Murder is a Long Time Coming

by Anthony Masters

  ‘What were they doing?’

  ‘Well, Kummel liked boys. And the Nazis didn’t allow that, did they?’

  ‘You mean he was a homosexual?’

  ‘Yes. He liked boys. It never came out in his trial, did it?’ He giggled slightly.

  ‘And how did he get them?’

  ‘Good old Rodiet. That’s what Rodiet was doing. Finding the boys. Didier knows. I was in the Resistance.’

  ‘So –’

  ‘Rodiet found him boys. He met them in a hotel.’ He spluttered with laughter and then his face fell. ‘Suzanne – I liked her. She was strong. But things happened – things went wrong. Rodiet told me to help him – and I had to. I had to.’

  ‘What did you have to do?’ asked Marius gently.

  ‘I had to do it – do things with men.’ He smiled.

  ‘Were there other Nazis involved?’ asked Marius suddenly.

  Didier gave him a crafty look. ‘I don’t want to tell you.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s a secret. Didier’s secret.’

  ‘Did you tell Jean-Pierre? Marie Leger?’

  Didier shifted uncomfortably. He nodded.

  ‘Which?’

  ‘Jean-Pierre. He came on his own once. That was nice.’

  ‘And you told him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you tell Commissaire Rodiet?’

  ‘Her son. He came to see me.’

  ‘Did you tell him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Will you tell me?’

  ‘I might. Have another bon-bon?’

  ‘Thanks.’ Again the marshmallow fingers. Marius began to sweat. The room didn’t seem to have any cooling system. And there was a strange smell now – a kind of medicated sweat. ‘So – the young men. They never shot a German officer.’

  ‘They did.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It was like rape. They killed him because they didn’t want to do it any more. Didier didn’t want to do it any more.’

  ‘Then the tribunal –’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Were you there?’

  ‘I was at the court.’

  Marius could hardly breathe. ‘Who presided over it?’ he managed to get out. But Didier was still anxious to tease.

  ‘Didier knows.’

  ‘You told Jean-Pierre?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Marie Leger?’

  ‘She hasn’t been,’ he said evasively. ‘Did she send you?’

  ‘No.’ Desperately Marius tried to be patient. ‘Didier …’

  ‘Mm?’

  ‘The person who presided over the court …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Who? Who was it?’

  ‘It had to look right. They wanted someone respectable.’

  ‘Who?’ Marius was tense, desperately straining his ears for Didier’s reply.

  ‘It’s a secret.’

  ‘You’ve been here a long time,’ said Marius, determined to subdue his frustration, to be patient.

  ‘A very long time. You see – I tried to kill my mother.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She was angry with me.’

  ‘About having to do it with men?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How did she find out?’

  ‘I expect Suzanne told her.’ His voice was careless, matter of fact.

  ‘It wasn’t your fault.’

  ‘Mother said I was dirty – she didn’t want me in the house.’

  ‘And you were put in here?’

  ‘In 1948. I almost came out – on parole. If that bastard hadn’t stopped me.’

  ‘What bastard?’

  ‘Gabriel – the police chief. Gabriel Rodiet. The one who came to see me. He keeps me in here.’

  ‘Does he?’

  ‘He doesn’t want me to come out, ever.’ His voice rose petulantly and he got up and walked to the window. ‘I watch birds,’ he said absently. ‘Birds and lizards.’

  ‘Will you tell me your secret?’ whispered Marius.

  ‘What will you buy me?’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Bon-bons.’

  ‘Very well.’

  ‘You promise?’

  ‘I promise.’

  ‘I’ll tell you then,’ said Didier, his face glistening with a pallid sweat. ‘I’ll tell you my secret.’

  ‘Who was the man in charge of the tribunal?’ asked Marius slowly and painfully.

  ‘Dr Rodiet,’ said Didier brightly. ‘When will you get me my bon-bons?’

  13

  Annette was discussing next week’s menus at Le Clozel when Mireille Leger arrived hesitantly on the terrace. The noise of the cicadas seemed particularly loud tonight and the water reflected a smoky green under the coloured light bulbs that were strung near its surface.

