Fred Vargas - The Three Evangelists

‘Where has Sophia gone?’

Relivaux stood up, spread his arms wide in a gesture and turned round.

‘She’s gone away. She’ll be back. There’s nothing to get steamed up about.’

‘They will want to know precisely why you’re not getting steamed up about it.’

‘Because I haven’t put the kettle on. Because Sophia told me she was going away. She said something about meeting someone in Lyon, if you must know. It’s not the other side of the world.’

‘They might not believe you. Be more precise, Monsieur Relivaux. Your peace of mind could depend on it, and I believe you do care about that.’

‘It’s really of no particular interest. On Tuesday, Sophia got a postcard. She showed it to me. It just had a drawing of a star and a date to meet at a certain time in a hotel in Lyon. Take such and such a train tomorrow night. No signature. Instead of keeping calm, Sophia got into a state. She had got it into her head that the card was from an old boyfriend, a Greek called Stelios Kutsukis. Because of the star. I had a certain amount of trouble from him, on several occasions, before we got married. He was the mad-rhino kind of admirer.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

Oh, nothing. Anyway, one of Sophia’s admirers.’

‘A former lover’

‘Naturally, I tried to dissuade Sophia from going. If this card was from someone else, then God knows what she was letting herself in for. And if it was from Stelios, it wasn’t much better. But no, there was no stopping her, she packed her bag and off she went. I admit I was expecting to see her back yesterday. And that’s all I know.’

‘And the tree?’

‘What do you want me to say about the tree? Sophia made a huge fuss about it. I didn’t imagine she would go to the length of digging underneath it. What on earth did she think was there? She’s always making up fantasies. It can only be a gift from someone, what else? Perhaps you have heard that Sophia was quite well known until she gave up performing. She was an opera singer.’

‘Yes, I know. But Juliette Gosselin said that you told her that you had planted the tree.’

‘Yes, that’s what I told her. One morning at the gate, Juliette asked me about the new tree. Sophia having made such a fuss about it, I didn’t want to tell her that we had no idea where it came from, and then have that get all round the neighbourhood. As you guessed, I value my peace of mind. So I simply told her I had decided to plant a beech tree-to put a stop to the questions. That’s what I should have told Sophia too. It would have saved a lot of trouble.’

‘That’s all very well and good,’ said Vandoosler, ‘but we only have your word for it. It would be helpful if you could produce the postcard. So that someone could get in touch with her.’

‘Well, I’m sorry,’ said Relivaux, ‘but Sophia took it with her, because it had the instructions on it. That’s logical, isn’t it?’

‘Ah. That’s a pity, but it doesn’t matter too much. The story sounds convincing.’

‘Well, of course it does! Why would anyone think I’d been up to anything?’

‘You know perfectly well what is the first thing the police think of when a wife disappears.’

‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘Yes, it’s ridiculous.’

‘The police wouldn’t dare go to those lengths,’ said Relivaux putting his hand stiffly down on the table. ‘I’m not just anybody.’

‘No, indeed,’ said Vandoosler gently. ‘Nobody is.’

He got up slowly. ‘If the flics do come and see me, I’ll back up your story.’

‘There’s no need. Sophia will be back.’

‘Let’s hope so.’

‘I’m not worried about her.’

‘Well, so much the better. And thank you for being so frank.’

Vandoosler crossed the garden to go home. Relivaux watching him go, thought: ‘What the hell is he up to, the busy body?’

IT WASN’T UNTIL THE SUNDAY NIGHT THAT THE EVANGELISTS CAME UP with anything concrete. On Saturday, the only time Pierre Relivaux went out was to buy the newspapers. Marc had said to Lucien that he was sure Relivaux would say he was going to ‘consult the national press’, rather than ‘read the papers’, and that one day he would have to test this, just for the pleasure of it. Anyway, he had not stirred all day, having stayed at home with the national press. Perhaps he was worried about getting a visit from the police.

Then, maybe since nothing seemed to be happening, he appeared to regain confidence. Marc and Lucien had started tailing him when he left the house at about eleven on Sunday morning. He led them to a little house in the 15th arrondissement in south-west Paris.

‘You were bang on target,’ said Marc, summing up their day for Vandoosler. ‘The girl lives in a fourth-floor flat. Nice enough girl, easy going, quiet sort, not fussy.’

‘Let’s just say she’s nothing to write home about,’ said Lucien. ‘I have standards, you know, and Marc here will give anyone the benefit of the doubt…’

‘You’re on your own, with your standards,’ said Marc.

‘Quite so,’ said Lucien. ‘But that’s not what we’re discussing. Carry on with your report, lieutenant.’

‘That’s all. The girl has her flat paid for, all found. She doesn’t go out to work, we asked the neighbours.’

‘So Relivaux does have a mistress. You guessed right,’ said Lucien to Vandoosler.

‘It wasn’t guesswork,’ said Marc. ‘The commissaire has a lot of experience.’

Godfather and godson exchanged glances.

‘Mind your own business, St Mark,’ said Vandoosler. ‘Are you sure she was his mistress? Could she not have been a sister or a cousin?’

‘We listened at the door,’ Marc explained. ‘Verdict: it’s not his sister. Relivaux left there at about seven. I think he’s a dangerous creep.’

‘Don’t jump to conclusions,’ said Vandoosler.

‘Don’t underestimate the enemy,’ said Lucien.

‘Has the hunter-gatherer not come back yet?’ asked Marc. ‘Still up at Le Tonneau ?’

‘Yes,’ said Vandoosler. ‘And Sophia hasn’t telephoned. If she wanted to keep the whole thing quiet but at the same time reassure her immediate friends, she would have told Juliette. But there’s been nothing, not a peep. It’s four days now. Tomorrow, St Matthew will call Leguennec. Tonight, I’ll go over with him what he’s to say. The tree, the trench, the mistress, the missing wife. Leguennec will go for it. He’ll come and take a look.’

Mathias telephoned the police. He described the facts in a blank voice.

Leguennec went for it.

By mid-afternoon, two policeman were tackling the beech tree, under orders from Leguennec, who was holding Pierre Relivaux. He had not even questioned Sophia’s husband formally, since he knew he was operating at the limits of legality. Leguennec was acting on impulse, meaning to make himself scarce very fast if nothing turned up. The two men digging under the tree were loyal to him. They wouldn’t talk.

From the second-floor window, Marc, Mathias and Lucien crowded together to watch.

‘It’ll finish off the poor old beech,’ remarked Lucien.

‘Shut up,’ said Marc. ‘Don’t you understand this is serious? Any minute now they could find Sophia underneath it. And you think that’s funny? For the last few days I haven’t even been able to string together any sentences that make sense.’

‘I had noticed,’ said Lucien. ‘You disappoint me.’

‘Well kindly keep your thoughts to yourself. Look at Mathias. He’s managing to control himself. He can keep his mouth shut.’

‘That’s how Mathias always is. One day, it’s going to rebound on him. Hear me, Mathias?’