An Official Killing

by Nell Goddin

  Molly could make an omelette with her eyes closed, she had done it so many times. She slid the glistening yellow semi-circle onto a plate, liberally dusted it with salt and pepper, and took it out to the terrace to enjoy with a glass of chilled rosé. Remembering Wesley Addison’s warning, she looked around to see if anyone was hiding in any shrubbery nearby, but saw nothing but a wren hopping through the branches.

  37

  Vasily had watched Molly work at her computer and then make breakfast through the window at the end of her living room, which was partly covered by an overgrown viburnum that gave him some cover. He had discovered he very much liked stalking the detective, and would rather do that than any of the long list of things Fedosia had ordered him to do. He thought about how scared Molly would be if he grabbed her and twisted her arm up behind her back. Imagining her frightened and pleading expression gave him pleasure.

  “Vasily!” hissed Fedosia, on her way to the pigeonnier. “Tear yourself away from Sutton and take care of business!” She went by, muttering under her breath. Vasily sighed and stepped out of the viburnum, making a wide circle as though he were going for a stroll in the meadow. When he was out of sight of the main house, he went straight for the small rental building where their operation was underway. He took the key out of his pocket and inserted it into the rusty lock, cursing when it did not open right away. After much jiggling and more cursing, he managed to open the door and go in.

  Everything was ready. All of the equipment and raw materials to make the steroids, and a big box of needles since Fedosia had had the brilliant idea to sell the doses already loaded into a syringe. He had to hand it to her, she was a genius at organizing and planning. They made a good team, he thought, nodding as he picked up a beaker and then a glass vial with a rubber cap, turning them over and then setting them back down.

  Malcolm Barstow was due to meet him there, and so far the kid had followed through on everything he’d been asked to do. Vasily looked at his watch, impatient. He started wondering what time Molly Sutton got undressed at night, and how he could make sure to be on surveillance then.

  He heard a rustling outside the window, and peered out. Malcolm was moving through some underbrush on the side of the building and then gave the door three sharp raps.

  “Get in here,” said Vasily. “You’re almost late.”

  Malcolm just shook his head, thinking that he would have to be a fool to be late for the Vasilievs. He knew if he crossed them they would get rid of him without any hesitation at all. He did not question how he knew this; even though his young life had been packed with as much criminality as possible, he had not dealt with people like the Vasilievs before. But Malcolm had an acute way of sizing other people up, and so despite his lack of experience, he was not wrong about his current business partners.

  “Okay, look, I was happy to be helpful to you. But I’ve got another project going on that takes up most of my time,” Malcolm said, not wanting to seem like a pushover.

  “You think I am interested in your projects?” laughed Vasily. “Your project is going to be right here in this room, at least for the next month. Possibly after that—six weeks, maybe two months—we can talk about training someone to take your place. But for now? It is all yours, my friend. I have confidence you will do well.”

  “Do well at what?” said Malcolm, his spirits sinking.

  “It is not complicated. There are people who want a product, and we want to sell it to them. Unfortunately for them, the product is not legal. But fortunate for us, yes?” he said, slapping Malcolm on the back. “Fedosia says the profit margin is very, very good. And compared to heroin, cocaine, any of that? Not so much risk. No worry about sniffing dogs at borders, and a long list of other headaches.”

  Malcolm waited, his mind racing to find a way out even though he still had no idea what he was being ordered to do.

  “It’s just steroids, plain and simple,” said Vasily proudly. “For bodybuilders. They are safe and effective, it’s silly that they’re illegal, but we will profit from that, yes?” Again, he slapped Malcolm on the back, smiling when the boy lurched forward and scowled. “Believe me, you will get some of that profit. Not a big cut,” he laughed, “but enough to make you happy. Your job, my friend, is to work here, assembling the product. You will be like a chef in your own kitchen! We will provide the ingredients, and you will make the cake.”

  “How will you distribute? Who’s finding your buyers?”

  “Leave that to us, little man. It’s all covered.”

  Malcolm considered. It was ridiculous to be doing this barely two steps from Molly Sutton’s house, he knew that very well. But on the other side was…Vasily. And money. Their eyes met and held for a moment. Malcolm swallowed. “All right then, mate, how do I start?”

