Body on the Rocks: Crime in the south of France (Madame Renard Investigates Book 1)

by Rachel Green

  Raul laughed loudly. “What have I let myself in for?”

  You’ll see, Margot almost said, but ended with another cheery goodnight.

  Chapter 17

  A series of gentle knocks woke Margot with a start. A square of shining blue light was hanging over her face and it took her a moment to realise it was the skylight. Which meant it was daytime, and well past the hour she would normally get up. It seemed liked only ten minutes had passed since she’d lain her head down on the pillow.

  “Margot. Are you awake?”

  Raul’s voice sounded on the other side of the cabin door. Coming to her senses, Margot scrambled out of bed. “Just a minute.”

  “Would you like some breakfast?”

  “I’ll be right out.”

  She staggered across to the bathroom and opened the valve on the shower.

  Twenty minutes later, she’d put on a white ruffled blouse and a pair of seersucker pants and was following Raul up on deck.

  “Sleep well?”

  “Like a log.” She hated to admit it but she’d slept better than she had in months.

  The table in the deck salon had been dressed in a clean white cloth and covered with an impressive array of breakfast things. Margot’s eyes roved hungrily over the dozen or more dishes arranged before her: figs and apricots, honey and yoghurt, soft boiled eggs and a rack of toast. She’d no sooner sat down than he brought up a plate of ham and cheese and a pot of strong black coffee.

  “You breakfast like this every morning?”

  “Without fail.” He rearranged the dishes to make room for the coffee and the extra plates. “ ‘Breakfast like a king, lunch like a prince, and dinner like a pauper,’ said somebody once.” He sat down, smiling privately, pleased with his little joke.

  Margot contained her amusement. “Are we keeping score now?”

  “No. I’ve already given in.”

  Wise man. She shook out her napkin and they greedily tucked in.

  The weather was fine and she’d planned on going for a nice long swim, but by the time they’d finished eating her stomach was so full she feared she would probably sink to the seabed. Raul insisted on clearing up so Margot installed herself on one of the two pedestal seats while she checked her phone. One message from Pierre: ‘Margot – are you all right? Please call me back as soon as you get this.’ She lit a cigarette and called his office.

  “Don’t worry, Raul’s been doing an excellent job of looking after me,” she said when her host came up to collect some more of the breakfast things. He blew her a friendly kiss.

  “I’ve made a few calls,” Pierre said. “Though I probably shouldn’t be telling you this.”

  Margot turned away from some noise on the jetty, pressing the phone closer to her ear. “Go on.”

  “You’re not to let anyone know this came from me.”

  “You know me, I’m the soul of discretion.”

  “A post-mortem has been carried out on the two dead migrants. The lab report showed that the adult male died from an injury to the head – a blow to the face with a blunt object.”

  “So he didn’t drown?”

  “No. There was no seawater in his lungs.”

  “And Aswan?”

  “His lungs were full of water. The pathologist’s conclusion was death by drowning. He could have washed up in the place where he was found, but since the rocks there are smooth they couldn’t draw any conclusions from the fact there were no scratches on his body. The father did have injuries consistent with being dragged over rocks. Given he didn’t drown, he could have been killed elsewhere and then his body moved to make it look like he’d been washed up.”

  Margot mulled that over. No obvious sequence of events came to mind: Aswan had drowned but his father had not. Then somehow they’d got separated?

  “All right. Thank you, Pierre.”

  “You didn’t hear it from me.”

  Raul was just finishing clearing up when she wandered back to the deck salon. He paused, his eyes seeking hers. “Is everything all right?”

  Margot nodded, and despite Pierre’s warning would probably have told him about the post-mortem report had she not been distracted by the sight of a familiar gendarme down on the jetty. He was heading their way, pausing at the stern of every boat to check the name. When Margot moved back to the consoles, Captain Bouchard spotted her immediately and squared his shoulders. He promptly gave up his search and approached Carpe Diem with a purposeful stride.

  “I was informed I would find you on board a yacht.”

  “Have you searched the garage?”

  “We have.”

  “What did you find?”

  The captain returned a pinched smile. “Would you come with me, please?”

  Raul appeared by her side. “Is there a problem, officer?”

  The captain spent a moment taking him in before turning his attention back to Margot. “Judge Deveraux would like to see you.”

  “Who’s Judge Deveraux?”

  “She’s the examining magistrate.”

  Margot frowned. “Why does the examining magistrate want to see me?”

  “The judge will explain.” The captain stretched out an arm.

  Margot hesitated, her heart beating a little more quickly. She didn’t like the way this was headed and was tempted to refuse, but it was probably wise not to escalate the situation.

  “I trust you’re not arresting me,” she said in a breezy tone.

  The captain didn’t answer, but the look on his face suggested few things would have given him greater pleasure. After one final glance at Raul, Margot stepped down from the boat.

  Chapter 18

  The judge’s office was situated on the second floor of a grand old building that dominated the northern flank of Place Jeanne d’Arc. Captain Bouchard led Margot up two flights of majestically curving marble stairs and then down a series of oak-panelled corridors to a vestibule nestled under smooth plaster arches. He paused to fuss with his uniform, easing his neck out of his shirt collar and tugging his cuffs free of his tunic, seemingly oblivious to Margot’s presence. When he was done preening, he gave two sharp raps on the door with his knuckles. A voice inside bade them to enter.

