‘He worked under a stage name!’ she cried. ‘If you don’t tell Leguennec, he’d never know Georges was in the cast that year.’
‘The police have ways and means,’ said Vandoosler. ‘Leguennec will check the cast list.’
‘He won’t be able to find him!’ cried Juliette. ‘And anyway, Georges didn’t do anything wrong!’
‘Did he go back on the stage after the attack?’ Vandoosler asked.
Juliette looked upset. ‘I don’t remember,’ she said.
Vandoosler got up in turn. Feeling desperate, Marc stared at his knees and Mathias had gone to look out of the window. Lucien had disappeared without anyone noticing. Off to fetch his war diaries.
‘You do remember,’ said Vandoosler. ‘You know he didn’t go back to acting. He came back to Paris, and he told you that he had been too upset by the attack, didn’t he?’
Juliette looked panic-stricken. Yes, it was obvious that she remembered.
She ran out, slamming the door.
‘She’s cracking up,’ said Vandoosler.
Marc was gritting his teeth. Georges was a murderer, he had killed four people, and Vandoosler was a brute and a bastard.
‘Are you going to tell Leguennec?’ he hissed.
‘We have to. See you this evening.’
He took the photograph and left.
Marc didn’t feel like seeing his godfather that evening. If Georges was arrested, it would get Alexandra off the hook. But he was feeling ashamed. My God, one doesn’t crack nuts with one’s bare hands.
Three hours later. Leguennec and three policemen arrived at Juliette’s house to arrest Gosselin. But he had fled, and Juliette couldn’t tell them where he had gone.
XXXIII
MATHIAS SLEPT BADLY. AT SEVEN IN THE MORNING, HE PULLED ON A sweater and trousers and slipped out quietly to knock at Juliette’s door. The door was wide open. He found her sitting on a chair, looking shattered, three policemen round her turning the house upside down, hoping to find Georges Gosselin hiding in a cupboard. Others were doing the same thing at Le Tonneau. Cellars, kitchens, every room was subjected to the same search. Mathias stood with his arms dangling, looking at the unimaginable mess the police had managed to make in just an hour. Leguennec, who arrived at about eight o’clock, gave the order for the house in Normandy to be searched as well.
‘Shall we help you clear up?’ Mathias asked when the police had left.
‘No,’ said Juliette. ‘I don’t want to see the others. They shopped Georges to Leguennec.’
Mathias pressed his big hands together.
‘You’ll be paid for the day, but the restaurant won’t open,’ Juliette said.
‘So I can help you clear up?’
‘Yes, as long as it’s just you,’ she said. ‘You can give me a hand.’
While he was sorting things out, Mathias tried to talk to Juliette, to explain a few things, to prepare her and calm her down. It seemed to comfort her somewhat.
‘Look,’ she said. ‘Leguennec’s taking Vandoosler away with him. Now what else is that old man going to say to him?’
‘Don’t worry, he’ll pick and choose. That’s how he is.’
From his window, Marc watched Vandoosler going off with Leguennec. He had managed to avoid meeting his uncle that morning. Mathias had gone to Juliette’s, he must be talking to her, choosing his words. He went up to see Lucien. Completely absorbed in transcribing the pages from war diary number one (September 1914 to February 1915), Lucien motioned to Marc not to interrupt him. He had decided to take another day off work, judging that to have flu for only forty-eight hours was not convincing. As he watched Lucien working, totally oblivious to the world outside, Marc told himself that perhaps in the end that would be the best thing for him to do too. The war was over. So he had better harness himself up to his medieval plough, even though nobody was asking him to. He’d work for nobody and for nothing, as he got back to his lords and peasants. Marc went back downstairs and opened his files without enthusiasm. Gosselin would be caught sooner or later. There would be a trial, and that would be it. Alexandra had nothing more to fear, and would go on giving him a little wave from the street. Yes, it was better to plunge into the eleventh century than to wait for that.
Leguennec waited until they were in his office with the door shut before exploding.
‘So,’ he bellowed. ‘I hope you’re pleased with yourself!’
‘That’ll do,’ said Vandoosler. ‘You’ve got your man, haven’t you?’
‘I would have him, if you hadn’t allowed him to get away. You’re corrupt, Vandoosler, through and through!’
‘Let’s just say that I gave him three hours’ thinking time. That’s the least one could give him.’
Leguennec slammed both hands onto the desk. ‘Why for crying out loud did you do that?’ he shouted. ‘What’s this guy to you? Nothing. Why did you do it?’
‘To see what would happen,’ said Vandoosler nonchalantly. ‘One shouldn’t obstruct the course of events. That’s always been your weakness.’
‘You know what your little game might cost you?’
‘Yes, I know. But you won’t do anything to me.’
‘That’s what you think?’
‘Yes, that’s what I think. Because you’d be making a very big mistake, let me tell you.’
‘You’re well placed yourself, to talk about mistakes, don’t you think?’
‘What about you! If it hadn’t been for Marc, you would never have linked Sophia’s death and the murder of Christophe Dompierre. And if it hadn’t been for Lucien, you would never have connected all this to the murder of the two theatre critics, and you would never have identified Georges Gosselin as the bit player in the opera!’
‘And if it hadn’t been for you, he’d be in this office, right now!’
‘Just so. Shall we play cards while we wait?’ said Vandoosler.
A young assistant inspector opened the door in a hurry.
‘You could knock!’ yelled Leguennec.
‘No time, sir,’ said the young man. ‘We’ve got someone here who wants to see you urgently. It’s the Siméonidis-Dompierre case.’
‘The case is wrapped up. Get him out of here.’
‘At least ask who it is?’ suggested Vandoosler.
‘Who is it?’
‘A guest who was staying at the Hôtel du Danube at the same time as Christophe Dompierre. The one who drove off in the morning without noticing there was a body in the car park.’
‘Get him in,’ hissed Vandoosler through clenched teeth.
Leguennec gestured, and the young man called into the corridor.
‘The cards will have to wait,’ said Leguennec.
The man came in and sat down without being invited to. He was in a state of high excitement.
‘What’s all this about?’ asked Leguennec. ‘Hurry up. I’ve got a man on the run. Your name, occupation?’
‘Eric Masson, section head at SODECO Grenoble.’
‘As if I care, really,’ said Leguennec. ‘What’s your business?’
‘I was staying at the Hôtel du Danube,’ said Masson. ‘It’s not very grand, but I’m used to it and it’s near SODECO Paris.’
‘As if I care,’ Leguennec repeated.
Vandoosler gestured to him to take it easy. Leguennec sat down, offered a cigarette to Masson and lit one himself.
‘OK, I’m listening,’ he said, less irritably.
‘I was there the night Monsieur Dompierre was killed. The awful thing was, I drove my car out in the morning without suspecting a thing, and the body was just beside it, they told me afterwards.’
‘Go on.’
‘It was a Wednesday morning. I went straight to SODECO and parked in the underground car park.’
‘So bloody what?’ said Leguennec.
‘I’ll tell you so bloody what!’ said Masson, suddenly angry. ‘If I’m telling you these details, it’s because they’re extremely important!’