  * * *

  After lunch, Molly went to her bedroom and read for over an hour. She was so absorbed in her book that she did not notice when Bobo sneaked up on the bed and curled up next to her. Finally, with a satisfied sigh, she put the book on her bedside table.

  “Come on, Bobo, want to go for a walk?” Bobo leapt up, ecstatic at the suggestion, making Molly laugh. “It’s not like you couldn’t go run around in the woods by yourself anytime you wanted,” she said. A good long walk nearly always helped Molly clarify her thoughts, and she wanted to go over her conversation with Daniel’s mother carefully before she told Ben about it. Daniel was troubled, she didn’t need to be an expert to see that—his quick shifts in mood when she talked to him at the bakery went beyond just a little eccentricity. He was hanging around rue Malbec so he clearly knew where the mayor lived. And of course, there was the little matter of a large inheritance. Though in the interest of objectivity she resisted it, Molly couldn’t help feeling that the Coulon case was practically done and dusted.

  She was lacing up her boots on the terrace when Wesley Addison clumped up.

  “I thought you were off to the vineyard?” she said.

  “Yes. Well, ah…”

  Molly waited but Wesley seemed unusually tongue-tied.

  “Well, it’s fine to change your mind. I do it all the time!” she grinned at him.

  “I just thought it was not right to leave you here alone. Do you expect Monsieur Dufort to come back at some point?”

  “Oh, you’re very sweet. Really. I don’t know though, Wesley—don’t you think this person might just be some nosy neighbor, or something like that? I mean, he wouldn’t have to be anyone dangerous, right?”

  “One needn’t require certainty to exercise reasonable precaution,” he said stiffly.

  “Yes, well, perhaps you’re right. I do expect Ben later this afternoon. I’m going for a walk now, and I’ll be sure to lock up the house and stay vigilant once I get back. Go on to the vineyard, Wesley—I’ll be careful, I promise.”

  “I do not think a walk alone is well-advised. That man could be right under our noses, listening to this very conversation. Just waiting to get you away from the house. Are you carrying your cell phone?”

  “Yes. And Bobo—”

  “You know perfectly well that your dog would likely roll over and ask for a belly rub if a stranger approached you. Enjoy your pet all you wish, Molly, but do not delude yourself—”

  “Okay, okay, point taken. Now, we’re off!” It was broad daylight and she couldn’t be scared of every shadow. She waved and whistled. Bobo shot out from under the table and disappeared into the woods, and Molly followed along the edge of the meadow, thinking she would have a look at that tumbling down barn she had wanted the brilliant stone mason, Pierre Gault, to fix up. She walked for some minutes without thinking about anything, just listening to the sound of Bobo in the underbrush, the birds singing, and the leaves of the trees whispering in the light breeze, but with half an ear out for anyone behind her.

  The sun was strong but it was not humid, and Molly gave the old barn a decent going-over, trying to decide if it was worth sinking what little remained from her windfall into it. It would
give her at least six or seven more beds for the gîte business, but if Dufort/Sutton Investigations really took off, maybe that would be a hindrance more than a help. It was hard to predict the future, that’s for sure, she thought, passing the border of her property and continuing to walk north, away from the village.

  She did not, all this time, forget what Wesley Addison had told her, and made sure to keep looking around, turning quickly to check behind her, alert and on her guard.

  Bobo gave a quick yip and streaked out of the woods and toward a small building on the side of the road, then zoomed just as quickly into the woods and out of sight again. Molly felt that little tingle of curiosity she liked so much, and approached, circling the building, and seeing a bicycle partly hidden in the bushes on the far side.

  She didn’t dare knock, being alone and having no idea who might be inside. But she did edge up to the window, being as quiet as possible, and take a peek inside.

  A naked light bulb hung from the ceiling. A lot of cardboard boxes, a table with a bunch of things on it she could not identify at that distance, and that was it. No bed, no clothes…it was clearly not a habitation, yet something was going on in there.

