Enzo frowned his confusion. ‘Aren’t you taking me to see the juge d’instruction?’
She smiled. ‘Monsieur, I am the juge d’instruction.’ She allowed a moment for his surprise to sink in. ‘Is that so hard to believe?’
‘With all due respect, madame, there is a belief abroad that Frenchmen are inveterate chauvinists. And I have noticed myself at times a certain patronising attitude to women.’
‘Let me assure you, monsieur, it is a long time since anyone has patronised me.’ There was a steel in her tone that left Enzo in no doubt that this was probably true. She eyed him appraisingly, something almost mischievous in her smile. ‘You’re not what I was expecting.’
Enzo grinned. ‘Nor me you. Perhaps we should start again.’ He held out his hand. ‘I’m Enzo Macleod.’
She smiled and shook his hand warmly. ‘Monique Durand.’
They set off at a sedate pace through arches that formed a square around a rose garden, their voices whispering back at them from the timeless red brick.
‘You know why you’re here?’
‘To get my wrists slapped?’
She laughed. ‘I’m sure there are places in town where men pay to have women slap them around.’
‘But not here.’
‘Not here, monsieur.’
‘Just as well, or you’d have queues at the door.’
She turned towards him, her face creased by genuine amusement, and looked with curiosity into his eyes. ‘You have very unusual eyes, monsieur. Have you ever been told how disarming they are?’
‘Never by a judge.’
Her smile widened before slowly fading, and she turned away to draw and expel a deep breath that Enzo took to be something like a sigh of regret. They passed double doors leading to the Salle d’Audiences No. 1. ‘You know, I received an official complaint first thing this morning from the Police Scientifique at the STIC. Interference with a crime scene.’
‘It’s my speciality.’
‘Interference?’
He chuckled. ‘That, too.’
‘I have spoken with Gendarme Roussel. And I have looked at your credentials on the internet. Very impressive.’ She glanced at him. ‘But I simply can’t have someone without any official attachment to either the Gendarmerie Nationale or the IRCGN interfering with a police investigation. It’s just not acceptable. And I have also made that very clear to Gendarme Roussel.’
‘It wasn’t Roussel’s fault. I gatecrashed his investigation.’
She half-turned towards him and cocked a skeptical eyebrow. And almost as if he hadn’t spoken, said, ‘Which is why I am taking the highly unconventional step of inviting you to consult on this case, in an official capacity.’
His surprise drew him up short. He stopped, and she turned to face him. ‘Why?’
‘There are many reasons, monsieur, and I’m sure I am going to have to field some political brickbats. But you are clearly a man intent on solving Petty’s murder. I’m aware of what you achieved on the Gaillard case. So I’d rather have you working with us, than against us. And, of course, sharing resources.’
‘As well as the credit, if we find his killer. Preferable, no doubt, to my solving the case on my own and embarrassing the police yet again.’
She tipped her head to one side and regarded him carefully. ‘They told me you were someone who likes to speak his mind. It can get you in trouble, you know.’
‘Oh, I do. But diplomacy is not an attribute that has ever been associated with the Scots.’
‘Nor modesty, if you are anything to go by.’
Enzo laughed. ‘May I ask you something, Madame le Juge?’
‘Of course.’
‘Would you have dinner with me some night?’
She threw her head back and laughed out loud, her voice echoing around all the arches of the cloisters. He had taken her completely by surprise, but it was clearly not an unpleasant one. ‘And you accuse Frenchmen of being chauvinists?’
‘It’s not chauvinistic to find a woman attractive, is it? Or to ask her out dinner?’
She searched his “unusual” eyes, one brown, one blue, and saw the twinkle in them. ‘You know, I’m tempted to say yes. But I think my husband might have something to say about it.’
Roussel was waiting for him in the Place du Palais, nervously clutching his hat in his hand. His dark blue trousers had been freshly pressed, his black boots freshly polished. The sun slanted at an angle across the velvet stubble of his crew cut, and Enzo saw that there were silver hairs in amongst the black.
‘Well?’
Enzo strode past him towards the police vehicle that had brought them, and Roussel had to hurry to catch him up and fall in step. ‘She’s officially invited me to consult on the case.’
Roussel stopped dead. ‘You’re kidding!’
Enzo turned and looked at him speculatively. ‘Like you didn’t know.’
Roussel shrugged. ‘Well…not for sure.’
‘Like you didn’t suggest it.’
‘Not in so many words.’
Enzo shook his head. ‘“We don’t need your help. We have all the expertise we require within the service.” That’s what you told me, isn’t it?’
‘Saves me getting into trouble with the STIC, or anyone else, when you come nosing around the investigation.’
‘So what do I get? A badge and a gun?’
‘You get a lift back to Gaillac. If you’re civil.’
‘And if I’m not?’
‘You can take the train.’
III
Enzo hadn’t noticed before the family photographs stuck up on the wall behind Roussel’s desk. A little boy, aged two or three, playing on a tricycle. A young woman laughing at the camera. Plump, with an attractive smile. There was a child’s drawing of a motor car made with coloured crayons. Pinned to the wall above the filing cabinet was a violet and white striped football supporter’s scarf, and a banner for TFC-Toulouse Football Club. So Roussel had interests beyond Lara Croft.
Enzo said, ‘Do you always have the shutters closed?’
‘I think better in the dark. Sunlight’s distracting. It just makes you want to be outside.’ Roussel took his missing person’s file from the filing cabinet and opened it carefully on his desk. He lifted up the sheaf of papers he had produced during Enzo’s first visit and handed it to him. ‘Serge Coste, aged thirty-four. Married. Childless. No longer missing. I guess I should be moving him into the Petty file. I broke the news to his wife just after first light.’
‘How did she take it?’
He shook his head. ‘Hard to say. She didn’t cry or anything, not while I was there. She just nodded and bit her lip. I almost got the sense that she was relieved. He hadn’t run off and left her after all. So, no loss of face. She asked me in and wanted to know the details. When I told her she seemed genuinely shocked. It’s not an easy thing to describe, what we saw last night. Especially to a loved one.’
Enzo cast an eye over the file. Coste had been the manager of a DIY store, one of a national chain, on the outskirts of town. He had no apparent connection with the wine industry. He was born in Gaillac, grew up and went to school in the town. He had failed his baccalaureat, but still managed to get a place in a technical college where he had honed his skills in bricolage and got a job as a sales assistant in the store he would later manage. He had
