John Lescroart - Son of Holmes
They stopped abruptly, waved, and waited for the traffic to let up. Georges took her by the arm and, limping nimbly, guided her to our table. They ordered drinks, and while waiting for them to arrive, Georges continued the teasing.
“Now that it’s known, my dear, why hide it any longer?” He winked at us as Madame Pulis flushed crimson. Taking her hand, he gave it a gallant kiss. “Or is it to be au revoir?” He turned his head away in mock despair.
“Oh, Georges, stop.” Madame Pulis was rather heavily set, but not unattractive when she wasn’t crying. She smiled broadly and took us all in. “Georges came by to see Henri, but he’s off delivering somewhere, so Georges offered to accompany me to the market. That’s all there is to it.”
“What’s the line about the lady protesting too much?” asked Georges, laughing.
She blushed again as the drinks arrived.
“What brings you back so early, Georges?” I asked. “I thought you weren’t due in Valence until tomorrow evening.”
“Luck,” he said. “Two appointments canceled. Just as well. I could use the time off.”
“You’ve heard the news, haven’t you?” Paul piped in.
“What’s that?”
“Last night the police went to arrest Lupa for Marcel’s death, and he’d left town.”
Georges sipped at his Pernod. “So, it wasn’t one of us. I’m relieved.”
“You didn’t really think it was?” Madame Pulis asked.
He shrugged. “No one really knew too much about anyone else in our group. When I heard the rumors about the espionage angle, I must admit I became concerned. I didn’t suspect anyone, but then I couldn’t completely trust anyone either. Now it’s a relief.”
“It will make tomorrow night much more pleasant,” I said. “By the way, it’s going to be at La Couronne, where Lupa worked, coincidentally. None of you mind, do you?”
“Not at all,” Paul replied. “At least, I don’t. Anybody else?”
Georges spoke up. “Moi non plus. But why there?”
“Because the owner there, Monsieur Vernet, is a friend of mine, and I’ve loaned him Fritz until he has time to find another chef.” I didn’t see any harm in telling them a different story from the one I’d told Magiot. “In return for which I eat there gratis myself. Believe me, I’d never have let Fritz go if it would have meant eating my own cuisine, if you could call it that.”
Paul called for the waiter and ordered another round of drinks, and Madame Pulis said she really had to be getting on to the market.
“Shall I join you?” asked Georges.
“Thank you, no. I’m perfectly happy to go alone. Good day, gentlemen.”
“A charming creature,” said Georges after she’d gone.
“What’s she going to the market for? Doesn’t Henri own a store?” Paul was relaxing with his third demi.
Georges shrugged. “The company, I suppose.”
“I hope we didn’t embarrass her too much,” I said. “She doesn’t seem to enjoy that kind of humor.”
“Oh, she’s fine. Henri and I tease her like that all the time.
She just doesn’t know you two so well.” He paused. “I’m afraid I have a bit of sad news, however. This will be my last Wednesday beer party. I’ve been transferred to Algiers.”
Paul put down his beer. “Well, as you fellows would say, merde!”
“You echo my sentiments, but there’s nothing I can do about it other than quit, which I can’t afford. It’s going to be hard. I’ve come to like this place very much. Not to mention mes amis.” He lifted his glass to us.
“When are you going?”
“The ship sails from Marseilles on Sunday, so I thought I’d take the train on Thursday or Friday, probably Friday. I’ll have some packing.”
“It’s lucky the police have decided on Lupa,” I said. “Otherwise you might have a problem leaving here.”
“Yes,” he said, “now that you mention it, it is fortunate. I didn’t mention this matter to the company, of course. They’d probably object to one of their salesmen being suspected of murder.” He smiled feebly. “Well, at least it’s over.”
“Not really,” put in Paul. “They haven’t got him yet, and until they do, I’m not going to rest easy. You don’t know it, Georges, but he also killed a police inspector last week.”
“Have they proved that, too?”
“Yep. Strangled him right on the road.”
“Mon dieu!”
I decided to join in. “I feel I must apologize for inviting him. Possibly all this could have been avoided if . . .”
“Oh, nonsense, Jules. How could you have known? If Lupa were a spy of some sort—mind you, I’m not saying he was, but if he was—there’d be no way any of us could have known. Don’t blame yourself. All of us only got to know you, and each other as well for that matter, because of your nature, because you trust the people you like.”
