The Lying Down Room (Serge Morel 1)

by Anna Jaquiery

  Lila looked at him. ‘Do you work out, Monsieur Berg?’

  ‘Yes I do.’

  ‘It must be hard to find the time, what with three young kids.’

  ‘Well, I get to travel a fair bit for my work. So I make the most of the work trips and I use the hotel gyms, I run—’

  ‘What do you do for a living?’

  ‘I work for Picard, the frozen-food company. As a senior representative.’

  ‘Interesting work?’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Do you travel to Paris much?’

  ‘Yes, at least once or twice a month.’

  ‘Did you know that Armand Le Bellec is probably based in Paris these days?’

  ‘Like I said, we haven’t been in touch and I have no idea where he lives or what he does for a living,’ Charles said. He got up to put his cup on the kitchen bench. On his way back he picked up several plastic dinosaurs that were lying on the floor.

  ‘If you have so little to do with Armand,’ Lila said, ‘and if you two were never that close, then why was he lurking in your mother’s back garden? Why was he spying on your family?’

  ‘I really don’t know,’ Charles said.

  He held Lila’s gaze for a while. Finally it was Morel who stood up and held out his hand.

  ‘Thank you for your time, Monsieur Berg. We’ll be dropping in on your mother and then heading back to Paris, no doubt.’

  ‘I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful,’ Charles said.

  ‘Where is your wife, Monsieur Berg?’ Lila asked as Charles walked them to the door.

  ‘She’s visiting her sister.’

  The moment they’d left, the phone began ringing. Charles watched it, wondering whether to pick it up. In the end he reached over and held the receiver to his ear. He listened to the woman’s voice at the other end tell him the thing he least wanted to hear.

  ‘Please,’ he whispered, his voice breaking. ‘Please don’t leave me.’

  Outside the house they buttoned up their jackets. It was drizzling. Morel looked at Lila. Shifting from one foot to the other, biting her lip.

  ‘Interesting little exchange, wasn’t it?’ Morel said.

  ‘Did you notice how messy the place is? Dad’s home, looking after the kids, while Mum’s off visiting her sister. Doesn’t that seem a bit off to you?’

  ‘Maybe she’s taking a break, having some time alone.’

  ‘Maybe there’s something he isn’t telling us,’ Lila said as they got into Morel’s car. ‘Maybe we should talk to his wife.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Morel said, starting the car. ‘What I find interesting is how serene he was about this guy spying on his family like that. Neither angry nor worried. I mean, if it were you, and someone you were at school with a long time ago, whom you weren’t particularly close to, turned up in your back garden out of the blue to spy on you and your family . . .’

  ‘I’d give them a beating to remember.’ Lila rubbed her hands and raised herself slightly so she could sit cross-legged on the passenger seat. Morel pretended not to mind the fact that her knee got in the way every time he had to change gear.

  ‘It’s as though he doesn’t see Le Bellec as a threat,’ Morel said slowly. ‘He knows enough about him to realize he has nothing to worry about.’

  ‘Either that or he’s lying about not seeing Le Bellec before he turned up at his mother’s house. Maybe he wasn’t surprised to see him because he already knew he’d come back.’

  Morel was thinking of Charles’s relaxed demeanour and wondering how much of that was real.

  ‘Let’s go back and get him to be a bit more forthcoming. Give Charlie-boy a bit of a grinding,’ Lila said.

  ‘No. We’ll go see Amelia Berg first. Maybe his mother will tell us something. We can always come back here later if we need to.’

  Amelia Berg’s house was twice the size of her son’s. It was probably the most lavish one in the village. Charles must have given her a call to let her know they were coming because she stood on the doorstep, holding an umbrella.

  ‘Come in, come in,’ she said.

  Morel and Lila found themselves in a room with an open fire. The flames leaped high and the heat was almost too much. A grey Siamese cat lay on a chair in a comatose state and remained unresponsive when the two visitors walked in. There was a smell of freshly baked apples.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind the fire, but I get cold very easily these days,’ Amelia Berg said. ‘We haven’t had much of a summer around here. It must be this global warming they keep talking about.’

