The Three Evangelists

XXIII

ON MONDAY, AT ABOUT MIDDAY, MARC HEARD A CAR DRAW UP AT THE gate. Dropping his pencil, he rushed to the window. Vandoosler was getting out of a taxi with Alexandra. The old man accompanied her to the garden house next door and came back humming to himself. So that was what he had been doing: he had gone to pick her up from the police station. Marc clenched his teeth. The subtle omnipotence of his godfather was beginning to infuriate him. A vein was throbbing in his temple. He couldn’t help these attacks of blind fury. The tectonic plates were shifting. How on earth did Mathias manage to remain so foursquare and laconic, even though nothing was working out for him either? Marc felt as if he was wasting away with exasperation. He had practically chewed his way through a pencil that morning spitting splinters of wood onto the paper. Perhaps he should try wearing sandals? No, that was ridiculous. Not only would he have cold feet, but he would lose the last shreds of originality he possessed, which lay in his sophisticated clothes. No, sandals were definitely out.

Marc tightened his silver belt and smoothed his tight black trousers. Alexandra hadn’t even come over to see them the night before.

But then why should she? Now that she had her own little house, she had her independence and freedom. She was the kind of girl who liked to feel free, and one had to watch out. Still, she had spent Sunday doing exactly what Vandoosler had told her to. She had gone to the park with Kyril. Mathias had seen them playing ball and had joined in for a while. The June sunshine was warm. The idea had not even occurred to Marc. Mathias knew how to perform quiet comforting acts which Marc would never have dreamed of, they were so simple. Marc had gone back to his study of village trade in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, though his enthusiasm for it had waned. The problem of the surplus of rural production was so treacherous that you had to lie flat on top of it, if you weren’t to plunge up to your waist in its quicksands. Bloody complicated. He might have done better to go and play ball; at least you can see what you’re throwing and what you’re catching. As for the godfather, he had spent the whole day perched on his chair, watching the neighbourhood from his skylight, the silly old bugger. Playing at being the watcher on high or the captain of the ship might make him look important to those who didn’t know him, but that kind of showing off was not going to impress Marc.

He heard Vandoosler climbing the stairs, but didn’t move, determined not to let his uncle have the satisfaction of hearing him asking for news. But Marc’s resolve weakened quickly, as it generally did over little things, and twenty minutes later, he was opening the attic door.

The godfather was standing on a chair, peering out through the skylight.

‘You look really stupid like that,’ said Marc. ‘What are you waiting for? Reactions? Pigeon shit? Moby Dick?’

‘I’m not doing anyone any harm that I can see,’ said Vandoosler, getting down from the chair. ‘Why are you so worked up?’

‘You’re making out you’re important, indispensable. You’re Mr Big. That’s what gets on my nerves.’

‘Yes, I agree, it’s annoying. But you’re used to it and it doesn’t usually bother you. Now, because I’m doing something for Lex, that rankles. You’re forgetting that if I am keeping my eye on her, it’s to avoid worse things happening for everyone. Do you want to be the one who does it? You don’t have the experience. And since you get worked up and don’t listen to anything I say, you’re unlikely to acquire it. In any case, you don’t have any pull with Leguennec. So if you want to help her, you’re going to have to put up with my interference. And you may even have to do what I tell you, because I can’t be everywhere at once. You and the other evangelists could be useful.’

‘What for?’

‘Wait, now is too soon.’

‘You’re waiting for the pigeon shit to start falling?’

‘Call it that if you like.’

‘Are you sure it will happen?’

‘Pretty sure. Alexandra played her cards well at the session this morning. Leguennec has been slowed down. But he’s got hold of something that’s not to her advantage. Do you want to know what it is, or don’t you care to be involved in what I’m up to?’

Marc sat down.

‘They examined Sophia’s car and in the boot they found two hairs. They are certainly Sophia’s.’

Vandoosler rubbed his hands together and chuckled.

‘And you think that’s funny?’ cried Marc, in despair.

‘Hold your horses, young Vandoosler, how many times do I have to tell you?’ He laughed again and poured himself a drink. ‘Do you want some?’

‘No thanks. But that’s serious, finding hairs. And you’re laughing. It’s disgusting. You’re cynical and sick. Unless… unless you think they won’t lead anywhere. After all, if it was Sophia’s car, it’s not surprising that they found some of her hairs inside.’

‘In the boot?’

‘Why not? They could come from a coat or something?’

