The Three Evangelists (19 page)

Marc nodded. Yes, he did understand. He had a lump in his throat though. ‘It leaves me completely cold.’ That expression reminded him of something. Yes. Last night, when they were bringing Lucien indoors, Mathias had felt warm, yet he, Marc, with his pyjamas and a sweater, had felt cold. The hunter-gatherer was really extraordinary. But what did that matter now? First Sophia, and now Dompierre had been killed. Who else had Dompierre given his hotel address to? To everyone. To the people in Dourdan, and perhaps other people, and in any case, he might have been followed. Should they tell Leguennec everything. But what about Lucien? Lucien who had been out late last night?

‘I’m off,’ said Vandoosler. ‘I’ll tell Leguennec and we’ll certainly go to the crime scene. I’ll stick close to him and report back what they know afterwards. Pull yourself together, Marc. Was it you making all that racket last night?’

‘Yes. Lucien had lost his lead soldier keyring in the street.’

XXVIII

LEGUENNEC WAS DRIVING AT TOP SPEED, ABSOLUTELY FURIOUS, WITH
Vandoosler at his side, and his siren sounding so as to be able to shoot red lights and make plain his anger.

‘I’m really sorry,’ Vandoosler was saying. ‘My nephew didn’t realise Dompierre’s visit might be important, and he didn’t bother to tell me about it.’

‘Is your nephew a half-wit or what?’

Vandoosler stiffened. He could argue with Marc for hours himself, but he didn’t like other people speaking ill of him.

‘Can’t you switch off that racket?’ he asked. ‘I can’t hear a thing with that blasted noise. Dompierre’s dead now, five minutes isn’t going to make any difference.’

Without speaking, Leguennec turned off the siren.

‘Anyway, he isn’t a half-wit,’ said Vandoosler crossly. ‘And if if you were as good at detecting as he is at medieval history, you’d have been promoted out of this district. So listen. Marc did mean to tell you about this yesterday. But he’s looking for a job and he had some important interviews. In fact, you’re lucky he did open the door to this peculiar character with his odd story, otherwise the police would be looking in Geneva for clues. And the link with this case would never have come out. You ought to be grateful to him. OK, Dompierre got himself killed. But Marc wouldn’t have been able to tell you any more about him yesterday than I’ve told you today, and you certainly wouldn’t have put Dompierre under
police protection, would you? So nothing would have changed. Slow down! We’re there.’

‘When we see the
inspecteur
of the 19th
arrondissement’,
said Leguennec grumpily, but less angrily, ‘you’re one of my colleagues, OK? And you leave things to me? Understood?’

Leguennec flashed his police card to get through the barrier set up across the entrance to the hotel car park, which was simply a dingy little inner courtyard reserved for the hotel’s customers. Vernant, the
inspecteur
from the local station had been told Leguennec was on his way. He was not unhappy to hand the case over, because it was looking decidedly difficult. No woman, inheritance, or political scandal, seemed to be involved. Nothing to go on. Leguennec shook hands, introduced his colleague inaudibly and listened to what Vernant, a young man with fair hair, had so far picked up.

‘The owner of the Danube called us this morning just before eight. He found the body when he was bringing in the dustbins from the street. It gave him a horrible shock and he’s still getting over it. Dompierre had been in the hotel for two nights and had come from Geneva.’

‘By way of Dourdan,’ Leguennec interrupted. ‘OK, go on.’

‘He hadn’t taken any phone calls or had any mail, except a letter without a stamp put through the hotel letterbox yesterday afternoon. The boss picked it up at five o’clock and put it in Dompierre’s pigeonhole, room 32. Needless to say, we haven’t found the letter on him, or in his room. It’s pretty obvious that this was the message that lured him out of doors. Presumably it was about a meeting. And the murderer took back his letter. The courtyard is the perfect site for a murder. Apart from the back of the hotel, the other two walls have no windows, and it just gives on to a rat-infested alleyway. What’s more, the hotel guests have a key that opens the back door into the yard, because the front door shuts at eleven. It would be easy enough to get Dompierre to come down the service stairs late at night and come out through the back door for a rendezvous between two cars. According to what you tell us, he was after
some information and probably didn’t suspect anything. He got a savage blow on the head and two stab wounds in the stomach.’

The doctor attending to the body looked up. ‘Three,’ he said. ‘Whoever it was was taking no chances. Poor chap must have died within minutes.’

