I hardly listened to them, my attention was fixed away from the house, not on the path where poor Valerie lay, being examined by the police pathologist, but in the woods where I was sure Remy was hiding, in fear of his life from the killer who had so brutally struck down his mother. It was strange, I felt as though I could see him. Feel him. Hear his ragged breaths, the white-knuckled clench of his fists as he crouched in the darkness, waiting. Then I thought I actually heard him, his whisper: Fleur, help me. Help me. Please.
'Yes, yes,' I said. 'Of course I'll help. Of course.' I felt rather than heard the silence that followed then as Mum and the paramedics broke off from their conversation to stare at me, and I realised I'd spoken aloud. Mum said, 'I think we should take you home,' and one of the para-medics said that in his opinion that was an excellent idea, but then one of the detectives came over to us and said that nobody was to go yet, they had to ask us some questions. Mum said that I was still in shock and that surely I shouldn't have to do that yet. The detective looked sympathetic but said she had to ask just one or two basic questions, then we could go home and they would interview us more fully later.
So Mum and I went inside and sat down while the detective asked us the usual things, you know, like when we'd arrived, and what we'd seen, and why we'd come. That took a bit of explaining and even as Mum talked, I could feel something growing in the air, something horrible and ghastly and I felt as though I was suffocating. I knew what she was thinking, what she thought had happened here, and it hurt so much, that she should think that, because I knew it couldn't be true. Couldn't be. No way. I knew him. I knew him. I just knew he could never ever ever do a thing like that, no matter what.
But the detective was nodding, and I knew she must be thinking it too. She asked me if I had ever seen Remy with a bow and arrow, and when I didn't answer, repeated the question with a knowing look in her eyes, so that I just yelled out, in English, 'It's not him! It's not him! Can't you see! Someone else was here. Someone else. They must have come after the dream book. They must have done!'
The detective stared at me as though I'd gone barmy and she said, very gently, in very shaky English, 'What do you say?'
Mum broke in before I could answer. 'She is in shock. She needs rest. Can't you ask these questions later?'
'Very well,' said the detective, and snapped her notebook shut. 'We have what we need for the moment, anyway. We will contact you when we need you again. Tomorrow, perhaps.'
Mum nodded. 'Officer – the boy – will you –'
'Do not worry, Madame. My superior has already called in a search for him.'
My mother gave me a sideways look. 'The place my daughter said?'
'We know it, Madame. Do not be concerned. We will find him.'
'And if you don't?'
'We will. You must not be alarmed.'
What were they talking about? I couldn't understand. Did they think that not only had Remy killed his mother, but that he'd go after me, too? I opened my mouth to tell them how crazy they were, how wicked and evil it was to even suggest such a thing, but instead of words, just screams came out, ragged, pitiful, barking, like the fox's scream, scratching at my throat, filling my insides with a pain like boiling oil. The paramedics came running then and this time they insisted that I had to go to hospital and Mum didn't even try to argue. They gave me a shot of something and made me lie down on the stretcher and carried me off through the woods, with Mum running along beside. It was the weirdest feeling, like deja vu, probably because I was so spaced-out by now, but I felt like this had happened before, to me, or someone I knew. Then just as I dropped off into unconsciousness, I knew what it was, Raymond's dream of the wounded king carried on a litter – a medieval stretcher, really – through the woods. And on that thought I fell into a darkness so deep that there were no dreams in it, no shadows, no images, nothing.
I woke, and it felt like it was the next day. I was in an unfamiliar place, and it took me a few seconds to understand I was in hospital, in one of those hard narrow beds. The sunlight was coming in through high windows and the walls were pale, and Mum was sitting by the bedside, looking drawn and anxious. She said, 'Fleur. Darling. Don't try to get up,' because I was trying to struggle up, out of the constriction of the tight hospital sheets. I wasn't wearing my own clothes, but some sort of paper nightie. Mum said, 'It's okay. Your clothes are just over there. You've been asleep a few hours. They thought you'd be more comfortable like that.'