‘Sophia Siméonidis wasn’t like you. She wouldn’t have chucked her coat in the boot. No, I was thinking of something else. Don’t worry. A police investigation doesn’t depend on one little clue. I have plenty up my sleeve. And if you would just take the trouble to settle down and stop worrying about my getting too friendly with Alexandra, and remember that I brought you up, and not as badly as all that, in spite of your dopey habits and my own, and if you would just give me a little credit, and keep your fists in your pockets, I have a small favour to ask of you.’

Marc thought for a moment. The business of the hair was really worrying him. The old man looked as if he knew more than he was saying. Anyway there was no point putting the question, he was not about to throw his uncle, read godfather, out of the house. And that, as Vandoosler would say himself, was the bottom line.

‘OK, go ahead,’ Marc sighed.

‘This afternoon, I have to go out. They are going to question Relivaux’s mistress and they’re seeing him again too. I’m going to hang around. And I need a watchman here for the pigeon shit, if it happens. You could replace me as look-out.’

‘What do I have to do?’

‘Just stay up here. Don’t go away, not even down to the shops. You never know. Stay at the window.’

‘But what am I supposed to be looking out for, for heaven’s sake?’

‘I don’t know. That’s why you have to be on the look-out. Even for something very ordinary. OK?’

‘OK. But I still don’t see where this is getting us. Anyway, if you do go out, bring back some bread and half a dozen eggs. Lucien is teaching until six. I was supposed to do the shopping.’

‘Is there anything there for lunch?’

‘There’s a bit of cold meat from the other day. Not very tempting. Shall we go to Le Tonneau?’

‘It’s shut on Mondays. Anyway, I told you, we can’t leave the house unoccupied, remember?’

‘Not even to get something to eat?’

‘No. We’ll eat the cold meat. Then you can go back up to the window and wait. Please do not take a book with you. Stay at the window and keep your eyes open.’

‘I’m going to be bored out of my skull,’ said Marc.

‘No, you won’t, you’ll see, there’s plenty to look at out there.’

From one-thirty on, Marc was grumpily at his post at the second-floor window. It was raining. There weren’t many people in their little street as a rule, and even fewer when it was raining. And it was hard to see who was going past under umbrellas. As Marc had predicted, absolutely nothing happened. Two ladies went up the street one way, a man went the other. Then Juliette’s brother ventured out at about half-past two, under a large black umbrella. They certainly didn’t often see plump Georges. He worked on and off, when the publishers sent him to make a delivery in the provinces. He would be away a week then home for a few days. So you might meet him out for a walk or having a beer somewhere. He was a pleasant enough chap, with fair skin like his sister, but you didn’t get much out of him. He would pass the time of day, but didn’t get conversation. He never came to the restaurant. Marc had not dared to ask Juliette about him, but she did not seem over-proud of her overweight brother, still living with his sister when he was nearly forty. She didn’t talk about him much. It was rather as if she was protecting him. He was never seen in the company of a woman, so Lucien had hinted that he was perhaps Juliette’s lover. But that was absurd. The physical resemblance was plain to see, although she was the good-looking version, and he wasn’t. Disappointed, but bowing to the evidence, Lucien had changed tack and said he had seen Georges going into a special shop in the red-light district. Marc shrugged. Lucien liked making up stories, delicate or indelicate.

At about three o’clock, he saw Juliette come running in, protecting her head with a cardboard box, then Mathias, following her more slowly, made his way home. On Mondays, he often went to help Juliette get in the week’s supplies. He was dripping wet, but of course that didn’t bother him. Then another woman came past. Then another man a quarter of an hour later. Everyone was hurrying because of the rain. Mathias knocked at the door to ask for a pen. He hadn’t even dried his hair.

‘What are you doing there?’ he asked.

‘I’m on duty,’ Marc replied wearily. ‘The commissaire has told me to be the look-out. So I’m looking out.’

‘Ah. What for?’

‘That’s what I don’t know. Needless to say, nothing whatsoever has happened yet. They found two of Sophia’s hairs in the boot of the car that Lex borrowed.’

‘Ah. Not good.’

‘You said it. But the godfather just laughs. Oh look, here comes the postman.’

‘D’you want me to take over?’

‘No thanks. I’m getting used to it. I’m the only one here who’s not working. So it does me good to have a mission, even if it’s a pointless one.’

Mathias pocketed a pen, and Marc stayed at his post. Ladies went by with umbrellas. Schoolchildren started to come home. Alexandra went past with little Kyril. Without giving a glance at their house. And why should she?

