Death at the Clos du Lac

CHAPTER FIFTY

Delombre arrived at the Clos du Lac just after nine. It was a cloudy morning, muggy with a promise of rain. He strode through the front door, past the large figure of a security guard who nodded in recognition and stood back.

‘Where’s the nurse?’ he said, his voice bouncing around the marbled foyer. He made Dion’s title sound like an insult.

‘She’s here.’ Inès Dion appeared from the back of the building, heels clattering briskly on the tiles. She looked neat and in control, dressed in a smart two-piece suit. She nodded at the security guard. ‘Thank you, Jean-Pierre, I’ll deal with this.’ She met Delombre’s gaze without flinching. ‘This is unexpected.’

‘Get used to it. Where is she?’

Dion flushed slightly at his tone, but said nothing, merely turning away to lead him upstairs. She walked confidently, arriving on the landing and turning right along a carpeted corridor lined with gloomy paintings. She stopped at a door in an alcove and took out a key.

‘Is she awake?’ Delombre asked, ‘or will I have to slap her to get her attention?’

‘She’s drifting in and out of consciousness,’ Dion replied. ‘Slapping won’t do her any good. Sorry.’

Delombre looked her in the eye, trying to determine if she was being sarcastic. ‘Pity,’ he said, and waited for her to unlock the door, then pushed past her and into the room.

It was simply furnished, with shafts of light coming through the shutters across the big double windows. In the centre of the room was a single bed and a small, wheeled table holding a plastic water jug and a plastic glass. A woman lay beneath a blanket and bedspread, breathing irregularly. Her hair was spread across the pillow and a few damp strands pasted against the skin of her forehead. The air smelt musty, with a faint tang of sweat.

‘Hasn’t she been washed?’

‘No. Why bother?’ Dion walked over to the bed and tapped the woman on the shoulder. There was no response.

Delombre joined her. ‘Good point, I suppose. Can she understand us?’

‘She will when she comes round. What do you want her to do, exactly?’

‘The easiest thing in the world: speak to her husband.’

Dion’s eyes widened. ‘You’re letting her go?’

He chuckled. ‘Good God, no.’ He turned away and walked over to the window, peering through the louvres into the outside world. All he could see, though, were mature evergreens shutting off any view of the surrounding countryside. ‘It’s been decided to give her poor besotted spouse a hint of hope, so he sees the error of his ways and stops talking to certain parties. For that we need her alert and chatty, not drugged or insensible.’

‘I’ll need time. The sedatives she was given were quite strong.’

He checked his watch and turned back to the bed. ‘You have thirty minutes. I’m going downstairs for coffee. In the meantime, this might help.’ He reached out and picked up the jug of water from the bedside table and emptied it over the sleeping woman’s face.

Without waiting to see the reaction, he turned and walked out of the room.

He was halfway down the stairs when he heard the crunch of car tyres on the gravel outside, and saw through the glass panel over the front door a black Citroën Traction cruise to a stop in the car park.

‘It’s the cop,’ called out Jean-Pierre, the security guard, from beside the entrance. ‘The one called Rocco.’

The Clos du Lac looked quiet as Rocco got out of his car. There were just two vehicles in the car park: a small Renault he recognised as belonging to Miss Dion, and a light-blue Peugeot 404.

Alix Poulon climbed out the other side and looked around. ‘What do you want me to do?’

‘Listen to what she says, mostly. And watch her face and body language. You’ll pick up on inflections that I’d miss. I want to know when she’s lying.’

‘When? Not if?’

‘Both. But she’s clever enough to use elements of the truth — how she sees it, anyway.’

He walked over to the Peugeot and looked through the window. There was nothing inside on view to show who might own it, no papers or clothes or a glaring sign giving the owner’s details. It was too new to belong to a staff member, too impressive unless a visiting family member had been allowed access to a patient.

He walked over to the front entrance and saw movement behind the glass.

Jean-Pierre was standing on the other side, watching him.

‘Lucas.’ Alix said softly. ‘To your right.’

He turned his head and saw a figure standing at the corner of the building. Another guard, as bulky as Jean-Pierre, but not as tall. The dogs were out in force.

‘There are no visits allowed today,’ said Jean-Pierre, swinging the door half open and filling the gap. ‘Come back next week.’ He began to close the door, a snide smile on his face.

Rocco waved his police card in the air. ‘This is official business. You close that door and I’ll come right through it and stamp all over you.’ For emphasis, he flicked back his coat and showed his gun. ‘You choose.’

Jean-Pierre hesitated a second, then stood aside, his face tight.

‘There’s a good boy. Now go get your boss — or would you like me to go looking for her?’

‘That won’t be necessary, Inspector.’ Inès Dion’s voice floated down the stairs ahead of her. She was walking down almost regally, head held high and composed, like a fashion model, Rocco thought.

‘What do you want? I’m afraid we’re very busy right now.’ She saw Alix behind him and smiled briefly.

‘This shouldn’t take long,’ he replied. ‘Just a couple of questions.’

She considered it for a moment then gestured to a side room and led the way.

As Rocco followed her, he caught a glimpse of movement at the top of the stairs. He felt a strong urge to call out, but resisted it. No doubt another one of Dion’s tame guards. The thought made the muscles in the middle of his back go tight.

Above them Delombre stood and waited, holding his breath. He hadn’t counted on coming this close to Rocco. Thankfully the interfering investigator hadn’t seen him. But the longer he was here, the more likely it was that something would go wrong.

He checked his watch. He would soon have to make the call to a prearranged number, so that Robert Bessine could hear his wife’s voice. It was vital that the aircraft manufacturer got the message that all was well, and set in motion the cancellation of his talks with Taiwan. Anything less would be a disaster. Delombre had few fears about any man, and knew he was skilled enough to take care of himself in most situations; but he was no fool. He knew that if he failed at this late stage, so critical was it to success or failure, he wouldn’t want to be around for Levignier’s anger to show itself, or for one of Girovsky’s private army of thugs to come looking for retribution.

He felt the back of his neck twitch at the recognition that he was not invulnerable, especially from those he served. It was a feeling he wasn’t accustomed to, but he had to acknowledge the fact. There wouldn’t be a frontal attack, he knew that, because that would be messy and cause waves. It would instead be a single man, perhaps two, as skilled as himself and probably younger, fitter, faster. He wouldn’t see them coming, but he might hear their final move.

By then it would be too late.

While he waited for Rocco to leave, he pondered on his next move, after all this was over.