Graeme Burnet - The Disappearance of Adèle Bedeau

At lunch Manfred had the special, as he always did on Mondays. He was anxious to stick to his routine from now on. There would be no repeat of his erratic actions of the previous week — the second glass of wine, the changing of his order, his ridiculous comment about Adèle’s appearance. From now on he must avoid attracting attention to himself. He must not give people cause to think that he had been behaving oddly.

A new waitress was working the tables by the window. She was small and skinny and kept her short hair neatly secured in a clasp. She moved hurriedly between the tables and kitchen, and looked constantly as if she was about to drop the plates she was carrying or upset some glasses. Manfred did his best to avert his eyes from her.

Marie arrived at his table and took his order. She looked a little tired.

‘Terrible business,’ she said.

‘I’m sure it’ll turn out to be nothing,’ said Manfred.

Marie frowned. ‘That cop doesn’t seem to think so,’ she said. ‘Seems that someone saw Adèle with a man on a motorbike the night she disappeared.’

Manfred pursed his lips and nodded slowly. He didn’t know what to say. ‘Do they know who he is, this man?’ he said eventually.

‘That cop has been in here asking questions,’ she said. ‘He seemed to think it was significant.’

‘I daresay,’ said Manfred.

He ate his soup in silence, absentmindedly turning the pages of his newspaper. He shouldn’t have mentioned a boyfriend to Carolyn. It made it seem as if he had foreknowledge of the development, which of course he had. He should learn to keep his mouth shut. The atmosphere in the restaurant was subdued. Pasteur lurked behind his counter. Manfred wondered if he was surreptitiously watching him, keeping an eye on him to see if he was acting strangely. Gorski must have spoken to everyone at the restaurant. The thought made him uneasy.

Marie brought his Pôtée Marocaine . He had finished his wine, but he resisted the desire to order another, instead pouring himself a glass of water from the carafe on the table. The Pôtée Marocaine consisted of a pile of couscous, a merguez sausage, a chicken leg and piece of indeterminate meat, served with a dish of sharp sauce. Manfred saw Pasteur nod a greeting towards the door. He looked over his shoulder and saw that Gorski had come in. He walked over to the bar and shook hands with Pasteur over the counter. There seemed to be some kind of understanding between them. Marie hovered by the hatch as the two men engaged in a brief conversation. Gorski turned, Manfred thought, to leave, but instead threaded his way through the tables to where he was sitting. It was clear he had known that Manfred would be here.

He stood with his hands on the back of the chair opposite Manfred and smiled a humourless greeting.

‘Mind if I join you?’ he said.

Manfred spread his palm towards the empty chair to indicate that he did not object. He could hardly refuse. Gorski took off his raincoat and folded it across his lap as he took his seat. This suggested, to Manfred’s relief, that he did not intend to stay long, or at least that it was not his intention to order lunch. Manfred looked past Gorski’s shoulder towards the counter. Marie had disappeared into the kitchen and Pasteur was conspicuously polishing glasses, even though for the previous fifteen minutes or so he had been standing around doing next to nothing.

‘Don’t let me interrupt your lunch,’ Gorski said.

Manfred had laid down his cutlery. He disliked dining in company. Gorski made no pretence of being surprised to find Manfred here, that it was somehow serendipitous.

‘Something was puzzling me,’ he began, ‘I was hoping that you might be able to clear it up.’

Manfred nodded.

‘Something in connection with the disappearance of Adèle Bedeau.’

‘Yes?’ said Manfred.

‘It seems that on the night of her disappearance, Mlle Bedeau was seen riding through town on the back of a scooter with a young man.’

Manfred looked at his food.

‘It’s significant because this is the last time anyone saw her. It seems that she left the restaurant, met this young man and rode off with him. Obviously, it’s important to ascertain exactly what her movements were on that night.’

‘I understand,’ said Manfred. His lunch was getting cold.

‘Of course there’s nothing unusual about a girl meeting a young man, but one detail puzzles me. She was spotted riding past the restaurant coming from the direction of Rue de Mulhouse. It struck me as odd that if she was going to meet this young man, why did he not wait for her outside the restaurant? Why would she have walked some distance in the opposite direction, meet the fellow and then ride off in the direction from which she had just come?’

Manfred did not say anything. It did not appear that Gorski was inviting him to speculate on the matter.

‘Coupled with the fact that this young man, who is the last person to be seen with Mlle Bedeau, has not come forward, it suggests to me that there must have been some reason for keeping their liaison secret.’

‘I can assure you, Inspector,’ Manfred said, ‘that I do not own a scooter and do not even know how to ride one.’

Gorski gave a little snort through his nose, as if acknowledging the punchline of a weak joke.

‘That’s not at all what I’m getting at.’ He offered Manfred a thin smile. ‘I’m simply asking those people who were in the vicinity to cast their mind back to the night in question and think about whether they may have seen anything significant.’

‘I didn’t see anything,’ Manfred said a little too quickly.

Gorski raised a finger to silence him.

‘On the night in question, you were in here in the restaurant playing cards with Messrs Lemerre, Petit and Cloutier. At the end of the game, you left, at about half past ten, I believe.’

Manfred shrugged. ‘I couldn’t say exactly.’

Gorski ignored his comment. ‘Did you go home directly?’

‘Yes,’ said Manfred. He could see all too clearly where this was leading.

‘And your route home, took you along Rue de Mulhouse past the little park at the Protestant temple?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, I’m sure you can see what I’m going to ask you: Adèle left the restaurant only a few minutes after you and must have walked in the same direction to meet this young man. Just think carefully for a moment. Is it possible that you saw anyone, a young man, who might have been waiting for a rendezvous?’

Manfred took his time. He had known as soon as he had seen Gorski what his answer to such a question would be. He shook his head slowly. ‘No, I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I didn’t see anyone.’

Gorski pursed his lips and nodded thoughtfully.

‘I’m sorry I can’t be of more help,’ said Manfred. ‘Perhaps they met in a café or at the boy’s apartment.’

He assumed that the ordeal was over and Gorski would conclude proceedings with an apology for interrupting his lunch.

‘You know,’ he said, his tone suddenly more conversational, ‘I’ve been a policeman for twenty-three years. In my experience, when people say that they wish they could be of more help, they very often can be.’ He flashed Manfred his humourless smile. Manfred felt himself swallow. He told himself to hold Gorski’s gaze. After a few seconds, he looked down at his food. If he had nothing to hide, he would interpret Gorski’s remark as nothing more than a world-weary generalisation.

Gorski did not budge from his seat.

‘On the previous night,’ he continued, ignoring Manfred’s statement, ‘you were also here. You drank a bottle of wine at the counter and left around ten o’clock.’

‘I couldn’t say what time it was, but yes, that’s correct.’