  She invited them to sit down and left for a few seconds.

  ‘Did you talk to Charles?’ she called on her way back. She was carrying a tray. On it was a coffee pot and an apple pie. Morel shook his head to indicate he didn’t want any but Lila accepted both a large slice of it and another cup of coffee.

  ‘It gave me quite a shock, I can tell you, when I realized he’d been lurking in my bushes,’ their hostess said, sitting opposite them.

  Lila noticed the dirt under Amelia Berg’s nails. The coffee table held a couple of books on gardening. She took a big bite of the pie and sank back into the sofa.

  Morel shot her an irritated look and turned to Madame Berg with a sympathetic smile. ‘I can imagine,’ he said. ‘When had you seen him last?’

  ‘Gosh, it must be, what – let me think. Sixteen years ago, I believe. He and Charles went to the same school, the local one – but after that they went their separate ways. Charles did a business management degree and Armand went to Rennes to study, I think.’

  ‘The boys weren’t close?’ Lila asked with her mouth full.

  A look flitted across Amelia Berg’s face, before she answered.

  ‘You know how it is, at school. One minute someone’s your best friend, the next they’re not. Friendships are made and unmade every day.’

  Lila took the last of her slice of pie in her hand and put it in her mouth. When she’d finished, she licked her fingers.

  ‘So for a while they were best friends?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, I suppose you could say that.’

  Was it regret on the old woman’s face? It was hard to tell.

  ‘What happened?’ Lila asked. There was something they weren’t being told. She was determined to find out.

  The old lady shrugged her shoulders. ‘I don’t know. I think perhaps Armand disappointed Charles in some way.’

  ‘Disappointed? How?’ Morel asked.

  Lila glanced at him. He was leaning forward, smiling. Doing that thing with his dimple, which seemed to affect most women regardless of how young or old they were.

  Amelia Berg wavered, her lips opened as though she were about to say something. Then she visibly retreated.

  ‘I think Charles just felt that it was time to make new friends,’ she said in a way that suggested the topic was now closed.

  There had been a moment there. Lila felt that the old woman had been on the verge of revealing something important. Something she might have wanted to get off her chest. But they would get nothing more from her now.

  ‘Tell us a little bit about Armand’s mother,’ Morel said.

  ‘We had nothing to do with each other,’ Amelia Berg said. ‘She died some years ago.’

  ‘Did her son return for his mother’s funeral?’

  ‘No,’ Amelia Berg said. ‘It was a very small, quiet affair. A number of the women she knew from church went, but otherwise—’

  ‘Did you go?’

  ‘No,’ she said.

  Lila changed tack. ‘What was she like, his mother?’ she asked.

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘It would help us if we knew a little more about Armand, that’s all.’

  ‘Do you think he’s actually responsible for what happened to those women?’ Amelia Berg asked.

  ‘At this stage we’re not certain of anything, but that’s why it’s important that we find him. So we can talk to him,’ Morel said.

  That seemed to s
atisfy her. She leaned back in her chair. The cat woke up and stretched. It jumped on her lap and curled in a ball. It looked at Lila through narrowed eyes.

  ‘Armand’s mother was a difficult woman,’ Amelia Berg said.

  ‘Difficult how?’ Morel asked.

  ‘Possessive. Harsh.’

  ‘Possessive with her son, you mean?’

  Amelia Berg nodded.

  ‘Was she unstable?’

  The old woman turned to Lila. ‘Unstable?’

  ‘I mean did she have problems? Psychologically?’

  Amelia Berg laughed. ‘You know nowadays everyone has a psychological problem. In my day when someone acted badly it was put down to meanness of character or a lack of education. We didn’t feel the need to run to a psychologist the minute it happened.’

  ‘So would you say his mother was a mean person?’

  ‘It was hard to warm to her. Though I hate to speak ill of the dead.’

  ‘Do you know why Armand Le Bellec didn’t bother to return for his mother’s funeral?’

  Amelia Berg shrugged. ‘I can’t say. But she was a difficult woman to love. I imagine he was not close to her.’