“Exactly,” Paul said, “like we were sayin’ yesterday.”
“But do they have any evidence that Lupa was a spy?” Georges asked.
“Either no, or they won’t say. You’ve got to know this man, Magiot, the police chief, to appreciate him. They don’t, at least from my talks with him, have any case to speak of against Lupa. Of course, his running won’t help him any. They certainly don’t have a motive, except this nebulous espionage thing. Magiot needs to solve this murder, and he will, even if he has to get the wrong man.”
“So you don’t think it was Lupa?” asked Paul.
“I just don’t know.”
“Then who do you think it was? One of us?”
“No. I really don’t think that. It was undoubtedly Lupa, but Magiot’s case on him is so weak that to try and prove anything by it would be folly.”
“Except that he ran,” offered Georges.
“Except that he ran,” I agreed.
“And it might be that Magiot just didn’t tell you everything he knows, n’est-çe pas?”
I also agreed with that.
Having finished his beer, Paul stood up. “Well, I must be going along. Try to get some sleep before my meeting tonight. You say Fritz is cooking at La Couronne? Maybe I’ll meet my publisher’s representative there.”
“You’re not going back to St. Etienne?”
“No, no. I took a hotel room in town for today.”
Georges and I thanked Paul for the drinks. I’d stuck with Vichy throughout and felt good. Paul was a bit tipsy, and Georges offered to walk him to his hotel. They left, saying they’d see me the following night.
I got up and began walking toward Anna’s flower shop. Too many things were happening too quickly, and I was becoming very worried about the two women. It was comforting to agree with the others talking about the solution to the murders, but of course Lupa hadn’t done it. One of my friends had. I felt for my pistol, tucked close under my arm-pit. I was glad I hadn’t been drinking.
It was not yet late afternoon, and I still didn’t feel like seeing Lupa, so I walked aimlessly past the flower shop. No one was inside. I strolled on through the town, past a group of training soldiers in their red pants and blue tunics, out to where the buildings grew more sparse and the fields began. Under a large oak that was beginning to bud, I sat and thought of Tania.
She had gone, left me without a note or a word, and I could put off the inevitable thought no longer. It was beginning to look as if Lupa had grounds for his suspicions. It was entirely possible that Tania had used me, used Ponty, used even her husband before us. And now she had disappeared, along with the secrets that she had said we never kept from one another. I understood then the real reason I hadn’t rushed to consult Lupa—I could barely stand to confront myself with my gullibility. Lupa’s reaction to the disappearance, whether it was scorn or compassion, would be unbearable.
A great world-weariness came and settled over me. I leaned back against the tree, defeated, and closed my eyes.
The sun was setting when I awoke with a start. Something from a dream had bothered me, and realizing what it had been, I woke up. It had been a clear day when I’d begun to doze, and looking in the direction of St. Etienne, I should have seen the familiar pillars of sulfur smoke rising over the city.
There had been none.
15
Though I moved quickly, the walk back to Anna’s shop seemed interminable. Dusk had settled over the town completely by now, making the unfamiliar section of town even more so. Once again the door was locked, and I quietly slipped the lock and stepped inside. This time I let the alarm sound, though of course I couldn’t hear it.
Lupa was behind his desk again. He was, as usual, dressed in brown and yellow. It was as though he hadn’t moved since the last time I had seen him, except now that he expected me, he was looking at the entrance to the tunnel as I entered his office.
“Getting pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?” I said. “Suppose that hadn’t been me?”
He smiled. “Then I should have had to shoot you.” So saying, he lifted his hand above the level of the desk. It held his pistol. “Thank you, though, for the warning. I appreciate it.”
With what seemed a great effort, he pushed back the chair and, standing, reached out his hand. It was, I realized, our first handshake. “Where have you been? I was beginning to get worried.”
“I wanted some time for myself,” I said, “and I ran into most of our suspects.”
“Indeed?”
“Paul and Georges. We had a fine time. They’ll both be coming tomorrow night. But I have news.”
He was sitting again. “So have I. Will you have a beer?”
He reached up to his left and pulled a cord which had been newly strung along the ceiling. Two quick pulls. I looked at him questioningly.
