The Islanders (12 page)

Jeanne met Inspector Luneau just outside the building. He had crossed from the opposite pavement.

‘Hello, I was in the area so I thought I’d drop by. I tried to call you but I couldn’t get through. Is it OK if I come up for a minute? We’ve got some new information on the man found in the woods. It won’t take long.’

‘Um … yes.’

‘Allow me.’

Luneau took the shopping bags out of her hands and stepped back to let her go ahead. As she climbed the stairs, Jeanne felt a growing sense of dread, like that feeling when you’re sure you have forgotten something, but you don’t know what. However, the inspector had given no cause for alarm; he didn’t seem to have come bearing bad news. Once he reached the landing, Luneau put the bags down, gasping for breath.

‘Blimey, this must be your monthly shop!’

Jeanne’s little laugh was cut dead when she opened the door and came face to face with Olivier standing in the doorway as stiff as a statue, arms outstretched, a fixed smile on his face, hair neatly combed as if on his way to first communion, skin ripped to pieces as if he had just fought off a wild cat. He looked like a waxwork. Jeanne had to collect herself before making the introductions.

‘Inspector Luneau, this is my friend Olivier Verdier.’

Olivier gave his clammy hand to the police officer and moved aside to let him pass. Jeanne gave him a look of reassurance. Olivier picked up the shopping and took it into the kitchen
while Jeanne and Luneau sat down in the living room. Soundless images were dancing about on the TV screen. Jeanne got up to turn it off, but the inspector stopped her.

‘Leave it on, it doesn’t bother me. The kids have it on twenty-four hours a day at home, and that’s with the sound on! Anyway, do you know this man?’

The photo he was holding up to her was of an ageless man with thinning brown hair and a moustache.

‘No, never seen him. He looks like any other man in the street.’

‘It’s funny you should say that. We picked him up in Viroflay in possession of documents belonging to the man found strangled in Fausses-Reposes. He admits finding the body on the morning of the 24th and taking the money and ID, but surprise surprise, he denies having killed him. He’s homeless, a total alcoholic. He keeps changing his story. Luc Gaignon – doesn’t ring any bells?’

‘None. So where does this leave my brother?’

‘To tell you the truth, we’re finding it hard to make sense of what he did. The fact he was the only suspect might explain it at a push, even if the idea of a blind person – albeit a very independent one – having dragged a fit young man several kilometres into the forest in the middle of the night, strangled him and cheerfully made his way home again always seemed pretty far-fetched.’

‘It does seem unlikely, I have to say.’

‘Unless he had someone with him, like Gaignon. Only Gaignon says he doesn’t know any blind people.’

‘I … I don’t know what to say.’

‘Don’t worry about it. I think as far as you’re concerned, we’re just about done. We got in touch with the psychiatrist who was looking after your brother and he confirmed what you said. Who knows what was going through his mind when he jumped … Could I possibly trouble you for a glass of water? I’m taking tablets for a cold and they really dry my mouth out.’

‘Of course, just a second.’

Jeanne left the living room. Luneau automatically turned towards the screen. A family scene – he took home videos too – looked like Christmas Eve dinner. He recognised the gentleman he had passed in the hallway, only more cleanly shaven, Mademoiselle Mangin and …

‘Jesus Christ!’

The guy from the woods, Roland Whatsisname, alive and well and stuffing his face.

The jug of water struck him right on the temple. Jeanne had flung it with all her might. The inspector’s body brought the chair down with it. Olivier emerged from the kitchen, can of Raid in hand.

‘What’s going on?’

‘Will you turn that off, please?’

Roland was in close-up, pulling faces and waving a chicken thigh at the camera.

Olivier tried in vain to think of the right thing to say in the circumstances: ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I apologise …’ He made do with repeating ‘SHIT’ while shaking his head at the grey screen. As for Jeanne, she had to hand it to her brother. He was still managing to ruin their lives from beyond the grave. One last act, just as everything was settling down. Neither of them spared a thought for Luneau until he began groaning and wiggling his fingers.

