Майкл Ридпат - Fatal Error

‘And Guy came with you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you go straight to your bedroom.’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you sure? You didn’t delay on the way?’

‘Um...’

‘Monsieur Lane?’

‘Let me think. It was a couple of days ago.’

And I thought. Rapidly. I knew the answer, of course. Guy and I had gone straight to the little guest cottage together. I could remember that clearly. But what should I tell the policeman?

My first instinct was to say just that. That Guy had been with me the whole time. That he couldn’t possibly have slipped away to murder Dominique.

But...

But they had found a footprint, that was clear. Guy’s footprint. I suddenly realized that that was what Sauville wanted an explanation for. I had to give him one, or at least the possibility of one.

‘I don’t think so. Or, at least, I didn’t. But, actually, I think I went first, and Guy followed me a couple of minutes later.’

‘A couple of minutes?’

‘I’m not a hundred per cent sure. But I can remember that he was brushing his teeth when I was getting into bed. So he can’t have been more than a couple of minutes longer than me.’ I wanted to give Guy enough time to leave a footprint but not enough time to murder Dominique.

‘Did you see where he went?’

‘No.’

‘Could he perhaps have gone into the bushes to er...’ Sauville was searching for the right word. ‘To piss?’

‘Possibly.’

‘That seems strange, don’t you think? To piss in the bushes when there is a toilet in the guest cottage?’

‘Not so strange,’ I said. ‘A bit drunk. A lovely night. The stars are out. It’s the kind of thing Guy might do.’

‘We found his footprint outside Madame Jourdan’s window. The soil there was watered during the afternoon, so we know it must have been put there that evening. Or perhaps later that night.’

‘Oh, I see. That explains it, then.’ So I was right. Fortunately I had managed to back up the story Guy had told.

‘Perhaps,’ Sauville said, considering the point. ‘Just one last question. Do you know the young gardener who works here? A North African?’

‘Yes. Abdulatif.’

Sauville frowned, as though surprised that I knew his name. ‘That is correct. When did you last see him?’

‘Hmm.’ I thought. ‘It was the morning before Mrs Jourdan was killed.’

‘And not since then?’

‘No. No, not since then.’

‘Did you see him doing anything suspicious?’

I remembered the smile he had given Guy, but didn’t mention it. It almost certainly didn’t mean anything, and even if it did, it was hardly suspicious. ‘No,’ I said. ‘He was just gardening.’

‘We are trying to locate him. It seems he has disappeared. He hasn’t been seen since the morning after Madame Jourdan was killed.’ Sauville stood up. The interview was over. ‘Thank you once again for your cooperation, Mr Lane. Now my colleague will take you back to the house.’

As the police car climbed up the hill, I watched the sun lowering itself towards the western horizon and for the first time since Dominique had died I felt good about myself. I had let Guy down by sleeping with Dominique. His contempt for me had been painful because it had been justified. And now I had helped him.

I had no idea how Guy’s footprint had turned up wherever the police had found it, but I knew it wasn’t because he had gone for a pee in the bushes on the way to bed. They didn’t know that, though. I looked honest and I looked scared and I was sure Sauville had believed me.

At that point I was only concerned with covering for my friend, making amends for my betrayal. The possibility that Guy might have been involved in some way in Dominique’s death didn’t occur to me. I wasn’t at all worried about how or when Guy’s footprint had been placed outside Dominique’s window, if that was indeed where the police had found it.

Perhaps I should have been.

It was strange staying at Les Sarrasins without Guy. None of us felt we should be there, we were like guests who had long overstayed their welcome, but there was no chance that Sauville would let us leave. Guy’s plea for me to crawl back under my semi-detached stone rang in my ears. He was right, of course. I had no business being there; I should be in the caravan in Devon with my parents. I should never have come.

We all gathered for an awkward supper. There was little conversation; we were all wrapped up in our own thoughts. Tony made a half-hearted attempt at small talk, which received little response from any of us. But he did have some news. The search for Abdulatif had turned into a full-scale manhunt. Miguel had heard from the Arab gardener of a nearby property that the police had turned over Abdulatif’s house, and had been asking about him in all the Arab hangouts in the area, with no success.

For the first time in three days there was the glimmer of hope in Mel’s eyes.

I was doing lengths in the pool the next morning when I became aware of laughter on the terrace. Familiar laughter. I stopped swimming and looked up. There were Tony, Guy and Hoyle, broad grins on their faces. Miguel was opening a bottle of champagne.

I pulled myself out of the water and grabbed a towel. Ingrid and Mel emerged from the house.

The cork popped. Tony poured.

‘I told you Patrick would get him off,’ Tony said, slapping Hoyle on the back. ‘Hey, where’s Owen? Guy, get him, will you? I won’t have him missing this.’

Guy went off to look for his brother.

‘Of course, it helps that they know who did kill her,’ Hoyle said.

‘Who’s that?’ I asked.

‘The gardener,’ he replied. ‘The police have been looking for him everywhere. But it’s hard to find one Arab boy on the Riviera, there are so many places he can disappear.’

‘How do they know it was him?’ I asked.

‘He ran away, didn’t he?’ Tony said. ‘And they found Dominique’s empty jewellery case in his room. I hope they catch the bastard.’

‘But they don’t have any conclusive proof?’ I persisted.

Tony frowned, unamused by my quibbling. ‘That’s conclusive enough for me. Ah, here he is!’ he said as he saw Owen approaching behind his brother. There was almost a spring in his step. He was as pleased as the rest of us to have Guy back. ‘Champagne, Owen?’

‘I’ll take a Coke.’

‘You’ll have champagne,’ his father said, thrusting the glass into his hands. ‘Here’s to liberty.’

We all drank. All of us but Dominique, I thought. She wouldn’t be joining in the celebration of her stepson’s newfound freedom.

Mel, Ingrid and I left as soon as we possibly could. Neither Guy nor his father was sad to see us go, although Tony was polite and charming to us, even to me. But he called a taxi this time to take us to the airport.

I packed my stuff and went to look for Guy. I found him beneath the watchtower staring out at the sea. I sat next to him.

‘I know this was a horrible week, but thank you for inviting me,’ I said.

He didn’t answer. I waited. He wasn’t going to answer.

‘OK,’ I said, getting to my feet. ‘Goodbye, Guy.’

I turned to go. ‘Davo?’ he said.

‘Yes?’

‘Thank you. For what you said to Sauville.’

‘No problem.’ I considered trying to say more, but Guy was still looking away into the distance, his hunched back towards me. I was dismissed. I should leave.

Ingrid, Mel and I climbed into the taxi for the airport.

‘Thank God that’s over,’ Ingrid said as the car pulled out of the courtyard, through the electrically driven iron gates and on to the road down to the Corniche.

‘Yeah. And thank God Guy’s out of jail.’

‘That was all very convenient, wasn’t it?’ Ingrid said.