The Ninth Life of Louis Drax (19 page)

     —It’s unthinkable.

     —But he sat up and spoke, I gather? Asked for his father? So why can’t he write a letter?

     —Look, we don’t understand his seizure. But believe me, with so many people about, he’d never have moved without someone seeing him.

     —You say you have properly operative CCTV on the ward?

     Damn; my pen was leaking. I felt beleaguered.

Jacqueline had prepared the wheelchairs and was encouraging the relatives to take the patients out for a walk in the garden. I took Louis, who was plugged into a Walkman playing a tape of his mother. The air smelled scorched and drenched at the same time.

     Jessica Favrot, spotting my presence, hurried towards me.

     —I’m very worried about Natalie Drax, she said.

     —In what way? I asked.

     —She won’t mix. It’s strange. She won’t let any of us get through. It’s so painful for her to suffer like that alone, but it seems like–

     —That’s what she wants?

     —Yes.

     —Well, perhaps for now we should respect that, I said. But I could hear the doubt in my voice and so could Jessica. There
was
something wrong, something that rankled, something I suddenly felt I didn’t have time to investigate. Excusing myself, I pushed the wheelchair towards the ornamental pond where the fountain was playing tricks with the light, sending tiny rainbows shooting in all directions. Louis and I circled it twice before stopping at a bench where I read a few pages from
La Planète bleue
. I don’t know how long I sat there with Louis, just staring at the fountain. It could have been minutes, or hours. My mind felt drained. I tried to imagine what Pierre Drax was thinking now. What his next move would be. Was it really possible he had been watching me and Natalie?

     If so, how close was he now?

     Suddenly I imagined I felt his eyes on my back, and I hastened back inside with Louis.

     After an hour’s work back in my office, Jacqueline called to let me know the detective had arrived and was on the ward. And there she was, inspecting Louis like a specimen on a slab. I hovered at a distance, watching her: she wore a mushroom-coloured linen suit, whose jacket she was now removing, to reveal a white shirt and big unwieldy breasts that seemed to steer her movements.

     Having hung her jacket over the back of the chair, Stephanie Charvillefort was continuing to give Louis a thorough going-over, not in any medical way, but as one would inspect an object that was deemed to be a piece of evidence. Which I suppose he was, in a manner of speaking. She lifted his hand tentatively, let it drop to see what happened. Someone in a deep coma has no reflexes; perhaps at least she discovered that much then. I quelled my instinct to intervene and watched as she proceeded to blow air on to Louis’ face and register the lack of response. Then, lowering her mouth to his ear she asked, quite loudly:

     —Louis? Are you awake? Detective Charvillefort here. Can you hear me? I’d like to ask you some questions.

     I sped over, cleared my throat, held out my hand. She stood up from her chair and I was struck again by her very bright blue eyes, clean and piercing.

     —Do you think Drax is stalking her, then? I asked as we shook hands. She looked up at me coolly, appraising me with those strangely astonishing eyes.

     —I’m here to ask you questions, Dr Dannachet. Not the other way round.

     She was as unlike Natalie Drax as it was possible to be. No wonder they clashed.

     —So fire away, I said politely.

     —What do you make of Madame Drax’s state of mind?

     I motioned to her that we should move; we walked down the ward and stood by the French windows, overlooking the garden.

     —She’s understandably distraught, I told her. I could hear the annoyance and yes, a certain pomposity, in my own voice. But I couldn’t seem to quash either. —I think that her reaction is the normal response of someone who has been under extreme pressure for a number of months, and who is now faced with what may be the final straw.

     She looked at me closely. —Do you think she’s heading for a breakdown?

     —No. I just mean she’s in a vulnerable state.

     —But
might
she be breakdown material?

     Yesterday morning, when I was running through the olive groves, I’d feared she was suicidal, and I certainly agreed with Philippe’s diagnosis that she was a strong candidate for Prozac. But I wasn’t going to tell Stephanie Charvillefort that. Not in those words.

     —I can’t see how she can stay under this kind of pressure much longer.

     —I’m doing all I can to solve this crime, believe me, Dr Dannachet.

     —So where have you got to?

     —It’s not our policy to disclose details of the investigation to members of the public. I’m afraid.

     —I’m aware of that. Nevertheless, if Natalie’s life’s in danger – if Drax makes his way into my clinic, for example, and tries to attack her, or Louis – or
me
  ...

     She and her colleagues were seeing to the security side of things, she replied. She’d talked to Dr Vaudin. There were posters of Pierre Drax up everywhere, and the whole regional police force had been alerted; they had relaunched the man-hunt. It was just a matter of time now. I wasn’t to worry; they’d get Pierre Drax. Meanwhile his mother Lucille was on her way down from Paris: they’d had to re-interview her after the letters and she wanted to see Louis. But best to keep her and Natalie apart, if that could be organised. According to Madame Drax senior, Pierre Drax should never have left his first wife. Natalie was the worst thing that ever happened to her son, and Natalie returned the compliment. As a result, the grandmother barely ever got to see Louis.

     —But she’s determined to see him now, Charvillefort finished.

     —Pierre Drax was married before? I asked, puzzled that Natalie hadn’t told me. What else hadn’t she mentioned? But Charvillefort didn’t elaborate. Instead she wanted to hear what I knew about Louis’ fall into the ravine.

     —The version that Natalie Drax told you, she specified carefully.

     —Why?

     —To make sure it’s consistent with what she told us. Madame Drax was at the scene of the crime, and there are no other eye-witnesses unless we catch Drax, or unless by some miracle Louis wakes up and somehow remembers what happened. What are the chances of that in your opinion, Dr Dannachet? As an expert?

     —Very small.

     —And yet during this seizure  ...

