Death at the Clos du Lac (23 page)

Delombre arrived at the Clos du Lac just after nine. It was a cloudy morning, muggy with a promise of rain. He strode through the front door, past the large figure of a security guard who nodded in recognition and stood back.

‘Where’s the nurse?’ he said, his voice bouncing around the marbled foyer. He made Dion’s title sound like an insult.

‘She’s here.’ Inès Dion appeared from the back of the building, heels clattering briskly on the tiles. She looked neat and in control, dressed in a smart two-piece suit. She nodded at the security guard. ‘Thank you, Jean-Pierre, I’ll deal with this.’ She met Delombre’s gaze without flinching. ‘This is unexpected.’

‘Get used to it. Where is she?’

Dion flushed slightly at his tone, but said nothing, merely turning away to lead him upstairs. She walked confidently, arriving on the landing and turning right along a carpeted
corridor lined with gloomy paintings. She stopped at a door in an alcove and took out a key.

‘Is she awake?’ Delombre asked, ‘or will I have to slap her to get her attention?’

‘She’s drifting in and out of consciousness,’ Dion replied. ‘Slapping won’t do her any good. Sorry.’

Delombre looked her in the eye, trying to determine if she was being sarcastic. ‘Pity,’ he said, and waited for her to unlock the door, then pushed past her and into the room.

It was simply furnished, with shafts of light coming through the shutters across the big double windows. In the centre of the room was a single bed and a small, wheeled table holding a plastic water jug and a plastic glass. A woman lay beneath a blanket and bedspread, breathing irregularly. Her hair was spread across the pillow and a few damp strands pasted against the skin of her forehead. The air smelt musty, with a faint tang of sweat.

‘Hasn’t she been washed?’

‘No. Why bother?’ Dion walked over to the bed and tapped the woman on the shoulder. There was no response.

Delombre joined her. ‘Good point, I suppose. Can she understand us?’

‘She will when she comes round. What do you want her to do, exactly?’

‘The easiest thing in the world: speak to her husband.’

Dion’s eyes widened. ‘You’re letting her go?’

He chuckled. ‘Good God, no.’ He turned away and walked over to the window, peering through the louvres into the outside world. All he could see, though, were mature evergreens shutting off any view of the surrounding countryside. ‘It’s been decided to give her poor besotted
spouse a hint of hope, so he sees the error of his ways and stops talking to certain parties. For that we need her alert and chatty, not drugged or insensible.’

‘I’ll need time. The sedatives she was given were quite strong.’

He checked his watch and turned back to the bed. ‘You have thirty minutes. I’m going downstairs for coffee. In the meantime, this might help.’ He reached out and picked up the jug of water from the bedside table and emptied it over the sleeping woman’s face.

Without waiting to see the reaction, he turned and walked out of the room.

He was halfway down the stairs when he heard the crunch of car tyres on the gravel outside, and saw through the glass panel over the front door a black Citroën Traction cruise to a stop in the car park.

‘It’s the cop,’ called out Jean-Pierre, the security guard, from beside the entrance. ‘The one called Rocco.’

The Clos du Lac looked quiet as Rocco got out of his car. There were just two vehicles in the car park: a small Renault he recognised as belonging to Miss Dion, and a light-blue Peugeot 404.

Alix Poulon climbed out the other side and looked around. ‘What do you want me to do?’

‘Listen to what she says, mostly. And watch her face and body language. You’ll pick up on inflections that I’d miss. I want to know when she’s lying.’

‘When? Not if?’

‘Both. But she’s clever enough to use elements of the truth – how she sees it, anyway.’

He walked over to the Peugeot and looked through the window. There was nothing inside on view to show who might own it, no papers or clothes or a glaring sign giving the owner’s details. It was too new to belong to a staff member, too impressive unless a visiting family member had been allowed access to a patient.

He walked over to the front entrance and saw movement behind the glass.

Jean-Pierre was standing on the other side, watching him.

‘Lucas.’ Alix said softly. ‘To your right.’

He turned his head and saw a figure standing at the corner of the building. Another guard, as bulky as Jean-Pierre, but not as tall. The dogs were out in force.

‘There are no visits allowed today,’ said Jean-Pierre, swinging the door half open and filling the gap. ‘Come back next week.’ He began to close the door, a snide smile on his face.

