One Green Bottle

by Curtis Bausse

  ‘No, I failed him,’ she said to Sophie. ‘He was right, I was always thinking about the murders, he took second place all the time. At the very least, I was clumsy, or I misread the signals, or was just inexperienced and thought it was simpler than it was.’ She gave a short laugh. ‘I’ve been a better detective than a therapist, that’s for sure.’

  Sophie sighed, rubbing her fingers across her forehead. ‘And to think this all goes back to those damn plaques.’

  ‘I’ve already told you not to feel bad about that. I went along willingly, took it all as a joke at first. And that was my fault, not yours. But I’ve been learning fast and learning the hard way. And honestly, I don’t regret it. Yes, I feel terrible about Antoine, I always will. But there’s some satisfaction at least in being proved right.’ She drew up outside the church. ‘I’ll just check the porch. I won’t be a minute.’ She opened the door and got out, then turned. ‘You’d better lock yourself in. Just to be sure.’

  Sophie looked incredulous. ‘What about you?’ she shouted, but Magali was already striding up the path.

  The porch was empty. She’d expected it would be but she was disappointed all the same. Paul was unfinished business and she very much wanted to talk to him, to explain. She didn’t know if he’d accept it, but she wanted to offer an apology.

  She stood for a while, hugging her arms around her, staring at the floor. In many ways, it was easier to deal with the psychopath. You classified him as a monster and you didn’t bother trying to understand him. The only emotions were hatred and fear. Strong, simple emotions that made you reject him. The psychopath wasn’t human, whereas Paul was complex and fragile, and she didn’t want to abandon him yet again. Because unfortunately, although she’d never previously admitted it to herself, it was obvious he was in love with her. A fixation seemed more manageable than love. You could hope that, like a sore, it would eventually disappear by itself. But love was complicated at the best of times, and unrequited love was tragic. Eventually most people got over it, but Paul was unlike most. In his case it would just get more demanding and that wasn’t something he’d be able to cope with.

  Then she shook her head. This was her own inadequacy coming through. In therapy these things happened, and it was up to him to deal with it, not her. There was nothing for her to apologise about, no reason to go seeking his forgiveness. Perhaps there were times she could have been more attentive, but the whole point of therapy is for the patient to become self-sufficient, and in that respect she’d done all she could to help.

  She knew very well that later she’d go over it all again and her guilt would come rushing back, but for the moment she was satisfied. She’d searched the whole village for him and now it was time to go to Paris.

  She was stepping out of the porch when she heard a footstep in the gravel. She froze, her senses suddenly alert. There was no further sound. She waited several seconds, then edged out into the path. She moved on to the grass, hugging the wall of the church, and crept along to the corner.

  She peered round. She could just make out the shapes of tombstones stretching away to the wall at the far end. She waited again, eyes straining into the darkness. The graveyard was silent. She took a few steps forward and stopped. From the corner of her eye she glimpsed a shape at the other end of the church, something flitting in a fraction of a second and disappearing. A prickle of fear spread all through her body. She stood rooted to the spot, her heart pounding in her chest.

  Eventually, she took another step forward. ‘Paul?’ she said in a loud whisper. There was no answer. Must have been a dog. She looked back over her shoulder towards the car. From where she stood it wasn’t visible. She turned to look at the graveyard again. She said to herself that she ought to walk round to make sure. But she didn’t have the courage and her imagination was going wild and Sophie was all alone. She hurried back to the car.

  ‘You took your time. I was starting to freak. I didn’t know what to do. Go out and get you or what?’

  ‘Sorry.’ Magali clasped her hand. ‘Me too. Graveyards in the dark. Not a good idea at the best of times.’

  ‘And “Lock yourself in, I won’t be a minute.” My God! You’re not supposed to say that!’

  ‘Sorry,’ she said again, laughing. ‘Hollywood really messes our minds up, doesn’t it?’

  Sophie let out a long sigh of relief. ‘I looked at the train times. There’s one in forty minutes. And you know what? I think I’d like to be on it.’

  ***

  ‘Sorry, old boy, I’d love to take you with me but you’d hate it, you really would.’

  Toupie had eaten from his newly replenished dish and was now rubbing and purring round Magali’s ankles as she threw her clothes from Clermont-Ferrand in the washing machine and packed a new set.

  Sophie had said she’d give Luc a ring once they were on the train, but he rang as they were getting ready to leave the house. ‘I’m with your mum,’ said Sophie. ‘We’re going to Paris.’ Luc was evidently surprised and the next thing Sophie said was, ‘Look, I’d better hand you over to her… Yes fine. I’ll speak to you after.’

  Magali told him, as briefly as she could, what had happened. ‘I’ll call you from Paris. Everything’s under control, don’t worry. Can you stay where you are? Or join us in Paris? Just don’t go back home till you get the all-clear.’

  ‘You mean what? When that bastard’s been caught?’

