The Three Evangelists

XXII

ALEXANDRA ASKED FOR THREE LUMPS OF SUGAR IN HER BOWL OF TEA. Mathias, Lucien and Marc listened to her as she told them how out of the blue-Juliette had said she was looking for a tenant for the garden house, that Kyril’s room was lovely, that the house itself was beautiful and full of light, that she could breathe easily in it, that there were plenty of books to read if she couldn’t sleep, that they could see the flowers from the windows and that Kyril liked flowers. Juliette had taken Kyril off to the restaurant to make some pastry. The day after tomorrow, Monday, he would go to his new school. And she would go to the police station. Alexandra frowned. What did Leguennec want with her now? She had told him everything she knew.

Marc thought this was the moment to launch the bold and painful manœuvre, but it didn’t seem such a good idea any more. He got up and sat on the table to give himself confidence. He had never been very good at sitting normally on a chair.

‘I think I know what he wants from you,’ he began, rather weakly. ‘I could put some questions to you, if you like, to give you a bit of practice.’

Alexandra raised her head with a start. ‘You want to question me too now, do you? So that’s what you all think, is it? You don’t trust me? You think I’m hiding something? Because of Aunt Sophia’s money?’ She had stood up. Marc took hold of her hand to stop her. The contact gave him a frisson in the pit of his stomach. Yes, he had certainly been lying to Lucien when he had said he didn’t want to pounce on her.

‘No, no, that’s not it at all,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you sit down and drink your tea. I could ask you in a friendly way the kind of thing Leguennec will ask brutally. Why not?’

‘I don’t believe you,’ said Alexandra. ‘But I don’t care, if you want to know. Go ahead and ask your questions, I’m not afraid of you or the others, or of Leguennec, I’m not afraid of anyone except myself. Go ahead, Marc. Settle your troubled mind.’

‘I’m going to cut some slices of bread,’ said Mathias.

Alexandra, her face showing strain, was leaning back on her chair and tipping it up.

‘Never mind,’ said Marc. ‘Don’t let’s bother.’

‘That’s my brave soldier,’ muttered Lucien.

‘No, go right ahead,’ said Alexandra. ‘I’m ready for your questions.’

‘Courage, soldier,’ whispered Lucien, walking behind Marc.

‘OK, then,’ said Marc in a dull voice. ‘OK. Leguennec will certainly ask you why you arrived here at just this moment, setting the investigation in motion again, and leading two days later to the discovery of your aunt’s body. If you hadn’t turned up, the case would have sat in the files, and everyone would have thought your Aunt Sophia was on some Greek island. And without a body, there’s no death, and without a death, there’s no inheritance.’

‘So what? I already told you. I came because Aunt Sophia suggested it to me. I needed to leave home. It wasn’t a secret from anyone.’

‘Apart from your mother.’

The three men all turned round towards the door where, once again, Vandoosler was standing, having come silently downstairs.

‘We didn’t invite you down,’ said Marc.

‘No,’ said Vandoosler. ‘You don’t often invite me down these days, but it doesn’t stop me intruding, you will observe.’

‘Oh, go away,’ said Marc. ‘What I’m doing is difficult enough as it is.’

‘Because you’re setting about it in a stupid way. You want to forestall Leguennec? To undo the knots before he gets there, and free the young lady? Well, if that’s your plan, at least do it properly. May I?’ he said to Alexandra, sitting down beside her.

‘I don’t seem to have any choice,’ said Alexandra. ‘If I have to, I’d prefer to be questioned by a real flic, even if he’s bent, as you keep telling me, than by three pretend flics whose motives are more doubtful. Except for Mathias’ decision to cut some bread, which is a good idea. Go ahead, I’m listening.’

‘Leguennec telephoned your mother. She knew you were coming to Paris. She knew the reason. Heartbreak, we call it, a sort of shorthand. Too small a word for what it stands for.’

‘You know all about broken hearts, do you?’ said Alexandra, who was still frowning.

‘Oh yes,’ said Vandoosler slowly. ‘Because I have caused some in my time. One rather serious one in particular. Yes, I do know about heartbreak.’

Vandoosler ran his hands through his black and white hair. There was a silence. Marc had rarely heard his uncle speak so simply and seriously. Vandoosler, his face calm, was quietly drumming his fingers on the table. Alexandra was watching him.

‘Let’s move on,’ he said. ‘Yes, I know the score on that one.’

