A Well-Timed Murder

by Tracee de Hahn

  “No, I’ve not even been to Hollywood,” said Vallotton. “Although the inspector probably has, her parents are American.” He darted a quick look at Agnes.

  “I’ve not met the actor either. It’s a big country.” She wanted to add, And I was born in Lausanne.

  Tommy frowned as if truly dismayed. “That movie, that’s Koulsy’s world. It’s sick when you think about it, and his dad tells him that what he’s seen isn’t the truth. And he’s seen some stuff, let me tell you. No wonder his parents sent him to a place this isolated. Now, my dad tells me that everything I see on the news about him is true, and that there’s worse stuff that they haven’t found out about.” Tommy laughed and eyed them when they didn’t join in. “That’s the reason Koulsy is here and not in England; the reality of what’s going on in his country and how he needs my dad … well, me … to keep an eye on him. I mean his dad’s a warlord. He needs a friend he can trust.”

  “Your fathers are close?” Agnes asked.

  “Oh, yeah.” Tommy crossed his fingers. “Like this. My dad knows how to protect people.”

  Agnes shifted so she couldn’t see Vallotton over Tommy’s shoulder. Julien’s eyebrow was arched at an angle that nearly made her laugh out loud. “What exactly is their relationship?”

  “You don’t know my dad? Martin Scaglia, attorney-at-law? Criminal defense. Best in the business.”

  Agnes almost expected Tommy to pull out a business card and hand it to her. She also doubted General Haroun had much need for an attorney. He was unlikely to even nod to the law, much less fight it. Automatic weapons were more his style.

  “Your father is Monsieur Haroun’s attorney?”

  “Yeah, and it’s going to be a career achievement for him. Defending someone in front of the UN tribunal for High Crimes.”

  “Has Monsieur Haroun been charged by the International Criminal Court?” Vallotton asked.

  “Not yet, but he will be.”

  Agnes wondered what the elder Scaglia’s real connection was to Haroun. Probably something his son shouldn’t know about.

  “Let’s get back to Koulsy,” she said. “If you convinced him to talk to Madame Fontenay, what do you know about the threats against him?”

  “I’ve seen the other notes and the arrow. That was scary. Could have killed him. Could have killed me.”

  “You saw it hit?” Agnes asked.

  “Yeah. Well, I didn’t see it. It was dark out, but I heard the thunk. We ran out to the balcony. and, wow, it was dug in right beside the window frame.” He held his thumb and index finger out, slightly apart. “This close to coming inside.”

  “Who do you think is threatening Koulsy?” she asked.

  “There’s just so many bad people out there, it’s hard to say.” Tommy crossed his arms and pondered. “Really all people are bad, just give them the right reason to take action. Find the thing that undermines their world. It’s not often you find a ready-made monster. Something creates it.”

  Agnes suspected this speech was poached from Scaglia senior to get a reduced sentence for a client, although she couldn’t dispute the reasoning. “One more question. Earlier you said that at the reception Monsieur Chavanon looked better, and then everyone started screaming. What did you mean by that? Had you noticed him falling ill?”

  “I saw him from upstairs, before I came down to the dining room. He was walking back from the classroom building and he looked like my dad sometimes. All red faced. When I saw him at the reception, he looked better. Until that whole attack thing. I mean, it was like something out of a movie, his body flinging around—”

  “I understand,” she interrupted. “Was someone outside with him?”

  Tommy didn’t answer right away. “No, he was alone.”

  Agnes could see the wheels churning in his head and decided that if he knew more, he would be eager to talk about it. She suspected he wouldn’t hesitate to make up details to please her if encouraged.

  “Thank you,” she said. “If you could tell Koulsy we’ll find him in the student lounge in a few minutes, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Sure thing. And let me know how I can help. We want Koulsy safe, and it’s looking harder and harder to keep him that way.”

  Twenty-six

  When Tommy Scaglia left the boardroom, it drained of life and energy. Even the portraits of the dusty old men seemed to darken. Agnes looked around for another lamp to turn on, but there wasn’t one. Julien Vallotton shook his head and she held up a hand to stop him from speaking.

