Present Danger

47

Martin Seurat put down the phone. The poor girl. She sounds distressed, he thought, looking out of the window of his office at the thin sprinkling of late snow that lay like powdered sugar on the old parade ground. Not surprising. She seems to have a mass murderer loose in Belfast, bodies buried in the countryside and her colleague still missing. Unfortunately he had nothing new to tell her. There had still been no sign of Mattapan III in French waters and Isabelle had so far turned up nothing useful from the checks in Bandol and Toulon. Milraud and Piggott, if they were together, seemed to have disappeared, along with Liz Carlyle’s colleague. He couldn’t understand what had got into Milraud.

Liz Carlyle had wanted to know if Milraud had a boat. There was nothing on his files about a boat, though given where Milraud lived and the business he was in, he must have one.

Seurat was just about to pick up the phone to the DCRI to pass on the enquiry to Isabelle when his phone rang again.

It was Isabelle. ‘I have some news for your Liz Carlyle. Milraud has been in touch with his wife. The conversation was most uninformative and it’s clear they know we are listening. The call came from Majorca, so yesterday he was in the Mediterranean region. You can tell her we’re happy to share the information with the Spanish if she wants to involve them.’

‘Many thanks, Isabelle. I’ll pass that on. Just before you phoned, she rang to ask whether Milraud owned a boat. I have no record here of such a thing. But could Milraud have been at sea when he made that call?’

‘Possibly. But I have something else for your Liz. Tell me, how well do you know the wines of Provence?’

‘What?’ he said, puzzled. ‘What’s that to do with Liz?’

‘Seriously, Martin, have you ever come across a wine called Chateau Fermette?’

A small farmhouse chateau – the name a joke, he supposed. He sighed. ‘No, Isabelle, I haven’t. Are you doing a crossword puzzle?’

‘Martin, you sound cross. Don’t be. The wine I’m referring to was made on the Ile de Porquerolles. It lies just off the coast in the south. The nearest town of any size is Toulon. The vintner was named Jacques Massignac.’

‘So?’

‘He had a daughter, something of a beauty according to people who knew her years ago. She inherited the vineyard but she moved to Paris, and had no interest in making wine. Chateau Fermette is no more.’

‘I’m beginning to get your drift. You are talking about Annette Milraud, aren’t you? She told me she had southern roots.’

‘I am. Monsieur Massignac’s daughter is Annette. When he died she was his heir and as well as the vineyard she inherited the ‘fermette’ for which its wine was named. It seems she was going to sell it after her father’s death, but according to the tax people she didn’t – just last month they had a cheque for this year’s taxes.’

Now they were getting somewhere. ‘Isabelle, tell me everything you know about the Ile de Porquerolles and this fermette.’ After listening to what Isabelle had to say, Martin Seurat felt confident that he had something useful to tell Liz Carlyle.

Lightning, ear-shattering thunder, cascading rain – no film version of a storm could have been more dramatic. The clouds that had been hanging over the hills for hours had finally come east, and stayed put. Having watched half an hour of these pyrotechnics through her office window, Liz was wondering if the storm would ever pass.

The phone rang and she reached for it mechanically, her eyes still on the display outside. ‘Liz Carlyle.’

‘Liz, it’s Martin Seurat again. I think I may have some news for you.’

Liz listened raptly as Seurat recounted Isabelle’s discovery that a farmhouse and vineyard on the Ile de Porquerolles belonged to Annette Milraud, a legacy from her late father.

‘Where is this exactly?’

‘Just off the south coast, and only a few kilometres by sea from the harbour in Toulon.’

‘An island you say?’

‘It’s one of a small group. Not very large – it’s about seven kilometres wide, perhaps three across. Said to be very pretty, and quite unspoiled. It’s mainly a holiday resort in summer. Most of the island now belongs to the state, I believe. There is an old fort there; it’s now a museum.’

‘Does anyone live there?’

‘Very few people live there all the year round. There is one village, also called Porquerolles, on the north side of the island, near the fort, with a small harbour. Other than that there are a few hotels and restaurants open in the summer. There’s a passenger ferry to it from a tiny place called Gien. Outside the village there are virtually no houses.’

‘Is Milraud’s in the village?’

‘No. Annette’s fermette is on the other side of the island, facing out to the Mediterranean and North Africa. There are no beaches there, just high rocky cliffs. From the map I would say it’s very isolated. Isabelle’s people have made discreet enquiries and found that the house isn’t used now. It and the vineyard have fallen into disrepair. ‘

‘It sounds ideal if you wanted to hide something. Or someone,’ she added.

‘Exactly. Let’s talk about where we go from here.’

Liz paused to think. She was torn between wanting to send armed police to the island right away, and the realisation that any mistake might alert Piggott and Milraud, and end up with Dave being killed.

Seurat seemed to read her thoughts. ‘It’s a tricky one, n’est-ce-pas? I was going to propose that my people have a look around, but very carefully – I will supervise the operation. I’ll go down to Toulon tonight and we’ll look around in the morning. But if we do establish that someone is there, then I think we should move in quickly. The longer we wait…’ He left the sentence unfinished.

‘Of course,’ said Liz, already making arrangements in her mind. ‘In which case I’ll want to be there. Can you let me know as soon as you have any more information? If it’s positive I’ll come down to Toulon tomorrow afternoon. Unless you have any objection,’ she added as a formality.

‘Of course not. I was expecting you to want to come and I’ll be delighted to have your company. I’ll ring you tomorrow, and don’t worry: our people are very good. À bientôt.’