Pierre Relivaux parked his car shortly before six. They must have given his car a going-over as well. He slammed the garden gate. Being interrogated by detectives does not improve anyone’s temper. He must have been alarmed that the business of his mistress in the 15th arrondissement would reach the ears of his superiors at the ministry. Nobody knew yet when the burial could take place of the pathetic remains of Sophia. The police were still holding on to them. But Marc did not expect Relivaux to collapse at the funeral. He looked concerned, but not devastated by his wife’s death. At any rate, if he was the murderer, he was certainly not play-acting, which was a strategy like any other, Marc supposed. At about six-thirty, Lucien came back. Goodbye peace and quiet. Then Vandoosler, soaked to the skin. Marc stretched his limbs, now stiff from sitting still. It reminded him of the time they had watched the police digging under the tree. Nobody mentioned the tree any more. And yet, it had all started with that. Marc couldn’t forget it. That tree.

Well, that was a waste of an afternoon. No excitement, not even any minor incident, or the slightest pigeon shit. Nothing.

Marc went downstairs to report to the godfather who was lighting a fire to dry himself by.

‘Nothing to report. I’ve got a crick in my neck from keeping watch for five hours. What about you? How is the questioning going?’

‘Leguennec is starting to clam up on me. We may be friends, but he’s got his pride. He doesn’t know which way to turn next, so he doesn’t want me to be an eyewitness. And because of my record, he only trusts me up to a point. And he’s further up in the hierarchy these days. He’s getting fed up at finding me under his feet all the time. He thinks I’m laughing at him. Especially since I did laugh when they found the hairs.’

‘And why was that, by the way?’

‘Tactics, my boy, tactics. Poor old Leguennec. He thought he was on to something and now he has half a dozen potential culprits, any of whom would fit the bill. I’m going to have to invite him round to play cards to get him to loosen up.’

‘Half a dozen? What do you mean? Were there some more candidates?’

‘Well, I pointed out to Leguennec that young Alexandra might have got off to a bad start, but that was no reason to risk putting his foot in it. Don’t forget that I’m trying to buy some time. That’s the whole point. So I suggested plenty of other plausible suspects. This afternoon, Relivaux, who is putting up a good defence, made a favourable impression on him. So I had to add my two pennyworth. Relivaux insists that he never went near his wife’s car. That he gave Alexandra the keys. I had to tell Leguennec that Relivaux had kept the spares at home. In fact, I brought them in for him. What do you think of that, eh?’

The fire had started to blaze up in the fireplace and Marc had always liked that brief moment when the flames jump up wildly, before the kindling collapses and ordinary burning takes over, which is captivating too, but for other reasons. Lucien arrived and warmed himself. It was June, but their hands still felt cold in the upper rooms at night. Except for Mathias, of course, who had just come in stripped to the waist to start cooking the supper. Mathias had a muscular but practically hairless torso.

‘Well, fantastic,’ said Marc suspiciously. ‘How did you get hold of the keys?’

Vandoosler sighed.

‘Oh. I get it. You broke in while he was away. You’re going to get us into big trouble.’

‘You pinched a hare the other day,’ replied Vandoosler. ‘Old habits die hard. I wanted to see inside his house. I had a good look round. Letters, receipts, keys. He’s a methodical fellow, Relivaux. Nothing compromising lying about.’

‘How did you find the keys?’

‘Easy. They were hidden behind the letter C of The Larousse Encyclopedia. The fact that he hid the keys doesn’t necessarily mean he’s guilty, though. He’s probably scared and it might have seemed simpler to say he didn’t have a spare.’

‘Why not just throw them away?’

‘In times of stress, it might be useful to have a car to which in theory you don’t have a key. As for his own car, it’s been given a thorough going over. Nothing to report.’

‘And the mistress?’

‘She didn’t stand up for long to Leguennec. St Luke was wrong about her. She’s not happy just to be Relivaux’s ladylove, she’s using him. He’s subsidising her and her real boyfriend, who doesn’t seem to mind pushing off when Relivaux turns up for the weekend. Not being the world’s most perceptive character, Relivaux doesn’t suspect a thing, according to the girl. Occasionally the two men have bumped into each other, but he thinks the boyfriend is her brother. According to her, he was happy with things as they stood, and I can’t see what she would have to gain by marrying him, since that would rob her of her freedom. And I can’t see what Relivaux would get out of it either. Sophia Siméonidis was a much more prestigious wife for him to show off in the social circles he aspired to. I did probe a bit harder though. I suggested that Elizabeth-that’s the girl-might be lying all along the line, and was really hoping to benefit from the advantages of hooking Relivaux, once he had got rid of his wife and inherited her money. She might have succeeded in marrying him, since she’s strung him along for six years, she’s quite pretty and a lot younger than he is.’

