Peter Turnbull - Deliver Us from Evil

Sergeant Auphan showed the householder her badge. ‘Police,’ she said softly. ‘These two gentlemen are from the British Police.’

‘The British Police!’ The householder’s voice was of a strange mixture of alarm that the police had called upon her, tinged with excitement and curiosity that two of the three officers were of the old country.

‘Yes. Nothing for you to worry about,’ Auphan spoke with a reassuring tone. ‘I wonder if we can come in?’

‘Sure.’ The woman stepped aside and the officers entered and were met by two inquisitive cats, both grey and white and one noticeably larger than the other. Interlocking rubber matting had been placed over the carpet as a protective covering. The ceiling of the house seemed low to Yellich and Ventnor and the yellow and black pattern of the carpet which evoked a tiger skin was not to either man’s taste. The house seemed unduly dark inside and rooms were separated by hanging fabric rather than doors, again not to the taste of either Yellich or Ventnor. ‘I wasn’t expecting no visitors,’ the woman explained. ‘It’s a bit of a dumpster right about now.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Auphan smiled gently, ‘we are not from Better Homes and Gardens .’

‘Well, come through.’ The woman closed the front door behind the officers and led them to the rear of the house and invited them to sit at a circular table which was still covered with the manufacturer’s plastic seal. The chairs were, the officers found, too low for the table and must have made eating from it somewhat difficult. To Yellich’s right was a bookcase within which had been placed, oddly, he thought, a coffee making machine; to his left a window looked out across a rear garden which was still covered in a thick, but clearly thawing, layer of snow, and beyond the garden was yet another seemingly impenetrable stand of dark grey trunks of green spruce.

‘We and the UK police,’ Marianne Auphan began once the officers and the householder were seated round the circular table, ‘are making inquiries into the late Edith Lecointe or Avrille, once of this address.’

‘Edith!’ The woman gasped, her jaw slackened. ‘Edith. .’

‘Yes.’

‘She is gone before. . as you say, she is the late Edith Lecointe.’

‘But this was her last address?’

‘Yes. She and I lived here. She was my sister. I am Blanche Lecointe.’

‘Well,’ Marianne Auphan began, ‘we need to know as much about your late sister as possible. I am sorry if this is difficult for you.’

‘Difficult. . so sudden. . but why? Sorry. . I have to gather my thoughts. .’

Marianne Auphan glanced at Yellich. ‘Perhaps, Mr Yellich, you could explain?’

‘Yes, of course.’ Yellich sat forward and as he did so his eye was caught by a black squirrel sitting on the fence at the bottom of Blanche Lecointe’s garden. He had not until then realized the subspecies existed but he knew it was not the time or place to comment. ‘Yes. . you see, I repeat Miss Auphan’s apologies for the suddenness of this. . the unexpected nature of our call and the purpose of it. . very sorry.’

‘Sure,’ Blanche Lecointe held fascinated eye contact with Yellich as she rapidly regained her composure.

‘Well. . this is not easy to explain. . so I’ll just say it, but in the first instance can I ask you how you know your sister is deceased?’ He paused. ‘What I mean to say is that even though your sister’s death was registered, what identification was made of the deceased? Can you confirm the deceased in question was your sister?’

‘Yes,’ the woman replied softly, ‘yes, I can.’ She remained composed, impressively so, so thought all three of the officers. Given the unexpected nature of the call, the revealed purpose of it, Blanche Lecointe’s speedy recovery of her composure was impressive. ‘I identified the body in the Chapel of Rest. She lay in an open casket. I kissed her forehead. That is how I know it was Edith.’

The three officers exchanged eye contact and nodded slightly.

‘That’s good enough,’ Yellich said. ‘In fact it’s more than good enough.’ He then addressed Blanche Lecointe. ‘It seems that a woman has been using your late sister’s identity in the UK.’

Blanche Lecointe gasped.

‘We are extremely anxious to find out the identity of the woman who stole your sister’s identity. This lady had a North American accent, she knew this part of Canada and she had a Canadian passport in your sister’s name. . your late sister’s name. . and she herself was murdered a few days ago.’

‘My. .’ Blanche Lecointe put up a hand to her mouth, ‘oh, my.’ She sank back against her chair. ‘My. .’

‘We have good reason to believe the person who murdered her to be a Canadian, a Canadian male, and that he is now back here in Canada.’

Blanche Lecointe forced a smile. ‘In Canada? It’s still a lot of territory, largest country in the Commonwealth.’

‘Appreciate that, it’s an awful lot of pink on the map, twice the land area of the USA. . more. . in fact.’

‘The big empty, but yes, it’s a large country.’

‘Again, all I can say is that I appreciate that but this is our only lead,’ Yellich replied calmly.

‘We have to start somewhere,’ Marianne Auphan smiled, ‘and this is the one address, the only address we have. There must be some connection between your sister and the woman who was murdered in England a few days ago.’

Yellich deftly plunged his hand into the large manila envelope he carried and extracted the passport found in Edith Lecointe’s bedroom in her home in Dringhouses, York. He handed it to Blanche Lecointe, opened at the photograph page.

‘That is not my sister, definitely not Edith. Not her. . no way, not even the slightest similarity, and before you ask, no I do not recognize the woman in the photograph. . what an evil-looking woman. . those eyes, heavens just look at those eyes. Edith had such warm eyes but this woman. . Who is she? Who is she?’

‘If we find that out. .’ Yellich allowed his voice to fade.

‘What can you tell us about your sister?’ Ventnor asked.

‘I’d rather you asked questions, it would be easier,’ Blanche Lecointe smiled. ‘I mean I could tell you a whole lot about Edith but none of it would be any help. . like how she took her coffee and all. . ask me of the details you need to know.’

‘Point taken,’ Ventnor smiled. ‘You’re right, of course.’

‘I can tell you that we were not full sisters in actuality, we were half-sisters. Same father, different mothers.’ Blanche Lecointe leafed through the passport. ‘She didn’t go far, did she? The mystery woman I mean, just one stamp. . Heathrow. Where is that? London? Oh yes, it says so. . oh. .’

‘What is it?’ Marianne Auphan sat up, suddenly alert. ‘Have you noticed something, ma’am?’

‘The date, the date the passport was issued.’

‘What about it. . is it significant?’

‘It is dated a year, a full year before my sister died.’

A silence descended on the room.

‘Are you certain?’ Marianne Auphan asked.

‘Sure. Sure I am sure.’ The woman’s voice rose with impatience. ‘It’s easily verified, but yeah, I am sure.’ She handed the passport back to Yellich. ‘Go check. Go check. But I tell you that passport was issued one year, one full year before my sister Edith died.’

Yellich took the passport and checked the date of issue against the death certificate in respect of the passing of Edith Lecointe. He felt acutely embarrassed. ‘Something we should have noticed,’ he said. ‘Elementary, but yes, the passport was issued twelve months prior to the death of Mrs Lecointe.’

‘Miss Lecointe,’ Blanche Lecointe corrected Yellich with clear indignation.