Alexandra bowed her head. Vandoosler asked whether tea was compulsory, or whether one was allowed to drink something else.

‘That is to say,’ he went on, pouring himself a drink, ‘that I believe you when you say you ran away. I knew it was true from the start. Leguennec checked up, and your mother confirmed it. Since you had been on your own with Kyril for a year, you had been wanting to go to Paris. But what your mother did not know was that Sophia had agreed to put you up. You had told her you would go to friends.’

‘My mother has always been a bit jealous of her sister,’ Alexandra said. ‘I didn’t want her to think I was leaving her for Sophia, I didn’t want to risk hurting her. Us Greeks, you know, we imagine all kinds of things, and we like to. Or so my grandmother used to say.’

‘A generous motive,’ Vandoosler replied. ‘OK. Let’s go on to what Leguennec might be imagining. Alexandra Haufman, unhinged by distress, desperate for revenge…’

‘Revenge?’ whispered Alexandra. ‘What revenge?’

‘Don’t interrupt me, please. A policeman’s strength lies either in a long monologue that crushes the opposition, or in a rapid response that kills it dead. You should never deprive a policeman of these well-rehearsed pleasures. Or he might turn nasty. When you see Leguennec the day after tomorrow, don’t interrupt him. So, as I was saying, desperate for revenge, disillusioned, embittered, determined to find a way of getting on top, short of cash, envious of your aunt’s fortunate style of life, looking for a way to avenge your mother who has never succeeded, in spite of a few pathetic attempts at singing, now lost to memory, you plan to eliminate your aunt, and get your hands on a big share of the inheritance, through your mother.’

‘Brilliant,’ said Alexandra, through clenched teeth. ‘Didn’t I tell you already that I was very fond of Aunt Sophia?’

‘That’s both childish and naïve as a defence, young lady. A police inspector doesn’t listen to that kind of talk, if he has pinpointed both the motive and the means. Especially since you haven’t seen your aunt for ten years. That doesn’t quite fit the picture of an affectionate niece. OK, let’s go on. You had a car in Lyon. Why did you come by train? And why, the day before you left, did you take the car to the garage and ask the garage owner to put it up for sale, saying that you thought it was too old to take all the way to Paris?’

‘How do you know that?’

‘Your mother told me that you had sold your car. I telephoned all the garages in your district until I found the right one.’

‘But what’s wrong with that?’ cried Marc suddenly. ‘What are you on about? Leave her alone, for heaven’s sake!’

‘Look, Marc,’ sighed Vandoosler, looking up. ‘You wanted to help her rehearse for Leguennec? That’s what I’m doing. You want to play the policeman, and you can’t even take the first set of questions. I know what she really will be up against on Monday. So shut up and listen. And you, St Matthew, can you tell me why you are slicing the bread as if you were expecting twenty people to dinner.’

‘To make me feel comfortable,’ said Mathias. ‘Anyway Lucien eats the slices. Lucien likes bread.’

Vandoosler sighed again and turned back to Alexandra, whose tears were welling up as her anxiety grew. She wiped her eyes with a tea towel.

‘You’ve already done all that?’ she asked. ‘You’ve made all those phone calls, asked all those questions. Is it such a crime to sell your car? It was clapped out. I didn’t want to risk driving it all the way to Paris with Kyril. And anyway it brought back memories. I got rid of it. Is that a crime?’

‘Let me pursue the same line of reasoning,’ said Vandoosler. ‘The week before that, let’s say on the Wednesday, you leave Kyril with your mother, and you drive to Paris in your car, which isn’t, by the way, as clapped out as all that, according to the man at the garage.’

Lucien, who was as usual pacing round the table, took the tea towel out of Alexandra’s hands and replaced it with a handkerchief.

‘It wasn’t very clean,’ he whispered.

‘… not as clapped out as all that,’ repeated Vandoosler.

‘I told you, the car brought back memories!’ said Alexandra. ‘If you can understand why people run away, you can surely understand why they might want to sell their fucking car!’

‘Yes, indeed. But if these memories were so painful, why didn’t you get rid of the car sooner?’

‘Because… because you think twice about dumping the fucking memories!’ cried Alexandra.

‘A word of advice, Alexandra. Don’t say “fucking” twice to a policeman. With me, it doesn’t matter. But on Monday don’t do it. Leguennec won’t react, but he won’t like it. Don’t say “fucking” to him. Anyway you should never say it to a Breton, the Breton gets to say it to you. That’s the rule.’

