“Tommy was on the ground and saved Koulsy, nearly getting himself crushed.” Agnes paused. “You feel these boys aren’t wanted at home and that’s why they’re here?”
“It’s obvious. Troublemakers.”
“They seem bright enough and well behaved. Monsieur Navarro was telling me about Rudolph Versteegh, how he excels in the classroom and is a potential champion skier.”
“That boy will never have what it takes to be a champion. It takes mental strength and discipline. These boys don’t have that. They dillydally. Finish their homework just in time. Play at sports. They don’t have the drive.”
“I have three boys at home, and the ones here seem much like them. My boys do well in school. Usually. There are bad days and good days, but I think they’re pretty normal. I’m confident they’ll turn out to be fine young men.”
“Three boys at home with you.” Madame Fontenay gripped the handle of her brace until her knuckles where white. “A nice picture. Loving family all together. Here, we’re paid to pretend to be their parents.”
A pain fixed in Agnes’s chest. She stood, unable to continue. She could not explain to this angry woman what they missed at home, what her boys didn’t have. Their father. Thanking Helene for her time, she left the room.
Halfway down the stairs, she stopped. No one was around. The building wasn’t precisely quiet, but she knew she was alone. She leaned against the white plaster wall and held her head in her hands. The leftovers, Helene had said. Agnes wanted to call her sons and ask them if they felt that way. Father dead. Suicide. Mother at work. Did they feel they were the leftovers? Surely not. They knew they were surrounded by love. Perhaps too much love, although what did too much love feel like? She didn’t know, but hoped they did. She remembered them earlier at lunch, gently harassing one another. They knew that they belonged. They didn’t need to be smothered.
Somewhere overhead a door shut, and she stood away from the wall. She checked that her eyes were dry; only in her mind were tears leaking down her face. She straightened her jacket. When she reached the bottom step, she took a deep cleansing breath and opened the door.
Thirty-three
It was evening when Agnes followed the school nurse out of the building. The woman seemed impervious to the chill in the air.
“If he weren’t already asleep, I would have sent him back to his dorm room,” the nurse said.
“It’s better that Koulsy stays here tonight,” said Agnes. “You’ll remain with him? I don’t want him disturbed.”
“Too many accidents?” said the nurse knowingly. “The infirmary is its own little piece of the building, so it’ll be only the two of us. I bring my knitting when I stay over. No use having a nurse if she’s asleep. I’ll make sure he has a peaceful night.”
Agnes bade Madame Butty good night and started across the lawn toward the chalet. Through the trees at the edge of the property she saw car headlights and thought it was probably Petit heading home. Between the two of them, they’d spoken with every child, teacher, and member of the staff at the Institute. Most were in class or with a group of colleagues and couldn’t have pushed the flower box off the balcony. A few were alone at the time and could only offer their word that they hadn’t. Petit had proven to be a master at getting people to talk. He had a harmless air about him that let people forget he was police.
She smiled. All afternoon Petit’s excitement had been palpable. Nearly as palpable as his devotion to Bardy. She supposed it wasn’t every day that a legend plucked you from the relative obscurity of the local police force. She was surprised he hadn’t named the new baby for Bardy, but supposed that the wiser counsel of a levelheaded wife had prevailed.
She almost didn’t see Bernard Fontenay until he was directly in front of her. The headmaster was walking with his head down, well bundled against the chill, and seemed preoccupied.
“Are you on your way to check on Koulsy?” she asked.
He darted a look in the direction of the infirmary and shook his head. “I called over earlier. He’s asleep now, I take it?”
“Yes, and I’m leaving for the night.”
Fontenay turned in the direction of the chalet to accompany her.
“You don’t need to walk with me.”
“I saw Julien Vallotton to his car and was out for a bit of air. No purpose really, I don’t mind.”
Agnes felt her breath hitch at the mention of Vallotton.
A group of older boys ran ahead of them, laughing. They opened the back door to the chalet and dashed inside. In the split second of light, a small figure was illuminated. “What’s he doing outside?” said Fontenay. “Tommy? Tommy!”
The boy stood and turned in their direction.
“Son, you should be in your room, resting. Chef Jean is sending a dinner tray up to you.” Fontenay put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Were you worried about Koulsy? We’ve just seen him and he’s absolutely fine.”
Tommy glanced up to the balcony. He looked worse now than in the minutes after the window box had fallen.
“Do you need to see the nurse?” Agnes asked. “Does something hurt?”
“No. I wanted to see where it happened again.”
“It’s all cleaned up,” said Fontenay. “An unfortunate accident. Put it from your mind and give yourself credit for being so quick-witted.”
Tommy started to shove his hands in his pockets.
“Here, give me that trash and I’ll throw it away for you.” Fontenay plucked the wad of fishing line out of Tommy’s hand.
“Just found it here.” The boy reached in his other pocket and pulled out a wadded scrap of paper. “Take this, too? Thanks.”
Discreetly, Agnes took both pieces of trash from Fontenay. “Why don’t you take Tommy upstairs, Monsieur Fontenay, and I’ll take care of this. I’m headed home for the night. Good night, Tommy. Sleep well.”
