Giorgio Faletti - I Kill

Frank stood there until the last shovelful. Soon the ground would be smoothed over and someone who worked there would place a marble slab on top, like the one next to it. There would probably be an epitaph saying that in some way, Stéphane Hulot and his father, Nicolas, had found each other. The priest said the final blessing and they all crossed themselves. In spite of everything, Frank could not manage to say the word Amen.

The crowd began to disperse straight away. Those closest to the family said a few words to the widow before leaving. Céline saw Frank as she was embraced by the Merciers. She greeted Guillaume and his parents, received the hurried condolences of Roncaille and Durand, then turned and whispered something to her sister, who left her alone and started walking towards the cemetery entrance with her husband. Frank saw Céline’s graceful figure approach him with her calm step and reddened eyes, which she refused to hide behind dark glasses.

Without a word, Céline sought refuge in his arms. He felt her weep silently on his shoulder, as she finally granted herself the relief of tears, which could not reconstruct her small, shattered world. After a few moments Céline pulled away and looked at him. Incandescent grief shone in her eyes.

‘Thank you, Frank. Thank you for being here. Thank you for being the one to tell me. I know how difficult that must have been for you.’

Frank didn’t say anything. After Morelli’s phone call, he had left Helena and driven to Eze. He had pulled up at Nicolas’s house and stood in front of the door for five long minutes before finding the courage to ring the bell. Céline had come to open it, holding the edges of her dressing gown over her light nightdress. She had known as soon as she saw him. She was, after all, a policeman’s wife. She must have imagined that scenario many times, even while pushing it away as a bad omen. And now Frank was there, standing in the doorway, his face grief-stricken, his silence confirming it, and now, after her son, her husband too would be far away.

‘Something’s happened to Nicolas, hasn’t it?’

Frank had nodded silently.

‘And…?’

‘Yes, Céline. He’s dead.’

Céline had closed her eyes for a moment and grown deathly pale. She had swayed slightly and he was afraid that she might faint. He had stepped forward to support her, but she had recovered immediately. Frank had seen a vein throbbing at her temple as she asked him for the details she didn’t want to hear.

‘How did it happen?’

‘A car accident. I don’t know very much. He swerved off the road and landed in a ditch. He must have died immediately. He didn’t suffer, if that’s any comfort.’

As he spoke, Frank knew that his words were futile. Of course it wasn’t any comfort. Nor could it be, although Nicolas had told him of their agony over Stéphane lying in a coma, a vegetable, until their pity overcame their hopes and they allowed the doctors to pull the plug.

‘Come in, Frank. I have to make a couple of phone calls, but one of them can wait until tomorrow morning. And I have to ask you a favour.’

When she had turned to look at him, her eyes, the eyes of a woman still in love with her husband, were full of tears. ‘Anything you want, Céline.’

‘Don’t leave me alone tonight, please.’

She had called Nicolas’s only relative, a brother who lived in America and who, due to the time difference, would not be woken in the middle of the night. She had explained the situation briefly and hung up with a whispered ‘No, I’m not alone,’ in answer to what must have been the concern of the person on the other end of the line. She had turned to him.

‘Coffee?’

‘No, Céline. Thanks, I don’t need anything.’

‘Then let’s sit down, Frank. I want you to hold me tight while I cry.’

And so it was. They had sat there on the couch in the elegant room facing the terrace and the void of the night, and Frank had listened to her cry until the light began to tinge the sea and sky with blue on the other side of the window. He had felt her exhausted body slip into a sort of stupor and he had held her with all the affection that he owed her and Nicolas, until he had given her over to the care of her sister and brother-in-law much later in the day.

And now, after her husband’s funeral, they were standing there facing each other, and all he could do was continue looking at her, as if his eyes could see inside her. Céline understood the question hidden in that gaze. She smiled gently.

‘It’s no longer necessary, Frank.’

‘What isn’t necessary?’

‘I thought you understood.’

‘What was there to understand, Céline?’

‘My little madness. I was well aware that Stéphane was dead. I always knew it, just as I know that Nicolas is gone now, too.’

Seeing his mystified expression, Céline smiled tenderly and placed a hand on his arm.

‘Poor Frank. I’m sorry. I fooled you, too. I’m sorry I made you suffer each time I mentioned Harriet.’

She raised her head to look at the grey sky. A pair of seagulls whirled overhead, circling lazily in the rain together. That might have been Céline’s thought as she followed them in flight, her scarf fluttering in a sudden breeze. Her eyes returned to Frank.

‘It was all pretence, my dear. A charade, played only to keep a man from letting himself die. You see, after Stéphane’s death, right here at this very place, as we were leaving the cemetery after the funeral, I knew that if I didn’t do something, Nicolas would be destroyed. Even more than me. He might have killed himself.’ Céline continued with the voice of memory. ‘The idea came to me suddenly in the car as we were driving home. I thought that if Nicolas were consumed with worry about me, if there were something else to occupy his attention, he would be distracted from his desperation over the loss of Stéphane. It was a small distraction, but enough to avoid the worst. And that’s how it started. And how it continued. I deceived him and I don’t regret it. I’d do it again if I had to, but as you can see, there’s nobody left to pretend for now.’

Now the tears were again streaming down Céline Hulot’s cheeks. Frank looked into the marvellous depths of her eyes and saw a strength and power beyond his understanding.

‘Goodbye, Frank.’ Céline again smiled her gentle smile. ‘Whatever you’re looking for, I hope you find it soon. I would like very much to see you happy, because you deserve it. Au revoir, handsome.’

She stood on tiptoe and brushed his lips with a kiss. Her hand left a mark on his arm as she turned her back to him and started down the gravel path. Frank watched her walk away. After a few steps, she stopped and came back to him.

‘Frank, for me it makes no difference. Nothing on earth will return Nicolas to me. But it might be important for you. Morelli gave me the details of the accident. Have you read the report?’

‘Yes, Céline. With great care.’

‘Claude told me that Nicolas didn’t have his seat belt on. That’s how Stéphane died. If our son had been wearing his seat belt, he’d still be alive. Ever since then, Nicolas never even put the keys in the ignition without buckling up. I think it’s strange that this time-’

‘I didn’t know that about your son’s accident. Now that you mention it, I find it strange as well.’

‘Again, it makes no difference to me. But if there’s a chance his death was not an accident, then it means he was going in the right direction, that you were both going in the right direction.’

Frank nodded slowly. The woman turned and left without looking back. As he watched her walk away, Roncaille and Durand came over to him, their expressions perfectly suited to the occasion. They, too, watched Céline leave. A slight black silhouette on the cemetery path.