An Official Killing

by Nell Goddin

  Molly could not get her head around the idea of a parent not caring where his child was, not wanting to know him, or even to meet him one time. It boggled her mind completely. “His son is in the village. Or he was, I haven’t been able to track him down for a couple of days.”

  “Is that it?”

  “No,” said Molly, feeling defensive. “But you must understand, Odile. I’m sure with running your own business, you’re used to knowing everything about the details. But there are things Ben and I can’t talk about because they are involved with the investigation out of the gendarmerie, and we are not allowed to speak about them even with you.”

  Molly spoke to Odile for another fifteen minutes, dodging more questions and eventually succeeding in placating her, mostly through sounding confident. But as she put her cell on the kitchen counter, she felt like the least confident detective who ever was. She had no proof that Daniel was the murderer, only a collection of circumstantial evidence that she hoped was damning. Hoped. With a deep sigh, Molly lay down on the sofa and closed her eyes, trying to go over every detail of the case to see if there was anything she had missed.

  A detective worthy of a good reputation has got to have more going for her than hope, she thought, as she drifted without intending to right into a nap.

  41

  The next day, her best friend’s wedding minus one, Molly rode into the village with the idea of picking up some trinkets to put by each wedding guest’s plate. Something silly, something to lighten the mood, to make Frances laugh in spite of herself. At least the weather seemed to be holding, which was a tremendous blessing since if it rained, the whole thing would have to be squeezed into Molly’s living room, which would not be—

  Oh! Molly realized she had forgotten to call Constance to ask her if she could clean tomorrow. Fearing she and Thomas would have some grand plan that could not be interrupted no matter what, Molly pulled the scooter over and immediately hit speed dial for Constance.

  She was about half a block from the bank, so when Maron and Monsour came out holding a man’s arm, she saw the whole thing. Ben came out of the bank last. Molly squinted, trying to see if she recognized the man between the gendarmes.

  “Constance? Molly. Listen, could you…sorry. Bonjour. How are you?…Yes, I’m fine, too. I wanted to ask you—it’s sort of an emergency, actually—can you come clean tomorrow, before the wedding? I’m going to be busy cooking and I just don’t think….yes, bring Thomas with you. I can think of about ten things I could give him to do….right, right…thank you so much!”

  Molly hurried off the phone, parked the scooter, and ran down the sidewalk. Maron, Monsour, and the banker had disappeared around the corner, but Ben had seen Molly and waited for her.

  “What the heck?” she said, breathless.

  “Turns out Coulon wasn’t any good at all at hiding his tracks,” said Ben, proudly. “Once Monsour started looking through his accounts, he found evidence of money-laundering right off the bat.”

  “What? What does that even look like?”

  “There were regular deposits, five hundred euros apiece, going back many months, even years. Did you know that there are all kinds of people who, by law, are supposed to report anything suspicious relating to money-laundering? Legally, for example, a banker has to report incoming money with no apparent source. Monsieur Lachance, the banker you just saw being marched off by Maron—he oversaw Coulon’s accounts for years. And Monsour said there were suspicious deposits even as far back as 2001, and he hasn’t had time to go back further. Coulon was probably extorting from others besides Mega-Mart, ever since he managed to get elected mayor.

  “And on top of all that, as mayor, Coulon sometimes acted as a sort of officer of the court, and so he could protect Lachance in case a magistrate ever got interested in the banker’s affairs. Coulon was simultaneously a golden egg, a protector, and a noose around Lachance’s neck.”

  “Nice work, detective!” said Molly. She opened her mouth to ask about the connection to the murder, but closed it again.

  “Thank you,” said Ben, knowing perfectly well what Molly was thinking but not holding it against her. “Given all that, I do think Lachance deserves more of our attention. All right, I’m going to catch up with Maron. See you tonight.”

  Molly sat on the scooter for a minute, thinking about Coulon. He must have been paying off Lachance to keep him quiet, and it looked as though that worked both ways. Maybe Lachance pushed him for more money, and they got into a fight that turned deadly?

  But in the guest room of his house, on the second floor? It didn’t make sense. She ran through the rest of the suspects other than Daniel—André Lebeau, Josette, even Odile—but out of the holy trio of means, motive, and opportunity, none of them had more than one. One was barely worth bothering about, she thought irritably. Was there someone else, someone she and Ben had failed to consider? He or she would have to be right under their noses.

  What other secrets did Coulon keep?

  She started up the scooter and slowly rode through the streets of Castillac, looking for something with which to amuse the wedding guests. Not an easy errand when she was feeling out of sorts. Eventually she found herself outside Lapin’s shop, and figured she would give that a try.

  “Bonjour, Lapin,” she said, coming into the agreeably cool front room. “How’s married life treating you?”

  “It’s beyond my wildest dreams,” he said, looking at her with…yes, those were actual tears in Lapin’s eyes, Molly was shocked to see.

  “I’m so happy for you,” she said, and meant it. This new, earnest Lapin was going to take some getting used to. She glanced around, thinking that there was no way she was going to find wedding favors among the broken lamps, dusty portraits, and fusty furniture that clogged up the aisles.

