Death in Saint-Chartier

by Ivo Fornesa

  ‘That’s too bad,’ agreed Laurent. ‘And I suppose Ahmed no longer works for you. Even so, do you by chance know where he is now?’

  ‘No, I have no idea.’ Rataille had the habit of doodling animals while he spoke, and he wasn’t a bad artist: the paper before him was now a veritable ark. ‘After the incident with Shennan I had a talk with him. He told me I was a good boss and he respected me, but he had a mission, and his duty was to help his oppressed Muslim brothers in France and around the world. Of course, I gladly shunned those who gladly fled from me, as they say. I paid him his severance, and goodbye and good riddance.’

  ‘That was the end of it? You had no contact after that?’

  Rataille seemed distracted for a moment, but in fact he was thinking.

  ‘You’re right, there is a sort of epilogue to the story. Months later, I was visited by the gendarmes, along with a plainclothes officer who you could tell from miles away worked for the national police. They wanted to see my files on Ahmed, Ibrahim and everyone else who fraternised with them. Apparently Ahmed had joined a very violent Salafist cell.’

  ‘Do you think he could have had something to do with Shennan’s death?’

  ‘I must admit, when I heard of his death, the first name that came to mind was Ahmed’s, but based on what I learnt later, there’s no way he had anything to do with it. He would have filled his pockets with explosives and blown himself up in that passageway, killing everyone around. As you know, sophistication isn’t those bastards’ MO.’

  ‘I’ve never heard you say a coarse word,’ said Laurent, astonished.

  ‘You’d be surprised. A curse once in a while does a world of good.’ Rataille smiled. ‘Is there anything else I can do for you? I hope you don’t give me an unflattering portrait in your novel. And of course, I hope you’ll sign my copy when it goes on sale.’

  ‘I assure you I portray you as the gentleman you are.’ Laurent got up from his chair. ‘Though for that to happen, I’d have to find a publishing house willing to publish it, which at the moment looks unlikely.’

  After this they shook hands and Rataille returned to his blueprints and work plans, while Laurent stepped outside.

  No sooner had he done so than he called Cathy. He hadn’t forgotten their date and wanted to know at what time she’d arrive. But she surprised him with a new request.

  ‘I’m behind schedule, and I’m afraid I’d be making you wait too long in Châteauroux. If it’s all right with you, why don’t I just come to your place? I’ll arrive around eight thirty, I think. Don’t go to any trouble, something simple is fine, really.’

  Laurent didn’t believe the story: Cathy asked for simplicity, but her voice revealed excitement and a certain nervousness. He could tell without a shadow of a doubt that he’d have to go to some trouble – not only because he wanted to, but because she deserved nothing less. He wanted to put together an unforgettable dinner, with good wines and cold champagne, and while he was at it, a linen tablecloth, flowers, candles and music. For the first time in months, ever since that distant encounter with Yael, he discovered he was excited, afraid of disappointing someone and, why not admit it, a bit anxious. He stroked his chin in thought and noticed he had a six-day beard. Good Lord, he’d fallen out of practice! He’d nearly forgotten how to wine and dine a woman! And he’d forgotten how anxious he always got about everything turning out all right.

  He spent a good portion of the afternoon inspecting the offerings of the local chefs, and before he knew it he found himself laden with bags, heading to his car and talking aloud to himself, something he only did when he was nervous and had a lot of chores ahead.

  IN THE RINGS OF

  THE CIRCUS OF EROS

  Laurent arrived at the vicarage laden with all kinds of packages. And as bad luck would have it, he ran into René, who was closing the church door and talking to Madame Fanchier, the elderly woman who had welcomed him to the town with croissants and a pitcher of milk.

  ‘Good afternoon, Monsieur de Rodergues,’ they said in unison, inspecting his packages.

  ‘You shouldn’t have gone to the trouble, bringing us all these gifts,’ laughed Madame Fanchier.

  Laurent hoped she was kidding. Since he didn’t know how to hide the apprehensive look on his face, René intervened.

