One Green Bottle

by Curtis Bausse

  But in the end, evasiveness had won.

  ***

  ‘Everything’s in there. Autopsy report, email transcripts, phone messages, interviews. I’ve made copies of the photos. Not as good as the originals but they’ll do.’ It was a fortnight after the dinner and Magali was sitting with Vincent Darlier in the garden of Les Oliviers, perhaps not Sentabour’s best restaurant but its prettiest. He’d called to say he was going to a meeting in Marseilles and could he pop in to see her? ‘I’ll bring a copy of the Perle file. I’d like you to help me move forward with this.’

  ‘Help?’ What does he think I am, a detective? ‘But how?’

  ‘Study the file, see what you find. Then we talk it through.’ Hearing no answer, he added, ‘Or if you prefer, I’m helping you. It’s not an easy job on your own.’

  As soon as she put down the phone, the crest she’d been riding acquired a new momentum.

  Freed from the confinement of his uniform, Darlier was casual and chirpy. ‘Take your time. A day or two here or there won’t make much difference at this point.’ As he handed the folder to her, he added, ‘I need hardly tell you it’s strictly confidential.’

  ‘Of course.’ Magali put the folder on the chair beside her. ‘And not the usual procedure, I imagine.’

  ‘It’s never bad to get a second opinion.’

  ‘From a novice?’

  ‘You have to start somewhere. I’m hardly an expert myself.’ In twenty-eight years, posted to six different places, he’d dealt with four cases of murder, a dozen or so of manslaughter. None had taken more than a month to elucidate. ‘Maybe I was lucky. There are plenty of crimes like that still out there unsolved. But these days it isn’t easy to get away with murder.’

  ‘Whoever killed Enzo is doing all right so far.’

  ‘We’ll get him in the end. Or her.’

  Magali raised her eyebrows. ‘A new suspect?’

  ‘You probably know Perle was calling it off with Brigitte Bussert. She didn’t like that. Not a bit.’

  ‘Enough to kill him?’

  He shrugged. ‘A jealous rage. They’re not exclusive to men.’

  ‘And she’d have the strength? Charlotte said the blow was massive.’

  ‘I’ve seen her chopping wood.’ He nodded towards the folder. ‘But I’ll let you read that first. I don’t want to go putting ideas in your head,’ he added, though of course he already had. He leant back and let out an off-duty sigh of contentment. ‘So tell me, what do you get up to when you’re not hunting murderers?’

  ‘Oh, this and that.’ Would you like to see my etchings of Enzo’s house? ‘Actually, I’ve signed up to follow a course. That’ll be keeping me busy.’

  ‘Really? In what?’

  She hesitated – but he knew the half of it already. ‘The official title is private research agent.’

  ‘Ah!’ He gave a knowing smile and nodded again to the folder. ‘So you’re taking it all very seriously.’

  ‘I need a qualification,’ she said. ‘I’m sure not everyone would cooperate with me as you are. I’m very grateful for that.’

  He dipped his head. ‘It’s nice to have someone else take an interest.’

  ‘You mean no one else does?’

  ‘I have a couple of subordinates on the case. And the investigating judge follows our progress, of course. But basically, yes, as far as the day-to-day decisions are concerned, I’m pretty much on my own. So I’m not bothered a bit if Madame Perle wanted another point of view, as it were.’ He raised his glass towards her. ‘And she made a very good choice.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She wished it didn’t sound so much like a pick-up line. ‘You know, what I find hardest is getting my mind around it.’

  ‘Around what?’

  ‘Planning to put an end to someone’s life. Because that’s what we’re looking at with Enzo. It wasn’t just an accident or a fight. It was premeditated. I can understand thinking about it. But actually going ahead and doing it… I find it fascinating, in a way.’ She looked up anxiously. ‘Does that sound terribly morbid?’

  ‘Not at all. I know exactly what you mean.’ Darlier frowned as he fiddled with the cuff of his shirt. ‘But I don’t think it was as premeditated as you say.’

  ‘You mean she decided on the spur of the moment?’

  ‘She had it in her, obviously. The capability. But that doesn’t mean she planned it.’ He spoke almost curtly, inviting no further comment. She guessed he’d rather be talking about something else. Let’s find out what we’ve got in common, shall we? Then he said, ‘Did you see the news yesterday? That double murder near Royan?’

  ‘Uh, vaguely,’ Magali lied. She was so wrapped up in her painting, she wouldn’t have known if a third world war had begun.

  ‘Somebody cut their throats, a burglar probably. You could check it out if you want.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘Just an idea. If you want to know what makes people kill. I know what you mean, it’s hard to imagine. Yet it happens all the time.’

  Magali looked at him, uncertain what he was saying. ‘How do you mean, check it out?’

  ‘Go along, look at the way the police investigate. Offer your services, maybe.’

  ‘But I can’t just barge in like that. Turn up and say, “Hi, can I work with you?”’

  ‘The man in charge is Commander Balland. I could put in a word.’

