by Mark Hebden
He wolfed his croissants and announced that he had to go at once. At the Hôtel de Police, he sat at his desk, staring at the pistols that had been recovered from the canal. Bardolle was waiting with his list of everybody who had worked for Huppert. Pel paid particular attention to the name of Tehendu. He looked over the list of the men who’d been fired by Huppert over the years and finally the notes he’d made on his next door neighbour, Démy. Then he smoked two cigarettes in rapid succession, pushed the file at Bardolle and rose to his feet.
‘Let’s go to Montenay,’ he said.
They spent part of the morning talking to Huppert’s neighbours.
‘The dog?’ they said as Pel questioned them. ‘No, we heard no dog.’
‘Wasn’t that odd?’ Pel asked. ‘It seemed to bark at strangers.’
A man who lived opposite frowned. ‘Yes, it did,’ he admitted. ‘If anyone went near the place, it woke the whole street. I once even got out my gun, thinking the place was being broken into, and found a couple of kids kissing. It was the only dark spot in the street and they just wanted to say goodnight in private.’
Once again, Démy insisted that he hadn’t heard the dog bark on the night of the shooting.
‘But you did hear Huppert call his wife to come down because there was somebody in the yard.’
‘No, I didn’t,’ Démy said. ‘I heard him shout: “Come down. Somebody wants you.” That’s what he said. I’m sure of it now.’
‘You knew he had a pistol, you said.’
‘He once threatened to use it to shoot me.’
‘Why?’
‘I threw a brick through his window.’
‘Did you ever offer to shoot him?’
‘No.’
‘Not even a month ago?’
‘You don’t think I shot at the fool, do you?’ Démy asked.
‘I think many things,’ Pel said. ‘You knew he had a pistol.’
‘His wife showed it to me.’
‘When was that?’
‘When she was scared. When I offered her mine.’
‘Where was Huppert?’
‘He was in Morocco.’
‘Doing what?’
‘Selling. At least that’s what he said. I think he was having a holiday. His case had “Hôtel Miramar” on the label. I saw it with my binoculars. It’s a posh place. I stayed there once myself. Old Gruye went too.’
‘Where?’
‘To Morocco.’
‘With Huppert?’
‘Certainly not with me.’
‘Does she usually go away with him?’
‘She went that time. I saw him pick her up at the end of the street. Her case was marked “Hôtel Miramar”, too.’
‘She doesn’t strike me as the type,’ Pel said.
‘She doesn’t strike me as the type either,’ Démy admitted. ‘But you never can tell, can you?’
Pel paused, studying Démy, then went on slowly. ‘You said once that Huppert’s wife was interested in you. What made you think that?’
‘I told you. The way she looked at me.’
‘You couldn’t have been misreading her expression?’
Démy shrugged.
‘And you were interested in her?’
‘Of course. Sympathy chiefly. Huppert put on her.’
‘And when he went to Morocco you went round at her suggestion to comfort her.’
‘No, I didn’t,’ Démy said. ‘I went round to turn the electricity off.’
Pel was startled. ‘To turn the electricity off?’
Démy explained. ‘He had to go to Morocco on some business deal. I told you. Some wrought-iron for some Arab. You know what they’re like. They love wrought-iron and they’re the ones with all the money these days, aren’t they? It was during August when everybody was on holiday and there was only Madame Huppert next door.’ Démy frowned. ‘He’d left in a hurry for the airport, she said, but just before he went he’d been doing something in the forge and he’d forgotten to turn off the electricity. He’d telephoned from the airport asking her to do it for him. “I’ve left the power on,” he said. “Switch it off.” At least, that’s what she told me he said.’
‘But she didn’t switch it off? Why not?’
‘It had one of those skull-and-crossed-bones warning signs alongside it to indicate danger, and she was scared.’
‘Why? I thought she was the one with the brains.’
‘She was. But she thought it didn’t look right – that it had been tampered with. I was just about to switch it off for her, when I decided it didn’t look right, too.’
‘Why not?’