‘So why did you call in Leguennec in the first place?’ asked Marc. ‘If he isn’t going to believe a blind word anyone says, and if he doesn’t like people saying “fucking” to him?’

‘Because Leguennec is a good officer; because he’s a friend; because it was on his patch; because he will pick up all the possible clues for us; and because at the end of the day I’ll be able to do what I want with the clues. I’m talking about me, Armand Vandoosler.’

‘So you say,’ cried Marc.

‘Stop shouting, St Mark, it won’t get you to heaven, and stop interrupting me. I’ll continue. Alexandra, you gave up your job three weeks ago, because of your plan to leave Lyon. You sent a postcard to your aunt with a star on it, and a rendezvous in Lyon. The whole family knows about the old affair with Stelios and they all know what a star would mean to Sophia. You get to Paris in the evening, you intercept your aunt and you tell her some story about Stelios being in Lyon, you take her off in your car, and you kill her. Right? You dump the body somewhere, in Fontainebleau forest, for instance, or Marly forest, whatever, in some remote spot, so that she won’t be found too quickly-because that will make it harder to date the time of death and alibis will be hard to disprove. And you go back to Lyon the next morning. Days pass, nothing in the papers. That’s fine, it’s what you wanted. But then you start to get anxious. The spot is too remote. No body, no inheritance. It’s time to come back again. You sell the car, you take care to explain that you would never take it to Paris, and you come up by train. You make sure somebody notices you, by sitting stupidly in the rain with the little boy, without even going to the nearest café for shelter. You certainly don’t want anyone to think that Sophia disappeared voluntarily. So you make a fuss, and the police enquiries start up again. You borrow your aunt’s car on Wednesday night, you go off to fetch the corpse, taking great care to leave no traces in the boot of the car-and that’s a painful task, you need plastic bags, protective material, various grisly details-and you transfer it to an abandoned old car in some street in a low-class district. You set it on fire, so as to destroy all trace of the handling, the transport and the plastic bags. You know that Sophia’s little good-luck stone will survive the fire. It had already survived the volcano that spewed it up. So, the job is done, the corpse is satisfactorily identified. You don’t officially borrow the car your uncle offers you until the next day. And then the story is that you just want to drive round in the night, without any special purpose. Or perhaps you wanted to cover up for the night when you were driving with a very precise purpose, just in case somebody saw you. And one more thing. Don’t look for your aunt’s car. It went off to the forensic lab to be examined yesterday morning.’

‘Yes, I know, you don’t have to tell me,’ Alexandra interrupted.

‘They’ll examine the boot, the seats and so on,’ Vandoosler went on. ‘You must have heard of the kind of thing. You’ll get it back when they’ve finished with it. There we are, that’s all,’ he said, patting the young woman’s shoulder.

Alexandra sat quite still, with the vacant look of one who is surveying a scene of total disaster. Marc was wondering whether he should kick his bloody godfather out of the house once and for all, take him by the shoulders of his impeccable grey jacket, punch him in his beautiful face, and push him out of the window.

Vandoosler looked up and met his eyes, ‘I know what you’re thinking, Marc. It would make you feel better, I’m sure. But save your breath and leave me alone. I can be useful, whatever happens, and whatever they pin on her.’

Marc remembered the murderer whom Vandoosler had allowed to get away, against all the rules of justice. He was trying not to panic, but the scenario that his godfather had outlined was perfectly plausible. Very plausible even. He suddenly heard once more Kyril’s little voice saying that he wanted to have supper with them because he’d had enough of the car. Had Alexandra taken him with her the previous night? The night she had gone to fetch the body? No, surely not, it was too awful to contemplate. The child must have been thinking of some other journey. Alexandra had been driving round at night for eleven months.

Marc looked at the others. Mathias was crumbling a piece of bread. Lucien was dusting a shelf with the dirty tea towel. And he was waiting for Alexandra to react, to explain, to start shouting.

‘It makes a lot of sense,’ she said at last.

‘Yes, it makes sense,’ Vandoosler agreed.

‘You’re crazy, say something else!’ Marc beseeched Alexandra.

‘She’s not crazy at all,’ said Vandoosler. ‘She’s very intelligent.’

‘But what about the others?’ said Marc. ‘She’s not the only one who would inherit Sophia’s money. There’s her mother…’

Alexandra clenched the handkerchief in her fist.