'I want to get out of here,' I said. 'I'm fine now. I want to go back to Bellerive.'
'We're not going back there,' she said. 'I've organised for us to stay in a hotel here, in Avallon. We'll just stay here for a day or two, till I get that library packed up and ready to be shipped home. Then we'll go. To Paris, I think. What do you say?'
I stared at her, biting my lip. 'I want to go back to Bellerive.'
'No. We all think it's for the best.'
'Who's we?'
'The police. Oscar. Christine. Wayne.'
'Laurie too?' I could hear the bitterness in my voice. 'All the happy little vegemites agree!'
'Laurie's gone,' she said. 'Couldn't cope with all that stuff. But Christine and Oscar and Wayne have been marvellous. So kind and helpful.'
'Didn't you ask Nicolas too to join your jolly party?'
She flushed. 'What is the matter with you, Fleur? As a matter of fact, I haven't spoken to Nicolas.'
'You should. Ask him about the dream book. Ask him what Raymond told him. Ask him who would try to frame Remy.'
'Stop it, Fleur! I know you're upset, but this is ridiculous. This terrible tragedy has got nothing to do with your dream book or anything like that. It has to do with someone being provoked – someone probably very highly strung – who just snapped when –'
'No, you stop it,' I said fiercely. 'You don't know Remy. He's not like that at all. Not at all. He loves his mother. You should have seen him with her. He'd never ever do a thing like that, not in a thousand years, not in a million years. Why would he? Why?'
Mum said, after a silence, 'You saw how she was, when she came to see us. She must have laid down the law to him, told him he was forbidden to see you, and –'
'But she had told him that already when she came to see us! Don't you remember what she said? She said she'd told him, and that he'd obey because he always obeyed her. So why would he get angry about it much later?'
'People do, sometimes. They brood, and then they snap. You say you know him, Fleur, but you've only known him for barely two days. You don't know his history. Not really. You don't know how his relationship with his mother really was. Maybe she was always bossy. Dominating. Stopped him from doing what he wanted. Stopped him from seeing people, doing the things normal young people do. And this was the last straw.'
'Is that what the police think?' I snapped. 'Is that their stupid theory? Because it's rubbish. Just rubbish. He's not like that.'
'They've found the bow,' she said gently. 'And the other arrows. Near that place you said. The Lady's House.'
'Oh my God.'
'They're examining them now for fingerprints and other traces. If someone else really took that bow, Fleur, they'll soon know.'
'Good. You'll see.'
'Don't pin your hopes on it, love,' she said. 'Please don't.'
At that moment, a nurse came in to examine me and take my temperature. She said, 'You're looking better.'
'I feel better. I want to go.'
'Doctor will see you soon. Then we'll see,' she said, with a little smile at Mum, and clicked briskly out.
When she'd gone out, I said, 'Mum, please. We don't really have to go and stay in Avallon, do we?'
'I'm afraid we do, Fleur.' Her tone was firm, but I tried again.
'But I'll be okay – and I promise I won't go anywhere. I won't try to find Remy or contact him or anything. Please, can we stay at Bellerive?' My mind was fluttering with panic, because if we left Bellerive and stayed in Avallon, how could I let Remy know where I w
as? If he was hiding somewhere, in fear of his life – of his mother's killer – then I was sure he would try to find me. He'd want me to help him. He'd come to the manor – at night – or somehow. But if we had gone and he didn't know where I was ...
'No,' said Mum. She hesitated, then went on, 'It's not just for your sake, Fleur, but for mine. I don't want to stay at Bellerive at night anymore. There's a disturbance in the atmosphere there. It makes me feel very uneasy. I'd prefer it if we were in a nice hotel, safe and ordinary and tucked up with TV. Okay?'