     —The seizure was a fluke. I can’t pretend to explain it. A strong muscle spasm maybe, a brief return to apparent consciousness – but a very atypical one. Don’t hold your breath waiting for Louis to wake up and supply you with a statement. It’s not going to happen.

     We stand in silence for a moment, pondering the poor boy’s plight, and then she resumes.

     —So. What did Natalie Drax tell you about her son’s accident?

     —Very little. There was an argument about a packet of sweets. Then a struggle between her husband and son. Louis was resisting because Pierre suddenly wanted to take him to Paris and he didn’t want to go.

     —Did she describe where she was standing, in relation to the two of them?

     I shook my head. —Should I have asked her to draw me a diagram? I’m sorry, Detective, but it strikes me that this is your work, not mine.

     Detective Charvillefort tapped her shoe on the floor.

     —I spoke to Guy Vaudin earlier. Your wife rang his, I gather. In a bit of a state. Worried about you and Madame Drax being ... well, rather close?

     I started, horrified. Why the hell had Guy felt the need to reveal
that
?

     —Don’t worry, Dr Dannachet. It’s not for me to pass judgement.

     I broke into a sweat. —I don’t think you could say we’re close, I muttered eventually.

     —Perhaps not. But – well, since you have a
certain friendship
with her, and you’re also the doctor of her son, I was hoping that you might have some kind of insight which might help us?

     —No, I said firmly. —I don’t think I have.

     There was a small pause. —I would like to ask you to keep an open mind, she said slowly. —If Natalie Drax tells you anything that seems odd or unusual, or if she contradicts something she said earlier, I’d like you to call me. The sweets, for example.

     —Sweets?

     —The row began over a packet of sweets. Doesn’t that strike you as a bit unusual?

     —Not if the man’s unhinged, no. Lots of family rows begin with the most absurd things, I said stiffly.

     —Did you know that Louis is not in fact Pierre Drax’s
natural son
? Detective Charvillefort asked slowly, scrutinising my face as she did so. I thought – fleetingly – of telling her that I didn’t know. I don’t know why; I can’t fathom myself sometimes.

     —Yes I did, I said eventually. My voice sounded quiet and far away and a huge, greedy worm of anxiety shifted inside me. Charvillefort was still looking at me closely to see how I reacted. And not bothering to hide it. She might as well have brought out a magnifying glass and thrust it right in my face.

     —So who’s his real father? I asked, in what I hoped was a breezy voice. She smiled.

     —You’re getting to know Madame Drax, she said. —Perhaps that’s a question you should ask her yourself.

     —Are you suggesting I spy on her or something? I said with a sudden wash of anger. —Do your work for you?

     —No. But you expressed a wish to know more, did you not? There was a small silence. —If she told you Pierre wasn’t his real father, she probably also told you that when Louis was a baby, she put him up for adoption, and then changed her mind.

     I crossed my arms and immediately regretted letting my body language betray me.

     —No. I didn’t know that. But I’m not surprised she didn’t tell me. It’s rather a private thing, don’t you think?

     —Yes. Of course it is.

     —This man Perez, I said. —The psychologist. I’d be interested in talking to him.

     —You’re very welcome to, she said. —Ring my office and someone will give you his number. But he may say no.

     —Why?

     —Perez isn’t in the best shape, she said. —Louis’s therapy didn’t work out. It seemed to be fine in the beginning. But Madame Drax wasn’t happy, and she ended up firing Perez. After the accident, she went to see him, and accused him of failing Louis. He took it very badly, and gave up practising altogether.

     —So what’s he doing now?

     —Drinking.

     My God, I thought. It gets uglier and uglier. I stood up and took my leave of Detective Charvillefort, claiming a heavy workload. As I walked away I could feel her eyes pierce the flesh of my back like lasers.

     When I got back to my office, Noelle told me that Georges Navarra had dropped by wanting a handwriting sample from everyone who had been in contact with Louis – all the nurses who worked on the ward, and even Karine, who had only seen him once. Noelle had given her a photocopy of a letter I’d written, and also a New Year’s card sent by Philippe Meunier. Everything was going to a police graphologist in Lyon. Oh well, I thought. At least Detective Stephanie Charvillefort was being thorough. I found myself wondering about Sophie. She must have arrived in Montpellier by now. She’d probably be having lunch with Melanie and Oriane at one of their favourite restaurants on the seafront. I pictured the three of them sharing one of their treats: a big platter of shellfish, all claws and shells and wedges of lemon. There’d be white wine, gossip, and to begin with, laughter. The sun on their faces. I wondered when Sophie would tell them, and how much. Everything, I guessed. They didn’t have secrets.

I decided to work from home that afternoon to finish my paper there. With Sophie away, I’d have the place to myself and could concentrate better than at the clinic. But that wasn’t my only reason for wanting to get out. I took the road that leads through the village rather than the short cut. It was blisteringly hot. As soon as I came to the main square, I headed for the notice-board outside the
mairie
. The air was fierce, making the square buzz with mirages. The wanted poster showed the face of the man Natalie had loved and married. Dark-haired, in his early forties, with the ruins of good looks: strong cheekbones, a high forehead, deep-set eyes. There was power in that face, a power I’d not anticipated. My heart caught. He looked back at me steadily. For a moment I felt a sudden, irrational envy, followed swiftly by a very precise distaste. No, loathing is a better word. This was the man I now loathed, the man who had tried to kill his son, and was now threatening me. Who might be stalking Natalie at this very moment, or contemplating more damage to Louis, or both. Who knew who I was, and understood some of my feelings towards his wife. Who wanted those feelings stopped. I broke into a sweat and turned away, shamed by the sudden fear that swamped me.