‘You’re making out you’re important, indispensable. You’re Mr Big. That’s what gets on my nerves.’
‘Yes, I agree, it’s annoying. But you’re used to it and it doesn’t usually bother you. Now, because I’m doing something for Lex, that rankles. You’re forgetting that if I am keeping my eye on her, it’s to avoid worse things happening for everyone. Do you want to be the one who does it? You don’t have the experience. And since you get worked up and don’t listen to anything I say, you’re unlikely to acquire it. In any case, you don’t have any pull with Leguennec. So if you want to help her, you’re going to have to put up with my interference. And you may even have to do what I tell you, because I can’t be everywhere at once. You and the other evangelists could be useful.’
‘What for?’
‘Wait, now is too soon.’
‘You’re waiting for the pigeon shit to start falling?’
‘Call it that if you like.’
‘Are you sure it will happen?’
‘Pretty sure. Alexandra played her cards well at the session this morning. Leguennec has been slowed down. But he’s got hold of something that’s not to her advantage. Do you want to know what it is, or don’t you care to be involved in what I’m up to?’
Marc sat down.
‘They examined Sophia’s car and in the boot they found two hairs. They are certainly Sophia’s.’
Vandoosler rubbed his hands together and chuckled.
‘And you think that’s funny?’ cried Marc, in despair.
‘Hold your horses, young Vandoosler, how many times do I have to tell you?’ He laughed again and poured himself a drink. ‘Do you want some?’
‘No thanks. But that’s serious, finding hairs. And you’re laughing. It’s disgusting. You’re cynical and sick. Unless… unless you think they won’t lead anywhere. After all, if it was Sophia’s car, it’s not surprising that they found some of her hairs inside.’
‘In the boot?’
‘Why not? They could come from a coat or something?’
‘Sophia Siméonidis wasn’t like you. She wouldn’t have chucked her coat in the boot. No, I was thinking of something else. Don’t worry. A police investigation doesn’t depend on one little clue. I have plenty up my sleeve. And if you would just take the trouble to settle down and stop worrying about my getting too friendly with Alexandra, and remember that I brought you up, and not as badly as all that, in spite of your dopey habits and my own, and if you would just give me a little credit, and keep your fists in your pockets, I have a small favour to ask of you.’
Marc thought for a moment. The business of the hair was really worrying him. The old man looked as if he knew more than he was saying. Anyway there was no point putting the question, he was not about to throw his uncle, read godfather, out of the house. And that, as Vandoosler would say himself, was the bottom line.
‘OK, go ahead,’ Marc sighed.
‘This afternoon, I have to go out. They are going to question Relivaux’s mistress and they’re seeing him again too. I’m going to hang around. And I need a watchman here for the pigeon shit, if it happens. You could replace me as look-out.’
‘What do I have to do?’
‘Just stay up here. Don’t go away, not even down to the shops. You never know. Stay at the window.’
‘But what am I supposed to be looking out for, for heaven’s sake?’
‘I don’t know. That’s why you have to be on the look-out. Even for something very ordinary. OK?’
‘OK. But I still don’t see where this is getting us. Anyway, if you do go out, bring back some bread and half a dozen eggs. Lucien is teaching until six. I was supposed to do the shopping.’
‘Is there anything there for lunch?’
‘There’s a bit of cold meat from the other day. Not very tempting. Shall we go to Le Tonneau?’
‘It’s shut on Mondays. Anyway, I told you, we can’t leave the house unoccupied, remember?’
‘Not even to get something to eat?’
‘No. We’ll eat the cold meat. Then you can go back up to the window and wait. Please do not take a book with you. Stay at the window and keep your eyes open.’
‘I’m going to be bored out of my skull,’ said Marc.
‘No, you won’t, you’ll see, there’s plenty to look at out there.’
From one-thirty on, Marc was grumpily at his post at the second-floor window. It was raining. There weren’t many people in their little street as a rule, and even fewer when it was raining. And it was hard to see who was going past under umbrellas. As Marc had predicted, absolutely nothing happened. Two ladies went up the street one way, a man went the other. Then Juliette’s brother ventured out at about half-past two, under a large black umbrella. They certainly didn’t often see plump Georges. He worked on and off, when the publishers sent him to make a delivery in the provinces. He would be away a week then home for a few days. So you might meet him out for a walk or having a beer somewhere. He was a pleasant enough chap, with fair skin like his sister, but you didn’t get much out of him. He would pass the time of day, but didn’t get conversation. He never came to the restaurant. Marc had not dared to ask Juliette about him, but she did not seem over-proud of her overweight brother, still living with his sister when he was nearly forty. She didn’t talk about him much. It was rather as if she was protecting him. He was never seen in the company of a woman, so Lucien had hinted that he was perhaps Juliette’s lover. But that was absurd. The physical resemblance was plain to see, although she was the good-looking version, and he wasn’t. Disappointed, but bowing to the evidence, Lucien had changed tack and said he had seen Georges going into a special shop in the red-light district. Marc shrugged. Lucien liked making up stories, delicate or indelicate.
At about three o’clock, he saw Juliette come running in, protecting her head with a cardboard box, then Mathias, following her more slowly, made his way home. On Mondays, he often went to help Juliette get in the week’s supplies. He was dripping wet, but of course that didn’t bother him. Then another woman came past. Then another man a quarter of an hour later. Everyone was hurrying because of the rain. Mathias knocked at the door to ask for a pen. He hadn’t even dried his hair.
‘What are you doing there?’ he asked.
‘I’m on duty,’ Marc replied wearily. ‘The commissaire has told me to be the look-out. So I’m looking out.’
‘Ah. What for?’
‘That’s what I don’t know. Needless to say, nothing whatsoever has happened yet. They found two of Sophia’s hairs in the boot of the car that Lex borrowed.’
‘Ah. Not good.’
‘You said it. But the godfather just laughs. Oh look, here comes the postman.’
‘D’you want me to take over?’
‘No thanks. I’m getting used to it. I’m the only one here who’s not working. So it does me good to have a mission, even if it’s a pointless one.’
Mathias pocketed a pen, and Marc stayed at his post. Ladies went by with umbrellas. Schoolchildren started to come home. Alexandra went past with little Kyril. Without giving a glance at their house. And why should she?
Pierre Relivaux parked his car shortly before six. They must have given his car a going-over as well. He slammed the garden gate. Being interrogated by detectives does not improve anyone’s temper. He must have been alarmed that the business of his mistress in the 15th arrondissement would reach the ears of his superiors at the ministry. Nobody knew yet when the burial could take place of the pathetic remains of Sophia. The police were still holding on to them. But Marc did not expect Relivaux to collapse at the funeral. He looked concerned, but not devastated by his wife’s death. At any rate, if he was the murderer, he was certainly not play-acting, which was a strategy like any other, Marc supposed. At about six-thirty, Lucien came back. Goodbye peace and quiet. Then Vandoosler, soaked to the skin. Marc stretched his limbs, now stiff from sitting still. It reminded him of the time they had watched the police digging under the tree. Nobody mentioned the tree any more. And yet, it had all started with that. Marc couldn’t forget it. That tree.