  ‘You know him?’

  ‘We worked together for a while.’

  ‘Well… It’s very kind of you.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘No but. It just seems a bit… It’s quite a step to take.’

  ‘As you wish. It’s only if you’re interested. I don’t want to throw you in the deep end.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I think I’ll have time for a stroll round the village after lunch. Any particular spot you’d recommend? Or perhaps you’d care to come with me.’

  ***

  ‘Paul? Magali Rousseau here. Listen, can we postpone tomorrow’s appointment?’

  There was a pause as Daveney took it in. ‘Why?’

  ‘I have to go to Royan. Just for a couple of days. Can we say Thursday instead? Same time.’

  ‘Why?’ It came out annoyed this time.

  ‘Well… I’m investigating a murder, if you must know.’

  For all the curiosity it aroused, she might as well have said she was going shopping.

  ‘I thought you wanted to hear about my dad.’

  The answer brought her up sharp. How long had he been keeping it ready? She felt like shouting at him. Two months into the therapy, she knew his mother had Special K for breakfast, spent most of the day in her dressing gown and religiously watched Plus Belle la Vie before her afternoon nap.

  Lucille Daveney also wrote letters to politicians and celebrities about purity. She was very keen on purity – of the mind, the environment, the cosmos (of which she appeared to have understood the secret). Her house was a vast, brooding mansion set behind a garden protected by railings. Magali had at first imagined it stuffy and full of crumbs, smelling of old age and medicine, but one day Paul drew out a camera to show her pictures of the inside, and she saw that it was spotless. And however cold it was outside, the windows were always open to let in fresh air.

  The father, though, was a mystery. Paul was looking much more at Magali’s painting of the flower but it didn’t seem to be unlocking much. The last time she asked, he said, ‘I told you already, he died six years ago, he was a salesman.’ As if there was nothing more to say. But both of them knew there was plenty to say. He’d just been waiting for the right moment to say it. Precisely when she wouldn’t be there to listen.

  She sighed. ‘Of course I do, Paul.’

  ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, then.’

  ‘Paul, I –’ The line went dead.

  She tossed the phone down angrily and stood for a moment with her hands on her hips, pondering what to do. Then she picked up the phone again. ‘Antoine? I’m going away for
a few days. Can you water the plants and feed Toupie? I’ll leave the key in the usual place.’

  Sorry, Paul, but some things are more important than others.

  Chapter 7

  It wasn’t a double murder but a triple. Michel and Lucie Terral had been married for three years when they moved into a house in the village of Rondas, half an hour from Royan, where Michel worked as a mechanic and Lucie as a primary school assistant. They’d been trying for a baby ever since the marriage and when Lucie became pregnant, they said the house brought them luck. Five months later, they were murdered. When Magali drew up at the house, the couple – and their unborn child – had been dead for less than three days.

  ‘Private detective, eh?’ Commander Yves Balland stared at Magali with puzzlement – and possibly a touch of disdain.

  ‘Trainee,’ she said. ‘It’s very kind of you to allow me here.’

  ‘Well, you can thank Darlier for that. Thinks very highly of you.’ He turned and walked to his car, where he collected a briefcase before approaching the house. ‘Forensics have done their bit, so you can come in and tell me what happened.’

  ‘Well, I don’t think I can –’

  ‘What you think or don’t think can come later. Start by looking.’ Darlier didn’t want to throw you in the deep end? Well, I want to see you drown.

  Magali stood at the entrance to the dining room as Balland trod softly, with very small paces, glancing all around him, before coming to a halt by the doorway leading to the kitchen. He gazed down sombrely at the floor. ‘There you have it.’

  She approached cautiously. Two large patches of dark, dried blood were all that remained of Michel and Lucie Terral. The two patches were separated by a narrow strip of tiling, as if the couple had been trying to reach out to each other, but hadn’t quite managed to touch. Apart from a single upturned chair, there was no sign of a struggle.

  ‘Michel,’ said Balland, pointing to the nearest patch before indicating the second. ‘And Lucie.’ He stood with hands in pockets, waiting for her to speak.

  Magali drew a deep breath. She’d spent the night in a hotel by the station in Royan, where she’d woken at four in the morning. Unable to get back to sleep, she studied Darlier’s file on Enzo Perle, which she’d already read on the train. By the time she picked up her car rental and drove out to Rondas, her mind fuelled with caffeine, fizzing with the facts of Enzo’s death, the crest was threatening to turn into a tidal wave.

  ‘I saw a ladder at the back of the house as I was driving up. Propped up against the garage. Is that what was used to get in?’

  He nodded. ‘We found some fibres on the window. They’re in analysis now.’

  Magali stepped through the doorway into the kitchen. ‘That door leads to the garage, right? So if Lucie was here, she might have heard a noise out there and gone to ask Michel to check. And the killer could have come in and grabbed her from behind. Or else…’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Did the killer go upstairs, do you know?’

  ‘Oh, yes. We’ll go up in a minute.’