  She said this with a touch of smugness. The cat jumped from her lap and walked past Lila with its tail up in the air, pointedly ignoring her.

  ‘What sort of child was Armand?’ Lila asked.

  ‘Solitary, withdrawn.’

  ‘But he was Charles’s friend.’ It was said as a statement.

  ‘Yes,’ the old lady replied, as though it was a relief to acknowledge the point. ‘He was Charles’s friend.’

  ‘Would you have a photo of him, by any chance?’ Morel said.

  The old lady thought for a moment. ‘You know, I probably do. Let me get it for you.’

  Outside, it looked as though the rain had cleared. But the wind showed no signs of easing off.

  ‘I might have a little look around the garden,’ Morel told Lila.

  ‘Absolutely, be my guest,’ Lila said. ‘You know what, I’ll just sit here and have another slice of this delicious pie.’

  Lila watched Morel pick his way among the plants, careful not to step over any lovingly tended flowers. His trouser legs were getting wet. She thought about how that would irritate him and tried not to smile.

  ‘It must be nice, having your son and his children live so close to you,’ Lila said when Amelia Berg returned to the room. ‘By the way, would you mind terribly if I helped myself to another slice?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Amelia Berg said. She handed a photograph to Lila. ‘Here. Armand and Charles. I guess this was taken when they were around fourteen years old.’

  Lila looked at the two grinning faces before her. Despite the smile there was a brooding look on Armand’s face. His eyes were on the person taking the picture but his thoughts seemed to be elsewhere. Charles’s gaze was direct. He seemed to be laughing.

  ‘Who took the photo?’

  ‘I think it was me. Armand used to come and play. See the background? That’s the maze I had made in the garden, for the children to play in. Not much of a maze but fun for them to run around in when they’re little. Charles’s children love it.’ Amelia Berg smiled wistfully and gazed at her garden. ‘It is nice having the little ones near,’ she said.

  ‘Your son tells us his wife is away at the moment,’ Lila said.

  ‘Yes,’ the old woman said. ‘The two of them have had a bit of a tiff, I think. Nothing serious, though.’ Seeing Lila’s face, she faltered. ‘I thought he would have told you.’

  ‘He just said she was away for a couple of days. Visiting her sister.’

  ‘Her sister? Yes, that’s right.’

  Lila could see Morel heading back.‘Is there anything more you can tell us about Armand?’ she ventured. ‘Anything at all.’ She remembered something. ‘You told Commandant Morel on the phone that you were worried about Armand. Why?’

  Amelia Berg was quiet for a moment. Then she spoke.

  ‘He was a good child,’ she said, almost as if she was speaking to herself. ‘But his mother took him out of school for half a year. When he came back he gave the impression that he was no longer himself, somehow. It’s hard to explain,’ she said, looking at Lila. ‘All I know is that I didn’t feel comfortable around him. I’d run into him sometimes, after all it’s a small place and you’re always running into people you know. He was so withdrawn. He literally shrank away from me. I noticed he crossed the street a few times just so he wouldn’t have to say hello. Given how different he’d become, I was glad in a way that he and Charles had stopped being friends.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes. I think Armand was dragging him down, somehow.’

  Lila thought it interesting that Amelia Berg had so much to say about someone her son claimed not to have known that well or for very long.

  ‘You don’t know anything about this boy he adopted in Russia?’

  ‘No.’ She looked concerned. ‘I know nothing about that.’

  Morel slid the door open and stepped in, rubbing his feet on the doormat before entering the room.

  ‘You really are a remarkable gardener, Madame Berg,’ he said.

  The old lady beamed with pleasure. Then she looked at Morel as if she’d suddenly remembered something.

  ‘You know, there’s someone you should talk to,’ she said. ‘He taught Charles and Armand. It’s a long time ago, but maybe he’ll be able to help.’

  They walked back to the car in silence. Lila scoffed.

  ‘“You really are a remarkable gardener, Madame Berg,”’ she said.

  ‘Very funny.’

  ‘No, I’m impressed with your seductive skills. She loved you.’

  ‘I was trying to compensate for my colleague, sitting there pigging out on the old woman’s food.’