‘There seemed to be more wires than there should be. And there’s a lot of power goes in to that workshop. They have an electric furnace and a three-phase supply and step-up transformers to bump it up. In the end I put on rubber boots and gloves. Then I switched it off. There was a flash and a hell of a bang and all the lights went out. All the way along the street, too. An hour later, when the electricity people had arrived, Huppert turned up. When we told him what had happened he went pale. “Oh, my God,” he said to his wife. “I might have killed you.” Then he said he’d been worried about the main power switch and had been trying to do some temporary repairs on it. To keep the place going until he could get the electricity people in when he came back from Morocco. It had worried him, though, and he’d decided at the airport that he’d better come back and do the job himself and catch a later flight. At least–’ Démy’s lip wrinkled ‘–that’s what he said. I think it was an attempt to kill me.’
Pel went into Huppert’s forge and stood for a long time staring at the main switches. They were well labelled and had a huge skull-and-crossed-bones sign alongside. There appeared to be nothing wrong with the switch, and the electricity was on so that the factory hands could work in another part of the building.
The forge was still taped off, but there were men moving about the premises. Pel studied the chalk marks they’d found on the floor and on the bench, the marks Huppert said had been made by one of his work-people. They fascinated him. They were almost obliterated by this time but they were still visible and, finding a piece of chalk in a drawer, Pel bent and made them clear. Darcy and Bardolle watched, puzzled.
‘That’ll do, I think,’ Pel said.
Followed by the other two, he crossed the yard to the office where they could see Huppert at the desk. Madame Gruye was with him, working the old tape recorder with the home-made pedal device. They could hear Huppert’s voice coming out of it, calm and clear, between the bursts of typing. Pel watched them for a while until they became aware of his presence.
‘When are you going to be finished?’ Huppert asked. ‘This place can’t function without the forge.’
‘It won’t be long now,’ Pel said. ‘I’m just having a last look round.’
Huppert shrugged. ‘Help yourself then,’ he said. ‘You’ll have to excuse us, though. We have things to do.’
Pel continued to watch as Madame Gruye worked the pedal of the tape recorder. He seemed fasincated by the way the pressure of her foot on the home-made pedal switched it on and off.
‘Work’s the best way to get over what happened,’ Huppert said. He tossed down his pen and rose. ‘We’ll be going to the kitchen in a minute or two for a bite of lunch. Fancy joining us?’
As Huppert and Connie Gruye disappeared, Pel remained standing in the office door, staring at the tape recorder. Bardolle and Darcy looked at each other and Darcy shrugged.
Huppert and Madame Gruye were tucking into their lunch by this time and the smell of fried steak came through the window. Madame Gruye was pouring wine and Huppert was breaking a piece of bread from a baguette. An hour later, when they had finished, from the door of the forge Pel saw them rise and saw Huppert head for the office. As Huppert reached it, Pel saw him stare in surprise, then they heard him call Madame Gruye.
Pel appeared in the doorway.
‘Something wrong?’ he asked.
&nb
sp; ‘Someone’s stolen the tape recorder,’ Huppert said. ‘We were only down the corridor.’ He looked at Pel. ‘And you were–’
‘In the forge.’
‘What’s happened to it? Did you see anyone?’
‘It’ll turn up,’ Pel said. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll see it does. But there are a few things that puzzle me. Chief among them, what was your intruder after?’
Huppert shrugged.
‘Tell me again: This towel you had. What was it for?’
‘I told you. It was a cold night. I snatched it up, shoved it round my neck like a scarf and tucked the ends into my jacket.’
‘And then what?’
‘Well, when the bullet hit me, I used it to wrap round the wound.’
‘It was fortunate you had it.’
‘Yes, it was.’
‘Why did the thief enter the yard, do you think? The kitchen light was on. Your wife’s light in the bedroom was on. You were reading in the office. It seems a silly time to attempt a burglary.’
Huppert shrugged again. ‘Well, you know how they are.’
‘Yes, I do,’ Pel agreed. Only too well, he thought. Burglars usually had more sense than to enter premises when people were about. ‘You didn’t turn on the yard light, you said?’
