‘You’ve found a friend, I see,’ said St-Cyr, having walked in from the farm.
‘She’s a beauty, eh, Louis? What took you so long?’
One had best remove the shoes and socks and give the feet a little cooling. ‘Another murder,’ he confided discreetly so as not to set the village abuzz too soon. ‘The possibility of two assailants, one to divert, the other to make the kill – it’s just a notion. I must ring up Deveaux and ask for the troops and a photographer. If possible, I will wait here for them.’
‘Good. Yes, that’s good, Chief. You can catch a meal and a glass of the vin paille at the cafe of the beautiful walnut, or whatever they call it. I’ve bummed a ride to Domme for Juliette with Marina and friends. I’m not just sure which of those gorgeous creatures is going to have to sit on my lap, but I’ll be sure to behave myself.’
‘You do that. Now inform me, please, of what has transpired.’
‘An empty drawer, no postcards. Nothing. Sauteed mushrooms for two but not for herself. No, Madame Fillioux would have wanted to see the results of her little plan and would have gone to prison and the guillotine quite gladly.’
‘She meant to poison the one she was to meet in the glade as well as her son-in-law,’ sighed St-Cyr, wetting a handkerchief to bathe his face and neck.
‘A visitor from Paris, Louis? A recipient of some of the good madame’s parcels? The father perhaps?’
‘Yes, yes, the father. Then it is as we have thought, Madame Fillioux expected to meet him.’
Kohler pulled off his shirt, handed it and the halter rope over, then took to dry land to remove the rest. With a bellow, he ran joyfully into the water to splash about and seek depth.
As naked as at the dawn of time, his voice filled the valley and broke the children up until they laughed and cried and clapped so hard their sides were cramped. The giant finally lay down in the shallows and let the water pour over him. ‘He’s like that sometimes,’ said St-Cyr to one of the littlest. ‘He has had a hard day and is trying to forget it, if only for a moment.’
Marina von Strade was ecstatic. ‘Oo, he should be in our film,’ she said with bright green eyes still hungering after the savage, her hands clasped beneath her chin. ‘Next to him, I could really play the part I have been given. Toto? Toto, darling, don’t you think so too?’
Gerard Lemieux only grunted disparagingly as a jealous and lonely young Neanderthal buck might have done in a darkened cave.
‘He’s magnificent,’ enthused the woman. ‘He’s exactly what we need.’
Later they sat alone on the bank and shared another cigarette. ‘To chase with a boulder requires strength and speed,’ offered Kohler.
‘Unless the boulder had been placed at the site of the killing ahead of time and a handaxe first used. The footprints, I believe, were those of a woman.’
‘Why cut the fishing line and free the worms?’
‘A last touch. An act of supreme detachment and defiance perhaps but done after the hiding of the body, after the killer had carried the boulder well out into the river and had bathed.’
‘A straight stalk, chase and kill.’
‘But perhaps with two assailants. The father and … and someone else, a woman. Auger must have known too much. Perhaps he could have identified one of them.’
‘No one’s stayed in that inn of hers for ages, Louis. I took a look through her register.’
‘And what of Herr Oelmann?’
‘Forgery is a bad word and Berlin has ears. Russia’s too cold but so is the concentration camp at Dachau.’
‘And our Madame Jouvet?’
‘Scared out of her wits yet still not telling us everything. Has no immediate plans for suicide. Will see it through if friend Oelmann will let her.’
‘She’s the third one, then. She’s the next victim.’
‘Hey, I think maybe you’re right, Chief. I’ll try to keep it in mind.’
6
Ruefully St-Cyr surveyed the greasy parcels they had laid out on the sorting table. Three kilos of unsalted butter – could it be derancified? he wondered. The same of cheese that had gone so mouldy in the heat, the mice had had a feast. Two fat geese and, lastly, a loin of pork – perhaps five kilos of it and worth a fortune in Paris on the black market but never seen in the boucheries these days.
Every one of the parcels had been destined for the family’s address in Paris. Running a fingertip back through the ledger, he could find no other record of Madame Fillioux’s ever having sent parcels to that Paris address or to the one in Monfort-l’Amaury. Perhaps a few postcards, yes of course. Negative responses to the earnest pleas of her dead husband’s parents for help. Negative until the Saturday before she died.
Again he went through the ledger. It was infuriating not to find a thing. The stench was getting to him. He was tired. He needed time to think things through.
When he saw an entry from Auger, he stopped cold and held his breath.
The sous-facteur had sent a parcel of seven kilos on the 15th of April of this year to place des Vosges, number seven, apartment five. Rundown, but still one of the loveliest and certainly the oldest square in Paris. Its symmetrical two-storeyed houses of soft rose-coloured brick with white stone arcades had formerly been the town houses of the fashionable but had long since lost out to the Palais Royal, the place Vendome and, yes, streets like the boulevard Richard Wallace overlooking the Bois de Boulogne. Now it was the address of those who wished to rise above such a station but could not yet find the wherewithal to do so.
A Mademoiselle Danielle Arthaud, a niece? he wondered. A goose perhaps, judging by the weight.
Search as he did, he could find no other instance where sous-facteur Auger had sent anything to Paris, let alone to this Danielle Arthaud. Though he would perhaps never be able to prove it, he was certain Madame Fillioux had done the sending but if so, why had she not used her own name since she had used it on the other parcels?
Perhaps to let others know she was not alone – it was a thought most certainly. And Auger would have seen that his name had been used. It would have appeared on the return address, so she must have asked him if he would not mind.
‘Bitte, everyone,’ announced the Baroness. ‘Please, Madame Jouvet has escaped from her dreary life as a teacher. Has anyone a spare dress that would fit her? Something a little dangerous but not too much. The timid awakening, yes? The freeing of the dove if only for an evening. She has two children, has just left a husband who beats her terribly. It is the story of her mother and father we are filming.’
Work at Lascaux had been completed. It was time for a little rest and recreation. A hush fell over the baronial hall of the chateau that housed the film crew and cast in their off moments. Perhaps some two hundred were crowded at long tables, all eating, drinking and until now, engaged in umpteen conversations or simply brooding and wanting to kill a latest rival over some trifling slight.
‘Please,’ said the Baroness, ‘her dress has been torn – a little accident. She will only be embarrassed when we want her to be happy and welcomed as one of our own.’
‘Hey, it’s okay, eh?’ whispered Kohler to Madame Jouvet. ‘She means to be kind. I’ll see you get home.’
Concerned blue eyes flashed up at him. ‘Where is Herr Oelmann? I do not see him among all these.…’ She was at a loss as to what to call them. ‘Men, women, girls of fourteen and boys of the same age, younger ones too.’
‘Gone elsewhere, I think.’
‘Back to the house of my mother perhaps?’
‘Ah merde … Don’t worry. Louis can take care of himself. The sous-prefet and his men will soon be there.’