The Three Evangelists (13 page)

‘Has the Great War really turned your brain?’ Marc asked, ‘or are you carrying on like this because you’re sorry Alexandra is leaving?’

‘I’m not carrying on, as you put it,’ said Lucien. ‘I’m rolling up my rug and I’m commenting on the present state of affairs. Lex-she said to call her Lex-wanted to get out of here, and yet she’s staying very nearby. Very near her Uncle Pierre, very near the epicentre of the drama. What’s
she after? Unless that is,’ he said, straightening up, with the rug under his arm, ‘the whole Operation Eastern Base was dreamed up by you.’

‘Why would I do that?’ said Marc, defensively.

‘To keep an eye on her or to keep her within reach, take your pick. Personally I’d opt for the second. Anyway, congratulations. It seems to have worked.’

‘Lucien, you are really getting on my nerves.’

‘Why? You want her, that’s perfectly obvious. Well, look out, you’re going to get hurt again. You’re forgetting that we’re still up shit creek, and when that’s the case, you might slip. You have to go slowly, step by step. Certainly not go haring ahead like a madman. Not that I disapprove of a poor guy in the trenches having a bit of a distraction. Not at all. But Lex is too pretty, she’s too touching, and she’s too intelligent to be written off as a mere distraction. You’re not just going to have a bit of fun, you’re running the risk of being in love. That way madness lies, Marc, madness.’

‘What do you mean madness, you no-brain soldier?’

‘Because, you no-brain worshipper of courtly love, you suspect, just as I do, that Lex and her little boy have been chucked out or abandoned. Or something like that. So like an idiot knight on a white horse, you imagine that there’s a vacant place in her affections and that you can move in. Big mistake, let me tell you.’

‘Look, idiot of the trenches, I know more about empty hearts than you do. And I can tell you that the emptiness takes up much more space than when it’s occupied.’

‘You show remarkable lucidity for someone who stays behind the front line,’ said Lucien. ‘You’re not entirely stupid, Marc.’

‘Does that surprise you?’

‘Not at all. I’ve done a bit of snooping.’

‘I’m not installing Alexandra in the garden house next door because I want to pounce on her. Even if she does attract me. And who wouldn’t be attracted?’

‘Mathias for one,’ said Lucien, raising his finger in the air. ‘Mathias is attracted by the beautiful and brave Juliette.’

‘And you?’

‘As I told you, I move slowly and I observe. That’s all. For the moment.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Maybe you’re right. It’s true that I’m not totally without feelings, or the urge to help. For instance, I suggested to Alexandra that she could keep my rug for the cabin if she wanted to. Answer: she couldn’t care less.’

‘Naturally. She’s got other things to think about than your rug, even without problems of the heart. And if you really want to know why I’d rather she stays close to here, it’s because I don’t like the turn of mind of
Inspecteur en chef
Leguennec, nor of my godfather, if it comes to that. They go fishing together, those two. Lex has been called in again for more questioning, the day after tomorrow. So I think we should be around, just in case.’

‘Oh, you really are the knight in shining armour, Marc. Even if you don’t have a horse. And what if Leguennec’s not entirely wrong? Have you thought of that?’

‘Of course I have.’

‘And?’

‘And it bothers me. There are some things I’d like to have cleared up.’

‘And you think that’s going to happen?’

Marc shrugged. ‘Why not? I asked her to come over here once she’s settled in. With the rather ignoble thought at the back of my mind that I might ask her some questions myself about the things that bother me. What d’you think?’

‘That’s bold and possibly painful, but the offensive could be an interesting one. Can I sit in on it?’

‘On one condition: that you stuff a flower in your rifle and say nothing.’

‘If it sets your mind at rest,’ said Lucien.

XXII

ALEXANDRA ASKED FOR THREE LUMPS OF SUGAR IN HER BOWL OF TEA.
Mathias, Lucien and Marc listened to her as she told them how out of the blue-Juliette had said she was looking for a tenant for the garden house, that Kyril’s room was lovely, that the house itself was beautiful and full of light, that she could breathe easily in it, that there were plenty of books to read if she couldn’t sleep, that they could see the flowers from the windows and that Kyril liked flowers. Juliette had taken Kyril off to the restaurant to make some pastry. The day after tomorrow, Monday, he would go to his new school. And she would go to the police station. Alexandra frowned. What did Leguennec want with her now? She had told him everything she knew.

Marc thought this was the moment to launch the bold and painful manœuvre, but it didn’t seem such a good idea any more. He got up and sat on the table to give himself confidence. He had never been very good at sitting normally on a chair.

‘I think I know what he wants from you,’ he began, rather weakly. ‘I could put some questions to you, if you like, to give you a bit of practice.’

Alexandra raised her head with a start. ‘You want to question me too now, do you? So that’s what you all think, is it? You don’t trust me? You think I’m hiding something? Because of Aunt Sophia’s money?’ She had stood up. Marc took hold of her hand to stop her. The contact gave him a frisson in the pit of his stomach. Yes, he had certainly been lying to Lucien when he had said he didn’t want to pounce on her.