  “He’s young.”

  “He’s American, is what you don’t want me to say,” said Vallotton. “His view of life is like a bad television program.”

  “The thousand poisons of the village? I don’t believe in the myth of a secret deadly poison, but whatever is smeared on the back of his note looks suspiciously like blood, and to me right now that means the shed. I can’t overlook the possibility that someone means to harm Koulsy.”

  She stood and walked around the room. Her leg hurt suddenly. The onset was always a surprise despite its regularity. “I visited Monsieur Navarro’s garden yesterday.”

  “Do you think that’s why Koulsy is thinking of poison? Navarro modeled the garden after the one at Alnwick in England.”

  “An odd hobby. I wonder what Guy Chavanon was doing outside the day of the reception? Why was he wandering around?”

  “Parents like to take a tour. They like to know that their tuition is providing a perfect setting. Are you okay? You’re limping.”

  She stopped pacing. “Sitting too long.”

  “I’m glad I stayed today. Hearing Koulsy takes me back to my own school years. What tales we must have told. My brother in particular.”

  “You were convincing. You don’t believe Koulsy’s concerns?”

  “If Koulsy’s correct and Chavanon died because of a poisoned dart, then I’ll give you the land the school sits on.”

  The door opened and Bernard Fontenay strode into the room, looking as fresh as if it were the morning after a good night’s sleep. “What’s this, Vallotton, giving away our land?”

  “The inspector has … No matter. We’re going out to the pool. Is it locked?”

  “Is Koulsy showing you where his note was tacked? Helene told me about that. He has a key to the pool house, so he can let you in.” Fontenay stopped short. “Should I have confiscated the note? I thought it was boys being boys. Did much worse when I was a student.”

  Agnes was starting to feel some sympathy for Helene Fontenay. Bernard likely encouraged the boys’ antics with his breezy manner.

  “Vallotton, if you aren’t needed, I have a question about fees next year and the school trip. Thinking about expanding. We need to get the kids out and about. More than Paris and London. Maybe a week in Hong Kong?”

  * * *

  Walking to the pool with Koulsy, Agnes was reminded of her oldest son. When seen from the back, Vincent was tall enough to look like a young man. Koulsy was even taller and she had to walk briskly to match his long strides. He didn’t speak, but that didn’t trouble her. Her boys vied between chatter and silence with little room in between for normal conversation. She wanted Koulsy to feel comfortable. They could talk about the note at the pool.

  Up close, the building was as attractive as the other facilities on the campus. Although large, it seemed to grow organically from the land around it. Agnes didn’t pretend to be an expert on architecture, but her eye told her this was well designed. Traditional wood was used in a way that felt modern. The doors were steel plates coated in something to give them a high gloss. Koulsy unlocked the door and pushed it open with a welcoming gesture.

  Inside, the quality and size of the facility reinforced Agnes’s ideas about the advantages of an elite education. The remains of daylight filtered in through the rows of skylights. Underwater lighting illuminated the pool. She felt Koulsy relax, and she started down the length of the pool deck to give him time to collect himself.

  “Do y
ou think they broke in through the drains?” Koulsy’s voice echoed across the water. The strange blue glow from the underwater lights reflected up and onto his face. “When I was a tiny boy, my father had the drains screwed down on our property; he was afraid of vandals coming in from underground.”

  “No. No fear of things coming up the drains here. I was simply admiring the tilework.” She pulled her notebook from her handbag. “When you found the note, you were the first one in that morning and the last one out the day before? No one was with you?”

  “I was in a hurry and left the water on in the foot bath. Anyone entering after me would have turned it off. It was still on when I arrived the next morning.”

  They met at the far end of the pool.

  “Here?” Agnes pointed to a knob that when turned created a mist across a three-inch-deep trench of water near the swimming pool. The small pool of water would cleanse feet of dirt before the swimmer stepped into the main body of water. “Maybe someone came in after you and they forgot as well?”