  ‘A different form of flattery. I was paying homage to her culinary skills.’

  As they got into the car, Lila grew thoughtful. ‘Why do I get the feeling no one is telling us the important stuff?’

  ‘My little stroll in the garden was interesting,’ Morel said.

  ‘Was it?’

  He pulled something from his pocket and showed it to Lila. It was a photograph of Charles and his family.

  ‘Where did that come from?’ she said, surprised.

  ‘It was in Amelia Berg’s garden, in the bushes where she said Armand was hiding.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘I noticed when we were at Charles’s place that one of the frames on the bookshelves was missing a photograph. I didn’t think anything of it at the time but now . . . Le Bellec must have dropped it when he ran out of here.’

  ‘So Armand did visit Charles, not just Charles’s mother,’ Lila said.

  ‘It seems likely.’

  ‘I knew the bastard wasn’t telling the truth.’

  ‘How about a drink?’

  ‘Don’t you want to drop in at Charles’s place first? Ask him when he noticed the photo went missing, and whether maybe he’d like to stop lying to us?’

  ‘I’m thirsty.’

  ‘Oh well, in that case,’ Lila said.

  As they walked towards the village bar, the sun emerged timidly from behind the clouds.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  The bar was a five-minute walk from Amelia Berg’s house. In fact, it was probably a five-minute walk from most houses in the village, Lila thought as she opened the door and Morel held it back, waiting for her to enter first. She tried to picture what life would be like in a place where everyone knew each other. You wouldn’t be able to walk down the street without stopping every few minutes to talk to someone who knew you. People would make up stories about you out of sheer boredom. Your life would be constantly under scrutiny: whether you went to church, whether your marriage was a happy one, whether your children did well at school, whether you cooked and cleaned and prayed as well as you should.

  Hell.

  While Lila went to the toilet, Morel took a look around the place. The bartender wa
s pouring pastis into glasses for a pair of crusty-looking individuals who looked like they’d had a few already. They sat at the bar with raw hands clutching their drinks. Morel ordered a glass of red wine and for Lila a glass of cider, as requested. When the drinks arrived he noticed the glasses had an unwashed, oily sheen about them. He tried not to mind and sipped at the wine. It was the sort that would scour your insides as effectively as bleach, but it would do.

  Over on the other side of the room a jukebox played a lambada. Every time the tune ended one of the men shuffled over to put another coin in the box and play it again.

  Unsurprisingly, perhaps, there was no one else around.

  Lila returned and sat opposite Morel. Just then his phone rang. Morel looked at it to see who the caller was.

  ‘It’s Jean,’ he told Lila.

  While he listened his expression darkened.

  ‘Well, thanks for letting me know,’ he said after several minutes. He hung up and looked at Lila. ‘Jean managed to track Amir down.’

  ‘Great,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, well, it would be, in different circumstances. Amir died in a car crash five years ago.’

  ‘Shit.’

  They sat in silence, mulling over this latest piece of news. After the inconclusive interviews they’d just had with Charles and his mother, it seemed like another step backwards.

  ‘This is cosy,’ Morel finally said, looking around the room.

  ‘Yeah, if you like a dive in the middle of nowhere populated by a bunch of losers,’ she said. ‘Did you notice how they all stopped and stared when we walked in? It was like being in a western.’

  ‘Except no one tried to shoot us.’

  ‘They’re too drunk.’

  ‘It reminds me of when I was younger,’ Morel said.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘My father was from Brittany. We used to come here once a year, over the summer.’

  ‘You mean this kind of summer?’ Lila said, pulling her jacket closer.

  ‘It was great. We loved it, as kids.’

  They drank in silence for a while, listening to the rain. Morel thought about one of the holidays he and his family had spent in Roscoff. Once, his father had gone missing for a couple of hours. Looking back now, he realized his parents must have had a fight. His mother had sat behind the steering-wheel with tears running down her face while they drove at a snail’s pace through the narrow streets, looking for him. For once the children did not have to be told to be quiet. They huddled together in complete silence, staring at the darkness around them.