‘He’s not dead?’

‘He’s moving …’

The little bit of life left in the inspector’s body made it even more of an encumbrance. Just as with little Luc, there was no need to discuss it first. Both of their hands instinctively reached for one of the sofa cushions. Olivier straddled Luneau’s chest, holding his arms down with his knees, while Jeanne placed the cushion over his face. A split second before it was covered up, Olivier thought he saw on it the same expression of surprise as he had seen on little Luc’s. Facing each other on all fours, they were like two wild beasts bringing down their prey. Pressing their fingernails into the pliable fabric, they kept their eyes locked, drawing energy from one another to overcome Luneau’s jerking. As insignificant as he was, the cop was displaying a remarkable will to live. Olivier was obliged to lie almost flat on top of him in order to hold his legs down. It was like a grotesque coupling, a tragic rodeo ride. And then nothing, just an echo of Luneau fading into the silence of the living room.

‘Do you think we can stop?’

‘A bit longer. He might be pretending.’

‘Yes … What are we going to do with him?’

‘I don’t know. Across the hall, in your mother’s place?’

‘Yes, for now … but then what?’

‘I don’t know, Olivier! Sometimes you just have to do things without wasting time thinking about it.’

‘Let’s dump him across the hall then.’

‘I think we’re good to go.’

They slowly lifted the cushion, ready to pounce at the slightest flutter of the lashes. But there was nothing left to fear from the inspector.

‘I think he looks a bit confused, don’t you? Frowning, the lower lip sticking out slightly …’

‘Well, it must have come as a bit of a shock, after all. Check he hasn’t left anything lying around on the table. Let’s carry him over there straight away.’

They carted Luneau from one home to the other with the breezy efficiency of two old hands. Once the armchair had been put right in the lounge, they could have sworn to anybody that no policeman had ever set foot in there. Olivier had got it into his head to knock up an exotic cocktail. Jeanne followed him into the kitchen. With her fingertip, she traced figures of eight on the tablecloth while he mixed very unequal proportions of rum and passion fruit.

‘OK, so his colleagues rock up. I’ll be the cop and you answer. Mademoiselle Mangin, did you see Inspector Plumeau …’

‘Luneau!’

‘Sorry, Luneau, yesterday?’

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘And yet he was supposed to visit you and no one has seen him since.’

‘I don’t know what else I can tell you. I didn’t see him.’

‘And yet his car is parked just around the corner from your apartment.’

‘Huh, how do you know?’

‘I don’t, but it probably is. Do you have any objection to us searching your apartment?’

‘None at all.’

Olivier tested his concoction and added the juice of a lemon and a little more alcohol.

‘Not bad … Nothing here, boss! … They’ll ask you to remain at their disposal, of course. We’ll buy ourselves a day, maybe two … Do you want to try it?’

‘No, thanks. And then?’

‘You should, it’ll buck you up. And then … we have to get to the island before they eat us!’

In spite of the face covered in shaving cuts, Olivier looked more like a child who had just played a good trick than a murderer.

‘Leave, you mean?’

‘We left ages ago. We’re almost there now.’

‘Yes, but we need to leave the house, get in the car, cross the border, go quickly, before the police …’

‘It sounds like you’re describing the story of a bad movie. The police? What police? Get over it, Jeanne, you’re losing the plot.’

Olivier knelt down in front of her and took hold of her hands. He was smiling at her.

‘Are you afraid?’

‘Yes. I am now. They’re going to come, Olivier. Luneau …’

‘What about Luneau? Who is Luneau? There is no Luneau, not any more! There never was!’

He stood up suddenly, his face changed, pale, tense, his right eyelid twitching. He began furiously scratching his forearms, muttering between gritted teeth: ‘Bastards … Bastards!’ He lunged for his cocktail and downed the whole glass in one. Then
he took his head in his hands, his chin dropped and his whole body slumped to the ground, as if a hand holding him by the neck had suddenly released its grasp.