‘No. Perhaps because I thought it would mean he would see me better.’
‘But you grabbed your pistol?’
‘That’s right.’
‘First strapping on the belt with the holster. Didn’t that take time?’
Huppert looked puzzled. ‘It seemed sense. Somewhere to put the pistol. Weapons are heavy.’
‘Then you called your wife down?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’ Pel frowned. ‘When there was danger?’
‘I’ve told you. To telephone the police.’
‘But you have a telephone by your bed. I’ve seen it. Why not from there?’
‘I expect I just didn’t think.’
Pel nodded. ‘Where was the intruder when he fired?’
‘Over by the pump. I told you before.’
‘You’re sure about that?’
‘Quite sure.’
‘Then you went into the forge. That was a dangerous thing to do.’
‘I suppose I didn’t think much about that either. We’ve had burglars before and I wanted to catch this one.’
‘He fired at you. If I’d been a burglar I’d have kept quiet. And you fired back. We found two ejected cartridges in the forge that came from your pistol.’
Huppert nodded his agreement. ‘Yes. I fired twice. So did he.’
‘You were standing in the doorway. Against the light. That was very stupid.’
‘I suppose it was.’
‘Let’s go over it again,’ Pel said.
‘We’ve been over it half a dozen times already.’
‘Let’s try once more. To get it clear. A man broke into the yard. But he left no traces. No fingerprints. No footprints. The dog didn’t bark so you didn’t hear him at first. He took his time. He got into the factory to find a set of bolt shearers, cut a hole in the grille then carefully put the bolt shearers back in the workshop. He then came into the yard. That was when you heard him and decided he was near the pump. He shot at you as you appeared and you fired back at the flame of his gun. Then, instead of turning to run, as you’d expect he would, he hid in the forge and you went after him. You enter the forge. He doesn’t fire at you immediately but when you fire he fires back and you’re wounded. That right?’
‘That’s right.’
‘You wrap the towel round the wound and run for the house. It’s then you find your wife.’
‘That’s correct.’
‘All this takes no more than a minute or two.’
‘Exactly.’
‘During which time he escapes.’ Pel frowned. ‘You remember the ejected cartridge cases we found?’
‘Of course. I found one myself and handed it to your sergeant.’
‘Very helpful,’ Pel agreed. ‘Ballistics said that those cartridge cases came from two pistols of the same type. Not the same pistol – two different ones.’
‘How can you tell?’
‘Because we found the pistols. In the canal where they’d been thrown.’
Huppert’s eyebrows rose. ‘I didn’t hear about that.’
‘Nobody did. We kept it quiet. It’s what’s known as tactics. Ballistics, however, say that two pistols, even the same type, even with adjoining serial numbers, never have the same characteristics in the rifling grooves and the marks made by the firing pin. There was a murder in England some sixty years ago when a policeman was shot by a Webley and Scott revolver. The English police tried 14,000 Webley and Scotts – there were a lot about at the time because it was just after the first war – and not one had the same characteristics as any of the others. Now–’ Pel leaned forward ‘–let’s do a bit of reconstruction.’
‘Again?’
Pel ignored the comment. ‘You heard the disturbance outside, so you snatched up a towel for your neck, together with your pistol and its holster and went outside. But the man had left no sign of himself. Your dog didn’t bite him. It didn’t even bark. Why didn’t it bark? Why didn’t it grab him?’
Huppert seemed hypnotised. ‘I don’t know.’
‘I know,’ Pel said. ‘It didn’t bark because it knew the man in the yard. I stood near that pump, where you said the intruder fired from, and I had to bolt into the forge because if I hadn’t the dog would have grabbed me. It was well within reach. So if the intruder had been someone it didn’t know, and if he’d stood near the pump, it would have raised hell, wouldn’t it, and very likely savaged him? It ought to have grabbed him easily, but it didn’t, did it?’
‘Perhaps,’ Huppert whispered, ‘he wasn’t near the pump. Perhaps I made a mistake.’
