The Three Evangelists (8 page)

Vandoosler told lies with fluency and enjoyment, and it put him completely at ease.

‘The police just laughed at him and didn’t follow it up,’ he went on. ‘But they stopped laughing when this same busybody nosed around some more and discovered that your wife had “gone missing without telling anyone”, as they are already saying in the neighbourhood. And furthermore that this mysterious trench was ordered by your own wife, who wanted it to go under that beech tree over there.’

Vandoosler pointed casually through the window to the tree.

‘Sophia did that?’ asked Relivaux.

‘She did. According to this witness anyway. So the police now know that your wife was worried about a tree that appeared from nowhere. Also that she had someone dig underneath it. And that since then she has disappeared. For the police, that looks like a lot to happen in a couple of weeks. You have to look at it from their point of view. They’re programmed to be suspicious of any little thing. So they’ll certainly be round to ask you a few questions, you can count on it.’

‘Who is this “witness”?’

‘The information was anonymous. People are cowards.’

‘And just what is your interest in all this? What if the police do come round to see me, what business is that of yours?’

Vandoosler was ready for this predictable question too. Relivaux was a conscientious, stiff kind of fellow, apparently without an ounce of originality. That was indeed why the former
commissaire
was prepared to bet he had a Saturday-and-Sunday mistress. Vandoosler looked at him: moderately bald, moderately fat, only moderately attractive, moderate in everything. For the moment, quite easy to manipulate.

‘Let’s say that if I were able to confirm your version of things, that would certainly calm their suspicions. They know me of old.’

‘Why would you want to help me? What do you want from me? Money?’

Vandoosler smiled as he shook his head. Obviously Relivaux was moderately stupid too.

‘Well,’ Relivaux went on, ‘it looks to me as if you people in that ramshackle disgrace you live in, forgive me if I’m mistaken, but you all seem to be …’

‘Hard up, ‘Vandoosler finished the sentence. ‘Quite right. I see you are better informed than you let on.’

‘I’m used to dealing with down-and-outs,’ said Relivaux. ‘It’s my job. Anyway, that’s what Sophia has told me. So what’s your motive?’

‘Let’s just say the police and I have had our little run-ins in the past. When they get a bee in their bonnet about you, it can go on and on. So I try when possible to help other people to avoid it. A small-scale revenge if you like. Anti-police protection service. And it keeps me busy. No charge.’

Vandoosler allowed Pierre to reflect on this specious and poorly argued motive. He seemed to swallow it.

‘What do you want to know?’ Relivaux asked.

‘What
they
will want to know.’

‘Which is?’

‘Where has Sophia gone?’

Relivaux stood up, spread his arms wide in a gesture and turned round.

‘She’s gone away. She’ll be back. There’s nothing to get steamed up about.’

‘They will want to know precisely why you’re not getting steamed up about it.’

‘Because I haven’t put the kettle on. Because Sophia told me she was going away. She said something about meeting someone in Lyon, if you must know. It’s not the other side of the world.’

‘They might not believe you. Be more precise, Monsieur Relivaux. Your peace of mind could depend on it, and I believe you do care about that.’

‘It’s really of no particular interest. On Tuesday, Sophia got a postcard. She showed it to me. It just had a drawing of a star and a date to meet at a certain time in a hotel in Lyon. Take such and such a train tomorrow night. No signature. Instead of keeping calm, Sophia got into a state. She had got it into her head that the card was from an old boyfriend, a Greek called Stelios Kutsukis. Because of the star. I had a certain amount of trouble from him, on several occasions, before we got married. He was the mad-rhino kind of admirer.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

Oh, nothing. Anyway, one of Sophia’s admirers.’

‘A former lover’

‘Naturally, I tried to dissuade Sophia from going. If this card was from someone else, then God knows what she was letting herself in for. And if it was from Stelios, it wasn’t much better. But no, there was no stopping her, she packed her bag and off she went. I admit I was expecting to see her back yesterday. And that’s all I know.’

‘And the tree?’

‘What do you want me to say about the tree? Sophia made a huge fuss about it. I didn’t imagine she would go to the length of digging underneath it. What on earth did she think was there? She’s always making up fantasies. It can only be a gift from someone, what else? Perhaps you have heard that Sophia was quite well known until she gave up performing. She was an opera singer.’

‘Yes, I know. But Juliette Gosselin said that you told her that
you
had planted the tree.’

