The Art of Murder (17 page)

She must know a lot of things that he
never would. Yvonne would be easy to fall in love with for almost
any normal man. He was a very small boy when it came to women like
her. Maybe that was what she saw.

She was a mystery, and he was a very
small boy.

The song was a lullaby, an old standby,
but rather than putting the baby to sleep, she was saying something
about the human heart in all its tenderness and all of its
potential coldness. On her lips it was a lover’s song, the kind of
song you wished you hadn’t heard just then, and you knew it would
stick uncomfortably in your mind for a long time
afterwards.

Andre had eyes for no one but her.
Gilles was a little more objective. It occurred to him that the
five piece ensemble might be an indifferent sound without her. On
listening further to the soft drums and the cadence of the bass, he
realized it was perfect. They highlighted her, and she was the
sound, with the drummer playing in shirtsleeves, and the soft slow
rasp of the drums, and then the piano, played by a smallish man in
evening attire, beads of sweat glistening in the dim lamplight of
the overheads, the slash of blue light falling across the face of
the man on the saxophone. He didn’t know much about modern music,
but he found he quite liked it.

The saxophone had its own song, but
only when she went quiet. It was superb.

Gilles watched and listened to the bass
for a while, noting again its restraint, and along with another man
with a different kind of horn, he thought a bassoon, trying to
isolate each sound and feel its place in the composition. As
individuals, there were intent upon their own work, and yet they
had to play as a group. It was a team, in every sense of the word.
He saw them play off of each other, and the way she turned and
engaged with them, in some unspoken way from time to time, and
marveled at just how many things a man might never comprehend, not
even at the most superficial level. It was two entirely different
worlds up there under the lights and down here in the shadows, with
the clink of a glass or a dull murmur coming to remind him that he
was not alone, and would never have to be alone as long as there
were places like this in the world.

She had the perfect voice for it, low,
and husky, and perfectly controlled in the trills, and in
harmonious resonance with the low-ceilinged, intimate
club.

The orchestra without her might not be
lost—they were the consummate professionals, for surely they
understood their art and their medium far better than he ever
would. She was beautiful, of course, and yet there was clearly
something strong, deep inside her, and not just the
superficialities of skin and hair and eyes, and red, red ruby lips
almost touching the microphone as she made eye contact and nodded
at him and Andre. With a life like hers, she must have a kind of
resilience.

A tear falls to the sand

Waves and wind sigh in
mourning

Over the sea to a far distant
land

Up to the horizon and then a
pause

And then he is gone

Heat of the sun never ceases

Gulls plaintive cries without
cause

Forlorn hope never stops to
sing

Blinking in the glare, she
waits

The end is also a beginning

When ships with butterfly
wings

Beat into the wind on a quest so
fine

Lovers torn apart for a time

No one can say the why of these
things

The bonds have been released

Each is free to be their own

This is a seed that must be
sown

And no one can say its fate

Sometimes there is no way to
win

But only to endure.

When ships with butterfly
wings

Beating into the wind

Carry your heart across the
ocean

It is all you can do,
sometimes

To wait and to pray.

And to mourn…

Gilles would remember those words as
long as he lived.

***

“
I deeply regret the
necessity of troubling you.” They sat behind her on a low and
beaten yellow leather couch, as she examined her make-up in the
garish lights of the vanity in her dressing room.

Her evening gown was the kind that
leaves the shoulders exposed. He wondered how many men had sat here
waiting for her, and a thousand other singers. They all had a
story, usually a sad one.

She regarded him in the mirror. Her
long elegant neck reminded him of some Egyptian sculpture.
Nefertiti or somebody like that.

“
That’s quite all right,
Inspector. You must do your job.” There was something tragic in
her, something from a long time ago.

He wondered if this was what had
attracted Duval in the first place. Gilles wondered who would speak
next.

“
Theo never tried to pick up
women.” Her eyes gazed appraisingly back at them from the
mirror.

“
Oh, really?” It was
Levain’s question, as Gilles nodded in response, grateful for the
easy opening.

“
He didn’t have to.” Gilles
got the meaning pretty well.

“
That’s right, Inspector.
Theo was a very handsome man, but there was something more. He
rarely complained, although he had a normal temper. He was
indulgent to the mistakes and weaknesses of others. But Theo knew
what he was doing. He knew who he was, and was totally comfortable
within his own skin. That sort of confidence is very attractive to
a woman. He didn’t even really need money, although it would help
with a certain type. Some would go along just for the ride, if a
man was rich enough.”

“
I see.” Gilles studied her
as she combed her hair carefully.

It was a glorious pile, one of the
healthiest heads of hair he had seen on anyone in quite some time,
and it put his own thinning patch in its proper perspective. It
didn’t look quite so blonde in this light. She was still young, and
he envied her for it. He hoped she wouldn’t be alone for long.
Probably not, he decided. He felt a sudden dread at his own
prospects.

“
Did you throw yourself at
him?” Andre was just doing his job, but it could be a pain in the
ass sometimes.

She smiled tiredly at Gilles in the
mirror.

“
You know better than
that.”

“
Yes, young lady. I do.”
Gilles had a few questions, and for her sake thought they’d better
get on with them. “Where did you meet, and who else was
there?”