‘Yes, you did, my friend,’ Pel said gently. ‘I’ll explain. You wrapped that towel round your neck, knowing perfectly well you were going to be shot. You needed it to staunch the blood.’
Huppert was pale. ‘How could I know I was going to be shot?’
‘You’d already had one go at your wife, hadn’t you? You’d hoped she’d kill herself turning off the electricity, but your next door neighbour arrived and had enough sense to take precautions. That’s why you came home from the airport – not to check, but because you expected to find your wife dead. Despite what Démy thinks, it wasn’t him you were after. It was your wife.’
‘No.’
‘You also set up that earlier shooting incident a month ago. So that the police would believe your story about an intruder when it happened again. Isn’t that true?’
‘No.’
‘Then why didn’t you just grab your gun and run outside? Why bother to put on a towel and the belt carrying the holster? You were taking your time if you wanted to catch anyone.’
‘I didn’t think.’
‘No, you didn’t. And the belt was somewhere to stuff the second gun, wasn’t it? And the third. There were three guns, weren’t there? Your own old one and two new ones. You used one of the new ones to shoot your wife. She guessed what you were up to, and when she saw you in the yard she turned and ran and the bullet hit her in the back.’
‘I didn’t shoot her.’
‘I think you did. And she knew you had. Because you’d tried to electrocute her and she knew it even if Démy didn’t. When the doctor spoke to her before he sent her to the hospital she said: “Jacques”, didn’t she? Doctor Lachasse thought she was asking for you. But she wasn’t, was she? She was trying to accuse you. She was going to say: “Jacques did it.” But she couldn’t manage it. Not then or ever. She died before she could give a statement.’
Huppert was staring, fascinated, at Pel. Madame Gruye stood behind him, bulky, silent and brooding.
‘You shot at this so-called intruder you talk about with your own gun – the one you’d always had – but you obviously couldn’t shoot your wife with that one, could you, so
you shot her with a different one, one you’d managed to buy. But you still had to use another – a third pistol – to shoot yourself. You couldn’t shoot yourself with your own old pistol. That would have looked too fishy. But you also couldn’t shoot yourself with the pistol you used to shoot your wife because you hadn’t time.’
‘Time?’ Huppert looked bewildered. ‘Why would I shoot myself? I might have missed and killed myself.’
‘Missed?’ Pel asked. ‘When you were holding it in your hand and could have put it to your arm to make sure.’
‘I wasn’t–’ Huppert stopped dead. ‘The police would have found powder burns on my shirt.’
‘They didn’t do that,’ Pel explained, ‘because you didn’t hold the pistol close enough. You knew about the powder burns so you didn’t even hold the pistol. Let’s go into the forge and look. You too, Madame. I’d like you to identify your tape recorder.’
Huppert’s face was ashen as he saw the tape recorder standing on the bench close to where they had found the unexplained chalk marks. The home-made spring pedal that worked the tape recorder was on the floor, attached by its cable to a set of clamps on a laboratory retort stand, which had been fastened in position alongside the tape recorder by the vice on the bench.
‘What’s all that for?’ Huppert asked nervously.
‘It’s the device you made to work the tape recorder,’ Pel pointed out. ‘I found it works other things too.’ He gestured at the marks on the floor. ‘I want you to stand there. With your feet inside the chalk marks.’
Huppert was pushed forward unwillingly until the toes of his shoes were inside the curved marks.
‘Fit exactly, don’t they?’ Pel pointed out cheerfully. ‘Just one more thing.’ He took Huppert’s hand and lifted the arm that had been wounded so that Huppert’s fingers rested between the chalk marks on the bench. ‘There,’ he said. ‘Right, Bardolle, carry on.’
Bardolle produced a pistol from his pocket. It was an Apex 6.35 without a trigger guard.
‘One of those we found in the canal,’ Pel pointed out.
Bardolle was securing the pistol upside down in the clamps that were held upright by the vice. When he had it secure, he slotted the strip of plastic that had worked the tape recorder switch over the trigger. It dropped neatly into place.