‘Yes, that’s what I told her. One morning at the gate, Juliette asked me about the new tree. Sophia having made such a fuss about it, I didn’t want to tell her that we had no idea where it came from, and then have that get all round the neighbourhood. As you guessed, I value my peace of mind. So I simply told her I had decided to plant a beech tree-to put a stop to the questions. That’s what I should have told Sophia too. It would have saved a lot of trouble.’

‘That’s all very well and good,’ said Vandoosler, ‘but we only have your word for it. It would be helpful if you could produce the postcard. So that someone could get in touch with her.’

‘Well, I’m sorry,’ said Relivaux, ‘but Sophia took it with her, because it had the instructions on it. That’s logical, isn’t it?’

‘Ah. That’s a pity, but it doesn’t matter too much. The story sounds convincing.’

‘Well, of course it does! Why would anyone think I’d been up to anything?’

‘You know perfectly well what is the first thing the police think of when a wife disappears.’

‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘Yes, it’s ridiculous.’

‘The police wouldn’t dare go to those lengths,’ said Relivaux putting his hand stiffly down on the table. ‘I’m not just anybody.’

‘No, indeed,’ said Vandoosler gently. ‘Nobody is.’

He got up slowly. ‘If the
flics
do come and see me, I’ll back up your story.’

‘There’s no need. Sophia will be back.’

‘Let’s hope so.’

‘I’m not worried about her.’

‘Well, so much the better. And thank you for being so frank.’

Vandoosler crossed the garden to go home. Relivaux watching him go, thought: ‘What the hell is he up to, the busy body?’

XIV

IT WASN’T UNTIL THE SUNDAY NIGHT THAT THE EVANGELISTS CAME UP
with anything concrete. On Saturday, the only time Pierre Relivaux went out was to buy the newspapers. Marc had said to Lucien that he was sure Relivaux would say he was going to ‘consult the national press’, rather than ‘read the papers’, and that one day he would have to test this, just for the pleasure of it. Anyway, he had not stirred all day, having stayed at home with the national press. Perhaps he was worried about getting a visit from the police.

Then, maybe since nothing seemed to be happening, he appeared to regain confidence. Marc and Lucien had started tailing him when he left the house at about eleven on Sunday morning. He led them to a little house in the 15th
arrondissement
in south-west Paris.

‘You were bang on target,’ said Marc, summing up their day for Vandoosler. ‘The girl lives in a fourth-floor flat. Nice enough girl, easy going, quiet sort, not fussy.’

‘Let’s just say she’s nothing to write home about,’ said Lucien. ‘I have standards, you know, and Marc here will give anyone the benefit of the doubt …’

‘You’re on your own, with your standards,’ said Marc.

‘Quite so,’ said Lucien. ‘But that’s not what we’re discussing. Carry on with your report, lieutenant.’

‘That’s all. The girl has her flat paid for, all found. She doesn’t go out to work, we asked the neighbours.’

‘So Relivaux does have a mistress. You guessed right,’ said Lucien to Vandoosler.

‘It wasn’t guesswork,’ said Marc. ‘The
commissaire
has a lot of experience.’

Godfather and godson exchanged glances.

‘Mind your own business, St Mark,’ said Vandoosler. ‘Are you sure she was his mistress? Could she not have been a sister or a cousin?’

‘We listened at the door,’ Marc explained. ‘Verdict: it’s not his sister. Relivaux left there at about seven. I think he’s a dangerous creep.’

‘Don’t jump to conclusions,’ said Vandoosler.

‘Don’t underestimate the enemy,’ said Lucien.

‘Has the hunter-gatherer not come back yet?’ asked Marc. ‘Still up at
Le Tonneau
?’

‘Yes,’ said Vandoosler. ‘And Sophia hasn’t telephoned. If she wanted to keep the whole thing quiet but at the same time reassure her immediate friends, she would have told Juliette. But there’s been nothing, not a peep. It’s four days now. Tomorrow, St Matthew will call Leguennec. Tonight, I’ll go over with him what he’s to say. The tree, the trench, the mistress, the missing wife. Leguennec will go for it. He’ll come and take a look.’

Mathias telephoned the police. He described the facts in a blank voice.

Leguennec went for it.