“
We met at another club
where I was working at the time.” She mentioned a name.

It was a club in Montmartre, smaller
than this one and not the sort of place where the wealthy
congregated. She mentioned one or two others, all of them already
on their list.

He wrote down the names for
effect.

“
Was he slumming?” Levain
was playing the role of the hard-bitten, cynical cop and Gilles the
understanding uncle.

She seemed hurt by his attitude, but
answered reasonably enough, with just the hint of a blush on her
cheekbones.

“
No. Theo went where he
wanted, and he loved music.”

“
What did he tell you about
his brother?” She nodded at Levain’s question.

“
Yes, Alain was married for
a while before he told Theo. He could have handled that a little
better. They fought, and Theo regretted their strained
relationship. But he also thought Alain should learn some
responsibility.” This was obviously a safer subject for her, and
Gilles intended to ask all of them the same question, for want of
anything better to go on.

“
I see.” Levain scribbled on
his side of the couch.

“
And what did you think
about all this?” Gilles watched as she made an elaborate
shrug.

“
Perhaps Theo could have
unbent a little, or Alain might have apologized. It’s like they
were deadlocked in some great moral struggle. But they are…were
both very stubborn men.” Her eyes flicked back to them as she put
the fine touches on her lip-stick. “You know what I
mean.”

Gilles nodded gravely that he did.
There was a sudden scraping in the hallway and she looked up at the
clock. There was a tap at the door.

“
Three minutes.” It was a
deep male voice.

Footsteps faded back up the hall. She
ignored it and went on.

“
Theo could fit in with any
crowd. He was an engaging man, and genuinely loved people,
especially if they were interesting.”

It was something Gilles had in common
with the victim. He often felt like that. But he also felt
something in common with their killers, a feeling he had accepted
long ago.

“
We won’t keep you.” She
nodded at Gilles’s words.

“
Stick around if you like,
although my sets are at least forty minutes, sometimes a little
longer.”

“
The drinks are a little
watered-down.” Levain was easing up and giving Maintenon the
lead.

“
Ah, why not, Andre? God
knows I don’t get out too much anymore.”

“
I must visit the
powder-room, and if you gentlemen wouldn’t mind?”

“
Of course,
Mademoiselle.”

“
Mmn. I have a former
husband out there somewhere, but I appreciate the thought. Can we
talk about that some other time?”

“
Of course, and we thank you
for helping us.” They rose to go.

She stood up, as lithe and athletic as
a panther.

“
Was Theo
murdered?”

The question took him by surprise, and
Gilles hesitated.

“
I wish I knew the answer to
that question, Mademoiselle.”

She smiled, eyes bright with bitter
tears. It was enough for her. She brushed past them with a glaze in
her eyes, and again he was convinced there was no way to fake that
kind of reaction. It still didn’t prove anything, as killers were
notorious for weeping as they confessed to their crimes.

They closed the door firmly but gently
behind them and followed the hall back the way they had
come.

Chapter Twelve

Gilles wanted to
go

Halfway through her second song, Gilles
was so distinctly uncomfortable with it that he wanted to go and
Andre made no argument. Standing on the steaming pavement outside
of the club, Andre looked at his watch. It seemed like it was
always raining these days.

“
It’s early yet. Want to
grab a sandwich?” He had such a hopeful look on his face, but
Gilles didn’t want to keep him from home, and there was nothing
about the case that would benefit from being discussed in a public
place.

He was feeling his age. In terms of his
personal life, again, there was nothing there that couldn’t wait. A
pub crawl had some allure. But he must resist. At one time it might
have been a relief, but there was just so much he didn’t want to
talk about. He didn’t want to weep in front of Andre, and that’s
how he felt just then.

“
No, Andre. You go
home.”

Andre looked a little down in the
mouth. At first Gilles had the impression that Andre was worried
about him, but then the reverse thought came, that maybe Andre
would like a little male company once in a while. Gilles wondered
if their friends were really his friends, or if they were just the
sort of friends that couples had together. After the baby came,
Andre wouldn’t be getting out much, if he did at all
now.

“
Are you sure? They make a
pretty good sandwich over at the Ham Bone.” Andre waited but a
moment. “All right, then, it’s your loss.”

With that, he spun on a heel and headed
for the corner, where he turned and disappeared. The pale orb of
the moon hung low on the south-eastern horizon. The sounds of Paris
at night were all around him on the light breeze. He’d been locking
himself in lately, reading old books, listening to music turned
down so low he could barely hear it, and smoking like a
fiend.

Gilles looked at his watch. He didn’t
live so far away. He wished it was further. It was such a beautiful
night. He hadn’t had a positive thought like that in some time. A
few blocks in that direction lay life, and light, and people. He
turned in the opposite direction and with an air of aimlessness,
began to wander in the direction of home. Madame Lefevre would be
gone by now of course, and he really didn’t have any idea of
whether there would be some sort of a cold meal laid out or not. He
shook his head in mild irritation. She might have left something
out for him.

He should have asked where in the hell
exactly the Ham Bone was. Loosening his tie, and with some regard
to his surroundings, for Paris could be dangerous at night even in
the best of neighbourhoods, and this wasn’t one of them, he was
quickly lost in his thoughts.