‘You’ve stopped believing, Jeanne. You’re abandoning me.’

‘I’m not, my love, I’m just trying to find a solution. I think I remember Luneau saying he wasn’t on an official visit. “I happened to be in the area,” is what he said. We can be long gone by the time they make the connection. We can do it, my love; it’s possible!’

Olivier’s head was resting on Jeanne’s shoulder. A tear was following the contours of his nose. He could feel it running down, seeking the path to the corner of his mouth. Poor Jeanne. They had managed to infect her. She was thinking like them, crime, police, prison, escape … They were no longer on the same wavelength. The island was within touching distance and she could no longer see it. He would have to man the helm alone. It would be difficult, but he felt up to the task.

‘OK?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then I’ll throw a few things into a bag and we’ll get going.’

‘OK then.’

Jeanne disappeared into the bedroom. Olivier got up, took the bunch of keys from Jeanne’s bag and the spare set from the dresser and double-locked all the locks on the door. Afterwards he flushed both sets down the toilet. Jeanne had caused them to take on water, but it was OK, he had plugged the leak.

Now it was all watertight again. In spite of everything, there was air getting in under the blasted door and through the kitchen window too; he had felt it earlier. He went off in search of cloths to stick into the cracks. Nothing more must flow in or out.

‘What are you doing?’

Olivier was nailing a bedcover over the kitchen window.

‘Good timing. Could you take the right-hand corner please?’

‘But … Olivier, I’ve almost finished packing. We’re leaving!’

‘Can you help me please, there’s air getting in. Can’t you feel it?’

‘Who cares! Leave all that and come with me.’

Olivier let the hammer dangle in his hand and sighed deeply.

‘Jeanne, my little Jeanne. You were perfect up until now, but you’re cracking in the last phase of the journey. It’s OK, I understand. But now you need to trust me and let me get on with what needs to be done. There you go, you take the right-hand corner of this cover and hold it up while I do the left, OK?’

He spoke calmly, pronouncing each word clearly and patiently like an adult addressing a child. Jeanne took the cover and pressed it up against the window. Olivier was hammering his nails in with care. She was sure he must be humming in his head, like he did when building tree houses. She on the ground, he up in the trees. She didn’t know how to get him down any more. When his work was done, he jumped down from the sink on which he was perched and ran his hand along each side of the window.

‘Perfect! Not a whisper of a breeze.’

‘Good. So can we go now then?’

‘What about the other windows? And the gap under the door? We’re a long way from being finished, sweetheart!’

‘Olivier, listen to me. We still have a chance …’

‘Of course we do! What’s the matter? You seem tense.’

‘Olivier, we take our bags, go downstairs, get in the car, and a few hours from now we’ll be far away—’

‘Far away? What do you know about far away? We’re far away right where we are. You should stop listening to the sirens, they give bad advice. You’re starting to be afraid of your own fear. You mustn’t – I’m here, I know the way. Leave it to me. Come with me.’

Olivier took her by the wrist and started leading her towards the bedroom. His hand was hot and sticky. As they passed the front door, Jeanne broke free and made a grab for the handle, but it would not open.

‘Jeanne, don’t be stupid.’

‘Where are the keys?’

‘They’ve gone. We’re free now – do you understand? Free! There’s nothing to open or lock up any more.’

She let him carry her into the bedroom and tie her to the bed frame.

There were cracks and crannies all over the place. No sooner had he finished filling one than he spotted another, in a corner or along a skirting board. It was a Herculean task, but he did not let himself lose heart. On the other side of the wall, he could hear the outside rumbling, its waves swelling, ready to break. It would have been handy to have Jeanne’s help, but she could no longer be relied upon. She had given up. Their survival depended on him alone. He finished stuffing a sock between two floorboards and stood up. He was dripping with sweat and his head was spinning. He made one last inspection of the flat, paying particular attention to the weak spots such as windows and doors, and returned to the bedroom, satisfied.

‘It’s all looking good, sweetheart. It’s just a quick fix, but it’ll hold until we reach the coast. Now we just have to go with the flow.’