She waited until they were inside the building before she looked at the fishing line. It was tangled around an inexpensive ink pen. The piece of paper was a wrapper from a candy bar. A Mars bar. An American product. Probably brought from home, she thought.
A riot of voices erupted inside the building. The older boys were enjoying evening privileges in the game room. The evening was cool, but not overly cold, and it was peaceful outside. She fingered the ball of line. The Mars-bar wrapper reminded her that she had a coffee stain on her scarf that needed to be professionally cleaned. She pulled the scarf from under her coat collar and sniffed. The stain was on a dark brown part of the pattern, hard to see, and she kept forgetting about it. She sniffed again. The potency of the smell and its incongruity with the smell of wool struck her.
She rounded the corner of the building and saw Julien Vallotton’s Rolls-Royce in the parking lot. The front door opened and he stepped out.
“I was just writing you a note.”
“I have a phone, you could have called.”
“You’re at work, I didn’t want to bother you.” He tucked the note in the breast pocket of her coat. “Thanks for letting me know what happened today. I’m afraid Helene didn’t like my showing up to inquire about the boys, but Bernard understands.”
“She thinks you’re here to spy on them.”
“When I lived in London, I wasn’t very present. Now that I’m here, I’m interested. I have a responsibility.”
She smelled the faint trace of his cologne and wondered what it was. Leather and old books and spruce.
“Do you have time for dinner?” he asked.
Her mind was on smell and she didn’t reply. Smell and coffee. The smell of alcohol. She tapped the roof of her car, excited. Were they all fools or were some accomplices?
She opened her car door. “I need your help with something, first. I’ll drive.”
This was one mystery that, with some luck, she could solve tonight.
Thirty-four
Agnes didn’t answer Julien Vallotton’s questions, amused that, for once, he wasn’t in command. After exiting the
Institute’s drive, she drove a hundred meters, then pulled over onto the shoulder. The narrow two-lane road was partially canopied by trees and it was dark.
“I’d pictured dinner in a restaurant, but if you have a picnic hamper in the back, this could be nice. Rustic, although liable to get us ticketed by Officer Boschung if he drives by.”
“Wait here,” Agnes said, enjoying herself. After checking that her mobile phone was in her coat pocket, she deposited her handbag in the trunk of her car. She swapped her pumps for boots and slammed the lid down.
Vallotton had opened the passenger-side door, and she passed by, saying, “Follow me.”
She jumped the small roadside creek without getting her boots wet and climbed up the other side without incident, barely favoring her leg. Vallotton followed easily.
Training her flashlight on the ground, she led the way out of the thin line of trees and straight up the middle of the pasture. The farmhouse was to their right and the Institute well beyond that. The ground was rough going, churned up by cow hooves. Thick mud, and some other dark material she didn’t want to think about, stuck to her boots. She appreciated that Vallotton didn’t complain, particularly since he was probably ruining shoes that cost a week of her salary.
“I cannot imagine where you are taking me,” said Vallotton.
“Because you haven’t been paying attention. Now be quiet. Sound carries.”
When they reached higher ground, she turned her flashlight off to avoid being spotted from the Institute. From that point on, she used the glow from her phone screen to occasionally check the terrain. The lights of the chalet let her judge their direction; twisting her ankle in a hole was what worried her.
Reaching the hut Leo Chavanon and his friends used as a meeting place, she stopped.
“This is it? This is what you want to show me?” Vallotton whispered.
“No. This is where we wait and see what happens.”
The hut was built into the rise of the hill, with the back wall only a few feet above the earth. The roof was more of an overhang than real protection, but the three walls provided shelter from any wind. The site also allowed a nearly unobstructed view across the entirety of the Institute, the neighboring farmhouse, and the pastures leading toward town.
Vallotton righted a three-legged milking stool and offered it to her. “I take it we’re here for a long spell? You can take the first seated watch.”
She smiled. It wouldn’t be a comfortable perch, but was better than leaning against the wall or sitting on the damp ground.
“What am I looking for?” He gazed out toward the forest through a gap between the boards in the back wall.
“Lights, what else?” He started to ask a question but she cut him off. “Be quiet, or we might miss our chance. I only want to do this once.”
The darkness of early evening had turned to the blackness of a cloudy night, and Agnes adjusted her scarf, wishing she’d brought a hat. However, her coat was warm and she wasn’t too uncomfortable. Vallotton turned up the collar of his long coat and adjusted his scarf. She scanned the view, taking in 180 degrees from the Institute all the way across the pasture toward town. Vallotton kept watch in the other direction. Occasionally, lights in the chalet clicked on and off as boys went to bed early or stayed up studying. Otherwise, the night was dark. There weren’t even car headlights on the nearby road. Agnes hoped it wouldn’t be too long before they saw movement.
They swapped positions twice before being rewarded. Vallotton nudged her. A light bobbed in the pasture at the edge of the forest. Then it disappeared. She joined him to watch between the broken planks as the light flashed on and off again, too rapid to indicate direction. They waited, carefully scanning the countryside.
The light flashed again. She grinned and pointed. Vallotton nodded his head. The destination was clear.
They waited five more minutes, but there was no more activity.
