‘Her tests,’ said Pringle.
‘Pardon?’
‘Her tests: the pathologist was a lady too.’
‘Indeed?’ Malou replied, as if it was of some consequence. ‘But, Monsieur Pringle,’ he continued, ‘suppose I had been alert in my sorrow, and had told you this yesterday, what difference would it have made?’
‘It would have changed the whole focus of our inquiries. It opens a new possibility, that Monsieur Lebeau’s death and that of Monsieur Hanno are linked. I’m not saying that it would have stopped us from ordering a nationwide recall of thousands of toothpaste tubes, but as it is, we’ve lost twenty-four hours when we’d have been doing things differently.’
‘In what way?’
‘For openers we’d have been interviewing your bandsmen in a different way. Now we’ll have to go back to the start with them and ask them a couple of new questions, the ones I’m going to put to you now.’
‘Go ahead.’
‘I will. Does your band have any enemies in Belgium that you know of?’
The colonel frowned. ‘No, but why should we? We harm nobody and we entertain many. I’m honest enough to admit that there may be some who think we are a bit of a joke, and that we’re, how do you say it, an anana . . . anach . . .’
‘Anachronism?’
‘That’s the word. But no, on the whole the Bastogne Drummers are popular. I won’t say we’re an institution, but people like us. I suppose, though, we can never be certain.’ His sharp eyes seemed to lose focus for a moment. ‘There are crazy people in the world.’
‘I’m glad you accept that, at least. So can I ask you to think back and try to recall whether you’ve seen anything odd around the band in the last few weeks? For example, have you been aware of the same face, or faces, showing up in different places? Have you ever had the feeling that someone might have been watching you?’
‘People watch us all the time, sir. Believe it or not we have some fans in Belgium, people who like us and follow us when we play. So as leader, I see a lot of faces, and I am aware of them. However, I cannot say that I have seen anyone odd as you describe, or had the feeling that anyone who was watching us might wish us harm.’
‘That’s good,’ Pringle conceded, ‘but keep thinking about it, please, and if anything or anyone does occur to you, tell me at once.’
‘I’ll do that, but don’t put the rest of your life on hold waiting for me to remember something. When you get to my age you tend only to remember those things you’d rather forget.’
‘I’m getting to your age, Colonel,’ Pringle growled. ‘I know. Still, let me ask you something else. Was there a connection between Philippe Hanno and Bartholemy Lebeau outside the band? Were they close?’
‘Close?’
‘Were they good friends?’
‘I only know my bandsmen as bandsmen,’ Malou replied. ‘I don’t concern myself with their lives outside the Bastogne Drummers. I care that they turn up for practice, that they keep their instruments in tune and polished, and their uniforms clean and with creases, and that they march sharply and play well. That’s all I care about. As for Philippe and Barty being good friends, they were okay, they knew each other a long time, but I wouldn’t say they were brothers.’
‘What sort of men were they?’
‘Good men, never been in any trouble I know of.’
‘But could they, do you think? I’m trying to establish whether they might have been involved in something outside the Drummers that might have got them killed.’
‘Then you will have to try somewhere else, for I wouldn’t know any of that.’
‘How long have you known these men?’
‘They were in the band for fifteen years.’
‘What did they do outside?’
‘Barty had a small job as a concierge; Philippe did nothing. They were pensioners from the army, like me.’ He paused. ‘Actually we go back longer than fifteen years. When I was with the band of the First Guides Regiment . . . it’s very famous in Belgium, you know . . . they were with me, on my staff.’
‘So,’ said Pringle, ‘there is a connection beyond the band.’
‘But historic, Monsieur, and ancient history now.’
‘Maybe so, but it exists; and what’s more it ties into you as well.’
Malou gave something that was half snarl, half snort. ‘Hah,’ he exclaimed. ‘Are you suggesting that I might be next?’
‘I’m not suggesting anything, Colonel. However, I am telling you this: from now on, I want your men lodged at a single location, where we can offer you proper protection.’
‘
‘That’s not a consideration you need worry about. But it is necessary, and it is going to happen.’
51
Paula Viareggio looked old; that was the only way that Skinner could describe her. He had allowed Mario to break the news of Mawhinney’s death in private, and had only gone into her office with McIlhenney when he had called to them.
Her eyes were red with tears, as unexpected and incongruous on her as on a man, and her olive complexion had gone white; somehow the effect robbed her silver hair of its striking quality and made it look that of a woman in her fifties, not one twenty years younger. As he looked at her he saw the image of her redoubtable grandmother, Nana Viareggio: he saw her future.
‘I can’t believe this,’ she murmured hoarsely, sitting on the edge of her desk, and leaning on her cousin for support. ‘He was in my house last night. He ate with us, and he left to go home and then . . .’ She looked away and gripped Mario’s arm, hard.
‘We all ate with him the night before that,’ Skinner reminded her. ‘It’s as big a stunner to me, and to Sarah; I’ve just called to tell her.’
‘In that case, guys,’ said McIlhenney, the calmest person in the room, ‘since you were all involved with the deceased on a personal basis, it’s best that I put the questions that need asking. Strictly speaking Sammy Pye should do it, since you’ve put him in charge, boss, but he might just be a bit nervous interviewing you two.’
‘What do you think happened, Neil?’ Paula asked.
‘I don’t think anything,’ he replied. ‘It looks as if Inspector Mawhinney went down to the docks after he left you, found a length of heavy chain, tied it round his waist as a sinker, stuffed his pockets with stones to make sure, and jumped in. That’s what it looks like; but we have to establish his state of mind. So, how did he strike each of you? You first, sir.’
‘I only met the man twice, Neil, as you know,’ Skinner said. ‘The first time it was in official surroundings, so I hardly had a chance to consider him as a private individual. Even on Saturday, although I tried to make it a social night, I felt that he was a bit shy, a bit reserved. I won’t say he was humourless, just quiet. But on neither occasion did he make me think that he was considering walking the plank. That’s all I can tell you.’
‘Thanks. How about you, Paula? What did you think of him?’
She sniffed, then blew her nose on Mario’s handkerchief. ‘I thought he was just a lovely man, a very nice guy. He couldn’t have looked after us better in New York; he knew everything about the city and he went out of his way to make my visit interesting in the time he spent with both of us. He was a friend.’
‘Did he talk about his wife a lot?’
‘He never talked about her to me, and I didn’t like to ask him about her. Mario told me, of course, but I thought it was best left undisturbed.’
‘Last night,’ McIlhenney asked, ‘how much did he have to drink?’
‘He didn’t get pissed, Neil, if that’s what you think!’
