The Provence Puzzle

by Vincent McConnor

  “Detectives always ask questions. Even on holiday.”

  “You’ll never be able to prove I killed anyone. You’ve no evidence! In fact, one of those girls hasn’t even been identified!”

  “I learned her name yesterday.”

  “What?”

  “It’s Deffous—Annie Deffous.” He saw Giroud’s eyes widen with surprise. “She came here from Toulon. The local police confirmed this today, but have not yet released that fact to the public…”

  “How did you find out?”

  “Does it matter? I’ve also learned that you worked as a chef in Toulon before you moved to Marseille. That you have a child by Deffous—a son.” He must talk fast now, avoid looking at the knife in Giroud’s hand, convince him that he had lost. “You gave Deffous money and continued to pay her for a time, even after you left Toulon.”

  “She bled me! Always wanting more. That’s why I had to leave Marseille. But she traced me, finally, through a waiter in Marseille who had been forwarding her letters. She came here to tell me that she would take me to court if I didn’t give her money for all the months I hadn’t paid her—that or marry her!”

  “Why didn’t you marry her?”

  “Annie? I never intended to marry her. I detested her! When she phoned the Auberge, I told her to meet me that night after I finished work. A cafe in another village, where I wasn’t known. From there I drove up to that field across from the Château, with Annie following in her car…”

  “I suppose you knew that field from earlier visits with other young women. Only you killed this one! Drove her car into some nearby ravine. The police will be searching for it tomorrow.” He saw that Jenny was turning in her sleep, moaning softly. “And what about Lisette Jarlaud?”

  “That bitch! She, too, was after money. Always begging! Constantly spying on me!”

  “Was that why she asked Madame Bouchard for a job?”

  “You found out about that, did you? Lisette wanted to work at the Auberge so that she could watch me every day! The final straw was when she told me she was pregnant. I would have to give her money. Exactly like Annie Deffous!”

  “But Lisette Jarlaud wasn’t pregnant. The autopsy proved that.”

  “Then she lied! As usual…” He glanced down at the sleeping girl in the bed. “Jenny’s the only one who never lied to me…

  “Were you in love with all these young women?”

  “What is love, Monsieur?” He shrugged. “This one’s the first I might have married. After all, she’s the only child of a rich Englishman. The others had nothing! Family or money. I have always needed money, but now, with my job as head chef of that new hotel, I won’t need the Englishman’s money. I’ll have a large salary. Thanks to Aurore!”

  “And what about Aurore?”

  “A fine person. But unfortunately, I prefer women much younger.”

  “Fortunately for her!”

  “Although I’ll not discourage her quite so much, in the future. Aurore’s getting a tremendous price for the Auberge.”

  “All this talk of money!”

  Giroud shrugged again. “The pleasures of life are expensive, Monsieur.” He raised his knife suddenly. “Your body must not be found here. We will take your car. There’s a bridge up the road where it would be possible for you to crash through the railing into a deep gorge…”

  “What about Jenny Tendrell?”

  “She will sleep until I return. I added something to her food at dinner so that she would be asleep before I arrived here.”

  “You can’t kill another girl with that same knife!”

  “Why not?” Giroud looked down at the knife in his hand. “The stupid villagers will say the monster did it.”

  “Too late for that. The police know there is no monster.”

  “But some of the villagers have seen it. Several times…”

  “They saw it again tonight. Unfortunately, they killed it.”

  “Killed it?”

  “You were the one who started those rumors about a monster.”

  “What makes you think that, Monsieur?”

  “Because you murdered Annie Deffous and Lisette Jarlaud. The rumors about a monster were started by their murderer to confuse the police and frighten the villagers.”

  “Those rumors worked! I had heard stories about lights seen at night in the windows of the castle…”

  “There were lights because someone lived there. The young Comte de Mohrt. Your rumors gave him the idea to create a monster figure that he displayed for the villagers as a joke.”

  “So that’s what it was! I was surprised, of course, when those idiots said they’d seen something.”

  “They destroyed the monster tonight. Murdered the Comte de Mohrt! Only it was you who killed him. As surely as you murdered those two young women. But you’ll not harm this girl, because there is no monster now to blame for her death.”

  “Jenny knows too much. And suspects even more! I can’t allow her to jeopardize my contract with the new hotel. That’s the ambition of my life! Head chef for a three-star restaurant!”

  “You will never see the new hotel. And you’ll not see Blanche Carmet tonight.”

  “How do you know about Blanche?”

  “You were with her both those nights, after you killed Annie Deffous and Lisette Jarlaud. Had an alibi ready, each time. Provided for you by a prostitute! The way you use women disgusts me!”