  ‘Madame Fanchier is joking, but it’d be nice if you had us over for an aperitif one day, so we could tell you about your grandfather. She’s got a lot of photos from that time.’

  ‘Of course. By next week I hope to be more free, and it would be an honour to have you over to my house. I can’t today because I’m expecting some friends.’

  Madame, who was no fool, asked, ‘You must be expecting a woman, Laurent? That rosé champagne you’ve got doesn’t look like it’s for gentlemen, and the flowers even less: those lilies must have cost an arm and a leg.’

  ‘The CIA and FBI don’t know what they’re missing by not hiring you as agents. You’re a bit frightening, to tell the truth. And now that I’ve been discovered, you’ll have to excuse me, because I have to get everything ready.’

  With a bow of his head, he turned toward his house.

  ‘Is it anyone we know? Not Mademoiselle Yael?’ René called after him.

  ‘No one you know!’ Laurent called back.

  Once inside, he decided to sweep and change the sheets. Most men who live alone seem to think that every three weeks or once a month is plenty, but Laurent knew women had very extravagant opinions on the matter. Then he went to set the table, since the dinner would consist of prepared dishes he’d bought in various speciality shops in Châteauroux. The champagne was in the refrigerator and the flowers in a vase; all he had to do was shower and shave.

  As he did he recalled how, on the day of Shennan’s party, Cathy had walked up to him and spoken to him over his shoulder. Their subtle flirtation had been cut short when the host disappeared. Everything was turned upside down so quickly: in one evening, so many people’s plans and expectations had come to nothing, and all that would remain, besides the magnificently restored château, was the Carterius beer.

  He pulled on his trousers as best he could – nothing fit any more as it did when he first arrived – and as he walked downstairs to put on music, he heard a screech of tyres that could only be Cathy’s car. She’d probably taken classes in defensive driving and the like. He ought to bring up the subject and have her teach him some of those manoeuvres. If nothing else, it’d be a good way to escape from Jeannette Monatti’s advances.

  He heard her trotting down on the gravel path and up the stairs, and then knocking on the door. He wasn’t sure this date was a good idea. The last woman he’d had over was Yael, and she’d brought him nothing but misery and woe … And suddenly, and with a diaphanous clarity, he understood something: both women were intelligent and attractive, but Yael lived in mystery and denial, while Cathy was open and direct. He put away his doubts and opened the door.

  There she stood, in boots that came halfway up her thighs, black tights with intricate lace arabesques, a dizzying black leather miniskirt and a black leather jacket that she wore very tight, with the mink collar turned up. She’d changed her hairstyle and now wore it in natural, copper-blonde curls that highlighted her sea-green eyes and accentuated the contrast between her athletic body and her feminine curves. Cathy held out a gift-wrapped package to Laurent.

  ‘You look like you’re in a daze, but if I were you I’d think about opening the gift.’ And without waiting for an invitation, she stepped inside and headed to the living room, unbuttoning her jacket as she went.

  Laurent stood in the entryway, holding the package, unsure of what to say. His jaw was practically on the floor. At the party he’d found Cathy attractive, but he didn’t remember her looking this stunning. When he’d opened the door to her, he’d let in an avalanche of sensuality that swallowed him whole. He watched her moving about the house and taking off her jacket, and he let his eyes linger on her square shoulders, her tanned skin, he
r small breasts showing impudently through her satin blouse … And then he felt certain the night would end up in a tangle of limbs, and he thought once more how lucky he’d been to meet Cathy, with all her outstanding qualities: everything in her was true, sincere, direct, straightforward.

  ‘I’m speechless,’ he said at last. ‘You look stunning. I’m afraid what I’ve prepared won’t cut it. And please, make yourself comfortable. I can see you’re already at home here, like you’ve been here before.’

  ‘But I have, Laurent,’ she said with a mischievous grin. ‘When they hauled you off to the station, I snuck inside to make sure you hadn’t left anything compromising lying around. Sometimes you’re so naive …’

  ‘You’ve been here before? But you don’t have a key.’

