Old Bones

'It could, but the chances of your being wrong are nine-thousand-nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine out of ten thousand. Not a great bet. Anyway, do you really believe in coincidence? I don't mean abstractly; I mean as a factor in a murder case.'

John poured himself a little more beer from his bottle of Kronenbourg, sipped, and considered. “No,” he said. “I don't. I don't know any cops who do.'

'Okay, that's settled. Now all I have to do is convince Joly.'

The fresh pancakes had arrived; a cheese-filled galette for Gideon, and a sweet dessert crepe stuffed with cream and sugar for John.

'Why should Joly be hard to convince?” John asked after a test-bite that apparently met his standards. “The guy's peculiar, but he's not dumb.'

'Well, for one thing, there's the little matter of the SS paraphernalia that was buried in the cellar. For another thing...Well, I can't think of another thing, but Joly will.'

'The SS stuff.” John put down his fork. “I forgot all about it. How do you figure that, anyway? You think one of the du Rochers joined the SS? The Germans had Nazi police units made up of local nationals in the occupied countries, didn't they? And Guillaume was in the Resistance, right? Maybe he killed this guy because—'

'Uh-uh. You're talking about the Milice, I think. They had second-rate uniforms, nothing like the flashy German SS. Denis did some checking; this stuff was definitely bona-fide Allgemeine SS, straight from Berlin, and the rank insignia were Obersturmbannfuhrer. Helmut Kassel's rank.'

'So then what do you think...'

'I don't know what I think. At this point it'd be nothing but speculative inference anyway.'

John's hand went to his heart. “Speculative inference! Jesus, Doc, far be it from me to suggest that a man such as yourself would stoop to engage in speculative inference.'

'All right,” Gideon said, laughing, “maybe I've done it from time to time in certain rare circumstances, but in this case I just don't have any data to go on. But I don't care what else they find down there. Those bones belong to a du Rocher.'

John nodded slowly. “So the question is: Who?'

'Oh, I think I know who.'

John's eyebrows lifted.

'Alain du Rocher,” Gideon said.

* * * *

JOHN'S eyebrows remained suspended for some seconds. A forkload of crepe and creme Chantilly also paused inquiringly. “The guy the Nazis killed? The one Claude didn't warn?'

Gideon nodded.

'That's crazy.'

'John, it all fits. He was living right there in the manoir during the war, and those bones got buried down there right about the time he was killed. And it just happens to turn out that nobody seems to know where his body is.'

'Yeah, but—'

'And those bones look like du Rocher bones; the same proportions and conformations as Guillaume's, and some of the same features; I could see it in the X-rays. And remember when I said the bones made me think of Ray? It's a look that runs in the family.'

'What about Rene? He's built like a doorknob. So's Jules.'

'Well, sure. You can't expect everyone in a family to look alike, but where you can see it, it's distinctive.'

'Yeah, but I still don't see why it's got to be Alain. Why not somebody else in the family?'

'How many du Rochers do you think disappeared without a trace in 1942?'

The fork finally finished its journey and John chewed thoughtfully. “Okay, I agree with you: We're not talking proof here, but it makes a lot of sense. Hey, wait a minute. If Alain got killed by the Nazis, what's he doing in Guillaume's cellar?'

'Yeah, that's a slight problem.'

'I'd say it's gonna take some world-class speculative inference.'

They had finished eating and ordered espressos before either spoke again.

'Doc, you gonna tell all this to Joly?'

'Sure, not that I'm looking forward to it. I know he appreciates us, but I'm not sure how much he enjoys these new and startling developments every few hours.'

'Well, then, what would you say if I pass it along for you? I was thinking of dropping by Rochebonne this afternoon to sort of see how things are going anyhow. If you don't mind visiting those tombs by yourself.'

Gideon swallowed the tiny portion of coffee in two rich, bitter sips. “Tell you what: Why don't I ride over there with you? You can drop me off at Ploujean.'

'Ploujean? What's at Ploujean?'

'Joly said there's a plaque to the six men the Nazis executed.'

John studied him over the rim of his cup. “You're going to do some more burrowing into things on your own,