‘No, no, that’s not it at all,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you sit down and drink your tea. I could ask you in a friendly way the kind of thing Leguennec will ask brutally. Why not?’

‘I don’t believe you,’ said Alexandra. ‘But I don’t care, if you want to know. Go ahead and ask your questions, I’m not afraid of you or the others, or of Leguennec, I’m not afraid of anyone except myself. Go ahead, Marc. Settle your troubled mind.’

‘I’m going to cut some slices of bread,’ said Mathias.

Alexandra, her face showing strain, was leaning back on her chair and tipping it up.

‘Never mind,’ said Marc. ‘Don’t let’s bother.’

‘That’s my brave soldier,’ muttered Lucien.

‘No, go right ahead,’ said Alexandra. ‘I’m ready for your questions.’

‘Courage, soldier,’ whispered Lucien, walking behind Marc.

‘OK, then,’ said Marc in a dull voice. ‘OK. Leguennec will certainly ask you why you arrived here at just this moment, setting the investigation in motion again, and leading two days later to the discovery of your aunt’s body. If you hadn’t turned up, the case would have sat in the files, and everyone would have thought your Aunt Sophia was on some Greek island. And without a body, there’s no death, and without a death, there’s no inheritance.’

‘So what? I already told you. I came because Aunt Sophia suggested it to me. I needed to leave home. It wasn’t a secret from anyone.’

‘Apart from your mother.’

The three men all turned round towards the door where, once again, Vandoosler was standing, having come silently downstairs.

‘We didn’t invite you down,’ said Marc.

‘No,’ said Vandoosler. ‘You don’t often invite me down these days, but it doesn’t stop me intruding, you will observe.’

‘Oh, go away,’ said Marc. ‘What I’m doing is difficult enough as it is.’

‘Because you’re setting about it in a stupid way. You want to forestall Leguennec? To undo the knots before he gets there, and free the young lady? Well, if that’s your plan, at least do it properly. May I?’ he said to Alexandra, sitting down beside her.

‘I don’t seem to have any choice,’ said Alexandra. ‘If I have to, I’d prefer to be questioned by a real
flic,
even if he’s bent, as you keep telling me, than by three pretend
flics
whose motives are more doubtful. Except for Mathias’ decision to cut some bread, which is a good idea. Go ahead, I’m listening.’

‘Leguennec telephoned your mother. She knew you were coming to Paris. She knew the reason. Heartbreak, we call it, a sort of shorthand. Too small a word for what it stands for.’

‘You know all about broken hearts, do you?’ said Alexandra, who was still frowning.

‘Oh yes,’ said Vandoosler slowly. ‘Because I have caused some in my time. One rather serious one in particular. Yes, I do know about heartbreak.’

Vandoosler ran his hands through his black and white hair. There was a silence. Marc had rarely heard his uncle speak so simply and seriously. Vandoosler, his face calm, was quietly drumming his fingers on the table. Alexandra was watching him.

‘Let’s move on,’ he said. ‘Yes, I know the score on that one.’

Alexandra bowed her head. Vandoosler asked whether tea was compulsory, or whether one was allowed to drink something else.

‘That is to say,’ he went on, pouring himself a drink, ‘that I believe you when you say you ran away. I knew it was true from the start. Leguennec checked up, and your mother confirmed it. Since you had been on your own with Kyril for a year, you had been wanting to go to Paris. But what your mother did not know was that Sophia had agreed to put you up. You had told her you would go to friends.’

‘My mother has always been a bit jealous of her sister,’ Alexandra said. ‘I didn’t want her to think I was leaving her for Sophia, I didn’t want to risk hurting her. Us Greeks, you know, we imagine all kinds of things, and we like to. Or so my grandmother used to say.’

‘A generous motive,’ Vandoosler replied. ‘OK. Let’s go on to what Leguennec might be imagining. Alexandra Haufman, unhinged by distress, desperate for revenge …’

‘Revenge?’ whispered Alexandra. ‘What revenge?’

‘Don’t interrupt me, please. A policeman’s strength lies either in a long monologue that crushes the opposition, or in a rapid response that kills
it dead. You should never deprive a policeman of these well-rehearsed pleasures. Or he might turn nasty. When you see Leguennec the day after tomorrow, don’t interrupt him. So, as I was saying, desperate for revenge, disillusioned, embittered, determined to find a way of getting on top, short of cash, envious of your aunt’s fortunate style of life, looking for a way to avenge your mother who has never succeeded, in spite of a few pathetic attempts at singing, now lost to memory, you plan to eliminate your aunt, and get your hands on a big share of the inheritance, through your mother.’

‘Brilliant,’ said Alexandra, through clenched teeth. ‘Didn’t I tell you already that I was very fond of Aunt Sophia?’