Rocco waved his police card in the air. ‘This is official business. You close that door and I’ll come right through it and stamp all over you.’ For emphasis, he flicked back his coat and showed his gun. ‘You choose.’

Jean-Pierre hesitated a second, then stood aside, his face tight.

‘There’s a good boy. Now go get your boss – or would you like me to go looking for her?’

‘That won’t be necessary, Inspector.’ Inès Dion’s voice floated down the stairs ahead of her. She was walking down almost regally, head held high and composed, like a fashion model, Rocco thought.

‘What do you want? I’m afraid we’re very busy right now.’ She saw Alix behind him and smiled briefly.

‘This shouldn’t take long,’ he replied. ‘Just a couple of questions.’

She considered it for a moment then gestured to a side room and led the way.

As Rocco followed her, he caught a glimpse of movement at the top of the stairs. He felt a strong urge to call out, but resisted it. No doubt another one of Dion’s tame guards. The thought made the muscles in the middle of his back go tight.

Above them Delombre stood and waited, holding his breath. He hadn’t counted on coming this close to Rocco. Thankfully the interfering investigator hadn’t seen him. But the longer he was here, the more likely it was that something would go wrong.

He checked his watch. He would soon have to make the call to a prearranged number, so that Robert Bessine could hear his wife’s voice. It was vital that the aircraft manufacturer got the message that all was well, and set in motion the cancellation of his talks with Taiwan. Anything less would be a disaster. Delombre had few fears about any man, and knew he was skilled enough to take care of himself in most situations; but he was no fool. He knew that if he failed at this late stage, so critical was it to success or failure, he wouldn’t want to be around for Levignier’s anger to show itself, or for one of Girovsky’s private army of thugs to come looking for retribution.

He felt the back of his neck twitch at the recognition that he was not invulnerable, especially from those he served. It was a feeling he wasn’t accustomed to, but he had to acknowledge the fact. There wouldn’t be a frontal attack,
he knew that, because that would be messy and cause waves. It would instead be a single man, perhaps two, as skilled as himself and probably younger, fitter, faster. He wouldn’t see them coming, but he might hear their final move.

By then it would be too late.

While he waited for Rocco to leave, he pondered on his next move, after all this was over.

‘You’ve never once asked after Mr Drucker,’ said Rocco, taking a seat across from Inès Dion. Alix was standing off to one side, seemingly not part of the conversation, and from where she could watch Dion’s face for reaction. They were in the library, surrounded by an expanse of bookshelves, the atmosphere sombre yet restful. Rocco could have spent some time in a room like this. He had never been an avid reader, but with all this room had to offer, he’d have been ready to give it a try.

For a second Dion didn’t reply, a faint crease touching her forehead. Then she said, ‘I didn’t ask you, perhaps. Should I have done?’

‘Didn’t you wonder what had happened to him?’ His gaze was on the small pulse beating at the side of her throat.

‘Not really. I was too … upset with everything else that had happened.’ She brushed a hand across her lap, a vague
gesture that to Rocco resembled dismissal. ‘He must have decided to move on. He could hardly have counted on this as having been his finest hour, could he?’

‘Of course. I should have thought. Stroke of luck for you, though. Right place, right time, I suppose.’

‘I wouldn’t know about that. I feel fortunate, if that’s what you’re suggesting. But there’s nothing wrong with taking advantage of circumstance, is there?’

‘Of course not. Is that what André Paulus did?’

‘I’m sorry?’ The question appeared to throw her and she glanced at Alix, then away.

‘Well, I gather he threw up everything to come here and be with you. Was that following circumstance? If so, it didn’t do him much good, did it?’

‘I-I’m sorry – I don’t understand.’ She looked stricken, her face flushed. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘According to his navy colleagues – former colleagues – he fell for you in a big way. From being a career navy man, he changed to a man in love and left the job he truly enjoyed. And then he was murdered. Shot twice with bullets, here,’ Rocco stabbed twice at the base of his throat, ‘and here. Apparently without any obvious attempt to defend himself. Odd, for an experienced navy cop like him. He must have been in the thick of his share of bad situations over the years, yet he never saw real trouble coming when it finally hit him. Why is that, do you think?’