‘Her mother’s out of it,’ said Vandoosler. ‘She hasn’t budged from Lyon. She’s been to her office every day, Saturdays included. She works part time and fetches Kyril from school every afternoon. Cast-iron and checked.’

‘Thank you,’ breathed Alexandra.

‘Well, what about Relivaux?’ asked Marc. ‘He must surely be the one who stands to get the most, isn’t he? And, what’s more, he has a mistress.’

‘Relivaux’s not looking too good, that’s true. Quite a few night-time disappearances since his wife vanished. But he didn’t do anything to try and find her, remember. No body, no inheritance.’

‘Oh, come on. He knew she’d be found sooner or later.’

‘It’s possible,’ conceded Vandoosler. ‘Leguennec isn’t letting him off the hook, don’t worry.’

‘And what about the rest of the family?’ asked Marc. ‘Lex. Who else is there in the family?’

‘Ask your uncle. He seems to know everything before anyone else does.’

‘Eat some bread,’ Mathias said to Marc. ‘It’ll relax your jaw.’

‘D’you think so?’

Mathias nodded and passed him a slice, which Marc munched idiotically, as he listened to Vandoosler communicating more information.

‘The third inheritor is Sophia’s father, who lives in Dourdan,’ Vandoosler said. ‘Siméonidis père is one of his daughter’s greatest fans. He never missed any of her concerts. In fact he met his second wife at the Paris Opera. The second wife had come along to see her son, who just had a walk-on part, and she was very proud of him. And she was also very proud to have met, simply by the accident of being next to him in the stalls, the father of the prima donna. She probably thought he could help her son, but things went further, they got married and they live in his house in Dourdan. Two points: Siméonidis isn’t rich, and he can still drive. But the bottom line is this: he’s passionately devoted to his daughter. He was absolutely prostrated to hear of her death, he has collected everything there is to know about her, press cuttings, photos, the lot. Apparently it takes up a whole room in his house. So – true or false?’

‘Well, it’s what the family say,’ Alexandra murmured. ‘He’s a nice old man, a bit bossy, maybe, but he married a stupid woman second time round. She’s younger than him, and she seems to be able to do what she likes, except where Sophia is concerned. Anything to do with Sophia is sacred, and she’s not allowed to poke her nose in.’

‘This woman’s son is a bit odd.’

‘Aha,’ said Marc.

‘Don’t get too excited,’ said Vandoosler. ‘Just odd in the sense that he’s a bit slow, a bit gormless, doesn’t settle to anything, a bit of a voyeur, I’d say, and living off his mother’s money at the age of forty. He’s pretty useless: now and again he gets some little business going, but it doesn’t last-in short, he’s pathetic rather than sinister. Sophia got him a few more walk-on parts, but even when he didn’t have to say anything, he was no good, and he soon got tired of it.’

Alexandra was wiping the table absently with the handkerchief Lucien had given her. Lucien was looking concerned about the handkerchief. Mathias got up to go and work at Le Tonneau. He said he would give Kyril something to eat in the kitchen there, then take a few minutes off to bring him back to the garden house. Alexandra smiled at him.

Mathias went upstairs to get changed. Juliette had insisted that he be properly dressed under his waiter’s uniform. This was tough for Mathias. He felt as if he were bursting under three layers of clothes. But he understood Juliette’s point of view. She had also requested that he stop getting changed half in the kitchen, half in the restaurant when the customers had left, ‘in case someone saw him’. Mathias failed to see what was so embarrassing about that, but he didn’t want to upset her. So now he got changed in his bedroom, which meant he had to leave the house fully dressed, underpants, socks, shoes, black trousers, shirt, bow tie, waistcoat, jacket and he felt really uncomfortable. But he liked the work. It was the kind of job that doesn’t stop you thinking while you’re doing it. And sometimes, if they weren’t too busy, Juliette let him go home early. He would not have minded staying all night with her, but since he said very little, she was unlikely to guess that. So she let him go home. As he buttoned up his hateful waistcoat, Mathias thought about Alexandra and the number of slices of bread he had had to cut to keep the situation under control. Vandoosler senior certainly didn’t beat about the bush. All the same it was amazing how many slices of bread Lucien could eat.

Once Mathias had gone, everyone fell silent. It was often like that living with Mathias, Marc reflected. When he was there, he hardly said anything and nobody took any notice of him. But when he left, it was as if the stone bridge they had all been standing on had suddenly disappeared and they had to find their balance again. He shivered and gave himself a shake.

‘You’re sleepy, soldier,’ said Lucien.