‘That’s both childish and naïve as a defence, young lady. A police inspector doesn’t listen to that kind of talk, if he has pinpointed both the motive and the means. Especially since you haven’t seen your aunt for ten years. That doesn’t quite fit the picture of an affectionate niece. OK, let’s go on. You had a car in Lyon. Why did you come by train? And why, the day before you left, did you take the car to the garage and ask the garage owner to put it up for sale, saying that you thought it was too old to take all the way to Paris?’

‘How do you know that?’

‘Your mother told me that you had sold your car. I telephoned all the garages in your district until I found the right one.’

‘But what’s wrong with that?’ cried Marc suddenly. ‘What are you on about? Leave her alone, for heaven’s sake!’

‘Look, Marc,’ sighed Vandoosler, looking up. ‘You wanted to help her rehearse for Leguennec? That’s what I’m doing. You want to play the policeman, and you can’t even take the first set of questions. I know what she really will be up against on Monday. So shut up and listen. And you, St Matthew, can you tell me why you are slicing the bread as if you were expecting twenty people to dinner.’

‘To make me feel comfortable,’ said Mathias. ‘Anyway Lucien eats the slices. Lucien likes bread.’

Vandoosler sighed again and turned back to Alexandra, whose tears were welling up as her anxiety grew. She wiped her eyes with a tea towel.

‘You’ve already done all that?’ she asked. ‘You’ve made all those phone calls, asked all those questions. Is it such a crime to sell your car? It
was
clapped out. I didn’t want to risk driving it all the way to Paris with Kyril. And anyway it brought back memories. I got rid of it. Is that a crime?’

‘Let me pursue the same line of reasoning,’ said Vandoosler. ‘The week before that, let’s say on the Wednesday, you leave Kyril with your mother, and you drive to Paris in your car, which isn’t, by the way, as clapped out as all that, according to the man at the garage.’

Lucien, who was as usual pacing round the table, took the tea towel out of Alexandra’s hands and replaced it with a handkerchief.

‘It wasn’t very clean,’ he whispered.

‘… not as clapped out as all that,’ repeated Vandoosler.

‘I told you, the car brought back memories!’ said Alexandra. ‘If you can understand why people run away, you can surely understand why they might want to sell their fucking car!’

‘Yes, indeed. But if these memories were so painful, why didn’t you get rid of the car sooner?’

‘Because … because you think twice about dumping the fucking memories!’ cried Alexandra.

‘A word of advice, Alexandra. Don’t say “fucking” twice to a policeman. With me, it doesn’t matter. But on Monday don’t do it. Leguennec won’t react, but he won’t like it. Don’t say “fucking” to him. Anyway you should never say it to a Breton, the Breton gets to say it to you. That’s the rule.’

‘So why did you call in Leguennec in the first place?’ asked Marc. ‘If he isn’t going to believe a blind word anyone says, and if he doesn’t like people saying “fucking” to him?’

‘Because Leguennec is a good officer; because he’s a friend; because it was on his patch; because he will pick up all the possible clues for us; and because at the end of the day I’ll be able to do what I want with the clues. I’m talking about me, Armand Vandoosler.’

‘So you say,’ cried Marc.

‘Stop shouting, St Mark, it won’t get you to heaven, and stop interrupting me. I’ll continue. Alexandra, you gave up your job three weeks
ago, because of your plan to leave Lyon. You sent a postcard to your aunt with a star on it, and a rendezvous in Lyon. The whole family knows about the old affair with Stelios and they all know what a star would mean to Sophia. You get to Paris in the evening, you intercept your aunt and you tell her some story about Stelios being in Lyon, you take her off in your car, and you kill her. Right? You dump the body somewhere, in Fontainebleau forest, for instance, or Marly forest, whatever, in some remote spot, so that she won’t be found too quickly-because that will make it harder to date the time of death and alibis will be hard to disprove. And you go back to Lyon the next morning. Days pass, nothing in the papers. That’s fine, it’s what you wanted. But then you start to get anxious. The spot is too remote. No body, no inheritance. It’s time to come back again. You sell the car, you take care to explain that you would never take it to Paris, and you come up by train. You make sure somebody notices you, by sitting stupidly in the rain with the little boy, without even going to the nearest café for shelter. You certainly don’t want anyone to think that Sophia disappeared voluntarily. So you make a fuss, and the police enquiries start up again. You borrow your aunt’s car on Wednesday night, you go off to fetch the corpse, taking great care to leave no traces in the boot of the car-and that’s a painful task, you need plastic bags, protective material, various grisly details-and you transfer it to an abandoned old car in some street in a low-class district. You set it on fire, so as to destroy all trace of the handling, the transport and the plastic bags. You know that Sophia’s little good-luck stone will survive the fire. It had already survived the volcano that spewed it up. So, the job is done, the corpse is satisfactorily identified. You don’t officially borrow the car your uncle offers you until the next day. And then the story is that you just want to drive round in the night, without any special purpose. Or perhaps you wanted to cover up for the night when you
were
driving with a very precise purpose, just in case somebody saw you. And one more thing. Don’t look for your aunt’s car. It went off to the forensic lab to be examined yesterday morning.’