  Cathy gave him a look that seemed to say, You must have been born yesterday.

  ‘And if you really had found something compromising,’ Laurent went on, ‘what would you have done? Hidden it? That’s a crime! “Tampering with evidence”, I think they call it. Some officer of the law you are …’

  ‘Silly boy,’ said Cathy. ‘In the first place, I’m not an officer of any law. I work for a private security company, and yes, if I had found anything I would have hidden it, since I was trying to help you. Now stop worrying about things that don’t matter’ – she changed topics – ‘and let’s go to the living room so you can open my present.’

  Obediently, Laurent followed. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  Cathy sat down and placed her toned arms on the back of the sofa. She crossed her legs and revealed a seductive pair of thighs, as Laurent went to fetch the champagne.

  He poured two glasses and raised his in a solemn toast. ‘Here’s to you, because in the midst of all my trouble, you stood up for me. And here’s to the hope that you’ll forgive me for not thanking you at the time. Cheers.’

  Cathy graciously bowed her head, accepting his words, and brought the glass up to her lips and took a long sip. Laurent was about to sit down on the chair facing her, thinking with typical male cluelessness that he should take things slowly, when Cathy spoke up. ‘Come over here, Laurent. Sit next to me, will you? It’s like you’re afraid of me or something.’

  Laurent sat down beside her, and before he could react, Cathy put her arm around him with lightning speed. Then she grabbed him by the neck with her strong hand and long fingers and pulled him toward her, and he found his lips locked to hers in a warm, passionate kiss. He wasn’t used to being manhandled – womanhandled? – like this, but he didn’t object to the novelty. In fact, it exhilarated him, and when they finally stood up he found himself wanting more.

  Dinner was relaxed and unhurried. Both of them seemed to be hungry, and Laurent was surprised by Cathy’s appetite. Feeling his eyes on her, she explained.

  ‘In survival training in the army, they taught us when there’s food you have to eat it, even if you’re not hungry. Besides, today I am hungry, maybe because you’ve whetted my appetite … But tell me, what are you up to these days? What have you been doing since you cleared your name in the Shennan case?’

  Downing his wine, Laurent said his life had been quiet up to the day that Jablard, the attorney, had visited to tell him about the inheritance. At that point Cathy set her glass down on the table, a bit piqued.

  ‘Don’t tell me that aside from that Israeli girl, you were screwing Madame Shennan too.’

  Laurent, flattered by this attack of jealousy that Cathy hadn’t been able to repress, wiped his lips on his napkin before replying.

  ‘How could you think that? Shennan was my friend, and I’m not the type. Besides, that woman is a lady from head to toe. And even though she’s very beautiful, there’s something about her I can’t explain but which makes her not at all desirable. I don’t think I could feel comfortable with her in an intimate setting. In any case, I don’t recall ever telling you about Yael.’

  ‘I know what you mean, I feel the same way. I found Mayumi very attractive but never would have gone to bed with her.’

  Laurent choked on his drink. After all, he was a rather traditional man.

  Cathy saw his shock and had no qualms about telling him, ‘I don’t know why you’re so surprised. It’s like I was saying a moment ago about the food: it’s a dish I’ve tried several times and didn’t dislike. I like men, but interesting, worthwhile ones seem to be an endangered species, and I’m a practical girl.’

  Laurent chewed in silence for a while, taking in this information, but Cathy didn’t remain silent.

  ‘Does it really bother you that I’m so upfront? Would you rather the women I’ve had sex with were men? Or even better, that I just hadn’t said anything?’

  Cathy’s reasoning caught him off guard. ‘I’d rather you be upfront,’ he was forced to admit.

  Cathy looked at him, pleased. ‘I think we’ll get along after all. Anyway, you still haven’t told me what’s going on with you. Take your time.’

  Laurent told her everything from when the police stopped harassing him to when the lawyer showed up on his doorstep, which sparked his interest in going back over the case. Cathy practically died of laughter when he told her he had a list of suspects that he was going through one by one.