By mid-afternoon, two policeman were tackling the beech tree, under orders from Leguennec, who was holding Pierre Relivaux. He had not even questioned Sophia’s husband formally, since he knew he was operating at the limits of legality. Leguennec was acting on impulse, meaning to make himself scarce very fast if nothing turned up. The two men digging under the tree were loyal to him. They wouldn’t talk.

From the second-floor window, Marc, Mathias and Lucien crowded together to watch.

‘It’ll finish off the poor old beech,’ remarked Lucien.

‘Shut up,’ said Marc. ‘Don’t you understand this is serious? Any minute now they could find Sophia underneath it. And you think that’s funny?
For the last few days I haven’t even been able to string together any sentences that make sense.’

‘I had noticed,’ said Lucien. ‘You disappoint me.’

‘Well kindly keep your thoughts to yourself. Look at Mathias. He’s managing to control himself. He can keep his mouth shut.’

‘That’s how Mathias always is. One day, it’s going to rebound on him. Hear me, Mathias?’

‘I hear you. See if I care.’

‘You never listen to anyone. You just hear them. That’s a mistake.’

‘Oh, shut up, Lucien,’ cried Marc. ‘I’m telling you, it’s serious. I liked her very much, our Sophia Siméonidis. If they really find her there, it’s going to make me sick to my stomach, and I’m moving out. Hush. One of the
flics
is looking at something. No, he’s digging again.’

‘Now then,’ said Mathias. ‘Your godfather’s there, coming up behind Leguennec. What’s he up to? Can’t he keep out of the way for once?’

‘No, it’s impossible, he’s got to be everywhere at once,’ said Marc. ‘That’s what he’s done all his life really. Anywhere he isn’t, he thinks is crying out for him to be there. And because he’s spent forty years going here, there and everywhere, he doesn’t know where he is any more, and no-one else does either. In fact, my godfather is a combination of a thousand godfathers rolled into one. He talks like a normal person, he walks about, he goes shopping, but when you try to pin him down, you never know what will appear: a troublemaker, a top policeman, a traitor, a salesman, a creator, a saviour, a destroyer, a sailor, a pioneer, a tramp, an assassin, a protector, a slacker, a prince, a dilettante, a fanatic-whatever. Very practical in some ways. Except it’s not you who gets to choose, it’s him.’

‘I understood,’ said Lucien, ‘that we were supposed not to be saying anything.’

‘I’m on edge,’ said Marc. ‘I have a right to speak. This is my floor we’re on.’

‘While we’re up here, was it you who threw together that stuff I read on your desk? About village trade in the eleventh century? Are those your ideas? Is there any evidence for them?’

‘Nobody gave you leave to read that. If you don’t want to come out of the trenches, nobody’s forcing you.’

‘No, I thought it was good. But what the hell is your godfather up to now?’

Vandoosler had come up silently behind the men who were working. He stood behind Leguennec, being a whole head taller than him. Leguennec was a Breton: short, stocky, with iron-grey hair and broad hands.

‘Hello, Leguennec,’ said Vandoosler softly.

The
inspecteur
turned round with a start. He stared at Vandoosler, quite overcome.

‘Hey, don’t you recognise your old boss?’ said Vandoosler.

‘Vandoosler …’ said Leguennec slowly. ‘So you’re the one behind this.’

Vandoosler smiled. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘It’s good to see you.’

‘Same here,’ said Leguennec. ‘But …’

‘I know. I won’t let my name appear anywhere. At least not yet. It wouldn’t be right. Don’t worry, I’ll be as discreet as you’ll want to be, if you don’t find anything.’

‘Why did you call me in?’

‘It looked as if it was your kind of problem. And anyway it’s on your patch. And you were always nosy in the old days. You liked to go fishing, and even catching spider crabs.’

‘Do you really think this woman has been killed?’

‘I don’t know. But I’m sure something’s wrong here. Quite sure.’

‘What do you know about it?’

‘No more than you heard this morning in that telephone message. That was a friend of mine. By the way, don’t bother looking for the workmen who dug the first trench: they were friends of mine as well. That will save you some time. Not a word to Relivaux. He thinks I’m trying to help him. He has a weekend mistress in the 15th. I can give you the address if you need it. Otherwise there’s no reason to alert him, we let him stew and then come down on him if we have to.’

‘Naturally,’ said Leguennec.

‘I’m off now. I don’t want to cause trouble for you. And don’t bother to contact me about the tree,’ said Vandoosler pointing to the hole in the ground. ‘I’ll be able to see everything from next door, I live in the attic.’