‘And fifteen years after “Elektra”, she laid her trap. She killed Sophia, she killed Louise, put two of Sophia’s hairs in Alexandra’s car, killed Dompierre. She pretended to protect Alexandra’s alibi for the night of the murder. In fact, of course, she had heard Lucien yelling his head off in the street at two o’clock in the morning, because she had just got back from the Hôtel du Danube after stabbing that poor guy. She was sure that the alibi for Alexandra wouldn’t hold water, and that I would be bound to realise it was a lie. So she could “admit” that Alexandra had gone out, without seeming to betray her. It was disgusting, in fact worse than disgusting.’
Marc recalled the conversation at the bar: ‘You’re very kind, Juliette.’ Not for a moment had the thought crossed his mind that Juliette was manipulating him in order to incriminate Alexandra. Yes, worse than disgusting.
‘But then suspicion fell on her brother. It was getting too close for comfort. She persuaded him to run away, so that he couldn’t give anything away under questioning. And then it was an extraordinary piece of luck for her that they found the message from the man she’d killed. She was safe! Dompierre seemed to be accusing Sophia, who was dead, but was then believed alive! It was too perfect. But I just couldn’t swallow that. Not Sophia, no, Sophia would never have done those things. And what about the tree? It didn’t explain the tree. No, I couldn’t swallow it.’
‘Oh, what a dirty war,’ murmured Lucien.
When they reached the house again at about four in the morning, the beech tree had been dug up, Sophia Siméonidis’ body had already been exhumed and taken away. This time the tree had not been replanted.
The three evangelists, worn out, didn’t feel like going to bed. Marc and Mathias, still wrapped in blankets instead of clothes, were sitting on the little wall. Lucien was perched up on the big dustbin opposite them. He was growing fond of it. Vandoosler was smoking a cigarette and walking up and down. It felt warm. At least compared to the well, Marc thought. The chain would leave a scar on his arm in the shape of a coiled snake.
‘It’ll go well with your rings,’ said Lucien.
‘Wrong arm.’
Alexandra came round to say good night. She had not been able to get back to sleep after the police had been to dig up the beech tree. And Leguennec had been round. To give her the piece of basalt. Marc looked at her. He would have been so glad if she could have fallen in love with him. Just like that, to see what happened.
‘Tell me, Mathias,’ he said, ‘when you whispered in her ear to make her talk, what did you say?’
‘Nothing. I just said “Go on, Juliette, talk to them”’.
Marc sighed. ‘I might have guessed there wasn’t any magic trick. It would have been too good to be true.’
Alexandra kissed each of them and went away. She didn’t want to leave her son on his own. Vandoosler followed her slim figure with his eyes as she walked away. Three little dots. The twins, the woman. Shit. He looked down and stamped out his cigarette.
‘You should get some sleep,’ Marc said.
Vandoosler started off towards the house.
‘Does your godfather usually do what you tell him?’ asked Lucien.
‘No, never,’ said Marc. ‘Look, he’s coming back.’
Vandoosler tossed the five-franc piece into the air and caught it. ‘Let’s chuck it away,’ he said. ‘Anyway, we can’t cut it into twelve.’
‘There aren’t twelve of us,’ Marc said. ‘Only four.’
‘Ah, that would be too simple,’ said Vandoosler.
He swung his arm and the coin tinkled to the ground a long way off. Lucien had climbed onto the dustbin to follow its trajectory.
‘Company dismissed!’ he cried.
Fred Vargas
FRED VARGAS was born in Paris. A historian and archaeologist by profession, she has now become a bestselling and award-winning novelist. She is the author of many novels. Have Mercy on Us All and Seeking Whom He May Devour are available in English.
