Son of Holmes

by John Lescroart

  She was becoming hysterical, so I walked her to a chair and we sat down. I took her hand.

  “Now look, Danielle. Try to remember. Did anyone come last night? Did madame act strange in any way? How was the other woman?”

  “Last night she was walking around, of course with the bandage still on her head. But we talked, and she seemed well. The madame had dinner and went up to bed early, complaining of a headache. No one came to the house.”

  “What time did you get up this morning?”

  “At dawn, monsieur, comme d’habitude.”

  “Were there any signs of trouble? Struggle of any kind?”

  “No.”

  “All right. Wait here. I’ll look around.”

  So saying, I left her in the sitting room and went to Tania’s room. The bed had been slept in. Her cosmetics were neatly arranged. Her brush had some hair in it—since Danielle cleaned daily, it was likely that Tania had taken the time to comb out her hair. Everything was in order.

  On Tania’s bureau there was a framed photograph of herself, her husband, and the four boys formally posed around their sitting room mantel. The focus was clear, all the likenesses visible. From the age of the boys, the picture had been taken within the past two years. I remembered Lupa’s directions and my hand reached out to take the thing. But then I stopped. Could I do this to my lover? Were there no limits to this intelligence gathering? How would Tania react to the missing picture? Turning abruptly, I left the room empty-handed.

  In the other rooms, I looked at windows for signs of forcible entry, for scuff marks in the hall which might show where a struggle had taken place, but I found nothing. Anna’s bandage lay in a wastebasket near her dressing table, but she may have had it changed. I came back down to find Danielle as I’d left her, but now dabbing at her eyes more frequently. The girl was not yet twenty and no doubt was easily upset.

  “There, there,” I said, which was patently no help. She cried for another small time before I could quiet her by suggesting that she go to my house, until further notice, and try to keep the place in order. Even as I said it, I cursed to myself. I’d forgotten to look over the table near the hearth. Still, it was no great matter. I was worried about Tania’s disappearance. If nothing else, it was badly timed. What would Lupa say when he heard that Anna had disappeared? I didn’t care to think about it.

  As we were about to lock up the house, I excused myself for a moment, trudging wearily back up the stairs to Tania’s room. Carefully I removed the family portrait from the frame, rolled it, and placed it in my coat pocket. If it would serve to clear her of suspicion, she would have to do without it for a time. On the way back down the stairs, I tried to rationalize my guilt by telling myself that, had she been there, I would have asked to borrow the picture, and she would have acceded. It was small consolation.

  We carefully locked up the house and walked together as far as the road. I was in a hurry to get to Valence, though I couldn’t have said why—perhaps I was as much concerned with getting out of Danielle’s presence. Nothing upset me more than the whimpering voice of an hysterical teenager. Be that as it may, I left her with my keys and turned to Valence. I found myself breathing hard and forced myself to a slow walk. It would be good if, as Lupa said, this thing was coming to a head. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to stand the pace much longer.

  I stopped at the first cafe en ville and ordered a double espresso and a newspaper. By the time I’d finished both, it was close to nine o’clock and traffic had picked up on the road. I felt much more relaxed and decided for the moment to put off seeing Lupa. Shut up as he was in his hideaway at La Couronne, he would not be of much help in determining Tania’s and Anna’s whereabouts anyway. And I was still not at all sure that the ladies were at risk. Walking out of the cafe, I glanced in the direction of St. Etienne and saw sulfur clouds beginning to rise. So the factory was still producing. Things hadn’t gotten out of control yet.

  I headed toward the telegraph office to check on early telegrams. Perhaps they hadn’t bothered to deliver Georges’s telegram of the night before, or maybe it had only arrived this morning. No such luck. Nothing had arrived for me at all.

  Again out on the street, I turned toward the police station, thinking it would seem logical to Magiot if I showed an interest in whether they’d taken Lupa or not. The way my morning had been going, Magiot might even cheer me up.

  I was ushered directly into his office. He rose to greet me, and we shook hands.

  “Well, Jules, what wakes you so early?”

  I’d play his game. “Curiousity, Jacques. I wanted to see if eight o’clock came twice a day. Someone told me it appeared in the morning, and I wanted to check it out for myself.”

  He smiled tolerantly.

  “But,” I said, “I really thought I’d drop by and see if you’d picked up Lupa or gotten anywhere with this thing. I had a devil of a time sleeping last night, what with all your talk of international affairs. Have you got him? Did he confess?”

  Magiot arranged some papers on his desk, taking his time. He got out a cigarette, offered me one which I refused, and lit it. “No,” he said finally, “we didn’t get him. He’d left La Couronne by the time we’d come to arrest him.”

  “Lupa left? When did he go? I saw him there only yesterday morning.”

  “Evidently Vernet fired him outright when he learned of the forged papers. He packed up and left immediately. You know they’ve hired your man—Fritz, isn’t it?—to take his place?”

  “No. No, I didn’t know that.”

  “By the way, Jules, why did you fire him just at this time?”

