'That's right,' said Mum. She was very pale. 'It's a beautiful thing. I–I've often used it.'
'You use the tarot?' Lieutenant Balland's tone was neutral, but I thought I caught a contemptuous expression in her eyes. I said, fiercely, 'So what? What's it to you? Plenty of people use the tarot. Plus, you don't have to believe in it. No-one's asking you to.'
'Fleur!' Mum, said, anguished. No-one paid her any attention.
'Did you know the Gomerts before you came here?' said the detective. Her abrupt change of subject was startling.
I stammered, 'Of course not,' just as Mum replied, hotly, 'Of course we didn't. What are you talking about? Where is this leading? I don't like your implications at all, Lieutenant.'
'You say you didn't know them, yet you own a tarot she made.'
'That was a gift from Raymond Dulac. I had no idea who had made it before we came here from Australia,' said Mum, staring her right in the eye.
'Ah yes. You come from Australia,' said the detective, coolly. She paused. 'Are you sure about that?'
We goggled at her. She went on, gently, 'You're sure you're not originally from Canada?'
'Canada!' Mum's voice rose. 'What is going on? What are you talking about? Of course we're not from Canada. My parents are French. We came to Australia when I was small. You can check, if you don't believe us.'
'Oh, but I do,' said the detective, with the ghost of a smile on her face. 'We've already checked you out, you see.'
Mum got up. 'Then what is this charade? I demand to know. And I demand to call our solicitor.'
'And who might that be, Madame?'
'Nicolas Boron.'
'Ah. Monsieur Dulac's solicitor.' Her tone changed. 'But there is no need to call him, Madame. You and your daughter are not under arrest. You are not even under suspicion.'
Mum spluttered, 'Then what on earth –'
'We are merely trying to obtain information, Madame.'
'You have a strange way to go about it!'
'This is a very vicious murder, Madame. I am sorry if my questions have offended you, but I am determined to get to the bottom of this.' She looked at me. 'I know you have both had a nasty shock.' Her tone had changed, become much gentler, almost placating. 'Please understand that my questions have a point, strange as they may seem.'
'You're trying to frame Remy,' I said.
She looked at me. 'I am trying to understand what has happened.'
'But you think he did it!'
'I have no preconceptions at this stage, Mademoiselle,' she said, very formally.
Hope surged in me. 'Please believe me – there is no way he could have done this. No way.'
'Then he only needs to come in here and speak to us.' She leaned forward. 'Will you tell him that, Mademoiselle Griffon?'
Our eyes met. I blushed and looked away. I said, weakly, 'I don't know where he is. I really don't.'
'Will you tell him that?' she repeated.
'Lieutenant Balland,' said my mother sternly, 'my daughter has already told you she has no idea where this boy is.'
'Yes, Madame,' said the detective, in a neutral voice. She picked up the plastic envelope again. 'Do you recognise this figure, Madame? I mean, what does it represent, in the tarot?'
Mum took a deep breath. 'It is number 4 in the Major Arcana – the Emperor. I don't know if you know, but a tarot deck consists of two sections – a Major Arcana and a Minor Arcana. They're all symbols, but the Major ones are the most important and have to do with a person's inner being. The Minor ones are about emotional and mental states. The Minor Arcana come in suits – Cups, Swords, Wands and Disks – like ordinary cards, and in each suit, there's Kings, Queens, Knights, Aces, and numbers from 2 to 10. But the Major Arcana are by themselves, and each of them has its own individual number. There are twenty-one of these. When you do a reading, you can use just the Major Arcana, or a combination of Major and Minor. It depends on what you're doing, what you're looking for.'
'If you're telling a person's fortune, you mean?'
Mum sniffed. 'Certainly not. A tarot reading is not fortune-telling. You can't map the future from it.'
'Then what is it for?'
'It's a combination of self-reflection and counselling,' replied Mum. 'An outer mirror of an inner state, if you like. It can help you to make up your mind about things. It can help you understand yourself – and other people.'
'I see,' said the detective. For the first time, she sounded a little uncertain.
