No idea which house belonged to the Jarlaud family.
Damiot went toward the first door, but it opened before he knocked.
A bearded old man eyed him suspiciously. “Yes?”
“Jarlaud?”
An arthritic forefinger jabbed toward the end of the row. “Last house.”
“Merci, Monsieur.” He walked on.
There was a stench of sewage and rotted food as he went toward the final house. He knocked on the door twice before it creaked open.
“What do you want?”
He was surprised to see a younger-looking woman than he had anticipated. “Madame Jarlaud?”
“That’s right…”
“Chief Inspector Damiot.” He showed her his badge. “I’d like to ask a few questions about your daughter…”
“You’re that flic from Paris! Used to live here?”
“That’s right.”
“Come in, if you want.”
As Damiot entered he saw that the lower floor was a single all-purpose room. Two small children, a boy and a girl in clean blue smocks, were playing on the stone floor near an old-fashioned wood stove. There was no electricity, and the only light came from a lantern on a wooden table. He faced Madame Jarlaud as she closed the door.
“Don’t know what I can tell you, M’sieur. I’ve already answered all their questions. The local gendarmes have been here many times. And there was another one they brought from Arles…”
“Inspector Bardou?”
“He’s the one! Asked all the same questions.”
“I may ask the same ones again.”
She shrugged.
Damiot realized that she couldn’t be more than forty. Faded blond hair. Traces of beauty that must have been passed on to the daughter. Her body, under a water-spattered apron and old housedress, was thin.
She was aware of his inspection, smoothing her hair as she circled the table on the other side of the lantern to face him again.
“I believe your daughter was employed at the Hôtel Courville as femme de chambre…”
“Got the job for her myself, hoping to keep her off the streets. I work in the kitchen.”
“And your husband?”
“Does odd jobs, when he can find any.”
“These are your grandchildren?”
“The poor loves!” She glanced down at them with affection. “Lisette was their mother, but they’ll never know their fathers. Looking at them, so different from each other, I’d say that one day they’ll ask questions. Which I’ll never be able to answer…”
He saw that the girl had straight blond hair, but the boy’s head was covered with auburn curls.
“Their mother was a natural blonde, like me!”
“Since you are employed at the Hôtel Courville, you must’ve been aware of your daughter’s relationships with the other employees…”
She stiffened slightly. “What do you mean by that?”
“Was there anyone on the staff who was annoying your daughter? Perhaps even threatening her?”
“Well…” Relaxing slightly. “There were several of the younger men, now and again, who got too friendly, but Lisette could handle them.”
“Was there any special man she didn’t like?”
“Lisette liked everybody! I told her many times there were some she shouldn’t trust.”
“Could there have been one man who was so annoying that she would try to find a job elsewhere?”
“She never looked for another job!”
“A few weeks before her death she went to see Madame Bouchard at the Auberge and asked if there might be an opening for a femme de chambre. Said she wanted to leave the Hôtel Courville.”
“She never told me!”
“Unfortunately, Madame Bouchard had nothing for her.”
She frowned. “Why would Lisette do a thing like that?”
“Do you know if there is anyone on the hotel staff who has any connection with the city of Toulon?”
“Toulon?”
“Either worked there or perhaps does business with some company there? Such as hotel supplies…”
“I wouldn’t know about that. I’ve never heard anyone mention Toulon.”
“Did your daughter ever say anything about a young farmer named Savord?”
“Achille! Such a fine young man. Lisette brought him home many times. He was her favorite. She even talked of marrying him! And I, for one, was hoping she would. They discussed the fact that she already had two kids, but he promised to treat them like his own. Told me he wanted three more.”
“What’s he like? Achille Savord…”
“A nice man. Never quarreling or nasty. And he loves both these babies. Whenever he came here he brought them toys and, if Lisette wasn’t ready to leave, he would sit on the floor and play with them. Achille would have made my daughter a good husband! And, of course, one day he’s going to inherit his father’s farm. I kept telling her to marry him but she wanted to wait a while.” Her eyes brimmed with tears. “Perhaps if she’d listened to me she would be alive…”
“Thank you for answering my questions, Madame.” He turned to leave.
She followed him. “That’s all you’re going to ask?”
“For the moment.” Opening the door. “Good day, Madame.”
“M’sieur…” She closed the door behind him.
Making his way carefully over the slippery cobbles, Damiot was disgusted by the suffocating smell of poverty. He knew many such bleak alleys in Paris. Only one thing could bloom in such a foul place. The dark flower of death…
As he walked toward rue Woodrow Wilson, he wished that he had asked Madame Jarlaud where he could find Achille Savord.
Blanche Carmet should know! She had called the young farmer “très gentil.”
Some other questions he would like to ask Blanche.
Prostitutes knew everything about their neighbors, as well as their customers…
* * * *
He waited in the middle of the perfume-scented room until he heard footsteps coming downstairs, and turned to see the same pink kimono looming in the dim hall. It seemed to float out of the darkness into the rosy light of the salon.
