way to die – not that painful but horrifical y distressing.” Chloe looks at me first, then Mike. “You must have noticed that the tops of their skul s had been surgical y removed.”

We shake our heads. “We knew that something was up,” Mike comments, “as the forensic team got very excited the minute they saw each body, but we never managed to understand what it was they were on about as they were speaking in whispers and I at least wasn’t looking too closely at the bodies. Paul might have done.”

“No, me neither,” I add.

“Wel , there you have it, and I am afraid that I have been using you, Michael, although that is not the only reason I was pleased to get to know you, because I was intrigued why two English guys would be among the people searching for the bodies. Then, when you said that Paul could talk to ghosts, Michael, it suddenly made sense.” She turns on me again. “Are you sure that you cannot talk to ghosts, Paul? I am pretty sure that you can. I have an instinct for these sorts of thing.”

“No, I don’t talk to ghosts, and I am not that keen on talking to journalists either.”

Chloe becomes coquettish. “I’l admit that I can if you do.”

“You can what?” I chal enge.

“Talk to ghosts.”

“You can?” asks Mum.

“Yes, I see ghosts al the time, which is a bit of a leg up in my job as a crime reporter. I sometimes get to interview the murder victim. No other journalist can claim that, not that I ever admit to it either, but it does get me a lot of unique facts nobody else gets any wind of at al .”

“How long have you been seeing ghosts?” asks Mum.

“Al my life. To me, ghosts are just ghosts.”

She scrutinises me.

I feel compel ed to respond. “To me ghosts are a shiver down my spine.”

“Pity. But you did say that you knew where a ghost was.”

(Shit).

“Yes.”

“Whose ghost is it?”

“Nothing to do with this case.”

“Not at al ?”

“No. It was just a ghost whose presence I sensed in Freyrargues which got everyone al excited and imagining that I could talk to her.”

Chloe’s eyes narrow. “How do you know it was a ‘her’?”

“Because the guy who is renting the house I sensed her in keeps finding parts of her body, and the bones are those of a girl cal ed Alice Picard.”

“Was she murdered?”

“Quite probably. She disappeared suddenly and hasn’t been seen since, except bit by bit. Her father was arrested a couple of weeks ago for her murder. In fact, the Earl thought it was her body they were looking for near Montauban. She lied to him for some reason.”

“Why?”

“Nobody knows. You’l have to ask the Earl, or her.”

“Wel , as you won’t introduce me to the Earl, wil you introduce me to her?”

“I haven’t a clue where she is, but I can take you to the house I suppose. A retired British policeman lives there. He can probably give you everything you need.”

“Can we meet up tomorrow, then, Paul, and go over there?”

“I don’t see why not as long as you keep me out of your paper.”

“I promise you that. Solemnly.” She holds her hand up as if taking an oath.

“And the rest of us,” adds Mike.

“Yes, the whole family, Michael, if you co-operate. Obviously I cannot stop anyone else mentioning you, but they won’t get it from me.”

“You are most welcome to stay tonight, if you wish, Chloe,” Mum offers, reconciled to this pushy so-and-so after al .

Chloe seems quite taken aback. “Oh,” she says, “I would like that very much. Thank you.”

* * *

Later in the evening Chloe catches me on my own in the relative dark of the garden.

“OK, Paul, you can tel me the truth. You have spoken with this dead girl too, haven’t you? I know that you have a gift with supernatural phenomena, your mother too. It takes one to know one.”

I remain silent.

She starts flirting with me. “What do I have to do to persuade you to confess?” She fingers the col ar of my polo shirt, teasingly as she sees it, irritatingly as I interpret it. I hate anybody’s hands near my face unsolicited.
That’s it
, I think.
You
can pay for all this.

“You can sleep with Mike,” I declare starkly.

“I’m sorry,” she replies, shocked.

“You can sleep with Mike. Do what you were leading him on to do in order to get at us.”

“He is real y very sweet, but … ”

“That is my deal,” I insist. “You sleep with Mike and I wil take you to see Alice, and I want to hear whimpers of ecstasy from both of you. No faking it or, if you fake it, make it convincing.”

“Do you always pimp for your brother?”

“No, never, but this time you have asked for it.”

“You real y are a tough negotiator.” She shakes her head in wonderment. “Actual y, I would rather sleep with you. You are more my type.”

“I am taken, thanks.”

“You real y are like me, aren’t you?”

“Possibly, although I only said that to annoy you.”

“I got the impression that you were tel ing the truth. Can you real y see my aura?”

“Yes.”

“What colour is it?”