  They swept into a stately room with high ceilings and elaborate plasterwork, their shoes sinking into thick woollen carpet. One wall boasted a row of tall sash windows that looked down on the park at the back of the museum while the other three were adorned with oil portraits – old men in gowns, the subjects as dusty as the frames that housed them. The place had an air of faded grandeur.

  “Please, take a seat.”

  The voice brought Margot’s attention back to the centre of the room where Judge Deveraux was seated at a large mahogany desk, busily writing with a fountain pen. Captain Bouchard pulled out a chair for himself and, as an afterthought, nudged one aside for Margot. The judge seemed intent on finishing what she was doing and only briefly looked up. “Bear with me for a moment,” she said, before going back to her writing. Margot returned her polite smile.

  While they were waiting, she set her eyes loose on a longer tour of the room. On the other side of the windows, a line of tall pencil cypress swayed in the breeze, revealing glimpses of bright blue sea. The subjects of the oil portraits were a dull-looking crowd, though on closer inspection Margot realised they were not all men. Taking pride of place on the panelling behind the judge’s chair was a portrait of a woman in robes, and not just any robes – if she wasn’t mistaken they were the robes of a judge from the Cour de cassation, France’s supreme court. Margot’s focus switched back to the lady herself. In the curve of her aquiline nose and the tilt of her ears there was a clear physical resemblance.

  The silence was rudely shattered by a coughing fit. The judge turned her chair to one side and hacked into a handkerchief. Margot promptly got up.

  “Are you all right, Madame?” She filled a tumbler with water from the carafe and passed it over. The judge nodded, and gratefully accepted.


  “Thank you.”

  She took a sip and returned a warm smile. Margot went back to her seat, rebuking the captain’s indifference with a testy glare.

  Recovered, the judge screwed the top back onto her pen and began shuffling her papers. “Thank you both for your patience. And thank you, Madame Renard, for coming to see me.”

  Margot inclined her head.

  “I heard about the fire at your house. That must have been a dreadful experience.”

  “People have been very kind.”

  The judge smiled again. She found the file she was looking for and opened it, sliding the top few sheets to one side.

  “Now. The reason I asked you here was to talk about your visit to Garage de Paolo. I’ve read the transcript of your interview with Captain Bouchard. In it you stated that you saw a number of forged passports in the room above the garage.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Based upon your account, the Police National raided the garage early this morning, but unfortunately, no such documents were found.”

  “That’s hardly a surprise,” Margot said. “They had plenty of time to get rid of the evidence.” She cast a sideways glance at the captain who straightened on his seat.

  “Your impromptu visit obviously alerted them,” he countered.

  “If you’d searched the place sooner I wouldn’t have had to visit them.”

  “We were waiting for information.”

  “You had all the information you needed. I gave you the backpack.”

  “If you hadn’t blundered in and raised their suspicions the evidence might still have been there.”

  “If you—”

  “The point being,” the judge interrupted, “is that you were trespassing. And now questions are being asked as to what grounds we had for carrying out a search. Mr Bellucci’s lawyer has filed a complaint.”

  Margot balked. Sometimes she despaired at the absurdity of their legal system. “I know what I saw and I heard them discussing it.”

  “You’re missing the point, Madame Renard. I was the one who signed the search warrant. You’ve interfered in a police investigation and put both the captain and myself in a very difficult position.”

  Margot looked down at her hands. If they were hoping for an apology they were in for a long wait. She didn’t regret doing what she’d done and she wasn’t going to take any of the blame. “If the captain had taken me seriously from the start none of this would have happened.”

  “I did take it seriously.”

  Margot scoffed. “I really don’t think so.”

  The judge stepped in again. “We can’t take the law into our own hands, no matter how strongly we feel. Given your credentials, Madame Renard, I’m sure you’re well aware of the importance of that.”

  Heat rose to Margot’s cheeks. She’d had enough of people telling her what to do. She was sorely tempted to walk straight out, let them prosecute her for trespass if that’s what they wanted. “Have you finished?”

  The judge seemed bemused. “I didn’t ask you here to scold you, Madame Renard. My job as the examining magistrate is to establish the truth.”

  “So how do you explain their injuries?”

  “What injuries are you referring to?”

  “I know about the mortuary report. The father was killed by a blow to the face. He didn’t fall off a boat and drown.”

  Wrongfooted, the judge frowned. “How do you know about the mortuary report?”

  “I’m a policeman’s widow; I have my sources.”

  The judge took a few moments to digest that. In the lull that followed Margot suddenly felt two inches taller. Emboldened, she went on, “His death was no accident. Somebody killed him. And it’s obvious Paolo Bellucci was involved.”

  “You have no evidence of that,” the captain said.

  “Have you interviewed him?”

  “He was spoken to at the scene.”

  “And?”

  “He denied any involvement.”

  Margot snapped shut her eyes in disbelief. “Of course he would deny it. But Aswan had his address. How do you explain that?”

