‘Come in for a cup of tea before you go,’ she said.
Terry shook his head. ‘We’ll have to get straight back. We’re overbooked.’
‘D’you need the loo?’
He gestured towards the bushes.
‘Forrest said he’d garage the car for me till I get back to London. I’d like a full service as well.’
Terry considered the wreck.
‘Do whatever needs doing.’ She gave him the key and a twenty pound note. ‘Have a drink on me. Cheers, guys.’
She walked back to the château. As she passed the rhododendrons on this side of the driveway, she was seized by the arms and pulled into the undergrowth.
‘Bitch. You’ve got it coming.’
She wrenched herself free, gasping. ‘Be careful before you try it on with me. I’ve still got my badge.’
Scout sniggered. ‘Who gives a shit? Go home, or you might get hurt.’
‘I’ll go when I’m ready.’ She stumbled out of the bushes. She was shaking and her hair had come loose.
Cars were backing out onto the drive. She dodged out of their way. Upstairs in her room, she waited for the last delegate to leave, then called Duroc.
‘It’s good to make contact with you,’ he said. ‘I wanted to let you know something. I have arrested the Dutch motorbikers in connection with the fire at the restaurant. I went to Paris to interview the family, who have settled there. They are happy to be where there are many immigrants from Vietnam. They didn’t want to talk but I told them they needed to tell me because of the insurance and any compensation they might get from the state. They identified the motorbikers, so I am able to detain them.’
‘Will they get bail?’
‘It’s refused. We are looking for evidence to connect this fire with the other arson attacks in the region. I am leading the investigation and have authorised the commission rogatoire.’
‘Sorry. I don’t understand.’
‘It’s the authority for the police to search their domiciles. A petrol can was found. There’s a match with the accelerant used in the arson attacks.’
‘You released Scout Dingle. That’s why I’m calling you. He’s just assaulted me.’
‘What? Were there witnesses?’
‘No. You’ll have to take my word for it.’
‘Dingle has an alibi for the night of the fire. He said he was working. I telephoned to Peter Roman, and he confirmed it.’
‘I have questioned them all about their behaviour. They deny everything, of course. But we can place the Dutch in Brest on the night of a fire in a warehouse at the container port. The buildings that adjoin with it were on fire too. Dingle had an alibi for this also. Another conference.’
‘He has previous for arson in the UK.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘I checked him out.’
‘With your police force? You know, the legal process is different here. I told you.’
‘Will you be questioning him about his assault on me this moring?
He sighed. ‘Are you harmed?’
‘Bruised, scratched. He grabbed my arms and dragged me into the bushes. There’s evidence of assault.’
‘I will make a a note of your allegation in his file.’
‘I just told you he assaulted me. Will you be bringing him back in?’
‘Only if you want to bring charges against him.’
‘What?
‘If we can connect him with the fires, it will expose his character. Then, I think, you would have a stronger case.’
‘What’s eating you, Inspector?’ Rudyard asked. ‘You sound upset.’
She told him what had happened and about the magistrate’s reaction.
‘It is indeed a different process over there. But it’s useful that Scout’s still at large. He’s key to what’s being going on there with the Babel group.’
‘Yes, I can see that. He warned me I’d got it coming.’
‘You can defend yourself, I think. Your record says you are skilled in the use of martial arts. Throw him over your shoulder.’
‘I don’t think that’s funny. He’s combat trained – you said so yourself.’
‘I doubt you’ll have any more trouble from him. He knows you’re a police officer and he knows he could be extradited. He was very au fait with the law when he was questioned about the fires here. I don’t want him to find out about your current role. Pretend to ignore him but keep on keeping an eye on him. Tell Roman if you like. See how he reacts.’
‘I’ll do that.’
10
No one greeted her at dinner. Schmidt was sitting next to Roman so she went to the bottom of the table and sat in Gerald’s place. Scout, who was facing her, was smug. Herbert winced as though he had smelled something bad.
