Strange Images of Death

Chapter Thirty-Five

Joe held his breath. If this was not Jane Makepeace’s breaking point, she didn’t have one.

The room fell silent, all eyes turned on her.

Pale with stress or anger, she rose to her feet and, ignoring Joe, spoke to Jacquemin in clear French. ‘This cap is the bit that comes at the front of the camera that Cecily’s so proud of. She didn’t exactly pass it around for the appreciation of the crowd-she is rather possessive and secretive about it. But I managed to get my hands on it on one occasion. If you’ve developed the film, you’ll have noticed a picture of a group of us posing in the courtyard. I’m on the front row. Cecily asked me to hold the lens cap for her while she took the photograph … she didn’t want to put it down on the gravel … always treading on it, she said. You can ask any one of the others who were there at the time. They’ll tell you. Of course my prints are on that thing! I’m always the one who gets asked to hold things, find things, sort things out! And now I’m being expected to bear the responsibility for this nonsense? Not on your life, Commissaire!’

Enjoying Jacquemin’s consternation, she drew herself up to her full height and with the cool, amused expression of a Greek Kore added: ‘And now I’m leaving to go about my lawful business. I suggest you get on with yours.’

Joe and Jacquemin looked at each other, unable to conceal a flash of dismay. Each understood that the case against her was so weak as to be laughed out of court in France or in England. Jacquemin had been right-a confession was essential. It was clear that nothing less would bring her to justice. It was equally clear that she would never deliver one.

‘No! Make her stay, Joe!’ A shrieking, stamping Fury dashed forward and blocked her path. Dorcas delivered to her face a torrent of cursing in Romany, as far as Joe could follow a word. ‘You’re a murdering, hard-hearted witch! And why,’ she turned to Joe, ‘do you keep saying she took one life? Doesn’t Estelle’s baby count for anything? Two!’ she yelled at Jane. ‘They were brought in as an offering-like a cat’s kill in the night. “There, see what a loving cat I’ve been. Blood on the carpet? You should be grateful. I did it for you … Pat my head and tell me how clever I am …” She can’t just walk out of here … Joe? Commissaire?’

Before they could speak she was rattling on: ‘Give her a choice. She can either make an oral confession here, at once in front of us, and then get straight into a police car to take her to Avignon or-’ her tone chilled and she spoke emphatically-‘we make her face a much more terrible authority.’

Joe was mystified. ‘You’re calling on God?’ he asked.

‘No! Divine retribution takes far too long. And the thunderbolts never land where you’d like them to land. Not God-Guy! You could summon Guy de Pacy to have an interview with her. Here in this room. When you’ve told him exactly what she’s done-leave them alone together. Let him ask the difficult questions: Why did you kill the woman I loved? Why did you kill the child I would have loved? Why did you think I would spend the rest of my days with a conscienceless killer?’

‘No! No!’ Joe protested. And, seeing his way through: ‘Impossible! Guy is wounded to the heart and suffering dreadfully. The words he delivered over the corpse of Estelle constantly come back to me: “I want this killer, Sandilands,” he said. “I want his guts. I want to see the light die in his eyes; I want to hear his last gasp.” He has a filthy temper. And-let’s remind ourselves-he’s something of a killer himself. We couldn’t leave her alone with him, the woman who murdered his child.’ Joe shuddered. ‘Out of the question! I won’t be held responsible! This woman’s ruined his life. In the grip of a red rage he would throttle her!’

Jacquemin picked up his cue. ‘It would be a crime passionnel, Sandilands. Crimes of passion! I am aware that we French are generally condemned for our too ready understanding and forgiveness of such uncontrollable flare-ups!’

He pursed his lips, shook his head and came to a decision.

‘Martineau, go and fetch de Pacy.’