Майкл Ридпат - Fatal Error

We found an office. It was in Britton Street in Clerkenwell. Plenty of other dot-com companies were springing up in the neighbourhood; there were four other start-ups in our building alone. Importantly for us, the internet access was excellent. But the best part was that we could move in immediately. Which was good, because we needed somewhere to put our new recruits.

My father phoned me.

‘You haven’t cashed my cheque.’

‘No, Dad.’

‘Why not?’

I took a deep breath. ‘I don’t think ninetyminutes.com is a good investment for you.’

He was not impressed. ‘I should be the judge of that.’

‘I know, but... Look, how much have you got saved beyond this fifty thousand?’

‘That’s none of your business. Now please cash my cheque. I’ve always trusted you, David; now it’s time for you to trust me.’

I hesitated, weighing it up. I was right; this was a bad place to put his retirement nest egg. But he was right; I should trust him. And things were really rolling. Of course, I couldn’t guarantee ninetyminutes.com would succeed, I wasn’t even certain we would get our initial funding, but I did feel good about it. And my father wasn’t looking for guarantees.

I sighed. ‘OK, Dad, if you’re positive about this. I’ll cash the cheque this afternoon. Thank you.’

‘Thank you ’, he said. ‘And good luck. I’m counting on you.’

‘I know.’

I put down the phone with the nagging feeling that I had just made a big mistake.

July 1987, Côte D’Azur, France

I stood at the front door as the police car carrying Guy drove out of the courtyard, followed by Tony in his Jeep. I heard rapid footsteps on the stairs. A moment later Mel and Ingrid joined me, wearing the T-shirts they had been sleeping in.

‘What’s happened?’ Mel asked.

‘They’ve arrested him.’

‘Guy?’

I nodded.

‘Oh, my God!’ She put her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide. Another shock. I wasn’t sure how many more she could bear.

I described Guy’s arrest.

‘I can’t believe they’ve taken him,’ she said. ‘David, you must tell them they’ve made a mistake.’

‘I can try. I’m sure he is innocent. But I doubt Inspector Sauville will take my word for it.’

‘But what possible reason could they have for suspecting him?’

‘They must have found a footprint somewhere,’ Ingrid said, ‘Guy’s footprint.’

‘If they have, I’m sure there’s an explanation,’ I said. ‘After all, why would he kill Dominique?’

‘There’s no reason why he’d kill her,’ said Mel fiercely. ‘It’s that scumbag Tony. It must be.’ She collapsed into a chair and began to weep, gently at first and then in earnest, huge sobs wracking her shoulders.

Ingrid shot me an anguished glance and put an arm round her. Mel was cracking up. I couldn’t blame her, but there was little I could do to help. Ingrid led her outside to the terrace. Miguel had heard the commotion, and a couple of minutes later he materialized with breakfast.

Then Owen appeared, bleary eyed. ‘What’s the fuss?’ he asked, picking up a croissant and stuffing it into his mouth.

I told him.

He stopped chewing in mid-mouthful and stared at me, as though unable to comprehend what I had just said. ‘Shit,’ he whispered at last.

‘I’m sure they’ll let him go soon,’ I said. After all, Owen was Guy’s younger brother and I thought he deserved some words of comfort.

Owen ignored them. ‘Why did they arrest him?’

‘I think it might have something to do with a footprint.’ I described again Sauville’s visit.

‘Shit,’ Owen repeated. He looked anxious, almost panicked. His reaction was nothing like the sullen indifference he had displayed when his father had been interviewed at the police station. But then I knew how strongly he cared about his brother.

‘They’ll let him go,’ Mel said, her face damp with tears. ‘They’ve got to let him go.’

Owen glared at her. ‘What do you care, you slut?’

She just looked at him. Stricken with shame and self-loathing, she couldn’t answer.

‘Owen!’ I snapped. ‘There’s no need for that!’

Owen scowled and disappeared back indoors.

It was a long morning. I sat on the terrace and took refuge in War and Peace : past page 900 and going strong. Ingrid read her own book next to me and Mel withdrew to her room to lie down. And cry, no doubt.

It was eerily peaceful in the garden, with the quiet disturbed only by the competing hums of the bees in the lavender and the distant traffic a long way beneath us. No sign of Guy. Or Tony. Or the police. The action was all going on down there, in that scruffy police station in Beaulieu.

Then, just before lunch, we heard a car draw up to the front of the house. Ingrid and I rushed round to see who it was. To our disappointment, it wasn’t Guy. It was Tony.

He led us into the house and to the drinks cabinet in the living room, and poured himself a large gin and tonic. ‘God, that tastes good,’ he said, taking a long swig. ‘The room service in that police station was lousy.’

There was the sound of rapid footsteps down the stairs as Mel appeared.

‘Any news?’ Ingrid asked.

‘No,’ said Tony. ‘They’re still holding him.’

‘Have they charged him?’ I asked.

‘Not yet. Patrick says they can hold him for up to four days before an arraignment in front of an examining magistrate. Don’t worry. We’ll get him out before then.’

‘But they’ve arrested him, haven’t they?’ Mel protested. ‘They must have some evidence against him.’

‘Some mix-up about a footprint. Patrick will get him off.’

Mel didn’t seem convinced. ‘What about you?’ she said.

‘Me? Looks like I’m in the clear.’ Tony smiled. Which was fair enough, I supposed. But I couldn’t help thinking that his exoneration had been won at the expense of Guy’s guilt. Not that I believed for a moment that Guy was guilty, myself. I just didn’t trust the French police to uncover the truth when they could nail the easy suspect.

Tony looked at the three of us. None of us appeared in the slightest bit pleased to see him. He sighed and poured himself another drink. ‘I’ll be in the study if anybody wants me,’ he said, and left us.

‘I wish they had let Guy go instead of him,’ Mel said.

‘I’m sure Hoyle will swing something,’ I said, with as much confidence I could muster. But I wasn’t sure at all.

At around two o’clock a detective came to fetch me. Sauville wanted to talk to me again. I wasn’t surprised.

I thought hard during the car journey down the hillside. Thought about what I had done. Where my loyalties lay.

I was led into a small interview room. Sauville was there with his sidekick. He looked even more tired and irritated. He lit up a cigarette and offered me one.

I shook my head.

‘Thank you for coming here, Monsieur Lane.’

‘Not at all.’ I hadn’t been aware that I’d had a choice.

‘I am glad to say that your version of your liaison with Madame Jourdan accords with the forensic evidence. You have been honest with me. This is good. Good for you, good for me. Now...’ He took a long drag on his cigarette. ‘I want you to continue to be honest with me.’

‘Of course.’

‘ Bon . You remember Tuesday evening? The evening that Madame Jourdan was killed.’

‘I do.’ I was alert now.

‘This is very important. When you went to bed, did you go alone?’

‘No. I went with Guy.’

‘OK. Tell me what happened.’

‘I wasn’t in a good mood that evening. No one was, really, apart from Dominique. At about ten o’clock I said good night and went off to bed.’