Death at the Clos du Lac

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The Clos du Lac looked unnaturally quiet when they drew to a stop in the car park; unnatural in the way that deserted buildings have no warmth, no sense of human occupation, no vibrancy. Even the birds had fallen silent. There was no sign of Levignier or his men, and the pool house was closed, with a chain and padlock through the double handles barring the way inside.

With a sense of foreboding, Rocco led the way through the main entrance. The air was cool inside, the sounds of their footsteps echoing off the tiled floor. He looked round. No sign of a bell to signal their arrival, so he walked along the corridor towards the kitchen where he’d first seen nurse Dion.

A woman in an apron was sitting at the table, drinking coffee. A mop and bucket stood nearby. The woman looked up and brushed at her cheek. She was plump and rosy-cheeked, with greying hair, and looked faintly lost.

‘Can I help you?’

‘I’d like to see nurse Dion or Director Drucker, please,’ Rocco said politely. ‘Tell them it’s Inspector Rocco.’

The woman put down her coffee cup and stood up. ‘Sorry — I wish I could. But there’s nobody here.’

Rocco frowned. ‘Where are they?’

‘If I knew that, I’d tell you.’ She waved a hand around. ‘I got here fifteen minutes ago, ready to put dinner on for the evening as usual, and do a bit of cleaning. But the place was empty. Everyone’s gone. Looks like I’m out of a job.’

‘What about the patients?’

She sat down again with a sigh, as if her legs had failed her. ‘Them, too. All gone. Do you believe in flying saucers and … what do they call it — alien abduction? I never did, until now.’

Rocco looked at Alix. ‘Wait here. I’ll be back.’ He left the kitchen and raced up the stairs, following the corridor through to the back and checking rooms as he went. Some showed signs of recent occupancy, with bedclothes thrown back and wardrobe doors flung open. Other rooms were stripped bare and cold, evidently unused. Everywhere else had an air of hasty evacuation.

He found an office. It looked bare of anything helpful; a desk, two comfortable visitors’ chairs, two filing cabinets and a bookcase. But no paperwork of any kind.

He ran back downstairs and checked the ground floor rooms. A library, a large lounge area, a games room with a pool table and two smaller rooms he guessed were reading areas, both looking out to the rear of the building.

All empty.

He turned and went back to the kitchen. The woman and Alix were sitting in silence.

‘Do you have telephone numbers for Dion or Director Drucker?’ he asked.

The woman pursed her lips. ‘Never needed them,’ she replied. ‘Someone’s always here normally. Except today. I just cook and clean. What’s been going on — and why’s the pool chained up?’

‘There’s a problem with the water.’ Rocco had a thought. ‘How did you get here?’

‘My husband dropped me off, same as always. I live in Fonzet. I’d come on my bike, but my back’s playing up. What kind of problem?’

‘A patient drowned in it. If you can leave your name and address with Gardienne Poulon, we’ll be in touch.’ He smiled at her look of concern. ‘I’m sorry this has happened, but it’s a surprise to us, too.’

He walked out of the building to his car, took a tyre iron out of the boot and went over to the pool house. The chain was strong but the door handles weren’t. One of them ripped out of the wood and he was inside.

There was no sign of the body.

He walked around the pool area, but found nothing to show what had happened here, save a large wet patch on the tiles where they had hauled out the body. Whatever heating was in the place had not yet dried the area completely.

‘They worked fast,’ Alix murmured, coming to stand alongside him. She was eyeing the length of chain and the milk churn lying on the bottom of the pool. The steel wire still hung in the water, but it had now been moved closer to the edge, no doubt once the chain had been unfastened. ‘The cook’s gone. She called her husband and he’s going to pick her up. Who did this?’

‘Levignier,’ said Rocco. He knew instinctively that the body was gone for good, spirited away God and the ISD alone knew where. ‘He employs some very resourceful people.’

As they walked back towards the main building, a small Renault drew up in the car park. Nurse Dion climbed out and stood watching them. She was rubbing her eyes and looked very pale. Rocco guessed she must have heard about Paulus.

‘Sorry, Inspector,’ she said, walking over to join them. Her eyes were red-rimmed and she was clutching a white handkerchief. ‘Have you been waiting long?’ Her voice sounded rubbed raw with emotion. ‘Director Drucker told me to take the afternoon off, but … I need something to do.’ She looked towards the main building, then at the empty car park, and frowned. ‘What’s going on? Where is everybody?’

‘That’s what we’d like to know. When did Drucker tell you to take off?’

‘This morning, just before noon. What about the patients?’

‘All gone.’

Her jaw dropped. She gestured towards the road. ‘I saw a woman walking away. Was that Mrs Sevrier, the dinner cook?’

‘Yes,’ Alix said. ‘She didn’t know anything, either.’

‘But I don’t understand. Where would they all go?’

‘That’s what I’d like to know,’ Rocco said carefully. ‘But first of all, I’m sorry about Mr Paulus. We’re hoping to find out what happened to him. Can we talk somewhere?’

‘Of course.’ She turned and led them through the entrance and into a darkened side room lined with bookshelves. She closed the door and pulled back the curtains, flooding the room with light.

‘Those other men wouldn’t tell me what happened,’ she said, looking between them. ‘You’ll tell me, won’t you?’

‘I’m sorry,’ Rocco said carefully, and explained what he and Claude had discovered at the house outside Berlay, keeping strictly to the facts.

She said nothing for a few moments, merely nodding slightly as if absorbing the news and consigning it to a safe place. Her expression was unreadable. Then she sat down heavily on a sofa, her expression collapsing into one of utter confusion and loss.

‘Why didn’t they say?’ she whispered. ‘Levignier and the other two — they were with Director Drucker all morning. I heard them mention André’s name but … they stopped talking when they saw me.’ She looked at Rocco. ‘All they said was that he was dead and that it should not concern me. Why would they say such a thing?’

‘Did Drucker know of your friendship?’ Alix asked, sitting next to her.

Dion bunched her handkerchief and wiped her eyes, which were brimming over. ‘There’s no need to be quite so diplomatic,’ she whispered. She tried hard to smile, but it didn’t quite come off. ‘We were having a relationship, André and I. And yes, Drucker knew. It’s impossible to keep any secrets in this place.’ She laughed bitterly. ‘Ironic, when you think about it. The whole place is built on secrets of one sort or another.’

Stefan had said much the same thing. ‘Lots of secrets in this place …’

Rocco waited to see if she would enlarge further. There was a moment in most investigations when a tipping point was reached that could change the entire nature of an enquiry; it could be at any time in the proceedings, with no warning. But it usually hinged on a simple revelation, a careless or unexpected word, a change of attitude. Rocco knew that point had been reached. Dion was ready to talk.

‘We still don’t know why he was killed, or who is responsible,’ he said calmly. ‘But I believe it is connected with the death of the man in the pool.’

‘Why do you think that?’

‘Well, most killings usually have a motive driving them. Anger, fear, greed, hate … even love, occasionally. But nobody in this area knew him well enough; like me, he was brought in from outside.’

Alix said, ‘Had he made any acquaintances here — people he might have mixed with outside of work?’

‘No. He liked to keep to himself … when we weren’t together, anyway. He was a very private man. Very conscientious, too.’ She looked at Rocco. ‘That’s why I don’t understand why he would have disappeared like that. He never believed in taking time off when he was on duty. Something must have happened to make him leave his post.’

‘Something did. Or someone.’