  “We’re pretty well trained to turn it on and off without thinking.”

  “You forgot.”

  “I was afraid I was going to be kidnapped once I left the building. I was preoccupied.”

  Agnes couldn’t fault that logic. She also couldn’t find a parallel between her sons or their friends and this boy. He was childish in his acceptance of his father’s word, yet, at the same time, he was vigilant and suspicious. As if fate really existed and he could only sidestep it.

  “Was there anything else unusual about the day you found it?”

  “We’d all gone to a special service for Monsieur Chavanon. I thought it was supposed to be me dead.”

  He slid effortlessly between the threat of kidnapping and death, and she didn’t point out that it was unlikely he was in danger of both. It was usually one or the other. His odd maturity was mixed with naïveté, and if his trouble hadn’t started prior to Chavanon’s death, she would have thought that triggered the boy’s fears.

  “Could you show me the locker where you found the note?”

  Koulsy led the way around a tile wall into a room that smelled so distinctly of pool locker that Agnes was taken back to her own childhood. He flicked a switch and lights illuminated the space. The front part of the room was lined with sinks and mirrors. Behind that, the room split into a wet side and dry side: toilet and showers together through one opening, and rows of lockers and benches through the other. Not surprisingly, the lockers were a superb example of Swiss craftsmanship. They were beautifully finished in light wood with rows of slashes on the faces creating vents top and bottom. It would have been easy to shove a piece of paper between two slits and have it hold. No need to access his locker, only the need to know which one it was. And, of course, you had to be in the pool house to begin with.

  “You left after everyone the night before. Why so late?”

  “I love swimming. Always have. I’m thinking about trying for the Olympics next go-round. It would be great to represent my country. Represent my father and the country.”

  Agnes could imagine the sportscasters having a field day with that combination; at least in America, where they had round-the-clock coverage to fill. The political side of Koulsy’s story would make for exciting special reports on cable news stations. Maybe a remote Swiss boarding school was the best answer for Koulsy. Perhaps it demonstrated that someone in his life was capable of authentic love, and that love kept him isolated from the world. He could make the swim team, travel to the Olympics, and, if handled correctly, never see the media storm. If someone on the team didn’t kill him, she added to herself, suddenly reminded that his father was truly a terrible man and many people wanted him dead.

  Was that the answer here? Was someone using the son to reach the father? The larger question was, would the father love the son enough to sacrifice himself if he had to? If the boy was kidnapped, she doubted the kidnappers would want only money. A swap—father for son—made more sense to her. Then she remembered the horrifying images of the ongoing civil war and wondered if, when made to choose, the father might conveniently forget that he had a son. It was impossible to judge honor in a man such as General Haroun.

  She led Koulsy out of the locker room. He doused the lights. “So you’re a good swimmer?”

  He spouted off times and distances, pointing to a board overhead. His name and those times and distances were written over and over.… Records broken. Excellence proven.

  “Which means you are often the last one here and the first to arrive?”

  “Yes, I have to keep an alarm button on me. It’s sewn into my swimsuit and I can press it if I get a cramp or something. Otherwise, no swimming alone. But I am here for hours, there is no way someone could always be with me. They found a solution. A very nice solution.”

  “I’ll look for you in the Olympics. I think you’ll make it there.”

  Agnes took another look around. There were emergency exits, but those doors opened from the inside. The only way into the building was through the main door. The other end of the structure could slide open in good weather, but the heavy mechanical device couldn’t be operated without fanfare. There were no windows. During the day, the pool was lit by the many skylights.

  They closed the outer door. She pulled the neck of her coat close. It was still winter, no matter how near spring they were, and darkness had fallen.

  The boy pulled his hood over his head and hunched his shoulders. “It’s always colder after the pool because the pool house is so warm.”

  “You don’t mind making this walk alone after dark?” They were at the farthest corner of the lawn, slightly hidden from the chalet by the newer classrooms.

  He shrugged.