Blanche was smiling. “You did come back.”
“Sorry to disturb you. Madame said you were with someone.”
“He’ll wait. Can’t you sit down?”
“This shouldn’t take long. You told me yesterday you knew that young farmer, Savord.”
“Yes…”
“Where can I find him?”
She frowned. “You’re not going to question Achille!”
“Nothing official. That’s why I’ve come to you first. I don’t want anyone in the village to know I’m seeing him.”
“You’ll be kind to Achille?”
“Kind?”
“He’s such an innocent! Clara says he was a virgin when he first came here and she had to teach him everything. Achille was only seventeen! Until he met the Jarlaud girl he saw Clara every Saturday night. Then he stopped. Clara knew he was going with Lisette. Word gets around! But after she was murdered—the very next Saturday—Achille was back here, asking for Clara.”
“You think he might have killed Lisette Jarlaud?”
“Achille wouldn’t harm anyone. Believe me, he had nothing to do with Lisette’s murder.”
“Where will I find him?”
“His father has a farm. On the left side of the road, driving south, before you get to the main highway. Achille took us there last year—Clara and me—for a picnic. Such food!”
“What’s happening in the village? I hear they’re planning another visit to the Château tonight.”
“The women are stirring the men up to do something about that monster.” Her fingers clutched the sleeve of his waterproof. “Is there
a monster up there? Killing people…”
“Whoever murdered those two girls is certainly a psychopath, but there’s no monster at the Château. I can assure you of that.”
“The villagers held a meeting last night in the schoolhouse. Some of the women made such a fuss that the men have agreed to catch the monster and destroy it.”
“And the women? Will they go with them?”
“They’ll wait ’til the men come home, and scream at them if they haven’t caught whatever it is. None of them will set foot outside after dark, but even a monster wouldn’t touch such crows!” She released his sleeve. “Most of their husbands come here. So business hasn’t been good since the Jarlaud girl died. The men stay home nights if it rains, and go up to the Château when the weather’s clear.”
“I won’t keep you any longer.” He moved toward the hall.
She followed him out of the salon. “There’s going to be another murder tonight.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Today’s Monday, and both those girls were killed on Monday night.”
“Were they? Nobody’s mentioned that before.”
“I remember because Michel comes here Monday nights.”
“Michel Giroud?”
“He was with me when both those girls were murdered. That’s how I know it was Monday.” She opened the front door.
“I’ve been thinking about the murders this morning, because Michel phoned to say he’d be here tonight. Soon as he can get away from the restaurant. He pays for the whole evening, so I don’t see anyone else. Michel likes to relax after he finishes work. At least two or three hours…”
As Damiot stepped out into the late morning sunlight, he noticed a truck parked across the street. There was a small sign on its side. “Has Giroud ever mentioned going to the Château with the villagers?”
“Michel wouldn’t get involved with that. He laughs at them. Although he too thinks there’s a monster up there!” She hesitated. “You won’t be hard on Achille Savord?”
“If you say so…”
“I promise you, he had nothing to do with the murders.”
“One last thing… Do you know anyone who owns a black Ferrari?”
“In Courville? You must be joking!”
“Hope I haven’t kept you away too long from Monsieur Sibilat…”
“You know everything, don’t you?” She giggled as she glanced toward the parked truck. “He can wait.”
“You didn’t tell him I was here?”
“I don’t tell him anything!” Her second giggle followed him as he headed back toward the square where he had left his car.
So both those girls were killed on a Monday night! Was that, like so many other things, only a coincidence?
And Marc Sibilat was waiting for Blanche! Morning was probably the only time he could escape from his mother. Now, there was a real monster!
Damiot got into the Peugeot, backed away from the silent fountain, and eased into the commercial traffic moving south on the avenue.
Marc Sibilat with Blanche. Why not pay an unexpected visit to his mother?
He slowed the Peugeot to a stop close to the cemetery wall, across from the florist shop, noticing fresh red roses in the display window.
Moving cautiously between the rumbling trucks, he crossed the avenue and opened the door. Heard the bell respond in the rear.
The air was chilly inside, after the hot sunshine.
He had a sudden idea as he reached the counter. He would buy some flowers for…
“Ah, Monsieur Inspecteur!”
Damiot was smiling, amused by his idea, as he saw the formidable black figure appear from the curtained passage. “Madame…”
“My son’s not here.” She faced him across the counter. “He always drives to Grasse, Monday mornings, to buy flowers. Takes him hours to select them for our shop.”
“I can believe that, Madame. However, I didn’t come this morning to see your son.”
“No?” Her eyes narrowed. “You wished to see me?”
“It’s always pleasant to see you again, Madame. Actually, I came to buy some flowers.”
“Forgive me. I thought…”
“Perhaps some roses? Like those in your window.”
