Speak Softly My Love (17 page)

There
were times when Tailler worried about himself.

She was
face down on the bed. The Inspector and his crew stood back and let
Hubert have a look.

Tailler’s eye wandered the room. The hotel had certainly
cleaned up since he’d been here last. At one time it would have
been smoke and grease-stained wood paneling. Now it was all smooth
plaster and pale, peachy yellow paint. The area had once been
high-crime, as recently as five or ten years ago. In spite of the
worldwide depression, the area was making a comeback if the Maison
Rive Gauche was anything to go by. It suddenly struck him that he’d
raided somebody on the third floor. That was just a couple of years
ago.

Tailler
wandered over to the window, looking out and checking for
balconies, fire escapes and skylights below. The Rive Gauche was an
irregular pile of a building. The lady’s name was Zoe Godeffroy
according to the hotel records and her own documents. Her papers
were conveniently displayed for them beside the purse on top of the
white and faux gilt armoire.

She had
been stabbed, according to the inspector. It certainly looked that
way. She’d been stabbed in the middle of the room, turned,
staggered and fell forwards, face-down on the bed, right arm
outstretched as if reaching for the telephone.

“
Have you everything you need?”

“
Yes, the photographers, the fingerprint people, everyone’s
been and gone.” Clad in a black raincoat, trousers of the same
colour, black leather shoes with slip-on galoshes, the Inspector’s
costume was topped off by a grey and brown plaid deerstalker hat.
“We’ve picked up any number of strange hairs, strange fibres, bits
of toenail, odd-ball stains here and there, and it’s all
useless.”

It was a
hotel room no matter how neat and well-kept it might
look.

Too many
people going through.

“
Would you be so kind as to forward all reports to Maintenon’s
unit?” Tailler was choosing his words. “All the photos, things like
that?”

“
Delighted.”

“
Thank you.” Hubert didn’t smell alcohol.
“Tailler.”

Emile
nodded. He bent over and had a look at the face.

She
really was a look-alike. That Didier must have a real thing for
willowy, blue-eyed blondes. He examined the hair. All natural. No
dark roots there.

A strong
smell of expensive perfume, even in death. She’d been dead about
twenty-four hours, on his initial impression. Having registered for
three days, room service had discovered her.

Delorme’s men, having taken that hat for granted all these
years, were suddenly reminded of it when the great Maintenon’s boys
stepped in. Hubert would no doubt be watched closely. He was
careful not to show any signs of mockery. This was nothing if not a
deference community. The junior officers, flanking their chief on
either side, watched him as Hubert gently turned the body over in
the opposite direction now. Rigor had set in, and she was a bit
stiff, but yielded with a good pull. It was like lifting a plank
that had been lying out behind the barn for a while. Grass had
grown over it. Her face was puffy, contorted by pressure and
wrinkles in the bedclothes.

Blood
had pooled in the lower portions of the body.

She had
been stabbed with a long, thin blade. It was right under the left
side of the short ribs. One good push. Straight to the heart.
According to the Inspector, the killer had taken the knife with
them.

“
Oh, yeah, that’s the way.”

Not a
bone in sight from that angle. She was wearing a cheerful, printed
red dress with white flowers, stockings and a garter belt. No
panties, no bra. One pair of shoes, one little cap. She had one
suitcase and three other outfits hanging in the closet plus slacks
and a blouse. Six pairs of underwear, hosiery, a silk scarf. The
closet door was wide open. The killer would have been eyeball to
eyeball with the victim. Hubert and Tailler took a good look. She
had the usual collection of toiletries and cosmetics.

“
Was the door locked?”

“
No. We feel she let her attacker in.”

He
nodded.

“
They usually do, don’t they.”

She had
died open-mouthed, and he could imagine her laughing, or perhaps
being kissed. Yes, that was it. It would be all too
easy.

Love, Didier.

The poor woman. One short spike of awareness, and then the
incomprehensible shock of pain. The eyes would widen and she would
question. Those
eyes
would stare deeply into hers as the awful truth came. She
would have clung to him…whoever. The killer was right-handed. He
would have had the left arm up around behind her. He would grab a
handful of hair and control her. It would have been all too easy.
The heart was punctured. Blood pressure fell so rapidly, they were
unconscious in seconds. Half a minute after that and they were
gone.

One
minute of pain and terror. Next thing you know, you’re on your way
to heaven.

“
All right.” Hubert let her fall onto the compliant
bedsprings, and stepped back. “Where’s the letter?”

A detective stepped forwards. He handed over a big buff
envelope, with the name, the date, the other details written on it
in a big, bold hand. There would be no mistakes with this guy,
thought Hubert. He didn’t think he’d ever seen him around, but then
he’d only ever
heard
of Delorme.

Delorme
was as crazy as a shit-house rat, and said to be very, very
thorough.

Hubert
carefully pulled it out using a pair of stainless-steel tweezers
provided by the young detective. Guys like that should have their
initials on there, their initials set in diamonds and
emeralds.

He
skimmed it quickly.

“
Hmn. I like that:
Love,
Didier.”

Tailler
came over and he showed it to him.

“
So what are the hotel people saying?”