“For Fritz,” he explained. “We’ve worked out a code so that I don’t starve or die of thirst. Two pulls for beer. If anyone else is about, he unlatches the bell.”
As he finished speaking, the door opened and Fritz entered with a tray. Seeing me, he smiled. “Hello, sir. Good to see you.”
Lupa spoke. “Fritz, Monsieur Giraud would also like some beer, and he’ll be dining with us. You will, won’t you?”
“Of course.”
When Fritz had brought the other beer and gone, Lupa poured for both of us, waited for the foam to settle in his glass, took a large gulp, then looked at me. “Well?”
“There’s no smoke rising over St. Etienne.”
He sat immobile, his face showing nothing. With his left hand, he drummed his fingertips on the desktop. He sighed deeply.
“So. In that case, we can do nothing about it. Watkins should be here before long with a report. Did you check the table?”
“No. I forgot.”
He drank. “Hmm . . . well, I have news.”
“So you said.”
“I’ve gotten through to my uncle about your retirement, and he’s persuaded your people to accept your decision, though if you were younger . . .”
I nodded. “You needn’t say it.” If I were younger, I wouldn’t have to worry very much about my future; it would be very short.
“You said you met Paul and Georges today. I had understood that Georges wouldn’t be back until tomorrow. And what is Paul doing in Valence?”
I reported on my day from the time I reached the police station. He listened without moving, leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed. He might have been asleep. When I’d finished, he opened his eyes and, seeing his glass empty, poured another beer.
“So they’re all happy to believe me the culprit. Understandable, I suppose. Anything else?”
“Well,” I hesitated, “yes, actually. Tania and Anna are missing.”
He then did something I never thought I’d witness. His glass was on its way to his mouth when I spoke, and he arrested it midway and set it back on the desk.
“When did you find this out?”
“This morning.”
“Why didn’t you report it immediately?”
“What could you have done? You’re effectively a prisoner here.” I began defensively, angry at myself for not having come by sooner, for allowing myself to be lulled by my smaller duties, my social obligations. After I had run into Paul and then Georges, I’d felt as though I might stumble upon some solution. Twice I’d headed to La Couronne to see Lupa, and twice I’d decided against it. My suffering self-esteem had needed—stupidly, I now realized—to present him with answers, not questions. I had wrongly persisted in viewing Tania’s (and Anna’s) disappearance as my own problem, not our common problem.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I retract that.”
“No need to,” he said. “It’s close to the truth.”
“No, I should have come immediately. If anything has happened to them . . .”
A trace of humanity appeared in the hard eyes. He, too, knew both sides—the concern and the suspicion. “Tell me about it now,” he said, “and we’ll try to make up for the lost time.”
I filled him in on my search of Tania’s house, how there appeared to have been no struggle. The only inexplicable thing was their failure to tell Danielle.
“Don’t you consider that strange?”
“Yes, rather.”
“Everything else was in order?”
“Perfectly. Oh, and one other thing.”
I took out the photograph and handed it to him. He unrolled it and placed it flat on the top of his desk, staring at it intently. “Yes,” he said absently, “satisfactory. Just as I suspected.” So saying, he rerolled the picture and placed it in his desk drawer.
“What?”
“In good time, Jules. In good time.”
He ruminated for a while. Finally, he straightened in his chair, reaching for the nearly forgotten beer. He drank it off in a gulp. “Well, they are women, given to all sorts of odd whims, and there’s nothing to be done at this time. Let’s see if they return this evening. If not . . .”
He was interrupted by the alarm. He reached for the switch and turned off the sound, and this time got up to check the tunnel himself. “That should be Watkins,” he said. “Would you ring for more beer?”
While I did so, he disappeared. Fritz entered almost immediately, the tray laden this time.
“How do you like it here?” I asked.
He shrugged. “It reminds me of my apprenticeship. The orders are too large, and I spend too much time catering to uneducated palates. Of course, I’m excluding Monsieur Lupa’s. I hope this situation won’t last for too long. What have you eaten today?”
I told him, and he shuddered. “I could arrange to have Charles deliver fresh croissants, and as for coffee . . .”
“Really, Fritz, that won’t be necessary. I’ll survive, though I also hope this charade doesn’t go on much longer. I suppose you should know that Danielle is now watching over the house.”