‘I don’t know – how could I? What happened to André was tragic … horrible!’ Her throat caught on the last word, and he saw a glimmer of moisture appear at the corner of one eye. She brushed angrily at her face and looked up at
the ceiling for a long second, then back at Rocco. As she did so, a single tear rolled slowly down her cheek. She did nothing to stop it.

‘Yes. It was,’ he agreed.

‘Is that what you’ve come to tell me, Inspector – that you’re no further forward with finding out who killed André? For God’s sake, how difficult is it? There must be somebody who knows … somebody local he may have run into … an argument, perhaps.’ She looked beseechingly at Alix. ‘You live locally, you told me. Don’t rumours circulate easily in a rural place like this? Somebody boasting, perhaps, spending more money than they would normally?’

‘No,’ said Alix. ‘Nothing like that.’ And when Dion turned away, she looked at Rocco and nodded.

Dion was good, Rocco conceded. Exceptionally good. Unless he was making the biggest character assessment error of his life. But one thing he was certain about was her self-control and cool ability to put on a convincing act. Because he’d seen all this before: the grief, the angry flushes and the tears … then the switch to being composed and businesslike. And the red eyes on his previous visit were most likely less to do with grief at the death of Paulus than the result of some frantic rubbing as she’d climbed from her car to meet him.

He hadn’t been entirely convinced then; he was even less so now.

Because he hadn’t mentioned to anyone that André Paulus’s wallet had been missing. So why did she mention money being spent?

‘I’d agree with you, Miss Dion, but there aren’t many
people around here who carry nine-millimetre pistols, and fewer still who know how to use them with such precision.’ He slapped his hands on his knees and stood up. ‘How are the patients settling in, by the way?’

‘Pardon?’ Dion frowned and dabbed at her cheek.

‘Your new arrivals – or, at least the one that I saw. How is he doing?’

She stood too, and nodded. ‘Oh, that. Yes – he’s fine, thank you.’

‘Good. Well, sorry to have upset you. I hope not to disturb you again.’ He turned and led Alix out and across the foyer, where Jean-Pierre was waiting by the door to let them out.

‘That was pretty brutal,’ Alix commented as they got back in the car.

‘Maybe.’ He started the engine and backed out of the space. ‘What did you think?’

‘About her?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, I’m no expert, but purely from a woman’s perspective, I’d say she was lying through her teeth. She was playing us.’

‘Thank God for that,’ he breathed. ‘I thought it was just me.’ ‘Playing’ was a good word to use, he thought. She had been playing them from the very start, through the aftermath of Simon Rotenbourg’s murder, the discovery of Paulus’s body, the search of the building. By staying to ‘help’ them with the search, she was able to steer them wherever she wanted … and away from anything incriminating.

But she must have played Paulus on an even bigger scale: persuading him to leave the navy and join her because she knew she could control him; luring him away from his post so the killer could enter the building … maybe even pulling the trigger herself. After all, who else could have got closer to him than the woman he loved and trusted?

‘So what now?’

He was thinking about the guards around the place, the way they controlled every inch with such care and expertise, and the way Dion had reacted to his question about the new arrival. The ‘he’ that she had fastened on so easily, when every instinct told him that the only person in the place was a woman.

He saw Claude step out from the edge of the road a hundred metres ahead, and stopped to let him climb aboard.

Alix was surprised to see her father. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Watching over you,’ he said, brushing a stray leaf from his hair. ‘I lost sight of you once you entered the building, but I had at least two of the guards in my sights all the time.’ He patted the shotgun across his knees.

‘How many did you see?’ said Rocco.

‘Three, unless they have others sleeping. They’re good, too. Former military, from the way they move.’

‘They would be.’

‘So was the visitor.’

Rocco caught his eye in the rear-view mirror. ‘Say again?’

‘The visitor in the Peugeot. He arrived not long before you, walked in like he owned the place.’

‘What did he look like?’

‘Tall, thin, walked like he was on a long, slow route march.’

In other words, like an ex-Legionnaire, Rocco thought. He remembered Jacqueline’s description of the man. Delombre. It had to be.

He drove on. The momentum was gathering. Whatever was going to happen, it had to be today.