  I shrugged. “I found myself not trusting him. It wasn’t anything specific that brought it on, but since he’d brought in the beers that night, it occurred to me that he’d had as good a chance as anyone to poison one of them. I kept getting more and more nervous as mealtimes approached, until finally I wasn’t enjoying his cooking, so I let him go.”

  “But I understand he brought the beers in on a tray from which everyone selected . . .”

  “True. As I said, it wasn’t anything specific. I just can’t have a man in my house whom I don’t trust completely. He could have arranged it, possibly.”

  “Yes, from your point of view, possible. I think you’ve been unjust, though it’s your right.”

  I shrugged again. “There are other chefs. But what are you doing about Lupa? Have you any ideas?”

  “None, really. He didn’t leave by train. At least, no one saw him leave by train. He could really be anywhere. We’ve wired all the neighboring towns and asked for their hotel lists, though of course he’ll change his name. He may have sheafs of forged papers. Still, I think we’ll get him. You can rest assured.”

  “I hope so. Why, though, did you wait until last night to go for him? Surely you could have picked him up at any time.”

  “We’d already been by in the morning, if you remember what I told you yesterday—it must have been after you had talked to him, because he wasn’t there. We reasoned our best chance to find him was during dinner hours. With the force so shorthanded we couldn’t leave someone there to cover the doors at all times, so we gambled and lost.”

  “A shame,” I said, sincerely.

  “Damned right,” he agreed, stubbing out his cigarette. “And now, old friend, if there’s nothing else, I should be getting on to routines. I’m glad to see you showing some interest at least. Do drop around later if you have any more questions. We should have him within the week.”

  “Yes. Well, thank you for your time, Jacques. I know the way out.”

  Out in the corridor, I allowed myself a smile. Passing through the lobby, my hands in my pockets and my head down, I heard a familiar voice. The American accent echoed unmelodically off the marble walls. I stopped and saw Paul leaning over the reception desk, obviously angry.

  “But I’ve been reporting at St. Etienne every day for a week now! I can’t be there tonight. Don’t you understand? I can report
here just as well . . .”

  The gendarme replied in a low voice.

  “Well, all right then, arrest me, but at least let me . . .”

  I tapped him on the shoulder. “Paul,” I said.

  He stopped and turned. “Jules, thank God. Listen, can you help me? These people don’t seem to realize that I can’t report to St. Etienne this evening.”

  “Why not?”

  “I received a wire from my publishers telling me to meet their representative tonight in Valence. So I thought it would be a simple enough matter to report here, but this man here keeps telling me that it’s against the rules. If I were told to report in St. Etienne, then I must report in St. Etienne. It’s insane. What’s the goddam difference?”

  “Why don’t you just wire the representative to meet you in St. Etienne?”

  “He’s already left by now, Jules. If I’m not here, they won’t take it lightly.”

  “I imagine not. All right, let me talk to him.”

  I leaned over the desk and pointed out to the flic that since they already had a suspect, it was rather pointless to keep hounding everyone else involved. Perhaps Monsieur Magiot would see the logic of my position. At the mention of the chief’s name, the desk guard looked down and mumbled that perhaps something could be done to accommodate the monsieur. I told him I sincerely hoped so. Then I turned, took Paul’s arm, and walked out the front door.

  Out on the stoop, I put my arm around him. “Well, how are you?”

  “Fine, now, thank you. Let me buy you a drink.”

  “Volontiers.”

  We settled in a cafe, and I surprised both Paul and myself by ordering a Vichy water.

  “What were you doing in the station?” he asked. “I certainly didn’t expect to run into you there.”

  “Oh, the police chief here is an old acquaintance of mine. Yesterday he told me they were going to arrest Lupa, and—”

  “So it was him. I’m damned.”

  “Not necessarily. The police have decided it was him, and he’s left town—”

  “Well, that clinches it.”

  “Well, yes, it appears so. Anyway, I was at the station to see if they’d got him and found all this out. Seems his papers were forged, too.”

  He sipped at his whiskey. “Doesn’t surprise me any, though.”

  “No?”

  “No. Look at it like this, Jules. We’d all been meeting there at your place for a long time, and if anybody wanted to kill Marcel they could have done it any old time. But everybody liked Marcel. ’Course there’s other reasons for killing than having it be personal. But anyway, this Lupa fellow comes in, and right off Marcel is killed, and then Lupa runs away. Didn’t he have to register every day? He was foreign, too, wasn’t he?”

  “I suppose they asked him to. But no, since he was in town, they only requested that he not leave.”

  “Well, there, now. I hope they hang the bastard.”

  We were sitting on the sidewalk, and the talk turned to other matters. It was a fine day, and we chatted until noon and then decided to have a bite.

  Halfway through our ham sandwiches, Paul looked up across the street and spoke. “It’s old home week at Grand Central.” He motioned with his head to a couple walking toward us on the other side of the road, as yet unaware of us. It was Georges and Madame Pulis. When they were abreast of us, Paul called out to them.

  “The secret’s out now about you two. Come on over and join us and maybe we won’t tell Henri.”

  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.