They were lying against one another, calm and relaxed. The bed seemed to sway slightly, rocking them gently.

‘Olivier?’

‘Yes?’

‘I just wanted to tell you … it was me who killed Roland.’

‘Oh.’

‘After you both left, I got up. I met Rodolphe on his way to bed. He told me you were leaving in the morning. I went over to
your flat. You were asleep. I tried to wake you up, but you were out for the count. I heard Roland being sick in the bathroom. I picked up your tie. I wanted you to stay.’

‘You did the right thing. I probably would have left, and then I’d never have seen the island again. Rodolphe guessed, didn’t he?’

‘Yes.’

‘I can untie you now …’

‘No, I’d rather you didn’t. I can still hear the sirens, it’s like flushes of fever and then it passes, and I trust you.’

‘I’m hungry, aren’t you?’

‘No.’

‘Come on, you have to eat! I’ll make us something.’

Jeanne was staring up at the middle of the ceiling, where a wire was dangling from a wreath-shaped ceiling rose. It was her North Star. Olivier was right, it was important to stay on course. The bubble was sealed, no one could see in any more. While they were stifling little Luc’s cries in the cabin, a group of ramblers had passed within a metre of them and hadn’t seen or suspected a thing. To them, Jeanne and Olivier had never existed.

‘Non, non, ma fille, tu n’iras pas danser …’
That’s what they were singing.
‘Mets ta robe blanche et ta ceinture dorée …’

Jeanne was humming the tune. The song did her good, like a glass of cold water at the end of a long walk.

Olivier felt like having a proper meal. For the first time in several days, he had the urge to eat something hot. Noodles. Yes, noodles and ham, and sardines for starters and tinned fruit for dessert. He juggled the tins and packets, unsure where to start. It was quite an undertaking because he was trying to think of everything all at once and he only had two arms. The packaging was hard to rip off, he couldn’t find the tin opener and all the plates were
dirty. He was obliged to finish the bottle of rum to calm his culinary fervour. The thing was, there was no messing around any more, everything rested on his shoulders, he had to keep an eye on everything. It was a big responsibility! He had just put a pan of water on the hob and turned on the gas when he felt something slip between his feet. It had jumped out of the dustbin and disappeared through a hole in the corner of the room the size of a five-franc piece. Olivier blew out the match he had been about to use to light the gas.

‘Shit! A rat.’

Yes, it was a rat, and not a mouse! It was enormous. It was just about possible to cope with ants, but rats were another story. It was absolutely imperative to block up that hole. But not with bits of cloth or wood; those creatures could gnaw through anything. It took him a while to nail a jam lid over the opening, but it was worth the effort. He felt slightly faint when he tried to stand up again. The atmosphere was heavy, leaden, as if a storm was on its way. His muscles went floppy like marshmallow at the slightest move. There was a persistent whistling sound in his head. Sitting on the floor with his arms between his legs, he saw the tiles undulating as his stomach heaved. Food, that was what he had come in here for … He had to take food back for Jeanne … That was why he was feeling so weak. They needed to build their strength in order to brave the rising tempest. He managed to grab a packet of biscuits and drag himself into the hallway, where he lay down on his back. He seemed to breathe a little more easily.

Jeanne had heard a series of loud knocks. Her whole being had closed up like a fist. She had arched up off the bed and tugged on her binds. She didn’t want … what exactly? She wasn’t sure, but she didn’t want it. She refused it all out of hand. She would have liked to scream NO in capital letters, but the air got stuck in her
throat like coal dust. The ceiling was coming down, weighing on her chest …

‘Jeanne, can you see it? … Over there … There are still clouds around the peaks, but it’s sunny on the beach. Tell me you can see it?’

Olivier’s hand on her breast was warm and soothing.

‘Yes, I can see it … I’m tired. It’s been such a long, long time …’

‘It’s over now. It’s over …’

They came smoothly alongside as the biscuits scattered on the floor.