  ‘Mireille. This is a pleasant surprise.’ Annette was actually pleased to see her. She needed to fill her time – use up all her time on anything, no matter how trivial it was. André had moved out after all, presumably to the flat over the office, and the house in St Esprit was echoingly empty. She felt no hope for the future. This was the way it was going to be, but for the moment she couldn’t face up to it.

  ‘I can’t stay long. It was my turn to be in the shop all afternoon and we’ve been terribly busy.’ She looked puffed, out of breath.

  ‘Why don’t you sit down? Have a drink.’

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t.’

  ‘It’s early. We won’t have any customers till nine.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘Have something. An aperitif.’

  ‘Oh – all right.’ She looked round the empty terrace vaguely. ‘Where shall we sit? There are so many tables.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘What with one thing and another, I can’t make decisions any more. Isn’t it ridiculous?’ She was obviously asking Annette to share the thought and she did, laughing lightly, guiding Mireille to a seat and signalling one of the waiters. When she had ordered two St Raphaels, Annette leant back in a pretence of relaxation – and Mireille did the same.

  ‘I – er – I came about the cushions.’

  ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘I’ve just had a cheque.’

  ‘From the paper –’

  ‘Yes. I’m not sure I can accept it.’

  ‘Why not?’ asked Annette.

  ‘Well – we were no use to your husband. I mean – my sister wasn’t.’

  ‘I wouldn’t let that worry you,’ said Annette firmly.

  ‘But it seems like taking money under false pretences.’

  ‘Not to me.’

  Annette looked around her, hoping that Mireille would follow her gaze. She did.

  ‘They’ll look lovely here – I gather you fill some of them with herbs.’

  ‘So your husband is –’

  ‘Buying them for me.’

  ‘Well –’

  ‘It’s kind, isn’t it?’ she said with irony.

  ‘Very.’

  ‘Particularly when he’s using newspaper money.’ The drinks arrived and Annette stretched out an eager arm. ‘Santé.’

  ‘Your health.’

  ‘How quickly can you get them to me?’

  ‘I’ve got some in stock,’ she began doubtfully. ‘But I’ll have to make the rest. Most of them, really.’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘I’m afraid you’ve taken me by surprise. My order book’s at home. I could ring –’

  ‘Can I come back with you and find out?’

  ‘But –’

  ‘It would be so much quicker.’ And it would fill up the evening, thought Annette desperately.

  ‘Of course, you’re most welcome.’

  ‘It’s just that I want to refurbish the place anyway, and if I knew when the cushions might be ready –’

  ‘Goodness – you can’t be basing your redesign round my cushions.’

  ‘They’re integral,’ Annette lied. ‘I love the colours.’ Well – they certainly weren’t bad, anyway. ‘Let
’s have another drink and go.’

  ‘I’m afraid I couldn’t manage –’

  ‘I’ll have a quick one then,’ said Annette. She needed it.

  Mireille drove slowly and lumpily in the Deux Chevaux which smelt of dried flowers and pot-pourri. She said little, keeping her eyes on the road, as if driving required all her energies. After what seemed like an interminable journey, they arrived at the cottage. It was dark now but there was a light burning in the front room.

  ‘Will you have coffee?’ asked Mireille, panting a little. It was stiflingly hot.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I’m afraid my sister may be asleep.’

  Annette looked at her watch. It was nine.

  ‘She’s been very tired recently.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I think it must be all these dreadful things happening.’

  ‘Quite.’ Annette got out and stood by the front door while Mireille fumbled with a key.

  ‘It’s so hot,’ she muttered.

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  At last she managed to get the door open and they walked into the interior. Thank goodness, thought Annette. At least it’s cooler in here.

  ‘Now look at that,’ said Mireille brusquely.

  ‘What?’

  ‘That silly sister of mine – she’s gone and left those windows open.’

  ‘Perhaps she’s hot.’

  ‘She’d never leave them open.’ She crossed hurriedly to the doors, took them in both hands and paused. ‘Hallo.’