  ‘Basically, yes. As long as he’s still at large, none of us is safe. But there’s a full-scale manhunt on now. It can’t be long.’

  ‘But no one knows who he is,’ said Luc reasonably. ‘And since he knows you’re looking for him, surely he’ll just slip away? It could take ages.’

  ‘I don’t think so. Not this time. Now that the police believe me at last, they’ll start to reinterpret the evidence from the other cases. There’s so much more they can get from computer forensics that I never had access to. For me it was just guesswork but they know now exactly what to look for. We’re closing in on him and he knows it.’ And that’s why he’s out there, angry. ‘It’s a matter of days. If that.’ She would have liked to believe it.

  ‘All right. I’ll join you in Paris. We’ll take it from there, I suppose.’

  ‘I’ll hand you back to Sophie.’

  Magali went back to preparing her suitcase while Sophie, fully recovered from her fright, chatted gaily to Luc. He’d convinced the Matisse museum that he was the man for the job and he was eager to get to work. Sophie did her best to assure him their stay in Paris would be brief.

  Magali glanced at her watch and realised she’d been dawdling. Catching the next train would be tight. The fact of the matter was that she didn’t want to leave Sentabour now, and not just because of Paul.

  She thought of all the pain the killer had caused, the unfinished lives, the projects and hopes that would never be fulfilled, the inconsolable sadness in Charlotte’s eyes, the unborn baby in Lucie Terral’s womb that never had the chance to discover what life was about.

  She recalled what Charlotte had said one day about revenge, the fantasy of tearing her son’s killer limb from limb. And although, whenever the topic arose, Magali always maintained that executing murderers was wrong, she could find no reason now why the person she’d been hunting deserved to live. And if leaving Sentabour now was difficult for her, it wasn’t simply to be there at the end of the hunt, but to see for herself what sort of evil she’d been up against.

  But perhaps you could never know. Whatever went on in his dark, perverted mind was bound to remain a mystery. All you saw was the acts, and the pain and the grief they caused, and for that she wanted him to suffer.

  Sophie finished her conversation and rang off. ‘We’d better hurry.’

  ‘Right.’ Magali closed her case, wondering what excuse she could find, once they were at the station, to go back on her word at the last minute.

  They moved to the door. Then Sophie froze, holding out her hand. ‘Shh! What’s that?’

&
nbsp; A noise round the back. Magali recognised the dull thud of something – or someone – bumping into the dustbin. ‘Wait here,’ she said, putting her case down. ‘Probably just a dog sniffing round.’ But all the same, before going to check, she went into the kitchen to get a knife.

  All the shutters were closed; she couldn’t look through the window. She stood by the back entrance with her ear to the door. She heard no sound. Gently, she turned the lock and opened the door. She stepped outside, looking around in the dim orange light from the streetlamp. There was nobody.

  The studio was a dozen yards away. She started out but took no more than a couple of paces before stopping. This was precisely what Antoine had done. The thought of it made her sick.

  She went back inside and bolted the door and leant against it, panting. She took a moment to regain her composure before returning to the sitting room. ‘It’s what I thought, a dog snooping round the bin.’ She put the knife back in the kitchen drawer.

  She felt bad about the lie. She should get a torch and go back out and do a thorough search. But the visions of Antoine’s body were too powerful. She didn’t like to think she was a coward, but she had to face it: the killer was clever, he was closing in on her, and she couldn’t overcome her fear.

  ‘We’d better go,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t think we’ll make the train.’ Sophie’s face was worried.

  ‘We’ll wait for the next. Better than hanging round here.’

  There came a loud knock on the front door. They both jumped and Sophie let out an involuntary scream and grabbed hold of Magali’s arm. ‘Stay here,’ said Magali. ‘Don’t worry, everything’s locked.’

  ‘The front door? You locked it behind you?’

  ‘Yes. It’s just someone calling. I’ll go and see.’

  She fetched the knife again and went to the door and listened. She heard the scrape of a foot on the step. ‘Who is it?’ she called.

  ‘Bernard Marty.’

  She recognised his voice but was cautious all the same, not opening the door fully till she saw his face.

  ‘No need to go to Paris after all,’ he said. His eyes went to the knife she was still holding and a look of alarm crossed his face. She put the knife down hastily on the windowsill. Marty smiled broadly and spread his arms. ‘We’ve got him.’

  Chapter 31

  Barely, said Marty, had the two women left Sophie’s house than the men detected movement nearby. A few minutes later they pounced on a man approaching from the bushes. He put up no resistance.

  ‘He’s at the station now. I just thought I’d pop in on the way.’ He tipped his head in Sophie’s direction. ‘You were right to get out of that house. It seems he had you down as his next victim.’

  Sophie blew an emphatic sigh of relief. ‘All thanks to Magali,’ she said.

  ‘Indeed.’ Marty acknowledged it with a brief nod. ‘It seemed so preposterous I didn’t take it seriously. I should have listened to you earlier.’