Mum looked at the drawing. She said, 'The Emperor represents power, leadership. If you draw a card like this, it may be you are being told you need to own your own power, to lead your own life.' She peered at it more closely. 'Each tarot pack illustrates each symbol differently. For instance, my pack has Arthurian characters as the symbols, and Arthur is depicted as the Emperor. It's interesting – this one was going to be in modern dress. You said she .. .Valerie – called it the Bellerive Tarot,' she said, turning to me. 'I wonder if that meant it was going to depict all the locals as the archetypes of the Major Arcana? Because, unless I'm much mistaken, this one – what I can see of it through the scribbles – was going to be a portrait of Raymond Dulac. See? That's one of his books the figure's holding – Le Lac des Demoiselles – The Ladies' Lake.'
She was right. Now I could see it, it was obvious. Lieutenant Balland said, with a trace of excitement in her voice, 'We wondered if there was any significance in it.' She pulled out another plastic envelope. 'What about this one?'
It was number 0 in the Major Arcana. 'The Fool,' said Mum. She glanced at me. 'Interesting. He's depicted with a quiver of arrows on his back.'
'Right,' said the detective, expressionlessly. 'Would you say the portrait on this card is of someone you may know?' Her eyes were on me.
I gulped and said, 'I–I suppose it's meant to be Remy.'
'Would he like being thought of as the Fool? Hardly flattering for a mother to think that of a son, is it?'
'Oh no, Lieutenant.' Mum shook her head decisively. 'You are mistaken. The Fool is not a negative symbol. He represents youth, curiosity, innocence, energy, creativity, courage. If you draw that card, you are being told you should grasp life with both hands, proceed without fear, open yourself up to the wonders of life. A person representing this life-symbol is a positive sign. Hardly unflattering.' She paused. 'In fact, I'd say it showed a great deal of love on her part.' She smiled at me, and I felt the tears in my eyes again, because I knew, without words, just how much she loved me too, just like poor Valerie had loved her son.
'I see,' said the detective. 'This is most interesting.' She reached inside her folder again. 'We will maybe ask you, Madame, to interpret various others for us, later – but in the meantime, what do you make of this?'
This was a small plastic envelope, smaller than the others. In it was a crumpled scrap of paper that looked like it was a corner, torn off a much larger sheet. There was a number, partly torn, just visible on it. 'It must have come from one of the tarot sketches,' said Lieutenant Balland, 'but the rest of it was gone. We found this scrap in the victim's clenched hand. It must have been ripped from her before –' She paused, and went on. 'I believe it may be significant – in light of what you've told me. Do you know what part of the tarot this was meant to represent?'
'I cannot be absolutely sure,' said Mum, looking closely at it, 'because of the way this paper's been ripped, but it could be either a 12 or a 13. See, you can see the beginning of the straight 1, and then the curve beginning, which could be either a 2 or a 3.'
'But what do these numbers represent?'
'Number 12 is the Hanged Man. Number 13 is Death.'
There was a small silence. I felt a cold shiver ripple up my spine and into my scalp. Lieutenant Balland said, 'Then –'
'We can't be sure,' said Mum uncertainly. 'You see, those symbols need not be negative, either. The tarot inverts many things, finds meanings that you may not think of at once. For instance, to draw the Hanged Man may be a bad sign – but it could
also mean that you need to break old patterns, to go beyond limits you have imposed on yourself. And Death may also be an unpleasant card to face – but it may also mean that you need to kill off old ways of life, old preconceptions, before you can become reborn into a better, more authentic life. Do you see?'
'I think so,' said the detective. 'But the symbols may also be negative. Correct?'
Mum nodded.
'Who do you think may have represented either one of those ... er ... symbols, in Valerie Gomert's tarot?'
'I'm sorry, Lieutenant. I have no idea.'
She looked at me. I shook my head.
'The other sketches were defaced. This one – this one was taken,' said Lieutenant Balland.
Something had suddenly clicked in my mind. I said, triumphantly, 'Then it proves Remy had nothing to do with this, doesn't it? It proves it – because he's depicted as the Fool. You can't be both things. You can't. So – someone else was shown on that sketch – and that someone took it, because it gave them away.'
