‘This may seem like sacrilege to you, Colonel,’ Pringle drawled, ‘but I answer to Sir James Proud and Bob Skinner. If you’ve got a problem with me, you tell them about it. In fact,’ he picked up the interview-room telephone, ‘if you like I’ll call DCC Skinner right now and you can speak to him. I don’t advise it though. If you think I’m a bear when I’m angry, you don’t want to rattle his cage.’
Malou gave him one last icicle stare. In spite of himself, Pringle found it strangely disconcerting: it was as if the old eyes were made of frosted glass. ‘I will accept your apology,’ he said, in a grudging tone, as if one had been offered. ‘Now get on with it. Tell me the reason for this outrageous behaviour of yours.’
‘My reason, Colonel,’ the head of CID replied, ‘can be expressed in one name: Philippe Hanno.’ The eyes seemed to mist over. ‘I want to know why the first time I heard it was this morning, when one of my officers phoned from the place where they’re interviewing your bandsmen. Why the hell didn’t you tell me about Hanno yesterday?’
‘Because you didn’t ask,’ the older man spat back at him. ‘And what difference would it have made anyway? Philippe was killed by a drunken English driver, and poor Barty was made victim by some English lunatic who gets his kicks by poisoning toothpaste tubes.’
‘What difference would it have made? Jesus Christ, I don’t believe I’m hearing this. Two of your group die within three days of each other and that doesn’t strike you as even a wee bit odd?’
The first sign of conciliation appeared on Malou’s face. ‘Look, I was there when Barty died, actually in the next room, through the wall. It was a terrible shock to me.’
‘What happened to Monsieur Hanno?’
‘It was in Hull,’ the Belgian replied. ‘We were in a club, and I had let the boys make it a party night. Philippe ran out of cigarettes, so he went across to our bus to get more. . you can never buy Gauloises in England. When he didn’t come back, they found him on the road outside. He’d been hit by a car; they took him to hospital, but he was dead. The driver who killed him didn’t hang around afterwards. The police who came said that he was probably drunk, or that he panicked, or both.’ He spread his hands wide before him in a classic gesture. ‘Now Barty, Monsieur, that was completely different. When he collapsed, I thought it was a heart-attack, so did Major Tubbs, my kind host, and so, I remind you, did the lady doctor who answered the emergency call. It was only when your very clever pathologist did his tests that anybody knew differently.’
‘Her tests,’ said Pringle.
‘Pardon?’
‘Her tests: the pathologist was a lady too.’
‘Indeed?’ Malou replied, as if it was of some consequence. ‘But, Monsieur Pringle,’ he continued, ‘suppose I had been alert in my sorrow, and had told you this yesterday, what difference would it have made?’
‘It would have changed the whole focus of our inquiries. It opens a new possibility, that Monsieur Lebeau’s death and that of Monsieur Hanno are linked. I’m not saying that it would have stopped us from ordering a nationwide recall of thousands of toothpaste tubes, but as it is, we’ve lost twenty-four hours when we’d have been doing things differently.’
‘In what way?’
‘For openers we’d have been interviewing your bandsmen in a different way. Now we’ll have to go back to the start with them and ask them a couple of new questions, the ones I’m going to put to you now.’
‘Go ahead.’
‘I will. Does your band have any enemies in Belgium that you know of?’
The colonel frowned. ‘No, but why should we? We harm nobody and we entertain many. I’m honest enough to admit that there may be some who think we are a bit of a joke, and that we’re, how do you say it, an anana. . anach. .’
‘Anachronism?’
‘That’s the word. But no, on the whole the Bastogne Drummers are popular. I won’t say we’re an institution, but people like us. I suppose, though, we can never be certain.’ His sharp eyes seemed to lose focus for a moment. ‘There are crazy people in the world.’
‘I’m glad you accept that, at least. So can I ask you to think back and try to recall whether you’ve seen anything odd around the band in the last few weeks? For example, have you been aware of the same face, or faces, showing up in different places? Have you ever had the feeling that someone might have been watching you?’
‘People watch us all the time, sir. Believe it or not we have some fans in Belgium, people who like us and follow us when we play. So as leader, I see a lot of faces, and I am aware of them. However, I cannot say that I have seen anyone odd as you describe, or had the feeling that anyone who was watching us might wish us harm.’
‘That’s good,’ Pringle conceded, ‘but keep thinking about it, please, and if anything or anyone does occur to you, tell me at once.’
‘I’ll do that, but don’t put the rest of your life on hold waiting for me to remember something. When you get to my age you tend only to remember those things you’d rather forget.’
‘I’m getting to your age, Colonel,’ Pringle growled. ‘I know. Still, let me ask you something else. Was there a connection between Philippe Hanno and Bartholemy Lebeau outside the band? Were they close?’
‘Close?’
‘Were they good friends?’
‘I only know my bandsmen as bandsmen,’ Malou replied. ‘I don’t concern myself with their lives outside the Bastogne Drummers. I care that they turn up for practice, that they keep their instruments in tune and polished, and their uniforms clean and with creases, and that they march sharply and play well. That’s all I care about. As for Philippe and Barty being good friends, they were okay, they knew each other a long time, but I wouldn’t say they were brothers.’
‘What sort of men were they?’
‘Good men, never been in any trouble I know of.’
‘But could they, do you think? I’m trying to establish whether they might have been involved in something outside the Drummers that might have got them killed.’
‘Then you will have to try somewhere else, for I wouldn’t know any of that.’
‘How long have you known these men?’
‘They were in the band for fifteen years.’
‘What did they do outside?’
‘Barty had a small job as a concierge; Philippe did nothing. They were pensioners from the army, like me.’ He paused. ‘Actually we go back longer than fifteen years. When I was with the band of the First Guides Regiment. . it’s very famous in Belgium, you know. . they were with me, on my staff.’
‘So,’ said Pringle, ‘there is a connection beyond the band.’
‘But historic, Monsieur, and ancient history now.’
‘Maybe so, but it exists; and what’s more it ties into you as well.’
Malou gave something that was half snarl, half snort. ‘Hah,’ he exclaimed. ‘Are you suggesting that I might be next?’
‘I’m not suggesting anything, Colonel. However, I am telling you this: from now on, I want your men lodged at a single location, where we can offer you proper protection.’
‘Mais ce n’est pas possible,’ the old soldier protested. ‘That means a hotel; the band cannot afford that.’
‘That’s not a consideration you need worry about. But it is necessary, and it is going to happen.’
51
Paula Viareggio looked old; that was the only way that Skinner could describe her. He had allowed Mario to break the news of Mawhinney’s death in private, and had only gone into her office with McIlhenney when he had called to them.
Her eyes were red with tears, as unexpected and incongruous on her as on a man, and her olive complexion had gone white; somehow the effect robbed her silver hair of its striking quality and made it look that of a woman in her fifties, not one twenty years younger. As he looked at her he saw the image of her redoubtable grandmother, Nana Viareggio: he saw her future.
‘I can’t believe this,’ she murmured hoarsely, sitting on the edge of her desk, and leaning on her cousin for support. ‘He was in my house last night. He ate with us, and he left to go home and then. .’ She looked away and gripped Mario’s arm, hard.