  But as long as she was there, Molly figured she might as well go ahead and explain what she was looking for, and Lapin not only understood completely but put his finger on just the right thing.

  “I usually don’t take toys, unless they’re especially old or interesting,” he said, pulling a medium-sized box out from under the counter. “But something about these made me smile, so I picked them up from the last estate I did. I might be able to let them go for a reasonable price.”

  He put down the box in front of Molly, and she looked at it. Inside was a jumble of plastic dinosaurs. She took one out and stood it up, then another. “I always did like dinosaurs,” she said, laughing.

  “I think they say Frances and Nico, together always like nothing else possibly could,” said Lapin. “The whole box, thirty-five euros.”

  “Are you high?” said Molly. “Ten. And that’s still a rip-off.”

  Molly was smiling to herself as she came outside and strapped the box onto the back of the scooter. She was so busy imagining the guests coming to the table and seeing place cards held by dinosaurs that she failed to see the front wheel of a bicycle poking out from the alley down the block. As she went along, she checked the side streets and looked in shop windows hoping to find Daniel, but no luck. Nor did she see, in her mirror, Vasily Vasiliev on that bike, following her as she made her way through the village and onto the empty rue des Chênes.

  42

  Once home, Molly got out an old calligraphy pen and got to work on the place cards. She had a much wider traditionalist streak than her friend, and if old-fashioned place cards were going to be the only way she could express it, that would have to suffice. But she was out of practice and kept leaving unsightly blotches, her lines wobbly instead of graceful, and in the end, a job that she had thought would take thirty minutes ended up taking three hours.

  “Come on, Bobo,” she said, capping the pen after the last one was finished. “Not half bad, even if did take forever,” she said, having no compunction at all about talking to Bobo as if she were human. “Want to go for a walk?” Bobo, to Molly’s never-failing delight, leapt in the air and spun in circles, thrilled with the idea.

  Wesley Addiso
n was lurking in the corridor and heard Molly. He stood still, knowing full well that his step was heavy, and waited for her to get on her walking boots and leave by the terrace door. It was dinnertime but still light out, and when he moved to look out of the window in the corridor he saw her heading across the meadow to the north. He considered following, but then contented himself with standing guard from that very spot in the corridor of La Baraque, where he could see Molly clearly and thus would be able to see a stalker too, as long as they came from the direction of the house or the village, which seemed likely.

  It never failed to cheer Molly up, watching Bobo bound after rabbits which she never caught. She walked around the ruined barn and headed straight to the small building on the neighboring property, still curious about what was going on inside. As she reached it, Bobo having disappeared into the forest, she was careful to stay at an angle, so anyone inside looking out would not be able to see her easily.

  Ben, meanwhile, had come home late after long discussions with Maron and Monsour in which they combed through the mayor’s finances and tried to map out the web of corruption he had spun around himself and the mairie. He was tired and pleased by the work they had done.

  He let himself into La Baraque and was startled to see Wesley Addison standing in the corridor, staring out of the window.

  “Good evening, Wesley,” said Ben, never very confident of his English. “Is everything okay?”

  “No,” said Wesley. He glanced at Ben but turned right back to the window. “Just now…I believe I saw someone, in the shadows by the woods.”

  Ben joined him at the window and looked out. All was serene, and he caught a quick glimpse of Molly as she disappeared behind a copse of overgrown walnut trees.

  “Someone has been following Molly,” said Wesley. “I was intending—in any case—I…Monsieur Dufort, go after her. Right now.”

  Ben cocked his head. He looked into Wesley’s eyes. And then he nodded and took off through the front door and across the meadow, in the direction Molly had last been seen.

  Wesley did not stir but kept watching, fretting that he should have gone after her to begin with. Perhaps what I saw was a deer, or some other sort of wild animal, he reasoned, though he did not believe it for one second.

  * * *

  Molly was almost positive she could hear someone moving around inside the building. She eased up next to the wall, careful not to step on any twigs, and slowly moved to look in the window.

  She had to choke back an exclamation, for someone was indeed inside, and to her surprise it was Malcolm Barstow, sitting at a table with some pots and boxes in front of him, bent over and scowling.

  Molly whipped her head back out of sight. Well, this is interesting, she thought, trying to decide on her next step. She bent down and scampered under the window, intending to open the door and confront Malcolm.

  But before she could put her hand on the door-latch, Vasily Vasiliev appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and grabbed her by the wrist.

  “Not your business,” he said.

  “Vasily?” said Molly, utterly baffled.

  He twisted her arm up behind her back and she cried out.

  Inside, Malcolm heard the cry and his head jerked up. Uh oh, he thought, quickly getting to his feet.

  “You’re always putting your nose where it doesn’t belong,” said Vasily.

  “You speak English!” said Molly accusingly, as though that were his worst crime.

  “I am not the stupid oaf you took me for,” he said with satisfaction.

  “Please let me go,” said Molly. “Honestly, I have no idea what this is about. I never thought you were an oaf, anyway—what are you even talking about?”

  Vasily did not answer but squinted his eyes, thinking, and then held both of Molly’s wrists behind her back. “Come on,” he said, tugging her painfully. “If you struggle I will be forced to hurt you, so I suggest you be docile as little lamb,” he said sneeringly, in the heavy faux-accent Fedosia had been using as a way to inhibit conversation with Molly and the villagers.