  ‘In which case the noise might have come from the dining room or the stairs. She heard it and came out of the kitchen to see what was happening. Unless she was going the other way, trying to escape.’

  ‘No, she fell this way, into the dining room.’ He took out a cigarette but didn’t light it. ‘That’s two different scenarios you’ve given me. What was this noise she heard?’

  ‘In the first case, the killer getting into the garage. And in the second…’ Magali hugged her arms to herself, grimacing. ‘Well, the sound of someone having their throat cut. Whatever that is.’

  ‘So in one scenario, Lucie was killed first and in the other it was Michel?’

  She hesitated. Did he know the answer already? ‘Which way was Michel facing?’

  ‘This way, towards the kitchen. Lying on his front, right arm beneath him, left arm stretched out.’

  She looked at the dining-room table. A book, a purse, a fruit bowl, a furniture catalogue. ‘He might have been at the table when he heard something, and jumped up, knocking the chair over. He was stabbed as he walked past the stairs.’ She pointed into the kitchen. ‘There are some carrot peelings on the floor. She may have been going to put them in the bin when she heard it. Not a great commotion – it must have been quick. But he might have had time to shout. Lucie would have stopped short in the doorway.’ She paused. ‘The killer would be there, by the wall.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Out of sight. Otherwise she wouldn’t have come out of the kitchen. She’d have run. Or grabbed a knife or something.’

  ‘So you’re going with that scenario. The second.’

  ‘It feels more likely, yes.’

  ‘It has to do more than feel. Why?’

  ‘Well…’ It was like being back at school. Come on, Rousseau. Where does the Seine take its source? ‘In the first scenario, he’d have seen the lights on and come in anyway?’

  ‘It happens. Not so often, perhaps, but it does.’

  ‘But there’d have been more sign of a struggle. If Michel was lying here, it meant he was coming towards the killer – coming at him. What wounds did he suffer? Just the throat?’

  He nodded. ‘A single cut. Clean.’

  ‘So he was killed from behind, like Lucie. That’s the second scenario. Which suggests they weren’t here when he broke in. He was upstairs when they got back.’

  Balland stood, lips pursed, nodding to himself. Then tucking the cigarette behind his ear, he opened his briefcase and handed her an envelope. ‘Take a look at those.’

  They weren’t pretty. In Enzo’s file, there hadn’t been photos like this. Perhaps Darlier had kept the worst ones back. She was glad the bodies were no longer there. She didn’t think she’d have been able to handle that.

  But now she was able to see the exact positions, and the way Michel’s left arm reached out towards his wife, as if in a desperate attempt to warn her or seek her help or simply, knowing it was over, grasp her hand one last time.

  ‘This one especially,’ said Balland, handing her another photo.

  Magali’s stomach churned. She stared at it for a while, unable to concentrate. What she saw made no sense. A patch of pale yellow with a pinkish slit curling away in neat, clean layers. Above it, to the left, a single dark puncture. Then she realised it was a close-up of the wounds on Lucie Terral’s neck, taken in the morgue. The wounds had been cleaned and disinfected, the better to see what instrument had made them. An involuntary shiver ran through her body as she forced herself back to her role – whatever that was. ‘The weapon was very sharp. Like a Stanley knife.’ She looked at the picture of the body again. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t have any experience, all this may be stupid but…’

  ‘What?’ he barked. ‘Come on, it doesn’t matter how stupid it is.’

  ‘I’d say he’s left-handed. The cut looks deeper here on the right, then tapers away. And just above where it ends there’s this single jab, quite deep. So if he was standing where I think he was, he would have lunged forward and made the smaller cut first before moving behind her and… doing this.’

  Balland took the pictures back. He studied Magali with undisguised curiosity before saying, ‘Yes, that’s the way it seems.’ He trod between the patches of blood and started to go up the stairs. ‘Any other observations?’

  ‘No, but I’ve got a question.’

  ‘Go ahead.’ He motioned her to keep to the left of the stairs. In the centre, Magali saw, were traces of mud.

  ‘I read what you said to the press. A burglary gone wrong.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘You mentioned a couple of puzzling details but you didn’t say what they were.’

  ‘Not that puzzling, really. Just a matter of tying up loose ends. Firstly, why target this place at all? A mechanic and a canteen worker. Hardly the A-list, is it? Unless he was out on the prowl, spotted an opportunity. The other thing is we’re going with your second scenario –
the pathologist is pretty certain. Now unless, for some reason, the couple were both in the hall or the garden, there’s no way you could get upstairs without being seen. Which means, as you say, they were very probably out when the burglar arrived. But we don’t know where. We know they came home after work because Michel made a phone call and Lucie sent an email. And they were about to have supper when the killer struck. But where did they go in the meantime? No idea.’

  He stood at the entrance to the bedroom, Magali at his shoulder. The contents of every drawer had been emptied on to the floor. On the bed was a green leather jewel box, with a bead necklace next to it.