  Another yip from Bobo and Molly kept walking, heading out where the houses were sparse and the forest dense. But she stayed alert, keeping her promise to Wesley Addison, and whistled Bobo close several times, believing her beloved dog to have more potential as a guard than her guest did.

  38

  That night, the weather was perfect for a fête. The ladies on the village beautification committee were having a dinner to raise funds for the year’s projects, and much of the village was expected to turn out. The entire staff of Dufort/Sutton Investigations was certainly planning to be there with bells on, eyes and ears open. Ben wanted to see Paul-Henri and sound him out about working together on some more forensic accounting, this time concerning Mega-Mart and the late mayor. Molly hoped to find Daniel. Ben had gotten back so late they had barely been able to shower and get ready before the fête, with no time to talk over the day’s events and discoveries.

  Ben parked on a side street and they walked over to the Place, holding hands, both lost in thought. Others, friends and strangers, were walking in the same direction. Swallows swooped overhead, and Molly breathed in the smell of roses tumbling over a back fence.

  “Just quickly, before we get there—I talked to Daniel’s mother today,” she said, quietly enough that other fête-goers couldn’t hear. “We didn’t talk long. She wasn’t friendly at first, but eventually opened up a little. The only interesting bit I got was that she implied Daniel had come looking for his father because he needed help.”

  “What kind of help?”

  “She didn’t say. I pressed a little but she was vague. Though…you can just look at him to see he needs money. Makes sense that he’d ask his well-off father, doesn’t it? And maybe…maybe Coulon said no. And Daniel figured he could get the money, all the money, no matter what his father said.”

  Ben slipped his arm around Molly’s waist and gave her a squeeze. “Might be something there. Good work. And I’ve got plenty to tell you about Mega-Mart,” he said, “but let’s enjoy our dinner first. My news will be your dessert,” he said with a grin.

  She knew it was foolish in the extreme, but she couldn’t help wanting her suspect to be the guilty party, as though she and Ben were competing. And so she hoped—childishly, she was well aware—that whatever Ben had to tell her wasn’t going to be much of anything. Guiltily she leaned in and kissed his cheek just as they reached the Place. Two rows of tables stretched from one end to the other, making seats for something close to three hundred villagers, all out enjoying the clear mild evening and each other’s company.

  “My heavens,” said Molly, the long tables reminding her that Nico and Frances’s wedding was in three days. She had put it so far on the back burner it was in danger of being forgotten entirely. Then she gasped. “Look who it is!”

  Ben followed her pointing finger to see Lapin, already seated with a plate loaded with food, fork in one hand and the other holding the hand of Anne-Marie.

  “Lapin!” said Molly. “I don’t know whether to congratulate you or slap you!”

  “Molly, my dear! I have no idea why you would want to slap me.”

  “Because you ran off and eloped and cheated us out of coming to your wedding!”

  Anne-Marie giggled.

  “I thought you told me something like ‘couples need to do what’s right for them,’ or some such thing. Well, that’s exactly what we did. Right, darling?” he said, looking at Anne-Marie with an expression Molly had never seen on Lapin’s face before. It was not lascivious, not joking, not satiric, but tender and loving.

  “I’m only teasing,” said Molly. “And congratulations to you, Anne-Marie. I know you’ll be very happy together.” She felt something close up in her throat just then, and stepped back so Ben could speak to them.

  Marriage. The whole subject just makes me lose my appetite, she thought.

  A cheer went up near the statue and they all turned to look. “It’s André Lebeau,” said Lapin, rolling his eyes. “No doubt parading around showing off as he always does. I don’t mind saying I’ve pretty much had it with that guy. If he wins a place on the council, we’re all going to be sorry.”

  They could see the head of Lebeau sticking up out of a crowd of admirers, and hear their laughter and excited talking without being able to make out what anyone was saying.

  “Shall we get plates?” Ben asked Molly.

  “Yes, let’s, I’m suddenly starving. What’s being served?” she looked down at Lapin’s plate and saw a heap of something she couldn’t identify and a long sausage. “Are you drinking cider?” she asked Lapin.

  “Yes, and it’s very fine. Bring some mustard when you come back.”