“
Half of them are not on shift, so it will take a while to
interview all of them. My feeling is that it’s the usual
story—plenty of suspicious characters about and no one saw anything
in particular. Who knows, we might get something.” Inspector
Delorme filled in the details. “She came in by train from Molsheim.
She has the ticket stub in her purse. Arrived by cab from the Gare
de l’Est. We’re hoping to find the driver and confirm that. Other
than that, we know very little. She checked in yesterday afternoon,
went out for a little shopping and after that, no one really knows.
She didn’t eat at the hotel restaurant or use room service. We can
ask around the dress shops. Unfortunately there are a thousand
places she might have gone. Fuck, more like ten thousand. It’s too
bad, it doesn’t look like she actually bought anything. Unusual for
a woman in town for a short time—or any time at all, actually. She
left by taxi around eight p.m. last evening. No one remarked upon
her return, which probably means she took the room key with her.
The elevator boy doesn’t remember bringing her up, but the hotel is
fairly busy.”

Hubert
nodded and Tailler stood there looking intelligent.

“
Very well.”

“
She has a passport.”

“
Nice.” Tailler’s heart began to pound.

That was
another
fucking question we forgot to ask…passport.

***

It was
unusual, but just like old times for Andre to be driving Gilles.
They were heading for Epinay-sur-Seine, which while downstream of
the city, was actually a little east of due north going by the map.
The river did a series of S-turns, doubling back on itself several
times. It was like a big snake as it wound its way through the
hills and down onto the plain.

“
Jesus, it’s got to be ten or fifteen kilometres.” Levain
wasn’t used to long periods of introspection in this
job.

Either you were on, in which case you were
really
on and had no
choice but to focus, or you were off. You could forget it for a
while and just relax, be yourself and enjoy the family.

Gilles
was lost in thought. He found himself enjoying the ride, and was
showing all the signs of cheerfulness.

“
A centime for your thoughts.”

Gilles
looked over and grinned.

“
No way.”

He
reconsidered.

“
Almost anything is better than sitting there waiting to
testify.” He had more coming next week. “It’s like sitting around
waiting for a tooth to be drilled.”

Having
done it all too often himself, Andre agreed.

They
would be killing the better part of an hour each way on this trip,
and there would be whatever time spent with whoever. It was a
strange feeling, to have the pressure off for a while.
Theoretically, if the flics weren’t busy enough, then they really
ought to be out chasing bank robbers and drunk drivers. That’s what
the taxpayers always said. It was like a kid skipping out on school
otherwise.

“
We’ll have a quick look at the body and then decide what to
do.”

“
Ah. I was beginning to wonder.”

“
They have him on ice for us at the local
hospital.”

Levain
turned and found Gilles looking at him.

“
I can’t wait to see if it’s our guy.”

Maintenon nodded then looked away. A lot of things didn’t
make sense. The nearest bridge to the Parc Montsouris was probably
the Pont du Tolbiac. He was mentally kicking himself. He might have
foreseen this. They could have sent officers directly
there.

He was
kidding himself, blaming himself.

There
were too many places to look and too short a time. Even so. The
killer had to lug that body to the riverbank somewhere. To leave it
on dry land, in a busy place like Paris, was for it to be found
sooner rather than later. Dropping it from the middle span of a
bridge had the advantage of putting it in the middle of the stream
where the water was deep and the currents were strongest. It was
dark enough at the time. They would have had until dawn.

He was a
little surprised that it hadn’t snagged up sooner, a little closer
to the point of entry.

Bodies
in rivers seemed to follow natural laws of their own. This much was
true.

“
That’s insane—that has to be…God, I don’t know how many
kilometres.”

“
What? What’s insane?”

Gilles
was thinking that their perpetrator must have used a car—they must
have. No one could carry a body, not even two people, that far
across the city, not even at night. You sure as hell weren’t going
to take it on the bus or the Metro. You could hardly call a taxi.
To borrow a car from someone was to eventually hang yourself and
possibly them too…

He
looked around.

“
Where are we?

“
Still in the city, Gilles.” They hadn’t even crossed the
river yet, and Andre was working his way as patiently as he could
through late afternoon traffic.

If those
clouds to the north opened up and Andre suspected they would, he
could count on everything just getting a whole lot
slower.

Holy. It
looked like they might be a while yet.

***

“
You haven’t started the autopsy?”

“
No.” The doctor gave them a wintry grin.

“
Thank you, thank you. Wonderful.”

Their
escort suppressed a thin smile, but the great Maintenon was
practically rubbing his hands in anticipation.

“
Doctor Auger is an extremely competent examiner, but if you
guys want to take over—” It was all the same to them.

Doctor Auger kept a neat little morgue in the basement of the
hospital, La Maison Sant
é
.

Detective Patrick Thibodeau, the officer of record in the
matter, had met them at the front door and guided them through the
labyrinthine halls. The hospital was badly in need of a good scrape
and some paint if not quite ready for demolition. He was a man of
average build and looks. He was about thirty-five, the suit looked
all right and he wore a wedding band. There had always been
something incongruous about a Frenchman with such a straggling,
pale growth. The upper lip looked like the guy had been drinking
milk, rather than having a serious mustache. One wondered what the
man himself thought of it.

As for
Gilles, he had resolved to shave his off, rather than tolerate one
of the horrible white abominations he was seeing these days. They
were all over the faces of his contemporaries. They were always so
neatly trimmed, clipped and even powdered he suspected in some
cases.

Lord, spare me that.

“
Where was he?”

Gilles
stepped forward as the Doctor unlatched the meat-locker and opened
the hatch.

“
Some fishermen found him. They take their wine and their
fishing rods and congregate at various spots along the waterfront.
This one’s kind of a low-rental even for them old guys. We figured
he went in somewhere nearby. Either that, or he came down the
right-hand channel. He hung up on some iron. There’s a popular
dumping spot just along there. It was just before the end of the
island.”