Graeme Burnet - The Disappearance of Adèle Bedeau

Gorski had met Céline in this very shop. He was twenty-five and had been a detective for only a few weeks. He had not yet got used to wearing a suit to work. His gendarme ’s uniform had bestowed authority. In plainclothes you had to identify yourself. People looked at him with disbelief — he was too fresh-faced to be a detective. He practised taking out his ID in front of the mirror in his tiny bathroom. He held it unfolded at his side, then raised it slowly to shoulder height, before saying, ‘Georges Gorski, Saint-Louis police.’ He did this over and over, but still felt like he was imitating cops in films.

Ribéry asked him to accompany him to a robbery at a ladies-wear shop on a side street next to the little park in front of the Protestant temple. It was only a few hundred metres from the police station, but Ribéry insisted on driving. He never walked anywhere. The citizenry, he maintained, expected to see a detective pull up in a car. The shop window showed a selection of corsetry and brassieres in beige and cream. Gorski had the impression that the display had not been changed in years. On the pavement Ribéry indicated with an outstretched arm that Gorski should enter first. ‘You take the lead,’ he said. A bell tinkled above the door. The wood of the jamb was splintered where the door had been forced. A woman in her mid-fifties was standing by the glass counter. She was wearing a tweed skirt, cream blouse and sensible brown shoes. Her hair was secured in a bun. The mascara around her eyes was smudged. Gorski fumbled for his ID in the inside pocket of his jacket and held it out.

‘Detective Gorski,’ he said, ‘and this is Inspector Ribéry.’

He looked over his shoulder. Ribéry was carrying out a close inspection of a display of undergarments. Gorski asked a few routine questions. The cash register had simply been lifted from the counter and, as it was Friday, it had contained the entire week’s takings. Nothing else had been stolen. Mme Bettine explained that her assistant had discovered the break-in. Céline appeared from the back shop. She was about twenty, dressed in a dark blue pencil skirt and a white blouse. She was tall and slender with no waist at all and small breasts. She had a tousled mane of chestnut hair. Gorski could see the outline of her brassiere through the sheer material of her blouse. She looked at Gorski with clear green eyes. She appeared perfectly composed.

‘I understand you discovered the break-in,’ he said.

‘I arrived at about quarter to nine. The door had been pushed in.’ Her tone was matter-of-fact.

Gorski nodded. ‘Have either of you noticed any suspicious activity in the last few days?’

The two women looked blankly at him.

‘Any suspicious characters loitering outside, a customer behaving oddly perhaps? The fact that the robbery occurred when the till was full suggests that the culprits may have known something about the routine of the shop.’

‘You think they might have been watching us?’ said Mme Bettine. She started to snivel into a tissue she was holding. The girl made no attempt to comfort her. Neither of them had seen anything.

Gorski nodded slowly. He explained that he would send round a fingerprint team that afternoon. In the meantime they should avoid touching any smooth surfaces.

‘Is that it?’ said Céline.

‘We’ll make enquiries in the neighbourhood. Perhaps someone heard the door being forced.’ He turned to Ribéry, who was fingering a satin nightdress. He might have been a customer looking for a gift for his wife.

‘Gypsies,’ he said without looking up. ‘It’ll be gypsies.’

Gorski ignored his comment.

‘I’ll let you know how the investigation progresses,’ he said. ‘In the meantime, can I suggest you take your takings to the bank on a daily basis from now on. Metal shutters also make an effective deterrent.’

‘Excellent work,’ said Ribéry on the pavement outside. ‘Most convincing. Not a chance of getting them, of course.’

Gorski spent the rest of the morning questioning residents in the vicinity of the shop. He could easily have requisitioned a couple of gendarmes to do this legwork for him, but he had not yet become accustomed to wielding his newfound authority over his colleagues, most of whom were older and more experienced than he was and tended to look askance when he asked them to do anything. His quest was as fruitless as Ribéry had anticipated. People looked blankly at him and shook their heads, before pushing their doors closed in his face. The amount stolen hardly merited this expenditure of time, but he could hardly report back to the shop without carrying out a rudimentary investigation. As he exited a building opposite the shop, he spotted Céline on the pavement smoking. She saw him and waved languidly. Gorski waved back, pleased that his efforts had not gone unnoticed. At one o’clock, he gave up and went to the Restaurant de la Cloche, where he knew Ribéry would be lunching. He joined him at his table.

‘Any luck?’ the inspector asked through a mouthful of food.

Gorski shook his head.

‘I admire your enthusiasm,’ said Ribéry, ‘but that door would have given way with one decent kick. Nobody would have heard a thing.’

He poured Gorski a glass of wine from his pichet . Nothing more was said about the break-in. Gorski could think of no other reasonable lines of enquiry. He could ask at local bars whether anyone had been spending more money than usual, but the sum in question was not large enough to raise any eyebrows. In any case, he had already learned that bar owners did not take kindly to being questioned about the activities of their patrons and tended to be tight-lipped. It was not good for business to be seen to be too cosy with the police. Ribéry ordered a second pichet and insisted on pouring Gorski another glass.

‘You’ve done more than enough work for today,’ he said, filling his own glass to the brim.

Gorski returned to the station and wrote up a report of his morning’s activities. The fingerprint team had not found anything usable. There had been plenty of prints on the glass counter, but they all belonged to the owner and her assistant. Before he returned to the shop, Gorski went to his apartment to change. It was a hot day and the light blue shirt he was wearing had large dark circles under the arms. He stripped to the waist and washed his armpits over the sink. Then he put on a clean white shirt and the same dark blue tie he had been wearing earlier.

It was five o’clock when he returned to the shop. A joiner was on his knees in the doorway, packing away his tools. Gorski had to step over him to get into the shop. Céline was leaning against the counter.

‘Hello again,’ she said.

‘Where’s Mme Bettine?’ he said.

‘I sent her home,’ said Céline. ‘I couldn’t stand her snivelling anymore.’

Gorski nodded. The girl’s comment struck him as needlessly spiteful.

‘I’m afraid there do not appear to be any witnesses.’

Céline shrugged. ‘The old bag’s insured.’

Gorski wondered if the girl was striking this attitude in an attempt to impress him, to try to appear older and more worldly than she was. The joiner stood up and indicated that he was done. Céline thanked him and closed the door behind him. She turned the sign on the door to closed.

‘You changed your shirt,’ she said. ‘The other one was better. You can’t wear a white shirt with a dark blue tie. You should only wear a white shirt with a black suit.’

Gorski was embarrassed that she had noticed he had changed.

‘Oh,’ he said, ‘I didn’t know that.’

‘That suit’s not up to much either. Maybe I should take you shopping sometime.’

Gorski could feel himself beginning to blush.