Roman tapped his glass before they got stuck into the coquilles St Jacques. ‘I’m sure we’re all glad to have our driver back with us.’ He avoided Mackie’s eye. ‘Let’s have a toast. To Scout!’
‘To Scout!’
Mackie remained seated. Scout stood and raised his glass like the others.
‘You don’t toast yourself, lad,’ Herbert said. ‘Well done anyhow.’
‘How’s Gerald?’ Mackie asked him. He harrumphed.
‘Have you got hayfever too?’
‘I’m sensitive to rats and flies.’
‘Les mouches. That’s what they call the cops here, isn’t it?’
‘The filth, yeah,’ Scout said. ‘Shit flies.’
She got up before the coffee. Before she left the dining room, she went up to Roman and asked him if she could have a word in private.
‘Can’t it wait until tomorrow?’ he said, irritably.
‘No.’
‘I’ll be in my study after supper.’
At nine o’clock, she tapped on the study door and walked straight in. He closed the lid of his laptop.
‘Sit down,’ he said, pointing to the chair on the other side of the desk.
‘Scout assaulted and threatened me this afternoon.’
‘Christ!’ He scratched his forehead. ‘Are you trying to lose me my driver?’
‘I’ve just told you I’ve been assaulted I’ve reported it to Duroc.’
‘Duroc, Duroc...’
‘The examining magistrate, yes. He said you’d given Scout an alibi for torching the restaurant. Did you know he’s got form in the UK?’
‘Still playing the detective.’ He closed his eyes. ‘Inauthentically.’
‘I am what I am.’
‘You despise your job.’
‘He dragged me into the bushes and threatened me. Look?’ She showed him her bruises and scratches.
‘I’ve got some arnica cream you can put on the bruises. Poor baby. Scout is a simple fellow. He isn’t trained to manage his passions. When he’s angry, he lashes out. It’s his nature.’
‘Authentic, is he? Surely you’re not trying to justify him? Believe me, I’ve seen hundreds of scallies like him with their gang insignia and bully boots. I don’t care if he lost his mother when he was three, if his father beat him, if he didn’t have much of an education. Tell that to the assault victims. I thought you cared something for me. It was just sex.’
‘I do care something for you. Quite a lot, in fact. What do you want me to do? Scout won’t be here for much longer. He’s got a job in Switzerland.’
‘Doing what?’
‘He’s got a job as a bodyguard to one of the funders. Ex funders, I should say. They have given me notice that the centre will close in three months time. It would have been sooner but I’ve got bookings until October so I’ve managed to negotiate an extension. It will cover the expenses concurred in winding up, Jacqueline’s salary, etcetera. The funding will be withdrawn tomorrow. I’m sick and tired of the whole business.’
‘Where will the babblers have their think tank now?’
‘I don’t think you realise how powerful – and how erudite – some of these people are.’
‘Are t
hey going to meet in Switzerland? Is that why Scout’s going?
‘Will you please stop asking questions. And shut up about Scout.’ A pulse was throbbing above his left eye. ‘I think you should leave. We’ll keep in touch. I’ll be going back to London when I’m finished here. One cannot build a relationship without trust. And loyalty.’
‘No, one can’t.’
He opened a drawer in the desk and handed her a ferry timetable.
‘I’ll be flying,’ she said. ‘My car’s been vandalised. Didn’t you know?’
Part Four: Incendiary Matters
1
Gerald died three days after Roman’s Chinese medicine man had been to see him. Mackie had booked a ticket for Wednesday’s plane. She told Rudyard about the funding being stopped and Scout’s impending departure for Switzerland to work for one of the babblers. He told her that two of them had been arrested in The Netherlands, thanks to the list of delegates she sent him. Intelligence gleaned from the Einstein codeword on the icon label had helped foil an attempt to blow up a tram in Amsterdam.
‘You’ve done a good job.’
