Lake Isle

by Nicolas Freeling

  ‘I want to get off duty – not back on.’

  ‘All right, I get it; no questions no lies. Oh well, I couldn’t care less. All the same to me.’

  Castang poured himself another glass and drank to this not being true. Any more red herrings, and he would find himself saying it to Richard in brave tones over a farewell drink.

  ‘No, I don’t want soufflé – get them at home too often. Old Mother Hubbard’s a terrific cook, say that for her. Sour old cow though – won’t ever show me how. As though I cared – chocolate profiteroles, please.’

  ‘And with your coffee?’ asked Sophie blandly.

  ‘A cointreau,’ largely. Didn’t really want it, but it was nice having it served one. She wouldn’t be allowed to sit at the table with Barde. The old housekeeper wasn’t interested in beds, but was fussy about who put their knees under the table. Not the girl’s place!

  ‘I’ve got to be in by midnight,’ she said suddenly. ‘I’ve a key but after then the safety bar goes up and there’d be a right fuss.’

  ‘Let’s go upstairs then.’

  ‘Here? So!’

  ‘She has a couple of rooms.’

  ‘I get it. Trust the cops!’ She downed the cointreau and patted her stomach in a childish way. ‘Good. I enjoyed that. You’re not cheap, anyhow.’

  Castang did feel cheap. Back in the pub over a pastis or three it had seemed like a big greasy laugh. A matter of pillow talk! And if necessary Mr Peyrefitte making a stern Victorian entrance like Mr Barrett of Wimpole Street.

  Despite plenty of champagne he felt a lot less confident now.

  ‘Yippee!’ bouncing playfully on the bed, kicking her well-shaped legs in the air, bicycling in a carefree way.

  ‘You share the room with him, or what?’

  ‘You’re interested in him, aren’t you! Jealous?’

  ‘Just finishing my cigar.’

  She didn’t mind chatterboxing. It wasn’t hard to get out of her what he wanted. Basically, that she couldn’t give Barde an alibi, and nor could anyone else.

  She had got undressed by this time, and was all round-eyed in bed, much like Miss Carmen Sternwood in similar circumstances. One half expected her to suck her thumb and say, ‘Clotilde likes you a lot.’

  He had got as far as undoing his tie and looking dissipated. He grinned at her, put his cigar out in the ashtray, went to the door and said, ‘Commissaire,’ in a quiet voice. She gave a yell and disappeared under the bedclothes.

  ‘Now my girl,’ said Peyrefitte in his official voice, ‘no need to get in a state. Not going to hammer you if you’re sensible.’

  ‘Work before play, that’s all,’ said Castang amiably.

  ‘Cheating whore.’

  ‘Not that bad. We’re after a gang of burglars, you know. And what you’ve told me,’ in a deep impressive voice, ‘leads us to believe they’ll try to break into your house. So no time to lose. You can hop out and get dressed.’

  ‘Ooh – you mean tonight?’

  ‘So we are led to believe,’ said Peyrefitte portentously. ‘Oh all right, you can take your things and dress in the bathroom. And no nonsense. Don’t worry – we’ll say nothing to Monsieur Barde – as long as you behave yourself.’

  ‘And as long as you go on telling the truth. Make sure of that. Go on, hop it. We’ll take you back in the car And you needn’t worry – we won’t tell him about your adventures.’

  In the little room, there was a short police conference.

  ‘As long as he lets us in,’ said Peyrefitte dubiously. ‘You’ve still nothing on him. Just that he could have been out that night – proves nothing.’

  ‘He’ll let us in,’ said Castang. ‘Curiosity.’

  ‘He’d better.’ Policemen cannot just stroll in, after sunset, upon private premises.

  ‘At all costs, Castang, we mustn’t give cause for complaint.’

  ‘Oh, she won’t talk. That was the whole point, no?’

  ‘But he’ll know at once we’ve questioned this girl.’

  ‘All the more reason to do it now. Give him time to sleep on it and he’ll have a tale.’

  ‘I’ll back you up as far as I can,’ gloomily.

  Sophie let them out, wooden-faced. The girl was snivelling slightly, but only to show everyone that she felt hard done-by.