  Giroud shrugged again, his eyes hardening. “You are only a detective, Monsieur. Not a judge.” He motioned toward the open window with the blade of his knife. “We must go now.” Damiot wondered if Michel would lack the courage to use his knife, and only make intimidating gestures. Slash at one of his hands, perhaps, or his face. The possibility caused him to relax, although these next seconds would be the most dangerous. He must talk himself out of this corner, as he’d done many times in the past…

  Giroud seemed to be tensing for attack. Adjusting the knife in his hand.

  “I would suggest, Monsieur, that you place your knife on the foot of the bed. Leave here through the window…”

  “And walk into a trap?”

  “There is no one waiting outside.”

  “I don’t believe you!”

  “I’ve told no one what I have learned about you. I came here alone.” He kept his voice low, persuasive. “You can get your car and drive away.”

  “And you will follow!”

  “I will not follow you.”

  “It won’t work, Monsieur Inspecteur! I’m taking you with me. In your car.” He lunged suddenly, the knife flashing.

  Damiot, caught off guard, felt the blade slice through the sleeve of his waterproof.

  Fric-Frac barked.

  Giroud, eyes wild, raised the knife again.

  As Damiot stepped back to avoid the blade, he was aware of the small black body hurtling past him.

  “Mon Dieu!” Giroud, off balance, was surprised by the dog’s attack. Toppling back, he struck against the foot of the bed and slid to the floor.

  Damiot saw the knife fly out of his hand, onto the bed. At the same time he was aware of Fric-Frac savaging Giroud’s ankle.

  Giroud screamed. “That dog! Get her away!”

  Damiot moved swiftly to snatch up the knife.

  “She’s biting me!”

  “Here, Fric-Frac!” Damiot ordered. “Come away.”

  She turned at once and ran toward him.

  Giroud rubbed the ankle, then got up and faced Damiot again. “You’re going to arrest me?”

  “No. I am not.”

  “What?”

  “Here’s your knife.” He held it out, handle toward Giroud. “Take it and leave. I must, of course, report what I know to the local police, but that will give you at least an hour. Perhaps more…”

  “An hour?
”

  He saw Giroud’s eyes narrow as he glimpsed a chance for escape.

  “Bien! In an hour I will be far away from here.” He snatched the knife from Damiot’s hand. “The local gendarmes will never be able to find me.” He thrust the knife under his jacket. “There is someone in Marseille who will hide me.”

  “A woman, I suppose…”

  “But of course!” He flashed an arrogant smile. “Au ’voir, Monsieur Inspecteur!”

  Damiot watched him go to the windows, push the curtains aside, and disappear into the night.

  Poor bastard… He was feeling sorry for him!

  “Your murderers are your children,” Sophie had said.

  Maybe his wife was right. He had felt sorry for many of them.

  Fric-Frac pawed at his trouser leg.

  “Good girl.” He leaned down and stroked her head. “You are the best assistant I’ve ever had!”

  Damiot turned back to the bed and, moving closer, looked down at the drugged girl. Jenny’s delicate young face, so vulnerable against the soft pillow, reminded him of that other girl. Annie Deffous…

  Jenny would never know what had happened in this room. Never suspect she had been so close to death…

  He straightened the bedcover before he turned away and, Fric-Frac following, went toward the windows. Closed the curtains carefully behind them and started back to his car.

  Walking down the lane, Fric-Frac at his heels, he heard the roar of an approaching car. He waited, hidden by one of the poplars, and watched the green Jaguar flash past. It was heading north instead of toward Marseille.

  Damiot smiled.

  CHAPTER 23

  He slowed the Peugeot as he approached the Château. Glancing down beside him, he realized that Fric-Frac was asleep. Dogs were born with the gift of instant sleep. Something he had never learned!

  Tonight he would toss for hours. Always happened when his mind was involved with the finish of an investigation…

  Fric-Frac growled softly as the Peugeot came to a stop near a row of parked cars.

  Damiot saw one of the entrance doors open and watched Bardou, bundled in scarf and overcoat, hurry across the courtyard.

  “Who is it? We’re busy inside. No time for… M’sieur Damiot!”

  “Spare a moment, Inspector?”

  “But certainly!”

  “What’s going on?” Damiot asked.

  “We’re waiting for them to take M’sieur le Comte’s body to the morgue. Doctor Adondor hasn’t finished his examination.”

  “Did he find a bullet wound?”

  “In the Comte’s chest, near his heart.”

  “I thought so! Now then… I’ve more information, but let me warn you again, I don’t want anyone to know I gave this to you.”

  “Whatever you say, M’sieur Inspecteur, but I still think…”

  “I know who killed those two girls.”

  “You do!”

  “The murderer—of both girls—is Michel Giroud.”

  “Giroud?”

  “He’s the chef at the Auberge.”