‘It doesn’t seem like that to me. So it’s OK for me to come home?’
‘With the funders pulling out and Roman selling up, you’ve nothing left to work with there. That doesn’t mean it’s finished. We’ll meet in my office when you come back.’
On her way downstairs she crossed Joanna, who moved aside quickly, slopping water from the basin she was carrying.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘That was for Gerald. We’re washing him.’
‘I thought he was dead. Are you laying him out?’
‘Sofka and Iris are doing it. I’m just helping.’
‘I could help.’
‘You’re not a member of the community.’
‘I didn’t think you were either.’
‘I’ve been accepted. When are you leaving?’
‘Wednesday morning.’
Joanna frowned. ‘The burial is tomorrow Tuesday afternoon. You have to stay away.’
‘I’d like to pay my respects. He was a gentle soul.’
‘He wouldn’t want you there, nor does anyone else. Please don’t make any more trouble. Everyone’s gutted. You have to respect our grief.’
‘I’ll keep out of the way. I’ll be gone in forty eight hours.’
‘Don’t touch the community’s box. There’s a separate one in the kitchen for you. There’s no need to come to dinner.’
She had been ostracised. It would be like that at the station if she returned. Roman had finished with her. That was crystal clear. She did the circular walk around the estate. The conference centre was fenced off. On the path through the woods she saw L’Oiseau digging a hole in a glade that abutted the plot. If they were planning to bury Gerald there, she wondered who had authorised it. Under British law, there was technically no ownership of a dead body, but there were all sort of hygiene rules. Health and safety. Danger to the public. Offending public decency. A special permit was needed if you wanted to put a loved one in the garden. She could have asked Duroc about the law here, but he had washed his hands of her too. She was playing the end game.
2
The burial took place in the late afternoon. She knew it was happening when a commotion on the gravel interrupted her reading. Through the bedroom window, she saw Herbert, L’Oiseau, Roman, and Scout carrying a coffin out onto the drive. They maneuvered it onto their shoulders The men with the broadest shoulders, Roman and Scout, were in the front. L’Oiseau, who was short and out of condition, and Herbert, who was approaching senescence, took the back. The coffin wasn’t long and didn’t look very heavy. Made of cardboard, she guessed or some light wood – the sort of wood used for garden fences, maybe. They’d draped it with the market banner – produits du château – with its lilies and lions. She gave it five minutes before running downstairs. Her plan was to follow the funeral party undetected. Sofka and Iris were the chief mourners. Joanna walked on her own behind them. Madame L’Oiseau and her daughter brought up the rear.
Mackie stole up to the row of beans and hid amongst them. The procession had reached the woods. Gerald had worked on these beans. Lux perpetua luceat eis. All souls should rest in piece. She remembered Father Flynn and his stories of judgement, purgatory and hell fire. She had long ago lapsed, and had never taken Niall to church. She didn’t want to screw him up with tales of horror, as she would have been, had her Ma not seen she was frightened and stopped her going. That was also down to some rumour about the priests and altar boys. Ma believed it because the informant was widowed Mrs Collins, the housekeeper at the priest house.
She suddenly felt a presence behind her. Schmidt.
‘I thought you’d have been with them since you took Gerald’s place in the garden.’
‘I’m leaving tomorrow. This place is way too weird for me.’
‘Not what you were looking for?’
‘I’m gonna set up a consultancy. And you? They’ve been giving you a hard time here, I guess.’
‘It’s only been rough since I took a short break in Nice. They were OK at the beginning.’
They walked slowly up the slope. She put her finger to her lips as they approached the burial place. They were now within earshot of some feeble chanting. Sofka was performing an incantation. The coffin was lowered into the hole, then they all filed past, throwing beanstalks down upon it. All of them, except Scout, who stood by. When was he going?
‘You knew him, I suppose.’
‘Gerald? He didn’t have much to say. He was the nicest one of the lot, I think.’
‘Let’s get out of here?’