  THIRTY-TWO

  They left the car outside. The girl had a key to the wicket-gate in the wall. Monsieur Barde, as they had learned, liked to see to security at night, and it was he who opened the door in a dressing-gown, a book in his hand. He looked taken aback, but so would anybody, finding cops at the door, at midnight.

  ‘Why, Commissaire. And Monsieur Er, too.’ He shook a finger, playfully, at the girl. ‘What have you been up to then, you little rascal? Getting picked up by the cops? Off with you, then. But to what, gentlemen, do I owe this pleasure?’

  ‘My fault, I’m afraid,’ said Castang apologetically. ‘As you might recall, I’ve been a bit bothered about housebreakers here in the district.’ The girl had gone running up the stairs, only too pleased to put off the awkward questions.

  ‘At this hour of the night?’ humorously.

  ‘We thought we’d better slip along for a word to the wise, you know. I’m not quite sure whether your girl there may not have been a bit indiscreet – oh, quite unwittingly – about your security arrangements. And knowing you’ve some valuable stuff here…’

  ‘Mm, good of you. But it can wait till morning, surely?’

  The two policemen put on important, compressed-lip expressions.

  ‘What’s this girl been doing then? There’s some threat against my property?’

  ‘There could be a threat. I notice you stay up to let her in, which is wise. And she tells me you’ve a safety bar. But the windows?’

  ‘Alarms on them all… Good heavens… I suppose you’d better come in, then… I’m sorry if I appear hesitant. It is rather late though. Seeing however that you’ve taken this trouble. And brought back that silly child – what has she been up to?’

  Ouf. They were in.

  ‘Been getting into bad company?’ Castang appreciated this description of himself.

  ‘That might be the opinion of some. Er – could anybody bribe her, perhaps, to turn the alarms off?’

  ‘Improbable. They’d have to know, hm, about my domestic affairs.’

  ‘Er – quite.’

  ‘Well… we’re men of the world, I hope.’

  ‘We haven’t questioned her in detail. Preferred to come to you. More discreet.’

  ‘Speak out then, man. I won’t be offended.’

  ‘We confirm that you always lock up yourself.’

  ‘My housekeeper grows old, and more than a little deaf.’

  ‘So you wait up for the girl on her evenings out? Quite. And you are sometimes yourself out at night. Sorry to appear inquisitive. But if someone tried to take advantage of your absences?’

  ‘An occasional bridge-party. I’m rarely later than one. What, if I may ask, is your question based upon?’

  ‘Not at all. On the night, you see, that a housebreaker, with fatal consequences to Madame Lipschitz – ’

  ‘I understood,’ cutting in, ‘that this theory had been abandoned. The man Thonon…’

  ‘As you probably know, we sometimes encourage publication of information with a certain purpose. Not necessarily false, you do see, but with perhaps undue emphasis. To give a malefactor a sense of confidence.’

  ‘I see, I see. And now are you telling me that somebody has been tampering with my parlour-maid? To learn how my house is protected?’

  ‘Trying, perhaps, to check up on your movements.’ Peyrefitte, Castang had time to notice, was looking a bit less guilty.

  ‘For instance, Monsieur Barde, on the night in question – you weren’t out that evening?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Sorry to appear so inquisitive. But it might help us to identify a malefactor. You do see?’

  ‘Quite. I think, since
we’re chatting, I’ll have a nightcap. Care for one?’

  ‘Not just now.’

  ‘So you think after all that this burglar, or is it a gang, comes from round here?’ Barde was at the drinks table, his back to them.

  ‘We think that possible,’ said Monsieur Peyrefitte.

  Barde took a generous swallow.

  ‘I wonder why,’ turning round.

  ‘Oh,’ said Castang, lighting a match for Barde’s cigar, waving it gently to get a good even flame, ‘someone with local knowledge… Very boring for you, all these questions. But we have to confirm it. Can I go on?’ humbly.

  ‘If it can serve justice, Inspector,’ handsomely, ‘by all means – I’m a man of the world. A little amorous adventure…’

  ‘You’ve never been married, Monsieur Barde?’

  ‘Once,’ merrily. ‘ “It was not ecstasy but it was comfort” as Flora Finching puts it – Little Dorrit.’ Oh dear, Dickens again.