  ‘Well, I…’ Magali didn’t know what to say and after an awkward silence he turned to go. ‘Wait!’ she said.

  Marty looked back at her. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Do you know anything about him?’

  ‘His name. I’m on my way to question him now.’

  ‘And what is his name?’

  ‘Franck Courdais. He’s in our database. Petty criminal, lives in Marseilles.’

  ‘Petty criminal?’

  ‘A bit of dealing. Theft. He was given a suspended sentence a few years back. Nothing since.’

  She was surprised. There was nothing petty about the person she’d imagined. ‘Has he confessed?’

  ‘Well, he can hardly deny he was breaking in. We caught him red-handed.’

  ‘To the murders, I mean.’

  ‘Hold your horses.’ He smiled at her impatience. ‘We’ve only just nabbed him.’

  ‘Well, he’s certainly graduated to harder stuff. Dealer to serial killer. How does that happen?’

  He shrugged. ‘They all have to start somewhere.’

  ‘I’d like to come with you,’ said Magali.

  ‘I’m afraid not. You’ve done all you can. It’s my job from now on.’

  ‘I think I have a right.’ She looked at him steadily.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You do. But I’m sorry, this first crack at him has to be mine.’ Then seeming to recognise an injustice, he added, ‘As soon as we’ve got his statement down, you can sit in on the rest. And of course you’ll be given credit for everything you’ve done.’

  But it wasn’t credit that Magali was after. She wanted to know what the man had to say for himself. What possible explanation could he give? She wanted to hear him confess, look into his eyes and see if any semblance of humanity was there.

  But Marty was adamant: she’d have to wait her turn. ‘I’ll be in touch,’ he said. He shook their hands and left.

  As soon as the door was closed, Sophie and Magali fell into each other’s arms. It was like being rescued from a deep underground hole, and it took Magali a while to get used to the normality of it. Ever since Antoine died, she had been living permanently on edge. Now, suddenly, all the tension was sucked from her body. She realised she’d been living with a knot of pain in her chest. Now she was breathing normally again.

  They called Luc, who said he wished he could be there to celebrate. ‘To think that they wouldn’t believe you,’ he said. ‘There must be a lot of faces with egg on them now. They’ll have to give you a medal. And a job straightaway. Head of Interpol or something.’

  ‘Well, I might have to finish qualifying first. If there’s one thing I’ve learnt, it’s to play by the rules. Otherwise you’re giving them the rope to hang you with.’

  There were other people she would call – Charlotte, of course, and Vincent. But she’d do that in the morning, when her excitement had died down. Charlotte would be relieved, naturally, but elation wasn’t an emotion she could be expected to share. As for Vincent, Magali wanted her voice to be as level as possible when she told him.

  She’d speak to Balland and Roudy as well, of course, and Krief would doubtless be round to get her story, but for the moment it was enough to be with Sophie. As they went back over it all together, it took on a different colouring: drained of the threat, it suddenly became manageable, something you could look at without fear, safe in the knowledge that it was over. They even managed to tease out the funnier moments – Verney grappling with her assignment, Balland lecturing her on science – and Magali was reminded of the day they’d chatted so gaily about her future prospects, and she’d discovered how much she enjoyed Sophie’s company.

  The topic of the future came up again this time. And just as she’d done several months ago, Magali took Sophie into the studio and showed her what she’d done.

  ‘Wow!’ Sophie picked up a painting of Enzo’s bedroom. ‘Quite a change from what you were doing before.’

  ‘It was what kept me going at one point. I didn’t know what else to do. I thought I might get some sort of clue out of it.’

  ‘And did you?’

  ‘Well, not directly, but this one – if I hadn’t done it, I don’t know if I’d have made that first connection.’ It was a picture of Enzo’s bookshelf, a jagged, jumbled assembly of shapes and colours, in the centre of which was a music sheet – a reproduction of half a dozen bars of Eric Satie’s Prélude Canin, faithful in all respects except for the dark red streaks which dripped from the notes. ‘I added them as an afterthought. I remember looking at the picture and thinking something was missing.’ She gave a shrug. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps it’s just with hindsight. But the ink stains on the score worked their way into it as something that blotted out his life.’

  Sophie looked at the other pictures without speaking. ‘What are you going to do with them?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know. Nothing, probably.’

  ‘Mmm. Understandable. But a shame. They’re good.’

  Magali sighed. ‘A shame that something
that’s good at last had to come from something so bad.’ She gazed at the glow of Sophie’s features. ‘One day I’ll try my hand at portraits.’

  They went back into the house. ‘We’ll have to have a proper celebration when Luc gets back,’ said Sophie. ‘This is a champagne moment if ever there was one.’

  ‘I thought you weren’t drinking.’

  ‘I’m not. But I’ll have a sip and raise my glass.’ She made the gesture. ‘To your prowess.’

  ‘Stubbornness, I think,’ said Magali. ‘It just so happens I clung to an idea that was right for a change.’