  “Mon Dieu! I didn’t even suspect him…”

  “Used to work for a restaurant in Toulon, where he knew the Deffous girl. Had a son by her. Gave her money for the child’s care until he came to Courville. She traced him and drove here to persuade him to give her more money or to marry her. He killed her to get rid of her. And it was Giroud who started rumors about a monster in the Château, hoping to confuse the police and panic the villagers. He murdered Lisette Jarlaud when she, too, demanded money, after telling him she was pregnant…”

  “Will I find Giroud at the Auberge?”

  “He’s driving north in a dark green Jaguar. Send out word that he’s the murderer. He has a knife—probably the same one he used on both those girls. Warn every gendarmerie that he’s dangerous. Although I don’t think you’ll find him alive.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’ll either use the knife on himself or drive his car off some mountain road. Have a look through Giroud’s personal belongings. He has an apartment above the garage, behind the Auberge. I suspect you’ll find letters there from Annie Deffous.”

  “What can I say, M’sieur Inspecteur? Express my gratitude…”

  “Not a word. Move fast and you may catch Giroud before he harms himself.”

  “There’s a phone upstairs.” Hesitating as Damiot started the Peugeot. “You’ll be staying in Courville a while longer?”

  “I’ve made no plans. Let me know when you find Giroud.” Making a sharp turn and starting down the drive. “Bonne chance.”

  It was raining again.

  As he passed between the shattered entrance gates and turned left toward the village, he wondered what he should do about Aurore.

  Have to explain all this. Prepare her for the shocking news about Giroud… That would be a disagreeable job, but better than having her learn from Bardou when he came to search through Giroud’s apartment.

  Aurore would never know he had been the one who discovered that Giroud was the murderer. Or would she guess?

  Perhaps she would come to his room tonight, when he returned to the Auberge. That might be a good time to explain things…

  Fric-Frac was snoring. “Lucky dog!”

  She was his dog! Coming back to Paris with him…

  Should he drive down to Cannes first? Introduce Fric-Frac to his wife? Talk with Sophie and make decisions?

  Why bother! It would be impossible to discuss anything quietly and intelligently, with her mother listening to every word. And the old lady hated all dogs!

  His attention was caught by a flash of living color as the car rounded a curve and its headlights swept across a row of young trees. New leaves, glossy from the rain, quivering like small green flames.

  Spring should come to Provence in another few weeks, or even days…

  And he probably wouldn’t be here!

  The villagers would not be sleeping tonight, knowing that someone among them had killed the Comte. Would they come forward tomorrow and tell Bardou his name? Not likely! They would stick together against all outsiders, and Bardou was from Arles…

  Might be weeks before that bullet taken from the Comte’s body could be traced to the right gun…

  Had Marc Sibilat brought a gun with him tonight? His mother would probably have thrust it into his hand as he left for the Château…

  Rumors of a monster—started by a murderer—had become a threatening reality to the villagers.

  No monster, but two murderers! Michel Giroud and the villager who had shot the Comte…

  Peering through the rain-spattered windshield, he wondered about Michel Giroud. Had he already sent his Jaguar crashing into some rocky canyon? Or was he sitting in the car at this moment, knife in his hand? He was religious, so he would be praying for his immortal soul. Poor bastard…

  Blanche Carmet would be waiting for him.

  But there was an empty drawer at the morgue. Also waiting.

  Giroud had established alibis both times with Blanche—when Annie Deffous and Lisette Jarlaud were murdered. He had come to Blanche afterward and spent several hours with her.

  Had told her that he would be with her tonight. After killing Jenny Tendrell, he would have gone straight to Blanche. Another alibi…

  “Three alibis are two too many!” he muttered. That was the final piece of information that had convinced him Giroud was the killer.

  The first—that Giroud came from Toulon—had been given to him by Claude, the afternoon he arrived at the Auberge, but he hadn’t remembered that until tonight.

  He reduced speed as he reached the Auberge, and Fric-Frac at once roused and sat up.

  Turning off the avenue, he glimpsed the ghost of another restaurant through the rain. The old entrance, with his flower g
arden in front…

  “Chez Damiot!” Whispering the name as he drove past the row of new windows. The dining room was dark.

  Both garage doors stood open, and the space where the Jaguar had always been parked was empty. He eased the Peugeot into the free space, next to Aurore’s station wagon, and switched off his headlights.

  Getting out of the car, he saw that Aurore’s suite above the kitchen was lighted. “Come, Madame la Duchesse!”

  Fric-Frac jumped out.

  “Wait here! I’ll carry you.” As he locked the car, a reflected glow of light flooded into the garage. Turning quickly, he saw that the kitchen door had been opened.

  Aurore was standing there, silhouetted against the light. “I was waiting for you!”

  At the sound of her voice, Fric-Frac scampered across the wet tarmac and bounded up the kitchen steps.

  Damiot hurried after the dog, through the driving rain, into Chez Damiot.