‘And the other suspects?’

‘Naturally, I lined up Sophia’s stepmother and her son. They have alibis for each other on the night of the Maisons-Alfort fire, but it’s entirely possible that one of them went there. It isn’t far from Dourdan. Nearer than Lyon, for sure.’

‘That still doesn’t give us half a dozen,’ objected Marc. ‘Who else have you suggested to Leguennec?’

‘Well, there’s St Luke, St Matthew and you. That will give him plenty to think about.’

Marc leapt up from his seat, while Lucien smiled. ‘For Christ’s sake! Are you crazy?’

‘Do you want to help Alexandra, yes or no?’

‘For crying out loud! It won’t help Alexandra one bit. And what earthly reason would Leguennec have to suspect us?’

‘No problem,’ Lucien intervened. ‘Three unoccupied men in their mid-thirties in a chaotic house. See? Not very respectable neighbours, are they? One of them takes the lady out, then brutally rapes her and sets fire to the car to cover his tracks.’

‘What about the postcard, then?’ shouted Marc. ‘The postcard with the star and the appointment? Did we send that too?’

‘It does complicate things a bit,’ Lucien conceded. ‘Let’s imagine that the lady had talked a bit about Stelios, and about the card she received three months ago. To explain her fears and to persuade us to dig under the tree. Don’t forget that, we did dig up her garden.’

‘As if I could forget that damned tree.’

‘Well,’ Lucien went on, ‘to lure the lady out of her house, one of us used the same rather crude trick, met her at the Gare de Lyon, took her somewhere else and so forth.’

‘But Sophia didn’t say anything to any of us about Stelios!’

‘Maybe not, but see if the police care. They would only have our word for it, and that wouldn’t carry much weight if we were already looking bad.’

‘Oh, that’s just perfect.’ Marc was trembling with anger. ‘Perfect. My godfather has such brilliant ideas. OK-what about him? With his record, and his fantastic adventures in the police force, and with women, he might fit the bill. So what do you think, Monsieur le Commissaire?’

Vandoosler shook his head.

‘No, think about it. Old men of sixty-eight don’t suddenly start going about raping people. If they were like that, they’d have a bit of form already. Any policeman will tell you that. But men in their thirties, living on their own, and a bit peculiar with it, well, who can tell what they might get up to?’

Lucien burst out laughing. ‘Priceless!’ he said. ‘You really are priceless, commissaire. Your hints to Leguennec are just hilarious.’

‘I don’t see the joke,’ said Marc.

‘That’s because you are pure in heart,’ said Lucien, patting him on the shoulder. ‘You don’t want to have a stain on your escutcheon. But your image is not what’s at stake here. It’s just a matter of creating a diversion. Leguennec can’t prove anything against us. But by the time he runs a check on us, where we’re from, what we’ve done, etcetera, etcetera, we’ll have bought another day, and he’ll have had two of his men tied up for hours for nothing. That’s at least one we can put across the enemy.’

‘I still think it’s stupid.’

‘No, I bet Mathias finds it funny-don’t you Mathias?’

Mathias gave a brief smile. ‘If you want to know, I couldn’t care less,’ he said.

‘We could have the police on our backs, thinking we might have raped Sophia, and you couldn’t care less?’ asked Marc.

‘So what? I know I’ll never rape a woman. What anyone else might think is of no consequence, because I know the truth.’

Marc sighed.

‘The hunter-gatherer is wise,’ suggested Lucien. ‘And what’s more, since he’s been working in Le Tonneau, he has started to learn to cook. Since I am neither wise nor pure, I propose we have something to eat.’

‘Eating, that’s all you think about, that and the Great War,’ said Marc.

‘Let’s eat,’ said Vandoosler.

He came up behind Marc and squeezed his shoulder. It was the same kind of touch his uncle had used ever since he was a small boy when they had had a row, a gesture that meant ‘Calm down, young Vandoosler, I’m on your side, don’t get so worked up, you’re too jumpy, calm down.’ As he felt this quick squeeze, Marc felt his anger subside. Alexandra had not been charged with anything, at least, and that was what the old man had been working on for the last four days. Marc glanced at him. Expressionless, Vandoosler was sitting at the table. Love him or hate him, it was hard to decide. But he was his uncle, and Marc, despite all his protests, trusted him at heart. Well, for some things, anyway.