“Wel , it is al sorts of colours, but it had a strong layer of dark orangey-red earlier - a bit muddy too.”

“What does that mean?”

“A lot of anger and defensiveness. Neurotic, basical y.”

“Charming.”

“It’s your aura. I am just tel ing you what it looks like.”

“And now?”

“Orangey-red stil , but clearer. Some blue in there too.”

“What does that mean?”

“You are in love.”

“In love?”

“Or loving.”

She smirks. “You think I am in love with you?”

“I hope not.”

She smiles, genuinely this time, quite girlishly. “Actual y, maybe you are right, Paul. You do feel like a soul mate.”

I shrug. “I had better get back to Natalie, otherwise she wil get bored or jealous or something, and demand to go home.”

“Have you and Natalie been going out long?”

“We broke up a few weeks ago.”

“But got back together again.”

“No.”

“So she is more of a fuck-buddy, is she?”

“Delicately put.”

“I can relate to that.”

“Relate to Mike, then.”

“Maybe I shal ”.

And she does. I didn’t hear the passion, but they both look very relaxed in the morning. We are off to see Alice, then, Chloe and I, I suppose.

* * *

Alice is in the old barn. I have left Chloe momentarily outside. Alice comes rushing over to me. “Where have you been, Paul?”

“Went back to Valflaunès for a bit.”

“And couldn’t be bothered to come and see me.”

“I was busy. Sorry.”

“Are you angry with me?”

“Why would I be angry?”

“Because I misled you about the body.”

“I am sure that you had your reasons.”

“I did. The girls were screaming out for revenge, but couldn’t find anyone to talk to, and then I found you. I didn’t think that you would lift a finger for them, but if you thought it was me … ”

“Kind of you … ”

“Would you have done, if you thought you would be looking for their bodies and not mine?”

“I don’t know.”

“Anyway, it is done now, and they are al very happy. Wel , as happy as they can be anyway, given that they have been deprived of their whole lives.”

“And you?”

“I am very happy to see you.”

“I am happy to see you too.” And, surprisingly to me, I real y am. I have forgotten how cute Alice is. “I am afraid I have brought somebody else to see you too,” I confess.

Alice looks disappointed. She wants to spend the time alone with me. “Who is that?”

“She is a British journalist. She wants to interview you.”

“Through you?”

“No, directly. She claims that she can see ghosts too and communicate with them.”

Alice gestures towards the doors. “Let’s put her to the test then. Is she a girlfriend of yours?”

“Not in the least.” I say it so flatly that she believes me instantly.

“Al right, then. Go and get her.”

Chloe comes into the barn searching al around her diffidently in the sombre light. When she recognises Alice, she starts. Actual y, she screams slightly. Alice immediately screams back, mockingly, then steps forward and holds out her hand. “Hel o, I am Alice Picard. Wel , I used to be.”

“Chloe Burton. Stil am,” Chloe replies.

“Pleased to meet you.”

“And you.”

Chloe examines the barn. “Do you live here, Alice?”

Alice is affronted. “No, do you, Chloe?”

“No, I’m sorry.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Chloe, I don’t live at al . I don’t need a house, or a barn. I just am.”

“I’m sorry.”

After that they settle down together and start talking about the murders and how Alice met the victims, and about Alice’s own murder. They even become quite intimate and ignore me entirely, so I wander off towards Inspector John’s house.

The Inspector is in, entertaining Alan and Jane Harding. “Oh, hel o!” he exclaims when he sees me. “What a nice surprise! Is Michael with you?”

“No, he is back at Valflaunès.”

“Pity. Stil , it is very nice to see you again. Come in. I have Alan and Jane Harding here as wel .”

Mr. Harding gets up as I enter the salon, and shakes my hand warmly. He then introduces me to his wife, Jane, who remains seated. “I have heard so much about you,” she ventures conventional y. She seems a very conventional lady, a smooth social operator, a good match for the Countess, in fact. I bet they hate each other. Competition.

“We have been hoping to see you before we return to London. It is getting very end of season up at the Château, or at least it was until yesterday when al hel broke loose. I hate the press.”

I remember that his wife was kidnapped, but do not mention anything.

“You cannot get in or out of the place without pushing and shoving,” Mr. Harding adds.

“Except that you simply drove through them, Alan,” Mrs. Harding corrects him.

“True,” Mr. Harding concedes. “Have you been keeping up with the murder investigation, Paul?”

“A journalist tracked us down yesterday.”

“Oh dear. That was unlucky.”

“And gave us some more details. Pretty disgusting.”

Jane Harding shudders visibly. “Awful, absolutely awful. Those poor girls!”