The Three Evangelists

XIV

IT WASN’T UNTIL THE SUNDAY NIGHT THAT THE EVANGELISTS CAME UP with anything concrete. On Saturday, the only time Pierre Relivaux went out was to buy the newspapers. Marc had said to Lucien that he was sure Relivaux would say he was going to ‘consult the national press’, rather than ‘read the papers’, and that one day he would have to test this, just for the pleasure of it. Anyway, he had not stirred all day, having stayed at home with the national press. Perhaps he was worried about getting a visit from the police.

Then, maybe since nothing seemed to be happening, he appeared to regain confidence. Marc and Lucien had started tailing him when he left the house at about eleven on Sunday morning. He led them to a little house in the 15th arrondissement in south-west Paris.

‘You were bang on target,’ said Marc, summing up their day for Vandoosler. ‘The girl lives in a fourth-floor flat. Nice enough girl, easy going, quiet sort, not fussy.’

‘Let’s just say she’s nothing to write home about,’ said Lucien. ‘I have standards, you know, and Marc here will give anyone the benefit of the doubt…’

‘You’re on your own, with your standards,’ said Marc.

‘Quite so,’ said Lucien. ‘But that’s not what we’re discussing. Carry on with your report, lieutenant.’

‘That’s all. The girl has her flat paid for, all found. She doesn’t go out to work, we asked the neighbours.’

‘So Relivaux does have a mistress. You guessed right,’ said Lucien to Vandoosler.

‘It wasn’t guesswork,’ said Marc. ‘The commissaire has a lot of experience.’

Godfather and godson exchanged glances.

‘Mind your own business, St Mark,’ said Vandoosler. ‘Are you sure she was his mistress? Could she not have been a sister or a cousin?’

‘We listened at the door,’ Marc explained. ‘Verdict: it’s not his sister. Relivaux left there at about seven. I think he’s a dangerous creep.’

‘Don’t jump to conclusions,’ said Vandoosler.

‘Don’t underestimate the enemy,’ said Lucien.

‘Has the hunter-gatherer not come back yet?’ asked Marc. ‘Still up at Le Tonneau?’

‘Yes,’ said Vandoosler. ‘And Sophia hasn’t telephoned. If she wanted to keep the whole thing quiet but at the same time reassure her immediate friends, she would have told Juliette. But there’s been nothing, not a peep. It’s four days now. Tomorrow, St Matthew will call Leguennec. Tonight, I’ll go over with him what he’s to say. The tree, the trench, the mistress, the missing wife. Leguennec will go for it. He’ll come and take a look.’

Mathias telephoned the police. He described the facts in a blank voice.

Leguennec went for it.

By mid-afternoon, two policeman were tackling the beech tree, under orders from Leguennec, who was holding Pierre Relivaux. He had not even questioned Sophia’s husband formally, since he knew he was operating at the limits of legality. Leguennec was acting on impulse, meaning to make himself scarce very fast if nothing turned up. The two men digging under the tree were loyal to him. They wouldn’t talk.

From the second-floor window, Marc, Mathias and Lucien crowded together to watch.

‘It’ll finish off the poor old beech,’ remarked Lucien.

‘Shut up,’ said Marc. ‘Don’t you understand this is serious? Any minute now they could find Sophia underneath it. And you think that’s funny? For the last few days I haven’t even been able to string together any sentences that make sense.’

‘I had noticed,’ said Lucien. ‘You disappoint me.’

‘Well kindly keep your thoughts to yourself. Look at Mathias. He’s managing to control himself. He can keep his mouth shut.’

‘That’s how Mathias always is. One day, it’s going to rebound on him. Hear me, Mathias?’

‘I hear you. See if I care.’

‘You never listen to anyone. You just hear them. That’s a mistake.’

‘Oh, shut up, Lucien,’ cried Marc. ‘I’m telling you, it’s serious. I liked her very much, our Sophia Siméonidis. If they really find her there, it’s going to make me sick to my stomach, and I’m moving out. Hush. One of the flics is looking at something. No, he’s digging again.’

‘Now then,’ said Mathias. ‘Your godfather’s there, coming up behind Leguennec. What’s he up to? Can’t he keep out of the way for once?’

‘No, it’s impossible, he’s got to be everywhere at once,’ said Marc. ‘That’s what he’s done all his life really. Anywhere he isn’t, he thinks is crying out for him to be there. And because he’s spent forty years going here, there and everywhere, he doesn’t know where he is any more, and no-one else does either. In fact, my godfather is a combination of a thousand godfathers rolled into one. He talks like a normal person, he walks about, he goes shopping, but when you try to pin him down, you never know what will appear: a troublemaker, a top policeman, a traitor, a salesman, a creator, a saviour, a destroyer, a sailor, a pioneer, a tramp, an assassin, a protector, a slacker, a prince, a dilettante, a fanatic-whatever. Very practical in some ways. Except it’s not you who gets to choose, it’s him.’