‘No, I’m just moving about while sitting still. It’s a question of tectonic plates, but you wouldn’t understand.’

Vandoosler stood up and with a touch of his hand got Alexandra to look at him.

‘Yes, your version makes plenty of sense,’ Alexandra repeated. ‘Sophia’s father couldn’t possibly have killed her, because he loved her. His stepson couldn’t have done it, because he’s too useless. His mother couldn’t, because she’s too silly. My mother couldn’t have, because she’s my mother. Anyway she never left Lyon. So that leaves me. And I’ve been running about all over the place, I’ve told my mother lies, I sold my car, I haven’t seen Aunt Sophia for ten years, I’m bitter and twisted, I got the police to start up their enquiries when I got here, I haven’t got a job, I went out driving at night with no proper reason. I’m sunk. Well, I was already in deep trouble anyway.’

‘So are we,’ said Marc. ‘But there’s a difference between being in deep trouble and being sunk. You might be floundering if you’re in trouble, but you’re under water if you’re sunk. Not at all the same thing.’

‘Don’t play word games,’ said Vandoosler. ‘She doesn’t need that at this point.’

‘A little word game from time to time doesn’t hurt anyone,’ objected Marc.

‘What I told Alexandra is more useful to her just now. All the mistakes she made tonight, panicking, crying, getting angry, interrupting me, saying “fucking” twice, shouting, looking defeated and confused, she won’t make them on Monday. Tomorrow she’s going to lie in, read a book, take the child out to the park or down to the Seine. Leguennec will probably have her followed. That’s likely to be arranged. She mustn’t give any sign of noticing that. On Monday, she will take the child to school, and then go to the police station. She knows what they’re going to say. She will tell the truth as she sees it, without being aggressive, and that will be the best thing to slow down the investigation.’

‘She’ll tell the truth, but Leguennec won’t believe her.’

‘I didn’t say “the truth”, I said “the truth as she sees it”’.

‘Do you think she’s guilty then?’ Marc exploded again.

Vandoosler raised his hands and dropped them back onto his knees. ‘Marc, it may take a little time to make “the truth” and “the truth as she sees it” mean exactly the same thing. Time is what we need right now. And I’m trying to gain a little time. Leguennec’s a good detective, but he tends to want to catch his whale right away. He’s a harpooner, and yes, they’re necessary. But I prefer to stalk the whale, let it dive, let out a bit of rope, watch where it comes up, try again and so on. Take my time.’

‘But what do you expect from more time?’ Alexandra asked.

‘Reactions. After a murder, nothing stands still. I’m waiting for reactions, even little ones. They will happen. One just has to be on the lookout for them.’

‘And you’re going to sit up in your attic waiting for reactions?’ said Marc. ‘Without going anywhere, without looking for clues, without budging? You think reactions are going to fall on your head like pigeon shit? Do you know how often I’ve been hit by pigeon shit in the twenty-three years I’ve lived in Paris? Just once, that’s all. And there are millions and millions of pigeons flying around every day. So what on earth do you expect? That something is going to turn up on your doorstep?’

‘Just so,’ said Vandoosler, ‘because this…’

‘This is the front line,’ said Lucien.

Vandoosler stood up and nodded. ‘He catches on fast, your Great War friend.’

There was a heavy silence. Vandoosler felt in his pockets, and found two five-franc pieces. He chose the brighter and disappeared into the cellar where they kept the tools. They heard the sound of an electric drill. Then he came back, holding the coin which now had a hole through it, and nailed it to the upright wooden beam on the left of of the fireplace.

‘Have you finished this circus act?’ Marc said.

‘Since we’re talking whaling, I’m nailing this coin to the mainmast. It will go to whoever catches the murderer.’

‘Do you have to?’ said Marc. ‘Sophia is dead, and you’re playing games. You want to be Captain Ahab. It’s pathetic.’

‘It’s not pathetic, it’s symbolic. There’s a difference. Bread and symbols, not circuses. That’s basic.’

‘And you’re the captain of the ship, of course?’

Vandoosler shook his head. ‘I don’t know the answer. It’s not a race. I want to catch the murderer and I want everyone to work at it.’

‘You’ve been more indulgent towards murderers in the past,’ said Marc.

Vandoosler turned round sharply. ‘This one,’ he said, ‘will get no indulgence from me. This one is a bastard.’

‘You know that already?’

‘Oh yes. This one is a killer. A real killer, you understand? Good night everyone.’