Lieutenant Balland said, very gently, 'It is an interesting point, but I am afraid we will need more than this to prove who killed Madame Gomert. And though the arrow wound did not cause her death – someone still fired that arrow into her neck. The only fingerprints on that bow are those of Remy Gomert.'
'You can't seriously think that he killed his mother with something – whatever –' suddenly, sickeningly, I remembered the hair matted with blood at the back of the head and thought, somebody hit her with something, something sharp – 'and then that he coldly fired an arrow into the back of her neck! I mean, why would he do that? What sort of a monster do you think he is?' I trailed off, unable to go on.
'Mademoiselle Griffon,' said the detective, 'we do not necessarily think any of these things. But we can only be sure if we talk to him. Why hasn't he come forward? Why is he hiding?'
'He's afraid,' I said. 'Someone's hunting him. That person – the model for Death, or whoever they are.'
'But he'll be safe if he comes to see us. He must come in. You must tell him.' Her eyes locked on mine. I said, feebly, 'I told you, I don't know where he –'
'Very well.' She ran a hand through her short hair, so that it stood up in spikes. She got up. 'We will not detain you any further for the moment, Madame, Mademoiselle.'
'You mean, we can go?'
Yes. Will you be returning to Bellerive?'
'Just to fetch some things,' said Mum, before I could answer. 'Then we will go to a hotel in Avallon. That is, unless we can leave and –'
'Sorry,' said the detective firmly. 'You cannot leave the district, just yet. Not until we tell you.'
Mum sighed. 'I thought so.'
'We will call you when we need to speak to you again.' When, I thought, not if. 'Oh, and Madame – if you need a lift to Bellerive, one of our cars can take you.'
'No, thank you,' said Mum. 'We are going to see Monsieur Boron. He will give us a lift, I am sure.'
'Oh. Fine. Yes. Of course.' She smiled at me. 'And if you hear from Remy Gomert, Mademoiselle Griffon ...'
'I won't. But if I do, I'll be sure to tell him to go and see you,' I said, coolly.
She looked at me as though she didn't exactly believe me, but said nothing more.
Wasteland
'Okay,' said Mum, stopping when we were well down the street. 'How about you tell me where Remy is?'
'But Mum, I can't.'
'Fleur, you really must stop this. You can't help him this way.'
'I can't, not because I don't want to, but because I really, really don't know,' I almost shouted. 'Why can't you all understand that? I'm dead scared for him, Mum. But I have no idea where he is.'
'You told them about that place where they found his bow and arrows.'
'The Lady's House. That was just somewhere I thought he might ... But they didn't find him there. I don't think he ever was there.'
'But his bow and arrows?'
'Mum! Someone took them. Someone planted them there. Someone wanted to make it look like Remy had done it. That's all.'
'It sounds rather improbable.'
'No, it doesn't! It's much more probable than Remy doing a vile thing like that. You don't know him, Mum. He's –' I bit my lip. I couldn't go on. I couldn't face the anxiety and disbelief in her face.
'You must admit, Fleur, that it looks bad for him.'
'Only to people who have no idea!'
She sighed. 'Oh dear, Fleur. You really are keen on him.'
'I love him,' I said, defiantly, chin high. 'And don't tell me I'm too young to know what love is. I do know. And so does he.'
'If only I'd known. Oh God, I wish we'd never come here,' she said, helplessly.
I didn't say I didn't wish that at all, though I felt it. I said nothing at all.
'Fleur,' she said, gently, after a small moment, 'do you trust me?'
It was such an unexpected question that I gaped at her. Then, silently, I nodded.
'Well – if you do somehow get in touch with Remy – or he with you – you will tell me, won't you? And you will tell the police?'
I said nothing.
'Fleur, please!'
'You still think he killed his own mother. For God's sake.'
'It's not unknown,' she said, very sadly. 'People have done such things before.'
'Not Remy! Never.'
'But Fleur ...'
I looked straight at her. 'Mum, you asked if I could trust you. And I do. But do you trust me?'
'Of course, darling. But I –'
'No buts, Mum. Please listen to me. I know, I know in my heart that Remy didn't do this. And I know too that he's in trouble, in great danger. I know he wants me to help him.'
