Barbara Cleverly - Strange Images of Death

‘Could anyone have got in from outside?’

‘Nothing easier. Anyone could have scaled the dip which we call a dry moat of sorts. All the children know the way. And you could stay out of sight of the rest of the castle by keeping the bulk of the chapel between you and it. We shall need to know more exactly when Estelle died but I was hazarding a guess at six o’clock.’

‘Any sightings of the girl at about that time?’

‘Yes. We have a sighting by Jane Makepeace of Estelle and the child by the bridge at about that time so that seems likely. Our dagger-wielder simply watches from the chapel door after the act-it’s perfectly possible to stand in the shelter of the ornate door surround and be completely hidden from the rest of the castle. He nips over to the hall when he’s sure the coast’s clear.’

‘You heard the child speak. Did he have a contribution to make?’

‘Yes, he did.’ Joe filled in as much as he could remember of the interview conducted by Dorcas and summarized: ‘So, we have a dispatch by an apparent friend, with speed and without resistance on the part of the victim. We know that the aggressor spoke in English to Estelle-though everyone here speaks English, whatever their nationality-and he was wearing black trousers and shoes.’

‘Now who wears that sort of outfit at six o’clock in the south of France?’ the Commissaire wondered aloud.

‘A priest?’ Martineau suggested.

‘Indeed,’ said Joe. ‘But also any of the Englishmen gathered under this roof. And their hosts. The French keep early hours in the country for dining but we English keep to our customs regardless. We dress for dinner. Drinks at six fifteen, first course served at seven. Every man would have scrambled into black trousers and dinner jacket by half past six at the latest, possibly before. I had done so myself. So, suitably attired, our chap strolls off into the hall for a drink when the gong sounds. Looking as though he’s just drifted downstairs fresh from the hands of his valet.’

‘Thank you for that. Very helpful. So-it’s an intruder or a resident, a priest or not a priest, an Englishman or some other nationality we’re looking for.’ Jacquemin glowered.

‘Afraid so! And here’s something else to chew on,’ said Joe, taking a handkerchief from his pocket. ‘Evidence. Three pieces. Sorry-no useful little bags available at the time I made the discoveries.’

He opened it up on the table to show the contents. ‘Now-this screw of paper was used by the victim. You may like to check the powder.’ The Frenchmen listened as he told of his time spent with Estelle on the roof platform.

‘She saw the statue-smasher and he saw her watching him? That’s another reason for getting rid of her, are we thinking? No, we’re not! He was disguised. No reason to think she saw through it. Is there, Sandilands?’

‘She certainly didn’t seem to have made an identification.’

‘And cocaine? Where was she getting it? Did she bring supplies from Paris? How long had she been here?’

‘Since the beginning of the season. Three months. I believe she was a girl who was easily bored and would seek stimulation. Her mood swung while I was here in the castle. I think she was getting supplies. From someone with access to the exterior, clearly.’

‘They’d get it in any city along the Rhône. Along the drug-smuggling route from the port of Marseille and up north to Paris. There are places … people in Avignon who would oblige. We must find out who’s been making trips out into the world.’

‘You’d need a vehicle, sir,’ said Martineau thoughtfully. ‘It’s thirty kilometres to Avignon. Would you like me to take the Hispano-Suiza apart?’ he offered with relish.

‘It’s not the only car around. There’s a car available for hire by the day down at the village,’ said Joe. ‘A scheme run by the enterprising garage owner. And a charabanc for group outings-they’re an adventurous lot and like to get about. And motorcycles. And even horses. Many of the guests make use of them . It’s wonderful riding country. They go out all over the place, singly or in groups. We might make enquiries.’

‘Still-the girl was a drug-fiend. So what? Not much of a reason to kill her, is it?’ said the hard-boiled Parisian.

‘Cocaine …’ Joe mused. ‘It’s a sociable drug-where I come from. People sniff it up in company usually. At parties. In jazz club cloakrooms. To put themselves in a jolly mood.’

‘Agreed. She’s unlikely to have been sniffing the stuff all on her lonesome. So who was keeping her company?’ Jacquemin pencilled a note in his book.

‘And with the girl’s contacts in mind, Commissaire, may I ask you, when the time comes to interview each of the denizens, to enquire which of them has a camera and what type it is? It may not be important but I should like to know.’

Jacquemin scratched in a further note. ‘And what’s this here?’ he asked, poking at the sliver of gilded stone in the centre of the handkerchief with the end of his pencil.

‘Ah yes! Pickings from the robe I think the perpetrator wore on the night he hammered Aliénore to bits. From low down near the hem. It could have brushed on during the attack and clung to the rough wool. It’s a piece from the hair, judging by the gold paint. We brought a sample from the chapel for comparison.’

Martineau produced a white paper bag from his crime case and handed it over.

‘Mmm … we’ll get these put under a microscope-but clearly they’re from the same source,’ agreed Jacquemin. ‘And what’s this here?’

‘The cigar end also comes from the robe. It was in the pocket. Orlando Joliffe and I found it hanging on the back of the door to a guest’s room.’

‘Guest? Which guest?’

‘Petrovsky, the ballet-meister. Director of the Ballet Impériale at present performing in auditoriums all over Provence. Avignon this week.’

Jacquemin looked down his list. ‘Personal guest of the lord. Frequent visitor. Accompanied by two dancers and a chaperone. Russian?’

‘No, he’s as British as I am. Name of Peters. Rich. Dilettante. Known to the Vice Squad. History (suspected only as far as I know) of keeping company with young girls.’

‘Professional hazard in his line of work, I’d have thought,’ said Jacquemin reasonably. ‘Still-in possession of a vehicle … trips to Avignon … and all the arty-farty places where the sophisticated gather … We’ll grill him. Now-tell me about this half-smoked El Rey del Mundo.’

‘Is that what it is, sir?’ Martineau peered with interest.

‘So it declares itself,’ said Jacquemin, pointing to the gold and red band it still carried. He picked it up, holding it by the smoked end, and squeezed gently. He sniffed the tobacco. ‘Though I’d have known it without the hint. Very expensive. Smooth, light tobacco. The best Havana. I’ve only ever smoked three of them. Very expensive.’ He turned to Martineau who was already rising from his chair. ‘De Pacy. He’ll know.’

In the Lieutenant’s absence he went on studying the cigar. ‘Carefully guillotined at the mouthpiece,’ he observed. ‘As you’d expect. A man who can afford these is hardly likely to bite the end off with his teeth!’

‘Don’t you take the band off in France?’ Joe asked. ‘We do in England. One tries to avoid flaunting one’s taste.’

‘Some do. Most, if they’ve any experience, puff away until the cigar has warmed through. It melts the glue on the band and you don’t risk tearing it and the wrapper and looking a fool. And very useful for us ! Men hold a cigar by the band. Between forefinger and thumb.’ He demonstrated with an imaginary cigar. ‘This’ll have prints on it. If they’re Petrovsky’s we’ve got him! Any ash left at the first scene in the chapel, Sandilands?’ he asked hopefully. ‘Did he put his hammer down and pause to enjoy a soothing, post-climactic cigar?’