Jacquemin cleared his throat and turned his attention to Joe. ‘Which brings me to a consideration of your position in all this, Sandilands. Two thirds of the cast list appear to be English. I shall need some professional help with the interpretation.’
It was reluctantly stated and his tone bordered on the ungracious. Joe’s reply was succinct: ‘I understand the circumstances and whatever linguistic, cultural or forensic skills I possess are, of course, available to the Police Judiciaire.’
‘Good. That’s settled then. I’ll see that you’re suitably deputized should it become necessary. And let’s not forget-’ his eyes became one degree less frosty-‘that technically we are both subordinate to the Lieutenant here.’
Joe and Martineau exchanged smiles.
‘But first, Sandilands, I’m going to give you a résumé of the case as I see it. I expect you to add anything you feel necessary.
‘We seem to have a classic case. We’re looking for a man suffering from some form of … er … psychopathy.’ He glanced at Joe to judge his reception of his modern view.
‘C’est un cinglé!’ Martineau ruined his effect.
‘A nutcase!’ It was what Joe’s own sergeant would have said.
‘Possibly a man who has suffered damage to the brain or emotions in the war,’ Jacquemin said repressively. ‘A misogynist at all events. That much is clear. We’re looking at the work of a man with a deep dislike and murderous grudge against women. He announced himself with his first attack-I refer to the smashing of the effigy. A clear statement of intent. A known harlot gets her comeuppance. And just in case anyone’s missed the point-here’s a rabbit to underline it. As Sandilands has pointed out. And we should listen to his view-Sandilands, after all, is familiar with this style of multiple killings. It was London, was it not, which gave the world Jacques l’Éventreur? And we have a gallery of Englishmen here on site from which to choose.’
He waved Joe’s list.
‘I fear you may be right,’ Joe conceded. ‘I see no end to this until he is caught. There will be further victims unless we can stop him.’
‘So, the man we are looking for was (a) on the premises on the night of the attack on the statue … date, Sandilands?’
‘Friday the 20th of August.’
‘Thank you; (b) he was possibly injured in the war; (c) as a hater of women, he is most likely unmarried; (d) he is able to come and go about the building without arousing suspicion-or a bedmate. Probably has a room to himself.’
‘One character comes to mind straight away, sir,’ commented Martineau. ‘But he’s not English.’
‘Look, before you go putting the cuffs on de Pacy-consider this,’ said Joe. ‘Estelle was clearly attacked by someone she knew well. Someone she spoke to in English and laughed with. This much is known from the child’s testimony, as I told you. Therefore there may have been a personal reason behind the killing. Someone wanted Estelle to die for a very particular reason. Because she was Estelle Smeeth, not just a stand-in for the female sex.’
‘Could anyone have got in from outside?’
‘Nothing easier. Anyone could have scaled the dip which we call a dry moat of sorts. All the children know the way. And you could stay out of sight of the rest of the castle by keeping the bulk of the chapel between you and it. We shall need to know more exactly when Estelle died but I was hazarding a guess at six o’clock.’
‘Any sightings of the girl at about that time?’
‘Yes. We have a sighting by Jane Makepeace of Estelle and the child by the bridge at about that time so that seems likely. Our dagger-wielder simply watches from the chapel door after the act-it’s perfectly possible to stand in the shelter of the ornate door surround and be completely hidden from the rest of the castle. He nips over to the hall when he’s sure the coast’s clear.’
‘You heard the child speak. Did he have a contribution to make?’
‘Yes, he did.’ Joe filled in as much as he could remember of the interview conducted by Dorcas and summarized: ‘So, we have a dispatch by an apparent friend, with speed and without resistance on the part of the victim. We know that the aggressor spoke in English to Estelle-though everyone here speaks English, whatever their nationality-and he was wearing black trousers and shoes.’
‘Now who wears that sort of outfit at six o’clock in the south of France?’ the Commissaire wondered aloud.
‘A priest?’ Martineau suggested.
‘Indeed,’ said Joe. ‘But also any of the Englishmen gathered under this roof. And their hosts. The French keep early hours in the country for dining but we English keep to our customs regardless. We dress for dinner. Drinks at six fifteen, first course served at seven. Every man would have scrambled into black trousers and dinner jacket by half past six at the latest, possibly before. I had done so myself. So, suitably attired, our chap strolls off into the hall for a drink when the gong sounds. Looking as though he’s just drifted downstairs fresh from the hands of his valet.’
‘Thank you for that. Very helpful. So-it’s an intruder or a resident, a priest or not a priest, an Englishman or some other nationality we’re looking for.’ Jacquemin glowered.
‘Afraid so! And here’s something else to chew on,’ said Joe, taking a handkerchief from his pocket. ‘Evidence. Three pieces. Sorry-no useful little bags available at the time I made the discoveries.’
He opened it up on the table to show the contents. ‘Now-this screw of paper was used by the victim. You may like to check the powder.’ The Frenchmen listened as he told of his time spent with Estelle on the roof platform.
‘She saw the statue-smasher and he saw her watching him? That’s another reason for getting rid of her, are we thinking? No, we’re not! He was disguised. No reason to think she saw through it. Is there, Sandilands?’
‘She certainly didn’t seem to have made an identification.’
‘And cocaine? Where was she getting it? Did she bring supplies from Paris? How long had she been here?’
‘Since the beginning of the season. Three months. I believe she was a girl who was easily bored and would seek stimulation. Her mood swung while I was here in the castle. I think she was getting supplies. From someone with access to the exterior, clearly.’
‘They’d get it in any city along the Rhône. Along the drug-smuggling route from the port of Marseille and up north to Paris. There are places … people in Avignon who would oblige. We must find out who’s been making trips out into the world.’
‘You’d need a vehicle, sir,’ said Martineau thoughtfully. ‘It’s thirty kilometres to Avignon. Would you like me to take the Hispano-Suiza apart?’ he offered with relish.
‘It’s not the only car around. There’s a car available for hire by the day down at the village,’ said Joe. ‘A scheme run by the enterprising garage owner. And a charabanc for group outings-they’re an adventurous lot and like to get about. And motorcycles. And even horses. Many of the guests make use of them. It’s wonderful riding country. They go out all over the place, singly or in groups. We might make enquiries.’
‘Still-the girl was a drug-fiend. So what? Not much of a reason to kill her, is it?’ said the hard-boiled Parisian.
‘Cocaine …’ Joe mused. ‘It’s a sociable drug-where I come from. People sniff it up in company usually. At parties. In jazz club cloakrooms. To put themselves in a jolly mood.’
‘Agreed. She’s unlikely to have been sniffing the stuff all on her lonesome. So who was keeping her company?’ Jacquemin pencilled a note in his book.
‘And with the girl’s contacts in mind, Commissaire, may I ask you, when the time comes to interview each of the denizens, to enquire which of them has a camera and what type it is? It may not be important but I should like to know.’
Jacquemin scratched in a further note. ‘And what’s this here?’ he asked, poking at the sliver of gilded stone in the centre of the handkerchief with the end of his pencil.