Barbara Cleverly - Folly Du Jour

‘And her own death is meant to carry with it a threat to the next name on their list?’

‘Oh, good God! Those English banknotes, Joe!’ said Bonnefoye. ‘It was more than a cocky way of saying, “Look, this was all your fault. She sold out to you , you English copper.”’

‘Yes. I’m afraid so. Though they got that wrong. The notes they provided from their own resources. She had nothing from me but a red rose, a cup of coffee. . and a laugh.’ With an effort, he pulled himself together and battled on: ‘I think the next name on their list is Joseph Sandilands. As Simenon here has remarked, I’m not safe to stand close to and I take the comment seriously. I’ve no intention of being the death of anyone else in this hellish chain. I think we know the source of the infection. Let me go in and lance the boil.’

‘What! You know who’s responsible for all this? Then why are you sitting here on your bums. . excuse me. .?’

Joe and Bonnefoye exchanged looks.

‘Are you quite sure you want to listen to this?’

Simenon looked from one to the other doubtfully then his curiosity overcame his wariness and he nodded.

‘Very well. A further theory that we dismissed out of hand, I’m afraid,’ said Joe. ‘Perhaps we should reconsider. Alfred was involved with the nameless crew you have mentioned to us. He became addicted to drugs and, we must assume, less reliable on account of that. Confused, lacking judgement. . desperate. Perhaps the reason they wanted to get rid of him? These soldiers appear to maintain an absolute discipline. He remained close to his sister — dependent on her — and, as they rightly feared, had confided information to her. Not exactly key information — I suspect he was something of a fringe figure. . messenger boy. . back-up. But information we — ’ he glanced at Bonnefoye — ‘have been able to make use of. An address,’ he added vaguely. ‘Look — we know nothing for certain. We merely have a fervid imagining that there may be an assassination service operating from these premises. One of rather special quality.’

‘Do you know who’s running it?’ Caution overcame eagerness and Simenon hurried to add: ‘Don’t give me a name.’

‘We couldn’t anyway. No idea. There obviously is a mind devising and controlling all this nastiness and, whimsically, we’ve called him Set after the Egyptian God of Evil. But that’s since proved to be a distraction.’

Joe told him of Dr Moulin’s theory which had been shot down by Jack Pollock’s evidence.

Simenon stirred excitedly and began to stuff his pipe again. ‘You’re saying the villain who committed the murder in the Louvre confessed to it and died by his own hand, thus breaking the continuity? He didn’t take responsibility for any of the others?’

‘Not yet known for certain. Pollock is a good authority but I’ll check the records. Shouldn’t be difficult.’

‘Then, consequently, the series of deaths the pathologist recalls must all be personal, unconnected acts of imaginative staging? Not impossible, of course. Most murders are impulsive but boring, spur of the moment stuff. . the push downstairs, the carving knife through the heart over the Sunday roast. . Not many would have the confidence or the patience to kill as you’ve described. Though I can imagine the satisfaction. There’s this editor I’ve worked for who’s just asking to be. . Never mind! Tell me — when, in Moulin’s chain of suspicious events, did this Egyptian one occur? Do you know? The first he was aware of? So the concept died with him? Hmm. . But there is a thread, you know. . stretching all the way from the Louvre, forward to poor Francine. This obsession with the mouth. Things, revelatory things, spilling out.’

‘I shall keep my mouth shut,’ said Joe lugubriously. ‘At all times.’

‘I’d say you’d got their message,’ said Bonnefoye. ‘And so have I. I’m going to put you on the next Silver Wing service back to London. Gagged and bound if necessary.’

‘If you’re looking for a feller, always try the bar first.’ The voice was female, joking and warmly American.

Simenon had shot to his feet a second before the other two men were aware of her presence. He introduced the two policemen to Miss Baker and went off to fetch her a glass of mineral water.

Like and yet unlike Francine. Joe was startled to see she was wearing a silk Chinese dressing gown the replica of the one the French girl had been wearing in her room in Montmartre. Seeing the girls side by side no one would have confused them, but from a distance or an odd angle or from behind it would have been all too easy to take one for the other. Judging by her lightness of tone and her smiles, no one had hurried forward to tell Josephine the truth of what lay behind the closed door of her dressing room. Cynically, he calculated they would not reveal it until the end of her performance. The show would go on, regardless of Francine.

‘Two fellers? Well, how about that! Joe and Philippe? Say — I’m sorry I’m late! Long night! Didn’t get to bed till six. Louis played until four in the morning! Can you imagine! And no one walks out of a Louis Armstrong performance. Have you heard him play? Come! Tonight! Pick me up here and we’ll make a night of it,’ she said, batting eyelashes flirtily at Bonnefoye.

For a moment, Joe was so disconcerted he could not remember why on earth they were seeing her. The three men exchanged glances, silently and shamefacedly acknowledging that they’d get the best information out of Miss Baker if she remained for the moment in ignorance of her friend’s death.

Josephine herself came to their rescue. ‘That poor old gent!’ she exclaimed. ‘I hate to think the guy was up there dying. . could have been just above my head. . while we were wiggling our way through that last Irving Berlin number. Why would anyone want to do that? At a show?’

‘We were wondering, Miss Baker,’ said Joe, ‘if you could recollect anything — anything at all — of the occupant of what I’ll call the murder box.’

‘Sure. I’ll try. Can’t say I’d remember any old night. But this was special. Lucky Lindy made it, did you know that? Someone rushed in with the news and I went on in between numbers and announced it. Crowd went wild! And so they should! What a feller! I remember looking up at both boxes. But you’ll have to tell me which one the dead guy was in.’

Joe touched her right hand and said, ‘From the stage, he would have been on this side.’

‘Okay. Up there.’ She looked up to her right, and extended her finger, fixing the imagined box. ‘Got it. Not that it makes a heap of difference, ya know — I could have been seeing double! Two gents. Wearing tuxedos, the both of ’em, and each with a girl. All snuggled up hotsy-totsy. Nothing out of the ordinary. Clapping. Seemed to be having a good time. .’

She sipped her water with a smile of thanks for Georges and thought hard. They waited in silence. ‘Can’t say I noticed anything odd about the fellers but the girls . .’

‘Yes?’

‘Yeah. . that was kinda strange. . I was struttin’ about, leading the applause. Watching them watching me. Everybody was getting very excited about the flight. Clapping and whistling and screeching like you’d never heard but they were talking to each other as well, smacking each other on the back, standing on their seats. Gathering together into one big shout of congratulations. But not those girls.’

‘Girls?’

‘Yeah, the two of them. You’d have sworn they were agreeing with each other. Exchanged a look and turned and left. Without a word. No goodbyes. No nothing. It was choreography. And I know choreography! The men were left on their lonesome for the finale.’ She frowned, doing her best to call up her fleeting impressions.