'How do you know?' she said, quickly, fearfully.
I took a deep breath. 'I heard him.'
She stared at me. 'Whatever do you mean? Did he call you? I didn't –'
'No. I heard him in my mind.'
'Fleur, what are you talking about?'
'In my mind,' I said, stubbornly. 'He and I – Mum – it's so special, you see, between us – I think we are so linked that – we've had the same dreams, the same feelings – I don't know – somehow it happened. I heard him, begging me to help him. That's all. I can't explain it.'
Mum closed her eyes, briefly. 'For goodness sake, Fleur. It can't have happened. You must have imagined –'
'Then there's my dream,' I went on, relentlessly, and told her about it. When I'd finished, she said nothing for an instant, then whispered, 'But Fleur, you surely can't think that –'
I couldn't believe it. Here she was, a believer in the strangeness of the world and how there are more things in heaven and earth than literal-minded people can ever imagine, looking as horrified at the idea as any lifelong sceptic. I said, 'Then you don't believe me? You think it's all rot?'
She saw my expression. 'No. No. I mean, I think you –'
'You think I imagined it all because I'm under stress and that's why I'm connecting the dream to it too, for the same reason.'
'Well –'
'I might be under stress but it's all true. Mum, you've got to believe me.'
She gave another deep sigh. 'If it makes you feel better, darling.'
'Mum,' I began, furiously, but then I thought better of it. What was the use? She didn't believe me. She thought I was making up some comforting fantasy to help me escape the idea that the boy I'd fallen in love with might be a wicked murderer. She loved me, she trusted me, but she didn't believe me. Suddenly, I felt very alone, and very tired.
When we reached Nicolas Boron's office, we were ushered straight in. The solicitor jumped up as soon as we came in. He looked anxious, pale. Hands outstretched, he came towards us. 'Oh my God, poor Anne, poor Fleur. I am so, so sorry. Please, if there is any way I can help ...'
'May we sit down?' said Mum.
'Of course. Please.'
'There are a couple of things I need to raise with you, Monsieur Boron.'
He winced. 'Nicolas, p
lease.'
'Did you know about what was in the dream book?' said Mum, as if he hadn't spoken.
He stared at her. 'What do you mean?'
'In the letter you gave us, Raymond states he has a book of dreams. His own dreams in a notebook. My daughter found something like that. But it was not as you might have expected, from the mention in the letter.'
'No?' The solicitor passed a tongue over lips that seemed suddenly dry.
'Describe it to him, Fleur,' said my mother coolly. So I did.
'Well?' said Mum, when I'd finished.
'I never saw it,' he said quietly. 'He never showed it to me. But he did hint that he had found something – something that would turn the field of Arthurian scholarship upside down. He could play his cards close to his chest, Raymond. But I knew it had something to do with Rio-thamus. Bound to be, if it was something he'd found here.'
'Did anyone else know about this find? Someone at Bellerive? In the family? Or the village? Or perhaps Valerie?'
He shook his head. 'I have no idea.'
'What about the private investigator he hired? Why did he do that?'
He shrugged, helplessly. 'I don't know. I didn't even know he had done that, until ... until the man's death, and the police finding Raymond had been a client of his. He certainly didn't confide in me, if that's what you're thinking.'
'Could he have consulted the man about the find he made?'
'I suppose it's possible – but unlikely. Wouldn't you go to a museum for authentication of an archaeological find? What would a PI know of such things?'
'You think a museum would be interested?'
'Don't you?' He looked challengingly at her.
'I suppose so. Then what else might he consult a PI about, if not that?'
'I've told you, Madame. I have no idea.'
'Mmm,' said Mum, changing tack. 'My daughter found the dream book by chance, hidden behind cookery books in the pantry. He must have hidden it from someone.'
'Or just generally wanted to keep it hidden,' said Nicolas Boron.
'Because it was valuable?'
'Because he wanted to know more before he released the knowledge to the world, I think.'
'Monsieur Boron – do you think such a find would be valuable?'
Cupid's Arrow Page 17