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Then, just before lunch, we heard a car draw up to the front of the house. Ingrid and I rushed round to see who it was. To our disappointment, it wasn’t Guy. It was Tony.

He led us into the house and to the drinks cabinet in the living room, and poured himself a large gin and tonic. ‘God, that tastes good,’ he said, taking a long swig. ‘The room service in that police station was lousy.’

There was the sound of rapid footsteps down the stairs as Mel appeared.

‘Any news?’ Ingrid asked.

‘No,’ said Tony. ‘They’re still holding him.’

‘Have they charged him?’ I asked.

‘Not yet. Patrick says they can hold him for up to four days before an arraignment in front of an examining magistrate. Don’t worry. We’ll get him out before then.’

‘But they’ve arrested him, haven’t they?’ Mel protested. ‘They must have some evidence against him.’

‘Some mix-up about a footprint. Patrick will get him off.’

Mel didn’t seem convinced. ‘What about you?’ she said.

‘Me? Looks like I’m in the clear.’ Tony smiled. Which was fair enough, I supposed. But I couldn’t help thinking that his exoneration had been won at the expense of Guy’s guilt. Not that I believed for a moment that Guy was guilty, myself. I just didn’t trust the French police to uncover the truth when they could nail the easy suspect.

Tony looked at the three of us. None of us appeared in the slightest bit pleased to see him. He sighed and poured himself another drink. ‘I’ll be in the study if anybody wants me,’ he said, and left us.

‘I wish they had let Guy go instead of him,’ Mel said.

‘I’m sure Hoyle will swing something,’ I said, with as much confidence I could muster. But I wasn’t sure at all.

At around two o’clock a detective came to fetch me. Sauville wanted to talk to me again. I wasn’t surprised.

I thought hard during the car journey down the hillside. Thought about what I had done. Where my loyalties lay.

I was led into a small interview room. Sauville was there with his sidekick. He looked even more tired and irritated. He lit up a cigarette and offered me one.

I shook my head.

‘Thank you for coming here, Monsieur Lane.’

‘Not at all.’ I hadn’t been aware that I’d had a choice.

‘I am glad to say that your version of your liaison with Madame Jourdan accords with the forensic evidence. You have been honest with me. This is good. Good for you, good for me. Now...’ He took a long drag on his cigarette. ‘I want you to continue to be honest with me.’

‘Of course.’

Bon. You remember Tuesday evening? The evening that Madame Jourdan was killed.’

‘I do.’ I was alert now.

‘This is very important. When you went to bed, did you go alone?’

‘No. I went with Guy.’

‘OK. Tell me what happened.’

‘I wasn’t in a good mood that evening. No one was, really, apart from Dominique. At about ten o’clock I said good night and went off to bed.’

‘And Guy came with you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you go straight to your bedroom.’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you sure? You didn’t delay on the way?’

‘Um...’

‘Monsieur Lane?’

‘Let me think. It was a couple of days ago.’

And I thought. Rapidly. I knew the answer, of course. Guy and I had gone straight to the little guest cottage together. I could remember that clearly. But what should I tell the policeman?

My first instinct was to say just that. That Guy had been with me the whole time. That he couldn’t possibly have slipped away to murder Dominique.

But...

But they had found a footprint, that was clear. Guy’s footprint. I suddenly realized that that was what Sauville wanted an explanation for. I had to give him one, or at least the possibility of one.

‘I don’t think so. Or, at least, I didn’t. But, actually, I think I went first, and Guy followed me a couple of minutes later.’

‘A couple of minutes?’

‘I’m not a hundred per cent sure. But I can remember that he was brushing his teeth when I was getting into bed. So he can’t have been more than a couple of minutes longer than me.’ I wanted to give Guy enough time to leave a footprint but not enough time to murder Dominique.

‘Did you see where he went?’

‘No.’

‘Could he perhaps have gone into the bushes to er...’ Sauville was searching for the right word. ‘To piss?’

‘Possibly.’

‘That seems strange, don’t you think? To piss in the bushes when there is a toilet in the guest cottage?’

‘Not so strange,’ I said. ‘A bit drunk. A lovely night. The stars are out. It’s the kind of thing Guy might do.’

‘We found his footprint outside Madame Jourdan’s window. The soil there was watered during the afternoon, so we know it must have been put there that evening. Or perhaps later that night.’

‘Oh, I see. That explains it, then.’ So I was right. Fortunately I had managed to back up the story Guy had told.

‘Perhaps,’ Sauville said, considering the point. ‘Just one last question. Do you know the young gardener who works here? A North African?’

‘Yes. Abdulatif.’

Sauville frowned, as though surprised that I knew his name. ‘That is correct. When did you last see him?’

‘Hmm.’ I thought. ‘It was the morning before Mrs Jourdan was killed.’

‘And not since then?’

‘No. No, not since then.’

‘Did you see him doing anything suspicious?’

I remembered the smile he had given Guy, but didn’t mention it. It almost certainly didn’t mean anything, and even if it did, it was hardly suspicious. ‘No,’ I said. ‘He was just gardening.’

‘We are trying to locate him. It seems he has disappeared. He hasn’t been seen since the morning after Madame Jourdan was killed.’ Sauville stood up. The interview was over. ‘Thank you once again for your cooperation, Mr Lane. Now my colleague will take you back to the house.’

As the police car climbed up the hill, I watched the sun lowering itself towards the western horizon and for the first time since Dominique had died I felt good about myself. I had let Guy down by sleeping with Dominique. His contempt for me had been painful because it had been justified. And now I had helped him.

I had no idea how Guy’s footprint had turned up wherever the police had found it, but I knew it wasn’t because he had gone for a pee in the bushes on the way to bed. They didn’t know that, though. I looked honest and I looked scared and I was sure Sauville had believed me.

At that point I was only concerned with covering for my friend, making amends for my betrayal. The possibility that Guy might have been involved in some way in Dominique’s death didn’t occur to me. I wasn’t at all worried about how or when Guy’s footprint had been placed outside Dominique’s window, if that was indeed where the police had found it.

Perhaps I should have been.

It was strange staying at Les Sarrasins without Guy. None of us felt we should be there, we were like guests who had long overstayed their welcome, but there was no chance that Sauville would let us leave. Guy’s plea for me to crawl back under my semi-detached stone rang in my ears. He was right, of course. I had no business being there; I should be in the caravan in Devon with my parents. I should never have come.

We all gathered for an awkward supper. There was little conversation; we were all wrapped up in our own thoughts. Tony made a half-hearted attempt at small talk, which received little response from any of us. But he did have some news. The search for Abdulatif had turned into a full-scale manhunt. Miguel had heard from the Arab gardener of a nearby property that the police had turned over Abdulatif’s house, and had been asking about him in all the Arab hangouts in the area, with no success.