  ‘I can provide you with sophisticated listening equipment, and if you ever need to tail someone, or obtain hard-to-access information, don’t hesitate to ask.’

  ‘Thanks very much, though I hope it won’t come to that. Though I’ll let you know once I’ve interviewed the last two people on my list, and if the conclusions warrant it.’

  ‘Who’s left on the list?’ Cathy wanted to know.

  ‘The architect from Paris and Yael, “that Israeli girl”, as you insist on calling her.’

  ‘Some duo! My money’s on the Israeli girl: she’s got the mental and physical preparation to carry out whatever she wants. And believe me, it takes a wolf to know a wolf.’

  ‘What’s that, some Siberian proverb?’ Laurent teased.

  ‘Come on, little Sherlock,’ replied Cathy in the same tone. ‘How’s the investigation coming along?’

  One by one, Laurent described his interviews, highlighting his discovery that the Monattis had snuck into the château, patently contradicting the story they’d told him.

  ‘I know who you mean – the couple that look like they stepped out of a Tolkien novel. What do they call those short little things with the big feet? Hobbits, that’s right. Those idiots went into the house and walked out with one of Monsieur Shennan’s antique instruments without even bothering to check whether there were cameras. Before they got outside, we were onto them and stopped them on the ground floor. They had the nerve to say they were playing a joke on Shennan. We wanted to give them more of a fright, but it was their lucky day: Shennan told us over the phone to let them go as soon as we’d recovered the instrument.

  ‘The truth is, Laurent, everything in that château was a bit surreal: the Chinese secretary shouting the whole time, Madame Shennan roving about like a ghost in search of someone, Carlos smiling and flirting with everyone around …’ Cathy caught Laurent’s glance. ‘That’s right, honey, you guessed it. He also flirted with my co-worker and me, and I must confess on behalf of both of us that he didn’t lack charm. Then that forester guy showed up, looking like the pageboy in a Botticelli painting, and the landscape architect with that innocent schoolgirl routine that didn’t fool me. And the architect throwing barbs left and right, the nanny or whatever she is running through the rooms looking for who knows who, the gardener and the cook screwing in the pantry like it was going out of style … had it not been for Shennan’s unfortunate demise, which damaged our image as a company, it would have been one of the most entertaining assignments of my life.’

  Laurent could hardly believe his ears. ‘How do you know all this? Did Shennan have the château chock-full of cameras and microphones?’

  ‘Yes, of course, he had cameras anywhere there was anything of value, and on the entryways as well. And
we installed some mini cameras of our own without his permission. It’s a typical practice that gives good results. Besides, we were spread out around the premises, walking around in endless circles, and one way to deal with the boredom is to talk about what’s going on or provide constant updates. For example, it was one of my colleagues who told me you were watching the show. When you came through the front gate, I gave everyone your description and asked them to keep me informed of your whereabouts. But don’t go thinking you’re something special. You were just an oddity, something exotic.’

  ‘Very funny. Are you sure you didn’t see anything that might be important for my investigation?’

  ‘Honestly, no. It was a great party, except for what I just said. Everyone was delightful, and delightfully rural. If one thing stood out as unusual, it was Monsieur Shennan himself. But don’t take that literally, it’s just an impression I had.’

  ‘What makes you say that? It may have been just an impression, but you’re obviously very observant, and your line of work has honed your intuition.’

  ‘Something was wrong with him. On the outside he was an utterly convincing actor, a man who’d been around the block and could handle anything you threw at him. But I could have sworn that on the inside he was deeply shaken. I can’t prove anything, and I didn’t give it the attention it maybe warranted, but at several points he looked tense, like he was waiting for something, or like he was scared. Or maybe both.’

  Laurent poured two generous glasses of Burgundy. ‘It’s funny you say that, because if he was afraid of something, clearly his fears were founded, considering what happened later. And if he was tense, waiting for someone … I don’t know, perhaps those two feelings were related, both to each other and to what eventually occurred.’