She turned on her flashlight. “They’re inside and can’t see us.”
“You don’t think we need someone else? What do you call it, backup? You’re not armed, are you?”
“I think you’re all the backup this requires. Come on.”
Up close, the farmhouse was tall and broad. The traditional combination of house and barn resulted in an enormous structure capped with a high, sweeping peaked roof. The house was on the downside of the hill, and the main entrance to the barn was reached via a sloped ramp. Agnes held the light, while Vallotton tried the main door to the house first. It was padlocked.
“Don’t worry, it’s supposed to be uninhabited,” she said. “We’ll find out where they’re getting in.”
The shutters were closed and they didn’t bother trying to find a chink in the wood. Despite being vacant, the structure was in good shape, maintained in readiness for someone to move in.
They followed the wall and walked up the ramp to the barn entrance. It, too, was padlocked. Judging by the pile of leaves and small branches piled against the door, it hadn’t been opened recently either.
Vallotton was turning away when Agnes spotted a small, almost half-size door at the edge of the ramp. It looked as if someone had cut an opening in the wall for a special purpose, or to avoid a great rush of wind into the barn during an especially cold winter. The door didn’t reach the floor, resting on the bottom logs of the structure, and it was no taller than Agnes.
She turned the knob. There was no lock, and the door shifted on well-oiled hinges. They waited side by side, listening for any sounds. After a few minutes, she clicked off her light and carefully pushed the door open. She smiled at Vallotton. This was what she was looking for.
Once inside, she was struck by the pervasive smell of hay. Vallotton shut the door behind them. There were small noises, from either rodents or farm cats.
“They’ve gone farther inside,” she whispered.
“There’s a lower level, then a true cellar,” Vallotton whispered back, motioning across the room.
Agnes clicked her light on for a brief moment. He was right, there was a heavy door on the opposite wall. Vallotton tested the handle and it also opened easily. Silently. Too easily for years of disuse.
A corridor lay before them. The walls were planked with heavy timber, and the earth floor sloped gently down. A light streamed under the door at the far end. Agnes led the way, walking quietly. In front of the door, she listened, heard voices, and shook her head. She felt Vallotton tense. Pushing the door open abruptly, she stepped into the room.
Bernard Fontenay stood, tipping his chair over backward. Jorge Navarro dropped a glass beaker, shattering it.
“I’ve always wanted to do that,” Agnes said. “Burst into a room like in a movie.”
“Inspector Lüthi,” Fontenay said weakly. “Vallotton.”
Julien Vallotton didn’t speak, but Agnes could sense him absorbing the details of the room. She hoped he didn’t mind her having a bit of fun with the discovery.
“Monsieur Fontenay, it was the smell on your coat when I sat near it in your office.” She walked farther into the room. “I didn’t think about it at the time, but I caught the scent of alcohol.”
Navarro pulled a broom from a closet and started cleaning up the broken glass. “I told you we’d be found out.”
Bottles and beakers were strewn across tables. Clay jugs and wine bottles filled the shelves of a tall cabinet. Various other bits of equipment littered the room. The most interesting feature was the small still.
“This isn’t left over from Amman, is it?” Vallotton asked.
“No, we built it,” said Fontenay.
“What made you so curious?” Navarro asked her.
“Was it the lights?” said Fontenay.
“Partly,” she said. “I asked about them and realized that there was a pattern. At first, people remembered seeing lights in the general direction of the fields. It was only later that they reported lights in the forest. You started walking up there and turning back, hoping to avoid being seen. You t
ook quite a risk going there at night simply to misdirect attention.”
“If people saw strange lights in different places they talked about it, but didn’t search,” said Navarro.
Vallotton picked up an open bottle and sniffed. “Plums?”
Fontenay nodded.
“It’s not all plum brandy,” Navarro said. “We’re experimenting with pear and some other fruits. A few blends.”
“I also thought the headmaster would be more worried about strangers crossing the property,” said Agnes. “What if it was vagrants—”
“Here?” said Fontenay, eyebrows raised.
“You weren’t concerned at all, even when we found the shed had been vandalized. And neither was your wife. You told some of the boys that they hadn’t seen anything. Koulsy, for example. He knew what he’d seen. That scared him more. You should have thought of that.”
Agnes picked up a glass and sniffed. “And then there were your clothes. We met coming and going several times and you were always bundled up for harsh weather. I’ve noticed that most of the faculty make the dash from the chalet to the classrooms or the other dormitory without even bothering with an overcoat. Some throw on a scarf or hat, but you were always wearing full winter gear.”
“Setting an example for the students?” Fontenay said, smiling gently. “Don’t want them to get sick.”
“It was as if you were going somewhere colder than the rest of us.” She looked around the unheated room. “If that was the case, then you weren’t slipping off to the local bar to slosh brandy on your sleeve. I think that’s what your wife suspects. Or worse. That’s why she ignores the lights and avoids talk about anything of concern that happens here. Her injury has isolated her and made her afraid. But I knew you weren’t going into the village. Boschung barely knows you.”
“I wouldn’t say that. You could see for yourself that he’s respectful and that I trust him.”
A Well-Timed Murder Page 23