“Of course, M’sieur.” She turned to open the display case and lifted out a tub of red roses. “How many?”
“A small bouquet…”
“Certainly.” She produced a square of green waxed paper from under the counter, spread it flat, and began to select roses from the tub.
“I hear the villagers will be going up to the Château tonight…”
“They hope to catch the monster before it kills someone else.”
“You believe, Madame, there’s a monster in the castle?”
“I’ve told you! My son has seen it.”
“Will he be going up there tonight with the others?”
“I couldn’t say…” She secured the stems of the roses with a strip of tape. “I only pray they catch the beast before more throats are cut!” Returning the tub of roses to the display case and closing the glass door. “Why shouldn’t the villagers take matters into their own hands? The police have done nothing! This monster must be destroyed!”
“I suppose the villagers would like the publicity. Hoping it will bring more tourists this summer.”
“Is that wrong, Monsieur? If they destroy the monster it will be in all the papers.” She folded the waxed paper around the bouquet and handed it across the counter. “That should put Courville on the map. Tourists will come from every part of the world!”
He dropped a hundred-franc note on the counter and watched as she unlocked the cash drawer. “You would have it destroyed for the money you might make from the publicity?”
“Not I, Monsieur Inspecteur. The money isn’t important.” Closing the cash drawer and counting out his change. “But the monster must be killed before another young woman dies!”
“Good morning, Madame.” He turned toward the door with the bouquet of red roses.
Damiot was smiling as he crossed the street. He was certain Madame Sibilat was watching him.
Passing his Peugeot, hurrying now, he went to the side gate, almost hidden under ivy in the cemetery wall. He pushed the wooden gate open.
This morning he wouldn’t visit his parents’ graves. Do that again before he returned to Paris, but not today.
Crossing the grass in the shade of the ancient trees, he went straight to Lisette Jarlaud’s grave. Slipped the waxed paper back and placed the roses on top of the dead ones left by Achille Savord. “Roses from Madame Sibilat. But these are fresh!”
He turned from the unmarked grave and headed back to the avenue. As he got into the Peugeot he glanced toward the florist shop but saw nothing of Madame’s inquisitive face.
Driving south, moving slowly in heavy traffic, Damiot glanced down at the empty seat beside him. He realized to his surprise that he felt lost without Fric-Frac.
After he talked with Achille Savord he would continue south and have lunch somewhere. Relax and think…
He had collected too many seemingly insignificant odds and ends, that needed sorting out. There must be something important among them. One small fact that might lead to the murderer…
He found the Savord farm and turned off the road to follow a lane, dappled with sunshine, between neat apple orchards and vineyards. This was a prosperous farm with hands working in the fields and among the grapevines. He was aware of heads lifting as he passed, eyes following his car.
Approaching the old farmhouse, he glimpsed a barnyard bustling with activity, as he slowed to a stop at the edge of a flower garden. Two young women, their faces shadowed by wide-brimmed straw hats, were at work.
A tall youth, red-haired and muscular, left a tractor he’d been repairing
and came toward the Peugeot carrying a wrench. “Achille Savord?”
“That’s right, M’sieur.”
Damiot brought out his badge. “I’m…”
“That flic from Paris everybody in the village is talking about!” He lowered his voice. “I’ve been expecting you.”
“Have you?”
“I see all those crime films on television, so I know the way you guys operate.” He grinned. “How’d you find out I’d been seeing Lisette?”
“You’re the only person who left flowers on her grave. I asked the florist, Madame Sibilat, who bought them.”
“Easy as that?”
“There’s only one florist shop in Courville.”
“These are my sisters.” Achille motioned toward the young women.
“No need to bother your family. But I’ve some questions for you.”
He grinned, shyly. “What can I tell you, M’sieur?”
“You know a girl named Deffous? Annie Deffous…”
“Never heard of her.” He frowned. “A girl in the village?”
“She is now. In a refrigerator…”
“That one! I saw her when they asked everybody to try and identify her, but I’d never seen her before.”
“When’s the last time you were in Toulon?”
“I’ve never been there. Marseille, but never Toulon.”
“Who do you think killed those two girls?”
“The monster, of course.”
“What monster?”
“They say it hides in the old Château. The villagers are going up there again tonight and try to catch it.”
“You’ve seen this monster?”
“No. I’m going this evening for the first time.”
As Damiot studied his face he remembered Lisette Jarlaud’s two children. The little one had the same curly auburn hair…
“If there is a monster,” Savord continued, “it should be put to death before it harms anyone else! And if I could be sure it murdered Lisette, I’d like to be the one who kills it.”
“I’m told you wanted to marry Lisette Jarlaud.”
“She’d have married me, if she had lived. Promised me she would! Only there was another guy. She wanted to marry him. Said she’d talk to him, and if he refused she’d marry me.”
The Provence Puzzle Page 19