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘The furniture’s been moved.’

  Annette looked around her – everything seemed to be orderly enough.

  ‘Looks like someone’s moved this chair and then put it back – but not quite right.’ Mireille seemed to be thinking aloud and Annette felt a sudden sharpening of her attention. ‘Maybe she’s on the terrace,’ said Mireille brightly. She bustled through and Annette slowly followed.

  The blood on the floor of the terrace seemed to lie in great dark lagoons. There were black splashes on the wall of the house, the furniture and the tubs of geraniums. The carnage was incredible. Annette turned away, beginning to vomit, but Mireille simply stared down at what looked like a heap of clothes, carelessly piled up behind a dark spattered table.

  In an involuntary movement Mireille pulled off the blood-spattered tablecloth, bringing with it two empty coffee cups. They smashed on the terrace and the noise was appalling. Marie lay underneath the table. Her throat looked as if it had been torn out. Fingerprints, Annette remembered, as Mireille flung the cloth over her sister’s body. She’s destroying evidence. But we can’t have it staring up at us like this. Not with those eyes. She shuddered, trying to prevent herself being sick yet again by swallowing hard. Whoever has done this, she thought wildly, is a savage beast. Henri Larche, Jean-Pierre Claude, now Marie Leger – throats cut like stuck pigs. Henri, yes; Jean-Pierre, perhaps – but poor old Marie … Wiping the vomit from her lips with a napkin which she took from a side-table, and fleetingly wondering if she was destroying yet more evidence, Annette tried to take Mireille’s arm. But it was rigorously unyielding, as if there was some great force behind it.

  ‘Mireille –’

  ‘Leave me.’

  ‘Come away now.’

  ‘Where? This is my home.’

  ‘Come with me. We’ll go away.’

  ‘There are things to be done. Calls to be made. Don’t you realise …’ She turned round to Annette for the first time. ‘Don’t you realise – this was my sister?’

  ‘Mother?’

  She was sitting on the terrace, staring out at the wilderness gardens of the Château Letoric. Estelle was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Henri?’ She started.

  ‘It’s Marius.’ He was sorry to have punctured her reverie. Now he knew, Marius was anxious to end it all as soon as possible. But he wanted to make sure she was safe.

  ‘Is that Henri’s new maid? I could eat a raspberry soufflé. Have we had lunch yet?’

  Marius gave up and called sharply for Estelle. She came after a minute or so, a glass of cognac in her hand.

  Did she stagger slightly in the dark? Marius dismissed the thought. He no longer felt any desire for her. Every feeling he had was dominated by a painful despair.

  ‘I want you to take her to bed – and lock the door. All the doors.’

  ‘Why, monsieur?’ she asked humbly.

  ‘My mother is in danger. Please do as I say.’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘I can rely on you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  He suddenly knew he could. ‘I may have to go out soon. I shan’t be long.’

  ‘Monique?’

  ‘Marius.’ Her voice seemed a very long way away.

  ‘I think I might be getting somewhere.’

  ‘You’ve caught someone?’

  ‘Not yet. But I found someone. Someone called Didier who claims he knows who chaired the tribunal. And it wasn’t my father. But he’s not a reliable witness. So God knows where I get any real evidence.’

  ‘Are you liaising with the local police?’

  ‘There’s no point. Rodiet just holds out on me.’

  ‘So what are you going to do?’

  ‘Talk to Alain – he’s my only confidant.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Then I’ll make a decision.’

  ‘Aren’t you holding out on me?’

  ‘I can’t tell you what I suspect. Not on the phone. Besides – there’s Estelle.’

  ‘The built-in spy?’

  ‘Yes, her ears are attuned to my slightest inflection.’

  They laughed together and Marius felt slightly easier. Then Monique said, ‘If the killer murdered your father and Jean-Pierre for what they knew, why didn’t they murder this Didier as well?’

  ‘Because Didier happens to be in the secure unit of a psychiatric hospital. Not that it isn’t penetrable – as has been proven. However, killing Didier could lead to a very quick exposure. Someone would be bound to have seen them together.’

