Again the match went out. I’m in the Saint John’s Tower, the lower chapel, she cried out silently to herself and tried desperately to find her torch.
This time the flame revealed him to her and she saw him against the fresco. He had removed the leather greatcoat, military cap and gloves. These were nowhere near him.
The knitted pullover he wore was of coarse black wool but frayed and worn completely through at the elbows and she wondered why he had chosen to wear it, not just because she had made it for him years ago, but because … because …
‘Liebchen, it’s only me,’ he said in deutsch. ‘My torch doesn’t seem to be working.’
‘Nor mine,’ she quavered and said silently to herself, I thought I knew you, Kurt; asked again, Why has he worn that sweater?
Neither of them moved to comfort the other. Darkness came swiftly. Kohler waited for his eyes to adjust, waited, too, for something else, and when the Hooded One followed the couple, he followed him.
The cote-hardie was of emerald green velvet whose sheen rippled softly in the candlelight. The laced-up bodice was of white silk with gold piping and brocade. There were jagged slashes of burnt sienna, an undersheath of rose madder.
St-Cyr took in everything, the cinematographer within him alert to the slightest change, the detective keyed up. Nino had ceased prowling and now stood rigidly pointing at the curtained entrance to the Saint John’s Tower and upper chapel as if she had heard or seen something.
Genèvieve Ravier was hesitant but pleaded with her eyes as she looked towards her friend and lover, and Christiane Bissert faced her from the far end of the hall.
At the opposite end, Rivaille’s expression remained grim and unyielding in its condemnation of the girl, he seated smugly with the others. In turn, Simondi and Renaud also waited for the accused to confess.
‘Inspector …’ began the girl, only to falter and to look again at Genèvieve, imploring her to understand. ‘Chérie,’ she begged, ‘I have to tell them. I must!’
‘You promised not to! You said you wouldn’t!’WOULDN’T … WOULDN’T …
‘I know, but …’
‘Mademoiselle Bissert,’ said St-Cyr sternly. ‘At the livrée this morning you felt someone would kill my partner. You attempted to distract Herr Kohler. Please state the reason for this clearly.’
Still just within the stairwell and surrounded by stone walls, Kohler could hear Louis well enough but had to shut him out of his mind, was close … so close to the Hooded One.
‘I … I had been told to do so, Inspector,’ she confessed with eyes lowered.
‘By whom?’ demanded Louis sharply.
‘César … César, must I say it here? Here and … and now!’
‘Little one, you’d best.’
She swallowed hard and stood with fists clenched, was pale and shaken and in tears no comforting Marie-Madeleine could give would stop.
‘Maître … Maître de Passe, had come to the livrée to help César. He found me in one of the corridors and … and told me what to do.’
There, she had condemned both Genèvieve and herself, she cried inwardly and begged God to forgive her, only to hear the Sûreté asking gently, so gently, ‘Or else what would happen to you, mademoiselle?’
‘Or else I would suffer and … and so would Genèvieve. The accabussade for us both. Me first so that Genèvieve could watch what was happening to me, and then … then her, too, but … but after I was no more.’
‘Ah bon,’ said Louis. ‘Now we can return to the murder of Mireille de Sinéty and to the night of Monday last. Your lover was to have been dismissed, mademoiselle.’
He had moved nearer to Genèvieve but was on the opposite side of the hall from her and the entrance to the Saint John’s Tower.
‘To save herself,’ he said, and his voice carried and was full and robust and without fear, ‘your lover instigated what happened to Adrienne de Langlade, both at the mas of Mademoiselle de Sinéty’s mother and then at the mill on the Îie de la Barthelasse. She egged the rest of you on, didn’t she, but with Xavier’s help and under instructions from Madame Simondi?’
‘I’m sorry, Genèvieve. I know you will hate me but yes. And yes, I helped her, Inspector. I did! And … and may God forgive me.’
‘And as an accessory to that first murder, mademoiselle …’
‘Ispettore, I object! Adrienne de Langlade drowned.’
‘An accident,’ spat Rivaille. He’d had just about enough of this upstart from Paris.
‘An accident, Bishop, to which we will return,’ countered the Sûreté. ‘But first, mademoiselle, to the murder here. You had to intervene, didn’t you?’
‘I knew what you planned to do to Mireille, Genèvieve. I couldn’t let it happen.’
‘Happen …’ sang out Marius Spaggiari.
‘Happen …’ echoed Norman Galiteau.
‘She took a black robe …’ continued the tenor, Guy Rochon.
‘A black robe from our props r-’ Xavier’s voice broke. Shattered, the song fell apart, and for a moment Christiane glared hurtfully at each of them, then angrily wiped her eyes and blurted, ‘Damn you, yes!’
‘The sickle also, mademoiselle,’ said the Sûreté, his voice carrying into the stairwell. ‘The main entrance to the Palais wasn’t locked.’
NOT LOCKED … NOT LOCKED …
‘The door was wide open!’ she cried in despair. ‘Genèvieve, I had to do it for you. I had to!’
Marie-Madeleine had reached out to the girl to grip her by the shoulders. ‘Quite by accident you ran into Frau von Mahler,’ she said accusingly. ‘You turned around and left her, didn’t you? Well, didn’t you?’
It was no use. The Inspector must know everything, thought Christiane. He was watching Genèvieve closely, was afraid she would try to make a break for it. He was watching Xavier and the others, even Nino too.
She gave a nod and said hollowly, ‘They … they had come into the Jésus’ Room through the entrance that gives out on to the Main Courtyard. They … they were all wearing cassocks and hoods as black as mine, but … but I didn’t see this until later.’
So silent had the hall become, she felt she could hear the candles.
‘There were four of them, weren’t there?’ sighed Louis, his voice carrying and causing Kohler to wince at its intrusion into the Tower.
The girl must have swallowed tightly and nodded, was probably still trying to beg her lover to understand and forgive …
‘One of them took the sickle from you,’ sang out Louis. She was heard to answer faintly, ‘Yes.’
‘And one of them killed Mireille de Sinéty,’ he continued. ‘It wasn’t Genèvieve Ravier because she hadn’t been able to get to the Palais.’
‘Ispettore, what is this you are saying?’ demanded Simondi.
‘Only that Genèvieve failed to reach the Palais.’
‘Then where was she?’ demanded Renaud, his glasses winking in the candlelight.
‘With Madame,’ said Genèvieve bitterly. ‘Madame had made it as far as the Villa Marenzio. She was frantic, incoherent, highly agitated and shaking like crazy. Like crazy! Chérie, that is why you couldn’t find me when you went to my room after I had found you “asleep.”’
‘Ah no. No!’
‘And now you’ve told the Inspector that you were here with them, petite. With them!’ said Genèvieve in tears.
The echoes ran. They seemed to chase one another and for a time no one moved in the upper chapel and in the narrow staircase that led to it.
Cautiously Kohler let the fingers of his left hand explore the rough stone wall ahead of him, and when he touched the cassock again, he waited once more.
It was Louis who said clearly and sharply, ‘Four men, Mademoiselle Bissert, but were our three judges and Alain de Passe those four? That is the question. Bien sûr, they each know who did the killing, but did those who judged her so harshly not leave the Palais as claimed after the audition? Did they not turn their backs on that girl and let others do the task they wanted?’