  Molly nodded and followed Ben as he made his way through the crowd. “I’ll go get tickets, you wait in line?”

  “Sure,” she said, swiveling her gaze all around looking for Daniel. I guess he might not be able to afford the meal, she thought, or maybe he’s worried about not knowing anyone. It was obviously premature to confront him in any case, but she felt an irresistible pressure to clinch her suspicions about Daniel before Ben could tell her what he had found out at Mega-Mart.

  “Molly!” someone shrieked.

  Molly whirled around to see the grinning faces of her gîte guests, Emily and Nancy. “Oh! I’m glad to see you here. You’ve become fixtures of the village,” she laughed. “Sure you don’t want to just move here and be done with it?”

  “Don’t tempt me,” said Nancy. “We want to really live it up these last few days. Go get us some more cider, Emily!”

  “We’ll need to go in the hospital to recover,” said Emily, cheerfully going for the cider.

  “I’m off to get in the food line. Maybe I’ll see you later?”

  “I hear there’s going to be dancing,” said Nancy, jumping up and wiggling her hips.

  Molly laughed and kept moving, scanning the crowd, not giving up hope that Daniel might be in the crowd somewhere.

  Behind Molly, about fifteen feet away and blending into the crowd, was Vasily Vasiliev, shadowing her as she moved slowly through the crowd. And behind Vasily loomed the large and awkward figure of Wesley Addison.

  Ben got the tickets and joined Molly in line. “This is not a very good place to have a conversation,” he said, as they were continually interrupted by friends wanting to talk about Frances and Nico’s wedding, the latest political ridiculousness, or Leda Vidal’s new cheese. “But I want to give you just the outline of what I found out—yes, bonsoir to you, Madame Gervais!” He bent to kiss her wrinkled cheeks, taking both of her hands in his and squeezing them. “How are you feeling this evening?”

  “Fit as a fiddle,” the old woman told him. “Bonsoir, Molly. How’s the case going?”

  “Quite well, actually, I think I might be—”

  But Madame Gervais was
swept along in the crowd by several of her friends, and Molly and Ben finally had a free moment to talk to each other.

  “All right, have this as an hors d’oeuvre, then,” said Ben. “I’m almost positive Coulon was taking kickbacks from Mega-Mart and possibly several other large stores, in return for suppressing small business in the village.”

  “Outrageous!”

  “Yes. Corrupt, greedy, lots of things you could call it. I’ve got an eye out for Monsour—he can get access to Coulon’s bank accounts and I think he knows some accounting. If I’m right, I don’t think it will take long to prove.”

  “I have to admit, I’m feeling a little stupid. Annette mentioned the permit thing to me the other day, and I just didn’t think… I didn’t see how the murder…how did you get anything out of Mega-Mart?”

  “I went in there with both guns blazing. I pretended we had them dead to rights and the only way to make things easier in terms of sentencing was to cooperate, starting that minute, no second chances.”

  “Wow!” Molly was impressed. “But so…is this just a side issue or do you think the kickbacks had something to do with his murder?”

  Ben shot Molly a look. “I don’t think uncovering criminal activity performed by a murder victim is a ‘side issue’.”

  “Me neither! I didn’t mean it like that. But listen, I really think Daniel—”

  “Madame Sutton, Monsieur Dufort,” said an officious voice behind them.

  Molly and Ben turned to find Paul-Henri Monsour, holding a plate with an enormous sausage curled upon it. “I know this is not the best time and place, but I would like a word with both of you, if I may?”

  “Yes, of course,” said Ben. “I have something to discuss with you as well. How about we get our plates and join you? Can you save us seats?”

  Paul-Henri nodded and Ben and Molly inched up in the line. “It’s true that Coulon’s corruption doesn’t automatically point to one person as his murderer,” Ben said in Molly’s ear. “But you must admit, it opens up a host of possibilites. Was anyone else in on it? What about Monsieur Lachance, Coulon’s banker? If the sums were large enough, there would need to be some sort of money laundering involved. Maybe he or someone else thought Coulon was backing out or going to the authorities, and decided to shut him up?”