Vernant pointed to some broken glass spread out on a plastic sheet.

‘Dompierre was hit over the head with a small bottle of water,’ he said. ‘No prints of course.’ He shook his head. ‘What’s it coming to when the dimmest hoodlum knows enough to wear gloves?’

‘What was the time of death?’ Vandoosler asked quietly.

The police doctor stood up and dusted down his trousers. ‘I’d say about eleven-ish last night. I can be more precise after the post-mortem, because the owner knows when Dompierre had dinner. I’ll let you know my first conclusions later tonight. It can’t have been later than about two o’clock.’

‘What kind of knife?’ asked Leguennec.

‘Probably just an ordinary kitchen knife, quite a big one. The usual sort of weapon.’

Leguennec turned to Vernant.

‘And the hotel owner didn’t notice anything special about the envelope?’

‘No, he says the name was written in biro, and in capitals. Just an ordinary white envelope. Everything’s ordinary, nothing remarkable at all.’

‘Why did Dompierre choose this downmarket hotel? He didn’t seem short of money.’

‘The owner says Dompierre used to live in the area when he was a child,’ said Vernant. ‘He liked coming back here.’

The body had been taken away. Nothing was left except the chalk outline indicating where it had lain.

‘Was the back door still open this morning?’ Leguennec asked.

‘No, it had been shut, probably by an early departing guest who left at about seven-thirty, according to the owner. Dompierre still had his room key in his pocket.’

‘And the guest didn’t notice anything?’

‘No. Even though his car was parked close to the body. But the driver’s door was on the other side from the corpse. So his car, which was a big
Renault, was between him and it. He must just have driven off forwards, out of the courtyard, without noticing anything.’

‘OK,’ Leguennec concluded. ‘I’ll come along with you for the formalities, Vernant. You don’t mind passing this case over to me?’

‘Not at all,’ said Vernant. ‘For the moment, the Siméonidis link looks the most promising. So be my guest. If you draw a blank, you can send it back to us.’

Leguennec dropped Vandoosler off at the Métro on the way to the police station.

‘I’ll be over your way presently,’ he said. ‘I need to check some alibis. But first I need to contact the ministry to see where Relivaux is. In Toulon, or wherever.’

‘Would you like a game of cards tonight,’ suggested Vandoosler, ‘with your old shipmate?’

‘That depends. I’ll be along some time anyway. Why haven’t you got round to putting in a phone?’

‘No money,’ said Vandoosler.

It was almost midday. Anxiously, Vandoosler looked for a phone box before taking the Métro. If he waited until he had crossed Paris, it might be too late to find out the answer to his question. He didn’t trust Leguennec. He called the number at
Le Tonneau
and got Juliette.

‘Hello, it’s me, Vandoosler,’ he said. ‘Is St Matthew there?’

‘Have they found anything?’ asked Juliette. ‘Do they know who did it?’

‘If you think they can do that in a couple of hours, my dear. No, it’s going to be complicated and perhaps impossible.’

‘OK,’ sighed Juliette. ‘Here’s Mathias.’

‘St Matthew? Can you keep your voice down when you answer me. Is Alexandra eating there today?’

‘It’s Wednesday, so Kyril’s off school, but she’s here with him. She’s got into the habit of coming. Juliette makes up nice little dishes for Kyril. Today he’s got courgette purée. Yum.’

Under Juliette’s maternal influence, Mathias was starting to appreciate good cooking, that was clear. Perhaps, Vandoosler thought passingly, this new interest was distracting him from a rather more attractive prospect,
Juliette herself and her fair white shoulders. In his place, Vandoosler would have thrown himself at Juliette rather than at a plate of courgette purée. But Mathias was a complex individual, who calculated his actions and never ventured into open country without long reflection. Each to his own way with women. Vandoosler forced from his mind the idea of Juliette’s white shoulders, which gave him a thrill, especially when she leaned across to pick up a glass. It was definitely not the moment for thrills, for him, Mathias or anyone else.

‘Was Alexandra there at lunchtime yesterday?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you tell her about Dompierre’s visit?’

‘Yes. I didn’t mean to, but she asked me. She was feeling down. So I chatted to her to cheer her up.’

‘Don’t worry, I’m not blaming you for that. It’s sometimes a good thing to let out a bit of rope. Did you tell her where he was staying?’

Mathias thought for a few moments.