  ‘You’re a sensible man, Monsieur Barde.’

  ‘Splendid,’ merrily. ‘The very words of Inspector Bucket.’

  ‘Do you engage in business at all?’

  ‘I’ve no gift for it. The fluctuations of the Bourse,’ waving a hand. How vulgar the Bourse did sound. ‘I prefer art.’

  ‘And you’re a landed proprietor, of course. Sounds a bit old-fashioned: riding round your land, collecting rents and such. I ought to say independent means.’

  ‘Come now,’ indulgent to these clumsinesses, ‘plenty of people invest in property.’

  ‘Oh yes, quite. I meant only it sounds sort of feudal, with servants and all.’

  ‘My housekeeper has been with me many years. As for the girl who excites your curiosity – what difference is there to a businessman’s secretary?’

  ‘Oh, quite.’

  ‘I should be interested in how you came to make her acquaintance. If I understand, she was offered some sort of bribe?’

  ‘I rather think she was pumped, concerning your way of life.’

  ‘Deplorable. By whom?’

  ‘Someone I’ve had an eye on for some time,’ at which Monsieur Peyrefitte lowered his nose into a handkerchief.

  ‘Thonon, doubtless. I hope you’ve got him in custody. Been sailing close to the law, that fellow. History of malpractice there.’

  ‘We were talking about land – or revenues from land.’

  ‘I didn’t grasp the relevance. Not sure I do now.’

  ‘Oh, we think it might even be crucial.’

  ‘In what way?’ helping himself to another drink. ‘Sure you won’t change your mind?’

  ‘No thanks. Thonon, you see. He tells me you’ve sold quite large amounts of land – some through his agency.’

  ‘That goes back quite a few years. I still don’t see…’

  ‘You mentioned malpractice: I’m curious to discover the grounds for your suggestion.’

  ‘You don’t I hope hint that I was concerned?’

  ‘By no means. But as a citizen, if you were aware of malpractice – shouldn’t you have drawn Monsieur le Commissaire’s attention?’

  Peyrefitte who had adopted wooden immobility permitted himself a slight nod, like royalty acknowledging a curtsey.

  ‘Well, I hadn’t grounds for formal complaint. But if you’ve this man on a criminal charge there’s no need to look at minor misdeeds in the past.’

  ‘But I have to correct you, I’m afraid. We have no criminal charge at present against Monsieur Thonon.’

  ‘Yes yes, very correct. But if I’m to believe what I hear…’ Indulgently.

  ‘If we hypothesise a criminal proceeding, the judge would certainly enquire into the background.’

  ‘I hardly think the judge will consider my property transactions are relative to his enquiry.’

  ‘We think though that Monsieur Thonon’s dealings are central to the enquiry,’ said Castang, courteously.

  ‘You mean that he was trying to buy that house? And keeping it dark, hoping to make an illegal profit?’

  ‘Ah, that’s the trick he tried with you, is it?’ sounding sympathetic.

  ‘Well – since we’ve had the point raised, and to lay it at rest, yes, to be exact. He was careful not to go outside the law there – or I should have complained, naturally. But speculation – flagrant. I was stupid, I’m afraid. No building round here much in those days. Then the town ramparts got classified: no further building allowed inside them. Thonon got wind of it in advance. Bought land here as agricultural, and chopped it up for building. Got a permit to develop. That I call malpractice, even if legal.’

  ‘Sharp perhaps. Yes, I understand. Naturally, now you are aware, you wouldn’t sell without precautions.’

  ‘I don’t actually have much further interest round here. My father sold a lot. Farmers… it didn’t bring much in.’

  ‘So you don’t actually own any land now?’

  ‘You seem curious about my affairs. I realise, I mean, that you’re investigating these deals of Thonon’s, but this is unnecessarily exhaustive, no?’

  ‘Oh, I must explain,’ said Castang, all apology. ‘I’m being indiscreet really, but after all, you being a friend of the judge’s, that’s not so terrible. You see, if there’s any case against this man Thonon, it would rest upon his anxiety to conclude the affair. And that he might have been infuriated, do you follow, by the obstinacy or suspicion of an old woman. Your local knowledge is invaluable to us. Well, yes, if you’re having another, then yes, if I may.’