  “Places like this, with open fields and a forest all around, unsettle me even when I know it’s safe,” Agnes said. At that moment, the heel of her shoe hit a hole and her ankle went sideways. She reached for the boy’s arm without thinking. His reflexes were faster and he had her elbow. “Maybe not safe.” She moved her ankle carefully, testing it. “It’s not the most even ground.”

  “Rabbit burrows. They fix it now and then. It’s not a big worry.”

  Not for young boys wearing big tennis shoes, she thought, stepping more carefully. In the distance, lights were on in every window of the chalet, and to the side, the smaller dormitory was equally bright. The classroom buildings were dark shapes in even darker shadows. She looked over her shoulder toward the pool house. It seemed farther away than it had earlier.

  “What’s that?” She pointed toward the rise in the hill. Small lights were in the distance. They flickered.

  Koulsy followed the line of her finger. “Nothing.”

  “It’s something. I don’t remember a building out there.”

  “It’s an empty field.”

  She squinted. “Not fire, but lights.” Exactly the same as the previous night. “Have you seen them before?”

  “Yes, Madame, I have seen them.”

  “And you don’t know where they come from?”

  “I have asked. I was told they don’t exist.”

  She remembered that he grew up in a place where it was likely one didn’t ask a question twice. “Go ahead. I’m going to look and see what it is.”

  He hesitated, then turned toward the chalet. Agnes walked in the opposite direction. She had reached the far side of the new dormitory when the flickering lights went out. She waited, watching. Nothing. No sign of anything, and no way to tell where they had been.

  She aimed the light of her phone and walked as swiftly as she dared over the uneven ground. The beam created a cone of light three meters ahead; beyond that was darkness. Even the sliver of moon was behind clouds now, and she felt rain was on the way.

  When she reached the field north of the Institute, she paused, sweeping her gaze 180 degrees. Nothing stirred. Nothing that she could see. No buildings were in the field, that she knew for certain. Beyond the field was forest, and the lights mig
ht have come from there. She wouldn’t have seen a building hidden in the growth of trees, yet lights would be visible for hundreds of meters in the dark. She had read that in complete darkness the human eye could see a candle flame thirty miles away. Perhaps that was all it was. Lights from a forest dwelling. She crossed the field, stumbling on the hard clods of earth. Ahead, in the distance, was a crack, like a branch snapping. She stopped and called out. No one answered and she waited, listening. The noise could have been a branch falling. She reached the far edge of the field and shone her light in both directions along the tree line. The trees were thin and tall, but the forest was dense. Signs warned of sangliers and she hesitated. The wild boars were large and fast and, if disturbed, dangerous. She couldn’t risk walking into the forest at night.

  She waited. Now all she could hear were the night sounds of small animals and rustling limbs. She tried to judge the distance back to the chalet, wondering how far away the lights had been when they flashed on and off. It was impossible to tell, and nothing more could be done here tonight.

  She was twenty meters from the chalet when a man’s voice called out. She recognized Bernard Fontenay the second time he said her name. He stepped from the shadows near the corner of the building. “What were you doing, wandering around alone at night?”

  “Walking Koulsy back from the pool. He returned before me.”

  “Not wandering the fields, I hope. It’s easy to turn an ankle or run into a wild boar. We wouldn’t have known to look for you.”

  “There were lights in the distance. Over there.” She pointed.

  “Probably a farmer crossing to a neighbor.”

  “Is that a usual path?”

  Fontenay hesitated. “No, I can’t say it is. But that doesn’t rule out an exception.”

  “Did you see anything, or anyone, out here?”

  “Me? No, I just stepped outside. I was on my way to the classroom building to check on one of the whiteboards. Hamel says it needs replacing and I forgot to look today. But since you’re here, let’s go inside. I’ll tend to it in the morning.”

  Agnes followed him. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the faint glow of the pool house shining up through the skylights. Perfect for drowning a boy swimming alone. She shivered. She thought about Guy Chavanon and the spectacular—and public—manner of his death. About Koulsy and the notes and the arrow.