  Malcolm crept to the door. He knew Vasily had got his hands on Molly and that she needed help. But Vasily terrified him, and his feet moved forward as though underwater.

  Vasily was very strong. Hurriedly he pulled Molly toward the forest and she stumbled along, mind racing.

  “You yell, you will be very, very sorry,” he said, leaning close to speak in her ear.

  She fell, and he did not allow her to get up but dragged her through the tall meadow grass. Only forty feet, now thirty, until they were swallowed up by the dark forest. Bobo barked and growled, running back to the building and barking at Malcolm.

  “Help!” Molly screamed, thrashing her legs trying to slow him down.

  “You shut up!” hissed Vasily, pulling her harder.

  43

  From behind the ruined barn, Ben flew out as though shot by a cannon. Malcolm saw him, though not Molly or Vasily, and paused, then raced after Ben, who reached the Russian running at breakneck speed, his body slamming into Vasily and knocking him flat on his back.

  “Ben!” cried Molly, but he did not acknowledge her until he had punched Vasily in the face enough times that the other man was no longer moving. Malcolm had managed to call for help and before any of them had time to speak, they heard sirens coming from the direction of the village.

  “Thank you,” Molly said to Ben in a small voice. He hugged her hard, quickly turning back to make sure Vasily was still out cold.

  The ambulance arrived at the scene before the gendarmes, and so after making sure Molly was all right, Ben got in back and rode to the hospital with the man he had just pummeled into unconsciousness. That left Molly and Malcolm standing in the meadow looking at each other in wonderment, neither quite able to understand what had just happened.

  “Okay, then,” said Molly finally, giving Malcolm an encouraging smile. “I think it’s time you told someone what the hell is going on in there.”

  Malcolm took a deep breath. A snitch was the lowest form of life imaginable, and he had no wish to count himself among them. On the other hand, he would be overjoyed if Vasily were arrested, and could practically taste the relief that would bring.

  “Well,” he said, trying to make the words come out but not getting very far.

  “Why don’t you show me?” said Molly. She kept her tone light and friendly, trying not to spook him into silence. As they walked back to the small building, she rubbed her wrists and swiveled her hands around to ease them.

  “What in the world is all this stuff?” she said, once they were inside. Boxes lined one wall, pots stood on the table filled with liquid, along with a box of syringes. Malcolm had just mixed up a batch and been filling the syringes—a slow, terribly tedious process—when Vasily grabbed Molly. “Drugs?” she said, seeing the needles.

  “Kind of,” said Malcolm. Yes, he involved himself in all manner of activity that strictly speaking was against the law, but he had never stooped so low as to deal or take drugs.

  “Malcolm. You saw what Vasily just tried to do to me. God knows what he might have done if he’d gotten me into the woods. You’ve obviously been working for him and for sure you don’t want to be dragged down with him. So talk! What have the two of you been up to?”

  “It’s not just us two,” Malcolm protested. “Fedosia is in on it. Lebeau and his friend Alain are in on it. So if anything happens to me, I just want to make sure I’m not the only one doing time. It wasn’t even my idea! I hate drugs, Molly. I had a friend….”

  Molly waited but Malcolm decided to keep the story of his friend to himself. “And Lebeau?” she said, wonderingly.

  “It’s not heroin or anything. It’s not even that bad, really,” Malcolm said, edging toward the door, thinking about making a break for it.

  “Well?” said Molly, getting impatient.

  “It’s steroids. You know, bodybuilding drugs. The whole thing is stupid, if you ask me, but some guys are really into gettin
g the huge muscles, and they’ll really pay.” He stopped, screwing his face up. “At least, that’s what Fedosia said anyways.”

  “So the Vasilievs came to Castillac just to start this up?” Molly couldn’t quite believe it. Drug dealers in her pigeonnier! “And Lebeau? What does he have to do with this?”

  “He’s one of the distributors. And obviously, a user,” said Malcolm with a contemptuous laugh.

  Molly took out her phone and called the gendarmerie, looking for Monsour. Maron was meeting Ben at the hospital, but someone needed to come gather all this evidence. She was still shaky, the adrenaline having a lingering effect; she couldn’t quite catch her breath and didn’t feel entirely steady on her feet. But she brushed that aside, remembering with intensely mixed feelings how Ben had rocketed out of nowhere and slammed Vasily to the ground.

  And then hit him more than was strictly necessary.

  One on hand, it felt wonderful to know he had her back, that he would act quickly and aggressively to protect her. On the other, she felt a little prickly, as though he thought she wasn’t able to take care of herself and needed him to ride in on a white charger and save the day.

  She understood that in fact, she had needed saving. She just didn’t especially like it.

  Molly turned back to Malcolm. “How did you get mixed up with these people, anyway? Doesn’t really seem your cup of tea.”

  “Oh, it’s not,” Malcolm agreed. “My mum is going to be furious with me. It was just…I met Fedosia in the village one day, and she asked me if I could help them out….”

  “So out of the kindness of your heart…?”