  ‘I suppose that by and large… that all right?… there might be something in that.’

  ‘Just between us, Monsieur Barde, it’s not evidence – of course – but would you say Thonon had been living beyond his means?’

  Barde took a whack at his third. Castang at his first. Same marvellous whisky as before. Drink that stuff all night, and you’d just get a generous glow. Never become rancorous, would you?

  Rhetorical question, that.

  ‘Well, since you ask… Jumped-up fellow. Nouveau-riche villa. Green Gables!’ with contempt. ‘What could sound more suburban? Fellow must be mortgaged up to here! And the daughter on a horse! – what do people like that want with a horse? Social climbers!

  ‘Must be pushed to keep it up. A scrap more? – come on, man, can’t walk on one leg. But the fellow’s a petty tradesman – Pumblechook. Great Expectations, you know.’

  ‘To round it off – you’d have a pretty shrewd idea about what business he could do, around here?’

  ‘Well, it’s a fact; there is a shortage of good building land. Out in the villages the peasants hang on, to get better prices. Or from sheer damned obstinacy.’

  ‘Ah, yes. And this Lipschitz property?’

  ‘Well, say this for Thonon: he had a good eye. Damned great garden right there on the village square: been there hundreds of years, so nobody thought of it.’

  ‘Improper to speak of personalities,’ said Castang with official primness. ‘To do so is the examining magistrate’s function, as I’m sure you’ll agree.’

  ‘Oh, quite. I don’t wish to appear malicious.’

  ‘So we hypothesise – don’t we, Commissaire?’

  ‘We suppose the existence of a certain nameless person.’

  ‘That’s right.’ Castang delighted with this priggish formula. ‘A person whose habits are extravagant, not matched by his income. Resources limited to a house which may be mortgaged, and he may be in trouble with the fiscal authorities. What he has is local knowledge, skill as a dealer, an eye for good ground. So much seems clear enough.

  ‘We don’t speculate about dealings with the Lipschitz boy, because that’s not established. He has, though, cultivated Madame Lipschitz, with an eye to a fruitful deal, which will restore his fortunes. So he may be getting pushed by creditors. He might too have had trouble with Madame. Perhaps she saw through his scheme. And, perhaps, there was a quarrel. Wounding words, or a threat of disclosure; we don’t know. But a blow was struck which killed her.’
/>   ‘I don’t altogether follow,’ said Barde, looking puzzled. ‘What about these bandits you’re on the track of?’

  ‘To be sure,’ said Castang, who had forgotten all about the bandits. ‘But we run some danger of being misled here.’ The four brothers came to his rescue. ‘The Commissaire had unearthed a group concerned in several acts of violence, but they turned out innocent of this one. We must satisfy ourselves that the bandits aren’t obscuring the possible criminal responsibility of our friend Mr X.

  ‘If X struck this blow – he decides to mask the affair as a sordid crime. It’s not difficult. Keys lie about here and there. It’s a simple matter to lock the door and the shutter, to break them open from the outside, using the instrument found in the woodshed. Relock if need be the kitchen door, push the broken shutter to, and decamp.

  ‘Well now, Commissaire, if we find someone fulfilling the conditions of this hypothesis, have we grounds for an arrest? Monsieur Barde, I must beg your pardon. We’re keeping you up late, being indiscreet about police business.’

  ‘No no; it’s fascinating.’

  ‘What would your opinion be, Monsieur Peyrefitte?’

  ‘It could so be argued. Not an arrest, but grounds for detaining your hypothetical man and presenting him to the judge in the morning for interrogation. Fulfilling the legal requirements.’

  ‘We’d better be going,’ said Castang, licking a trickle from his glass. ‘Just one observation. Looking at all this, one does rather conclude that our friend Thonon fits the bill – just between us here. Doesn’t one?’

  ‘Well, objectively,’ said Barde, ‘I suppose it does look rather overwhelming.’

  ‘So that logically, if one found another person to fit the same set of conditions, the same would apply, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t think I follow.’

  ‘Well; yourself, for instance.’

  There was a silence.

  ‘I still don’t follow,’ stiffly.

  ‘Put briefly, you fill the hypothetical outline determined. Which as you agree was reasonable and unexaggerated.’