Barbara Cleverly - Folly Du Jour

‘Cassandre consulted me about the outfit she should wear that evening and I discussed it with her. I was concerned that I’d been sidelined in this — suspected Cassandre herself of making a try for my own position. No such thing — the girl was just as much in the dark as I was. I got the whole thing out of her. It wasn’t difficult, she assumed I knew. I was horrified. I knew nothing of this Somerton but I did know I wasn’t going to let Sir George die. I thought by arranging for the other man to be killed in his place, I could put it down to a ghastly mistake on the part of the knifeman. And there’d be no client left behind to complain that he hadn’t had his show, after all! No consequences!

‘At the appointed time — the killing was fixed for the moment when the applause for the finale rang out — I left and went down the stairs. I met our man coming up and berated him. “Idiot! The bloke you want is over the other side! B, not A. Don’t you listen? Or don’t you know your alphabet? I’m with this chap, can’t you see? The other, the dark one, is the one sitting by himself. Go quickly!”

‘Cassandre had got away by then, leaving the door ajar, and the fiend got in and did the business. So long as he had someone to carve up, he wouldn’t give a damn. If someone had made a mistake it wasn’t his fault. He would put it down to a management mix-up. He isn’t paid to think. But stupid Sir George! Why the hell did he have to go over and foul everything up?’

‘Because he’s got what you’ve never had, Alice — a kind heart and a conscience. But. . here comes Bonnefoye at last. Just time to say — thank you!’ He scrabbled around for her hand and lifted it, cold and trembling, to his lips. ‘For those dim glimmerings of human kindness, I thank you.’

‘Dim glimmerings? Fool! I saved his life! And now see where it’s got me, my human kindness! Sharing a taxi with two rozzers and on the way to prison.’

‘You took your time,’ Alice accused Bonnefoye. ‘Can we go now?’

‘Fun’s nearly over,’ he reported, settling back in again and easing out into the traffic. ‘Didn’t entirely go to plan. A problem. Apart from the corpse — four armed security, you said? We’ve got three of them. Two dead, two injured, trying to shoot their way out. They loaded the lot into the police ambulance and headed off for the Quai. At the first halt, corner of the boulevard, one of the wounded leapt from his pallet, bashed the attendant on the head and jumped out into the traffic. He’s covered in blood — his or someone else’s. We should be able to pick him up with no trouble.’

Alice groaned. ‘You’re saying you’ve left one of the wolves on the loose? He’ll go straight to. .’ She teetered on the edge of a name.

Finally Joe had thought she was about to give him what he wanted but she caught herself in time. Losing patience, he said: ‘To whom, Alice? Who is this bogeyman you’re so frightened of? Who’s out there? How many of them?’

‘Not many. He likes to keep it small. Very small now, but there are always men available to swell the ranks. There’s the one you’ve allowed to escape, the knifeman, and the boss. But they’ve got a network that runs all through Paris. And beyond. They’ll track us down wherever we go. . Where are we going?’

‘Yes — where are we going?’ Bonnefoye repeated. ‘I’m just the driver, madame. Better check with the gentleman.’

‘Follow that ambulance!’ said Joe, suddenly coming to a decision. ‘I wonder if you knew. . in times of danger, the Parisii tribe who settled here — before the Romans arrived and spoiled things for them — would make for the central island and pull up the drawbridge, so to speak. We’ll do the same. Ile de la Cité, please, driver.’

‘Oh, Lord! Not Fourier, Joe! Not sure I’m quite prepared for that yet!’

‘I’m certainly not! No, I have in mind a different location. In the law enforcement buildings, but not involving a trip up Staircase A. A quiet spot. . none quieter. We’re off to the morgue!’

Moulin was already gowned, gloved and masked, standing ready. He was accompanied by three young assistants, similarly clad, sorting through trays of instruments. At their approach, he removed his surgical mask and gave them a puzzled smile of welcome. ‘I was just on my way out for the evening,’ he grumbled. ‘Under this,’ he indicated his white starched gown, ‘I’m dressed for the opera. We were alerted by telephone. Rush job on. Someone warned us to expect incoming dead.’

‘Ah, yes,’ said Bonnefoye. ‘That was me. Sorry to foul up your evening, doctor. Gangland fracas in the boulevard du Montparnasse. They’ll be a few more minutes yet. They were told to drop the wounded off at the hospital before coming on here. When you check your laundry list, you’ll find you have three bodies, unless another succumbed en route. There’s one commander and two soldiers. Gun shots, all three.’

‘Ah. Anything to do with you?’

‘It’s all right, doctor. The commander, a person with the proportions of a small whale, died first with not a scrap of police-issue hardware in him. Luger bullets from the house gun. That’s what started it all. The other two. . were reckless enough to fire on the officers sent to arrest them.’

‘I say, excuse me, but is this an entirely suitable conversation for a lady’s ears?’ They heard the slight reprimand in his voice as Moulin turned a concerned face to Alice. She had been standing listening, not, apparently, looking for a formal introduction. ‘I’m sorry, mademoiselle? Madame?’ He broke off with a bemused and reproving glance at Joe.

‘Don’t worry, Moulin. The lady’s seen and heard and, indeed, perpetrated much worse. May I introduce you to a genuine example of Latrodectus mactans ? We’re here seeking sanctuary. Her life may be in danger — from the villains who are responsible for all this mayhem. I don’t think they’ll be looking for her in the morgue. Though that is where they’d like to see her. She has certain confidences of an intimate nature she’s bursting to make, confidences including the identity of the gentleman we have been calling Set.’

‘Indeed? Set ? I wondered if he’d bob to the surface again!’

‘The interview is to be an informal one, for the moment. Moulin, I wondered if we might impose on you for an hour? May we borrow your room?’

After a flash of astonishment, the doctor did not hesitate. ‘Certainly. You remember the way? Coffee’s on the stove. Help yourselves. Oh, and before you go off, Bonnefoye, Sandilands — a word with you, please. Something’s come up about Somerton. . Ah! Here’s our delivery!’

They settled Alice in the armchair furthest from the door and positioned themselves in front of her, Joe to her right, Bonnefoye perching on the footstool to her left. She smiled slightly, watching their manoeuvres. ‘What a simply ghastly room!’ she said, staring around her with a particular look of distaste for the tacked-up theatre posters. ‘Don’t you think? Looks like Quasimodo’s idea of a snuggery. Dr Moulin’s? How can he bear it?’ She removed the antimacassar from her chair between delicate fingers and dropped it to the floor.

‘He doesn’t like it any more than you do but people will keep sending him corpses to be dealt with,’ said Joe, angrily. ‘This is his attempt at a retreat from your handiwork. Six bodies you’ve fed him over the last three days. . how can you bear it? The alternative is Fourier’s office. Shall we take you there? It’s not far. No lace frou-frous there, no common thespian mementoes to curl your toes and shrivel your sensibilities. Spartan, you’d say. Entirely functional decor. But what you wouldn’t like is the spot marked in the centre of the room where he will make you stand.’