‘I understood,’ said Lucien, ‘that we were supposed not to be saying anything.’

‘I’m on edge,’ said Marc. ‘I have a right to speak. This is my floor we’re on.’

‘While we’re up here, was it you who threw together that stuff I read on your desk? About village trade in the eleventh century? Are those your ideas? Is there any evidence for them?’

‘Nobody gave you leave to read that. If you don’t want to come out of the trenches, nobody’s forcing you.’

‘No, I thought it was good. But what the hell is your godfather up to now?’

Vandoosler had come up silently behind the men who were working. He stood behind Leguennec, being a whole head taller than him. Leguennec was a Breton: short, stocky, with iron-grey hair and broad hands.

‘Hello, Leguennec,’ said Vandoosler softly.

The inspecteur turned round with a start. He stared at Vandoosler, quite overcome.

‘Hey, don’t you recognise your old boss?’ said Vandoosler.

‘Vandoosler…’ said Leguennec slowly. ‘So you’re the one behind this.’

Vandoosler smiled. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘It’s good to see you.’

‘Same here,’ said Leguennec. ‘But…’

‘I know. I won’t let my name appear anywhere. At least not yet. It wouldn’t be right. Don’t worry, I’ll be as discreet as you’ll want to be, if you don’t find anything.’

‘Why did you call me in?’

‘It looked as if it was your kind of problem. And anyway it’s on your patch. And you were always nosy in the old days. You liked to go fishing, and even catching spider crabs.’

‘Do you really think this woman has been killed?’

‘I don’t know. But I’m sure something’s wrong here. Quite sure.’

‘What do you know about it?’

‘No more than you heard this morning in that telephone message. That was a friend of mine. By the way, don’t bother looking for the workmen who dug the first trench: they were friends of mine as well. That will save you some time. Not a word to Relivaux. He thinks I’m trying to help him. He has a weekend mistress in the 15th. I can give you the address if you need it. Otherwise there’s no reason to alert him, we let him stew and then come down on him if we have to.’

‘Naturally,’ said Leguennec.

‘I’m off now. I don’t want to cause trouble for you. And don’t bother to contact me about the tree,’ said Vandoosler pointing to the hole in the ground. ‘I’ll be able to see everything from next door, I live in the attic.’

He made a gesture towards the clouds in the sky and disappeared.

‘They’re filling it in again!’ said Mathias. ‘They didn’t find anything.’

Marc gave a sigh of genuine relief.

‘End of story,’ said Lucien.

He rubbed his arms and legs which were stiff from the long vigil, squeezed between the hunter-gatherer and the medievalist. Marc closed the window.

‘I’m going to tell Juliette,’ said Mathias.

‘Can’t it wait?’ asked Marc. ‘You’re working this evening anyway, aren’t you?’

‘No, it’s Monday. We’re closed on Mondays.’

‘Oh, yes. Well, as you like.’

‘I just thought,’ said Mathias, ‘that it would be an act of kindness to tell her that her friend is not buried under the tree. We’ve all worried enough about it. It’s nicer to think she has just gone off somewhere, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, of course, do as you like.’

Mathias disappeared.

‘What do you think?’ Marc asked Lucien.

‘I think Sophia got a card from this Stelios, that she went to see him, and being fed up with her husband, unhappy in Paris, and feeling homesick for her native land, she’s decided to run off with her Greek. Good idea. I wouldn’t care to sleep with Relivaux. She’ll send a message in a couple of months when the initial turmoil has calmed down. A postcard from Athens.’

‘No, I was talking about Mathias. Mathias and Juliette, what do you think? Haven’t you noticed?’

‘No, nothing special.’

‘Little things? Haven’t you noticed little things?’

Oh, little things. It happens all the time you know. Not worth getting worked up about. Does it bother you? Did you fancy her yourself?’

‘No, no,’ said Marc. ‘I don’t really think anything about it. I’m talking rubbish. Forget it.’

They heard the commissaire climbing the stairs. Without stopping, he called out that there was nothing to report.

‘Cease fire,’ said Lucien.

Before leaving the room, he looked at Marc who was standing at the window. The light was fading.

‘You’d do better to get back to your villages and their trade,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing to see. She’s on some Greek island. She’s playing games. Greek women like playing games.’

‘Where did you get that information?’

‘I just made it up.’

‘You’re probably right. She must have run away.’

‘Would you like to share a bed with Relivaux?’

‘Have a heart,’ said Marc.

‘Well, then, you’ll see. She’s run away.’