  From the sides of her eyes Margot saw the captain shrug. “A coincidence.”

  “And the door code? Was that a coincidence, too?”

  “Door code?” the judge put in enquiringly.

  “Yes,” Margot said. “The only text message that had been sent to the phone I found in Aswan’s backpack was a four-digit number that turned out to be the code to the lock on the back door of the garage. That was how I got in.”

  The judge seemed puzzled. She turned to the captain with renewed intensity. “I wasn’t aware of this.”

  Captain Bouchard shifted uncomfortably. “The phone that sent that text message is unregistered. There’s no way of proving who sent it.”

  “But how many people conceivably knew the code?” Margot said.

  The captain tried to respond but Margot’s heckles were up and she quickly went on, “Given they were forging passports in there it’s hardly likely he would give out the code to just anyone. Paolo Bellucci has to be your chief suspect. What is it going to take for you to arrest this man? Anyone would think you were afraid of him. Or is it that you just don’t care about a few dead migrants?”

  The room fell silent. Captain Bouchard puffed out his chest with indignation and Margot lowered her eyes, knowing she’d overstepped the mark. Her only way out was to mumble an apology, but when she raised her head to speak she found the judge’s attention still focussed on the man at her side. She was not letting him off the hook so easily, it seemed.

  “Captain?”

  Now both women were looking directly at him, waiting for his response. The captain wilted a little under the pressure, clearly unused to finding himself under such scrutiny.

  “I am afraid of no one,” he said, rather limply. “And I care about every member of this community. I think you’ll find my record illustrates that very clearly.”

  Judge Deveraux seemed unconvinced. She paused to gather her thoughts, and then leaned back in her seat, inhaling deeply. After taking off her glasses she laced her fingers, ready to make a judgement. “In light of what Madame Renard has just told me I would like Paolo Bellucci brought in for a formal interview. See to it, please.”

  Captain Bouchard went a little bit red in the face, but he nodded. When Margot turned back to the judge they shared a small smile.

  Chapter 19

  “So, they let you go?” Raul said when Margot sat down beside him on the bench at the end of the promenade. He’d texted to say he would be waiting there and presently was engaged in eating an ice cream, busily wrapping his tongue around a smooth ball of something dark and chocolatey.

  “I got a slap on the wrist but I think I’m in the clear.”

  “Have they arrested the garage owner?”

  “Not yet. The passports had gone by the time they’d searched the place. Surprise, surprise. But they are bringing him in for questioning.”

  Raul emitted a few short groans of pleasure as he carried on devouring the ice cream. Margot narrowed her eyes. “Are you enjoying that?”

  “Yes, thank you. Would you like one?”

  She looked away. “I’ll pass.”

  “So, what now?”

  A child squealed nearby. On the other side of the barrier, a small group of toddlers were playing on the swings and one of the boys had snatched a toy from a little girl’s hand. She was most put out by it. A look of thunder darkened her face as she shook her mother’s arm. Poor little mite. The mother, oblivious, continued to chat on her phone. Margot often came down here when she had time on her hands. She snapped back.

  “They’re never going to pin anything on Paolo. His lawyer will find some way of wheedling him out of it.”

  “One rule for the rich and all that.”

  Margot lit a cigarette. “We need to find the man he was working with. Someone called Etienne.”

  “You don’t know his surname?”
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br />   “No. But Enzo called him the Algerian. I think he was the one who owned the boat. And Aswan mentioned him several times in his diary. When I was at the garage that day I’m pretty sure he was the one arguing with Paolo.”

  Raul finished eating his ice cream and dropped the remains of the cone in the bin. He wiped his fingers with a tissue and tossed that in, too. “Do you think he’s local?”

  “It’s a fair assumption.”

  “Shall I ask around the harbour? See if any of the other boat owners have heard of him.”

  Margot looked him in the eye. She hadn’t planned on enlisting his help and was surprised by the offer, given how he’d reacted last night. She would never forgive herself if anyone got hurt acting on her behalf, but it certainly would be useful having him on board.

  “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  “Of course I don’t mind.”

  “Very well. Why don’t you do that while I run some errands? Then I’ll meet you back here in, say, a couple of hours?”

  Raul straightened himself up and smiled broadly, seemingly excited by his new role.

  ***

  Margot had arranged to meet a carpenter at the house at eleven, but when he arrived he spent ten minutes grumbling about how the front door was a non-standard size and that it would take three weeks, at the very least, to get bespoke joinery. The decorator who was supposed to arrive at eleven-thirty didn’t even turn up. When Margot called him, he said he was snowed under and wouldn’t be able to give her a quote after all. She called the hotel, but they were still fully booked so she packed a few more things into a bag.

  Back on the promenade, the bench had been usurped by a trio of elderly ladies so Margot sat on the wall nearby and watched the people milling outside the frontline shops. In Paris, she would often sit on a bench in Square Jehan Rictus, opposite the Wall of Love, and watch the world go by. If ever someone interesting caught her eye she would observe them, sometimes even follow them, curious to see what story they might have to tell. Hugo had said there was a word for what she was doing and it was called stalking and as a policeman’s wife she should know better, but it had only been an idle pastime. Mostly.