'Okay,' I said, swallowing. I'd thought of something. 'But Mum, if we have to leave Bellerive, can we just go back there today? I mean, just so I can get my things and maybe help you with the library, so it can go faster and we can get away more quickly?'
She looked at me, sharply, but I kept my face blankly sad. After an instant she said, 'Yes. That's a good idea, Fleur. The sooner we're away, the better. But you must promise me...'
A wave of relief went through me. I'd get a message to him somehow. Not at his house – he wouldn't go back there – but at our willow hideout, where we'd been happy. Well, it was maybe an outside chance, but I had to take it. I had to give him a chance, no matter what anyone else said. Lying through my teeth, I said, in an injured tone, 'I told you I wouldn't contact Remy. How can I, anyway? I don't know where he is. I just know he didn't do the thing you all think. I know that.'
She sighed. 'Okay, Fleur. Whatever you say.' She was about to say something else, when someone came in. It was the young woman detective, the one who'd interviewed us before. She said, 'I just came to see how you both were.'
'Good, thank you. My daughter is much better.'
'That's good. Madame Griffon, can I talk to you for a moment, in private?'
Mum looked quickly at me, then away. I could feel my heart beginning to race again. It took all my willpower not to react. 'Of course,' Mum said. 'Fleur, you will be all right?'
'Of course,' I said, but my scalp was prickling with cold.
They were gone for just a few minutes. I took the opportunity to get up and get dressed in my own clothes. When Mum came back into the room, she was alone. Her face was still, her eyes full of sadness. She went straight to me and put her arms around me. 'Fleur. Darling. I'm so sorry.'
I pulled myself out of her arms. 'Sorry about what? What?' I felt hot and cold all at once, a stone sitting in my stomach.
'I'm so sorry,' she said, again, helplessly. 'But there's no doubt.'
'No doubt of what, for God's sake? They've found him, and he's confessed? It won't be true, they'll have forced him, they just want to clear up crimes quickly, they don't want to have to think beyond –'
'Fleur. Stop it. It's his bow. They've examined it. The only fingerprints on it are his.'
My head started spinning again. My voice felt thin and weak as I said, 'How do they know? He's not there. How do they know if those are his fingerprints? They –'
'They had them on file. Not because of any criminal record but when they came into the country, you see, there was some formality they had to go through. At least something like that. I can't remember exactly what the officer said, but the fact is, they know. And there are no others on the bow.'
'Of course his prints would be on it,' I said, faintly. 'He handled it all the time.'
'You see.'
'No, I don't! The killer knew that, knew he'd be blamed. They framed him! They wore gloves. Just like the person who killed Raymond!'
'Fleur –'
'In fact, it probably was the same person that killed Raymond,' I said, ignoring her. 'They probably were after the same thing – the dream book.' I stopped, suddenly aware that if that was true, then I–I was partly responsible for what had happened to Remy's mother. I'd given Remy the book for safekeeping at his place. The killer had found out somehow – or had had a lucky guess.
Mum was looking sadly at me again. 'Fleur, this isn't one of your thrillers. This is real. People don't kill people for dream books.'
'No, no, it's for the coin. For the evidence.'
'Evidence of what?' she flared up. 'So what if Raymond really did find a coin that may have been minted for Riothamus? So what if he thought it was Arthur? Even if it's all true, that is no reason for someone to kill Valerie. They could just have stolen the dream book. This was directed at her. Don't you remember those drawings, how violently they'd been defaced?'
I shuddered. I remembered all too well. I faltered, 'That's another reason why it couldn't be Remy. He loves his mother's work. He's proud of her. He would never –'
'He wasn't in a normal state of mind,' she said gently. 'He can't have been.' She paused. 'They had quarrelled violently. Obviously.'
'Just because his mother acted psycho doesn't mean he did,' I snapped, close to tears now.