‘Yes,’ he said once more. ‘She was afraid he would wait all day for Relivaux in the street. I reassured her and told her Dompierre was staying in the rue de la Prévoyance. I liked the name. I’m sure I said that, and I think I said the Hôtel du Danube too.’

‘Why should it bother her if some stranger hung about all day waiting for Relivaux?’

‘No idea.’

‘Listen carefully, St Matthew. Dompierre was killed between eleven and two, with three stab wounds to the stomach. He had been tricked into meeting someone. It might have been Relivaux, who’s off God knows where, as it happens; or it could be to do with Dourdan, or from somewhere else. Can you get away for five minutes, and find Marc? He’s waiting for me at home. Tell him what I just told you, and ask him to get up to
Le Tonneau
and ask Lex where she was last night. In a friendly and calm way, if he’s capable of that. And he should also discreetly try to ask Juliette if she saw or heard anything. Apparently she’s a bad sleeper, so she might have heard something. It must be Marc who asks her, not you, understood?’

‘Yes,’ said Mathias, without taking offence.

‘Your job is to be the waiter, you keep an eye on everyone as you do your rounds and you notice any reactions. And pray to God that Alexandra didn’t budge from the house last night. Above all, not a word to Leguennec for now. He said he was going back to the station, but he’s quite capable of going round to the garden house or to
Le Tonneau
without me. So be quick.’

Ten minutes later, Marc walked into
Le Tonneau
looking ill at ease. He kissed Juliette, Alexandra, and little Kyril who jumped up into his arms.

‘Do you mind if I sit with you to have a bite?’

‘Do,’ said Alexandra. ‘Move up, Kyril, you’re taking all the space.’

‘You know what’s happened?’

Alexandra nodded. ‘Mathias told us. And Juliette had heard it on the news. It’s that same man, isn’t it? There can’t be any doubt?’

‘No, unfortunately not.’

‘It’s just ghastly,’ said Alexandra. ‘He’d have done better to tell us everything that was on his mind. It looks as if they’ll never be able to catch whoever killed Aunt Sophia now. And I don’t know how I’m going to live with that. How was he killed? Do they know?’

‘Knife in the stomach. Not instantaneous, but effective.’

Mathias was watching Alexandra, as he brought over Kyril’s plate. She shivered.

‘Keep your voice down,’ she said gesturing towards Kyril with her chin. ‘Please.’

‘It must have happened between eleven o’clock and two in the morning. Leguennec is looking for Relivaux. You didn’t hear anything, did you? A car perhaps?’

‘No, I was asleep. Once I’m asleep, I don’t hear a thing. You can check-I’ve got three alarm clocks on the bedside table to get me up in time to take him to school … And anyway …’

‘Anyway?’

Alexandra hesitated, frowning a little. Marc felt uneasy, but he had his orders.

‘Anyway just now, I’m taking stuff to help me sleep. So as not to lie awake thinking. So I’ve been sleeping more heavily than usual.’

Marc nodded. Reassured. Even if he did think Alexandra had rather overdone the explanation of her sleeping habits.

‘But why are they going after Pierre?’ Alexandra was saying. ‘That’s impossible. How could he have known that Dompierre came to see him?’

‘Dompierre might have reached him by phone via the ministry. Don’t forget he was on official business too. He seemed determined, you know. And in a hurry.’

‘But Pierre’s in Toulon.’

‘There’s such a thing as an aeroplane,’ said Marc. ‘There and back, quickly. Anything’s possible.’

‘I see,’ said Alexandra. ‘But they’re really on the wrong track. Pierre would never have hurt a hair of Sophia’s head.’

‘He did have a mistress, though, and it had been going on some time.’

Her face darkened. Marc regretted his last remark. He had no time to think of anything intelligent to follow it with, because Leguennec walked into the restaurant. The godfather had been right. Leguennec had tried to pull a fast one on him. The
inspecteur
came up to their table.

‘If you’ve finished your lunch, Mlle Haufman, and if you could leave your son with one of your friends for an hour or so, I’d be glad if you would come with me. I have a few more questions I’m obliged to ask you.’

The bastard. Marc did not look at Leguennec. Still, he was simply doing his job, just as Marc had been a few minutes earlier.

Alexandra did not look troubled and Mathias confirmed with a nod that he would look after Kyril. She went out with the
inspecteur
and got into his car. His appetite gone, Marc pushed away his plate and went to the bar. He asked Juliette to serve him a large glass of beer.