They walked to Pont du Calvaire and found the crèperie open.
Mackie looked at her watch. ‘Mother of God, it’s ten past seven. I thought it was only about five.’
‘I have seven fifteen.’ The patron approached their table. The only other customers were a local family celebrating grandma’s birthday. The old lady smiled and tittered, her tall coiffe wobbling like a stick of white candyfloss on the top of her head. Schmidt pushed the menu across to Mackie. ‘Can you order for me? I don’t speak French.’
‘I’m hardly proficient. Deux avec jambon et fromage,’ she commanded. ‘Et aussi deux demis de cidre. Merci.’
‘Merci à vous, madame.’ That was a first.
‘I’ve been thinking about Gerald’s family,’ she said. ‘They don’t seem to have contacted them.’
‘Roman told me they renounce family ties when they join the community. If you’re serious, you have to make a will, giving all your money to them. I’ve got a lot of dough. I don’t care to sign it over to people I don’t know.’
‘I wasn’t told about that. In fact, he let me off paying anything.’
‘Was there something going on with him and you? It’s just that he mentioned you three times when we were talking. I got the impression he was into you. The women seem to think so, too.’
‘It was just a fling. It ended before it began, really. I told him Scout assaulted me. He didn’t want to do anything about it.’ ‘
That’s why you’re leaving?’
‘Roman told to me to leave because the others didn’t want me there. I don’t care. I’ve had enough of the place. He said he’d stay in touch.’
‘You stuck it out longer than me.’
‘Did you live in the USA? Your English is flawless.’
‘I did an MBA at Harvard. Shall we go someplace where we can get a cocktail?’
She laughed. ‘There’s Chez la Marse. I don’t think they’d do mohitos there. The local brandy’s not bad.’
La Marse’s son was there in his salesman suit. On his feet he wore shabby blue espadrilles. The bikers were under lock and key. Lucie wasn’t there either. A couple of fishermen were shooting pool. The atmosphere was benign when Schmidt went up to the bar. ‘Would you put that out?’ he asked Roger.
‘Va dehors,’ his mother told him. ‘Il n’ya que toi qui fume ici à l’
instant.’
Schmidt asked her what it was like to be a British bobby. Did she carry a truncheon.
‘When I was in uniform. Not now.’
‘Did you use it?’
‘Once or twice. You have to log it.’
‘What happens if the guys have guns?’
‘Not many do. It’s not like in America where anybody can go out and buy a shooter. Our villains get them from other villains. You need to be in the know or buy a licence. That’s usually only issued to farmers and shooting clubs. There’s plenty on the streets with illegal blades though. Hunting knives are all the rage. A truncheon comes in handy there.’
‘As a defence?’
‘It’s worked for me. I’ve done weapons training. I can use a gun. They issue them on stake-outs where the suspect is armed. You’re meant to shoot to disable. If you injure the scally, you have to face an enquiry.’
‘Jesus. You have to think twice about firing then? You could be shot while you’re thinking about it.’
‘You have to use judgement and restraint, but not if you’re in real danger of being killed. You can shoot first. But you still have to defend your actions at an enquiry. I wouldn’t feel safe in a society where anyone can carry a gun.’ She thought of Scout and the bikers. A gun had been used in Nice to deflate the giant penis and panic the crowd. The police here carried guns. They hadn’t used them in the riot.
It was nearly midnight when they set off back to the château.
‘I can smell smoke,’ Schmidt said when they were in the lane. I can’t stand smoking.’
‘It’s not cigarette smoke.’
He pulled her to the side as a fire engine screamed past them.
There were two ambulances and a police car in the drive. The community were standing outside the château, Iris and Herbert in dressing gowns, Sofka fully dressed, Joanna and Marie-No in tracksuits. Madame L’Oiseau was in her nightdress, her hair in a long grey plait. Her husband was in his shirt. His sparrow legs and feet were bare.
The Retreat Page 10