She sighed. 'Oh, Fleur. Sooner or later you're going to have to face it. You liked this boy. You really liked him. But you didn't really know him. That's the truth of the matter. It's horrible, but there it is. You must put him out of your mind. You must try not to think about it. About him.' She touched me tentatively on the arm. 'I'm arranging for you to speak to a counsellor. You –'
'I don't want to speak to anyone like that.'
'You might feel like that now, Fleur, but it will help. Honestly, it will.'
Suddenly, I felt tired. So very tired. I nodded, and looked away, my eyes full of tears. 'Okay.'
'Good.' She hugged me, and I didn't resist. 'That's my brave girl. Oh, and Fleur, we're going to have to speak to the police again later. Are you up to it?'
I nodded, mutely.
An outer mirror
I'd seen this scene on TV a million times. The small, bare room. The table. The plastic chairs. The closed door. And the look on the face of the woman who faced me across the table, her hand on a folder. The eyes that had seen it all, that had no illusions anymore about how people might be trusted to behave. Yes, I'd seen this scene a million times. But I never expected I'd be in it.
'And you're sure that was the last time you saw him?'
I sighed, and out of the corner of my eye saw the anxious look on my mother's face. I said, 'Yes, I told you.'
'Did you see him use the bow?'
I stared at her, my gorge rising. 'What do you mean?'
'I'm sorry, Mademoiselle.' The detective – who'd introduced herself as Lieutenant Balland – didn't sound sorry, though. She was watching me very carefully. 'I only meant if you'd seen him use the bow before. Hunting.'
'No,' I almost shouted. 'No.' I had a sudden vision of coming across him in the woods, and the white deer, and the tears started in my eyes. 'You're all wrong,' I said. 'You're going after the wrong person.' I half got up from my chair. 'Remy didn't use that bow to kill his mother. He didn't. He couldn't.'
'Fleur,' protested my mother, easing me back down gently before the policeman standing behind the detective had a chance to move. 'Fleur, calm down.'
'Interesting you should say that,' said Lieutenant Balland, unperturbed, as I subsided. 'Because he didn't, of course.'
We both stared at her. 'What?' I said, faintly.
'She wasn't killed that way.'
'But the arrow – we saw it in her neck.'
'That wound was inflicted after death,' said the detective. 'Something else was used to kill her.'
For an instant, I was speechless. Lieutenant Balland watched me. Her eyes were hard.
'What did kill her, then?' I burst out, at last.
'I can't tell you that.' She paused. 'Why did you say Remy did not use the bow to kill his mother?' she said, softly.
'Because he didn't! He didn't use that – or anything else,' I said, furiously, defiantly. 'Because he's innocent. Because he's in danger too from this killer, whoever it is, whatever they want. And you don't care! You want to pin this on him. You want it to be easy!'
'Fleur!' wailed Mum. I took no notice. I was filled with rage and fear. 'Did you find the dream book?' I hissed. 'Did you find it? I bet that's wha
t they were after ...'
Lieutenant Balland's eyebrows shot up. 'The dream book?'
'You haven't found it, have you? They took it. That's what you have to look for. That's the connection – between Valerie's death, and Raymond Dulac's, and that PI in Vezelay, too. That's what you should be looking for!'
'Mademoiselle Griffon,' said the detective, coldly, in her precise English, 'I have no idea what it is you are talking about. What is this dream book, and why should you think it has anything to do with this?'
So I told her. Quickly, choppily. She listened. Her face showed no expression, no reaction to what I was telling her, but she listened. Then when I'd stuttered to a halt, she said, 'We found no such thing in Valerie Gomert's house.'
'Then he must have taken it – the killer, I mean – can't you see?'
'Perhaps. We will keep looking for it, anyway.' She opened the folder, and took out a clear plastic envelope with something in it. She pushed it across to me. 'Can you tell me what this is?'
I looked at it. A vivid sketch, defaced. A number. I said, 'It's from the Bellerive Tarot. The new tarot she was making. She had made others. We have another one of hers. Ask Mum.'
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