  ‘I wish you’d come up here. Even for a day.’

  ‘I can’t leave now. Something – someone is out of control here. And I’m on the brink of finding out what I need to know. If only I’d acted earlier – while my father was still alive …’ Marius’ voice broke.

  ‘You just can’t have that kind of regret.’ She paused. ‘Do you know who it is?’

  ‘I have a gut feeling. I could be wrong.’

  ‘I love you, Marius.’

  ‘I love you – my darling. The deadline’s ticking away.’

  ‘You make it sound like a death sentence.’ There was laughter in her voice.

  ‘No,’ said Marius. ‘Getting away from this house will be like finishing a long sentence.’

  ‘You mean it?’

  ‘Yes, I mean it. I promise I mean it.’

  Gabriel. He had never liked him. Never known him. But his beloved father a procurer of boys for Nazi officers? That quiet, long-suffering doctor, much bullied by his tyrannical wife? Or was that only Gabriel’s perception of him? Gabriel’s fantasy? He had to talk to him. Marius would have liked to talk it all over with Alain first, particularly as his original conjectures were so close to what Didier had confided – or what he had managed to wring out of Didier.

  Marius walked out into the garden, skirting the conservatory and beginning to climb a patch of slowly rising ground that gave him a view of Ste Michelle and beyond to the forest and the foothills. It was a clear night with a slight cooling breeze. There were lights on in the ground floor of Ste Michelle – more lights than Alain needs, thought Marius. Was he entertaining? Did he entertain? It must be a rare occurrence for he had become more and more reclusive over the years. It was comforting, though, to see the lights, to know that Alain’s reassuring presence was nearby and that they could talk. He was not alone, but with a senile mother and a servant spy he could become very isolated indeed. Marius wal
ked on into the trees that bordered Letoric and Ste Michelle. He stood there, smelling the pines, wondering what he was going to do next. Then he knew; he had to ring Gabriel and go and see him.

  It was Isobelle Rodiet who answered.

  ‘Gabriel’s not here,’ she said. Her voice seemed odd, almost halting.

  Marius looked at his watch. It was 10 p.m. ‘He’s on duty?’

  ‘He wouldn’t be, but he was called out. Don’t you know?’

  ‘Don’t I know what?’

  ‘There’s been another of those bestial murders – one of the Leger sisters this time. He’s down there now.’

  ‘Oh my God –’

  ‘It’s dreadful – and there must be a maniac on the loose,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll go straight down there,’ replied Marius.

  The Leger house was surrounded by police cars, an ambulance, a small Citroën that Marius knew to be Lebatre’s and Gabriel’s large Peugeot. Showing his card to the officer on the door he hurried through the house to the terrace, which seemed to be the main centre of activity. The area gave the impression of a film set with arc lights and men filling the tiny space. He noticed there was a body bag in the centre of the floor.

  Lebatre hurried up to him, discreet but determined.

  ‘I am sorry, monsieur – you have no right to be here.’

  Marius said nothing, looking towards Gabriel who was standing on the other side of the terrace, talking to a police officer. Blood seemed to be everywhere.

  ‘I have to see Commissaire Rodiet.’

  ‘He is very busy.’

  ‘Gabriel –’

  ‘All right, Marius. I’m coming.’ He looked appeasingly at the furious Lebatre. ‘I’ll see him in the sitting-room.’

  Lebatre shrugged. Somewhere in the background Marius could see Mireille Leger. She had her back to the assembled company and was talking to a detective. Annette Valier stood beside her, her arm around Mireille’s waist.

  ‘Come on, Marius,’ said Gabriel. ‘We haven’t much time.’

  The sitting-room had a quiet, settled look as they went inside and Gabriel closed the door.

  ‘You shouldn’t have come,’ he said.

  ‘I had no choice. I’ve been to the hospital.’

  Gabriel looked mystified. ‘I don’t understand –’

  ‘To see Gaillard – Didier Gaillard.’

  ‘He’s a most unreliable witness,’ said Gabriel quickly.