Skeleton Dance

scratches. Now, apparently tired out by the effort, it stopped, looking up at Joly, who absently reached down to continue its scratching for it.

'What do you think,” he said after half-a-minute or so of this obviously mutually agreeable activity, “of the following as a working hypothesis? Assume first that Carpenter was correct in his suspicion that Beaupierre was behind the fraud. He confronts him with it. Beaupierre, terrified at the prospect of exposure, murders him—or rather pays or otherwise convinces the willing Bousquet to do it and to help him with the concealment of the body. The deceptive flight of the airplane is arranged through parties unknown at present. And Bousquet, very likely with some financial assistance from Beaupierre, takes himself far, far away and settles in Corsica to make himself a new life.'

Gideon noticed that Julie, who had laughed at the notion of Beaupierre as a murderer the previous afternoon, wasn't laughing now.

Neither was he. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “that could explain why he had the nerve to call the institute for a job reference a few months later. He knew Jacques wasn't about to turn him down. But of course Jacques wasn't in and it was Montfort he wound up talking to.'

Joly inclined his head. “Yes, that might be so. Now . . . where was I?'

'He settles in Corsica,” Julie said.

'Yes, thank you, he settles in Corsica and the incident fades away. Three years pass, we arrive at the present. Carpenter's murder comes to light.” Joly continued scratching rhythmically away at the dog while he spoke. “Beaupierre becomes anxious, he becomes conscience-stricken, the urge to confess seizes him, as his telephone calls to you suggest. And Bousquet, understandably fearing that he is about to give everything away, silences him in the most direct and certain way possible.” He looked down at the dog. “So, what do you think of my theory, chien? Does it strike you as an idea worth pursuing?” The dog gazed back up at him with rheumy eyes. “Yes, I believe you do,” Joly said.

'Well, I'm not so sure I agree with him,” Gideon said. “I can see where you're coming from, but how could Bousquet possibly know whether or not Jacques was getting faint-hearted? In fact, how could he know so quickly that we'd ID'd Carpenter? It just happened yesterday. And nobody else knew about it until you told them this morning at, what—ten o'clock? And by two, maybe by one, Jacques was already dead. Pretty fast work for someone who hasn't been in the neighborhood for three years.'

Joly brushed this aside. “We've had telephones in France for some time now, you know. Someone could easily have been in touch with him, perhaps Beaupierre himself.'

'What for? To inform him he was getting cold feet and was about to go and confess everything?'

'Now wait a minute, Gideon,” Julie said, “that's not as ridiculous as it sounds. I didn't know Jacques very well, but, yes, he struck me as the kind of person who might very well have wanted to give Bousquet a chance to confess on his own before implicating him.'

Gideon nodded. “Okay, I'll give you that much but—sorry to be the one who's always saying it—aren't we making a lot of assumptions here? All we know for sure is that Jacques is dead.'

'No,” Joly said, “we know that he was murdered. And we have good reason for concluding it was Bousquet who did it. And we also know that Carpenter was murdered. And we know that someone went to considerable effort to keep you from examining his remains. And we know that at the time he was killed there was considerable bad feeling between him and Bousquet. And we know, or believe we know, that he suspected Beaupierre of having implemented the fraud that had caused him so much grief. That's a great deal to know. Well, you ingrate,” he said as the dog heaved itself up at its master's whistle and limped off without a backward glance.

He wiped his fingers on a napkin, carefully and one at a time, like someone polishing silverware, before picking up his glass again. “I'm sure you can see,” he said, having swallowed, “that all these things cannot possibly be unrelated.'

'You're sure I can see?” Gideon said, smiling. “What happened to “Non sunt multiplicanda?'

'I've concluded that I was wrong,” Joly said generously, “and you were right.'

'Interconnected monkey business triumphs again,” Julie said, producing a curious stare from Joly.

* * * *

'Oh, yes—you were right about something else too,” said the inspector as they walked across the square with him to his car. “Julie, do you remember suggesting the other day that the single tooth left behind in the St.-Cyprien morgue might be used for dental identification?'

'Sure, but we didn't know what dentist to contact because we didn't know Jean Bousquet's dentist, or even if he had a dentist—” She stopped. “Wait a minute . . . of course . . . it wasn't Bousquet, was it? It turned out to be Carpenter, and—'

'And Carpenter did have a dentist, and his dentist has positively identified the work as his own and the tooth as his patient's lower right first bicuspid. So we may say at last that the remains from the abri have been positively identified. They are Ely Carpenter's.'

'But we already knew that,” Julie said. “Gideon identified them yesterday.'

'But not positively.'

'Of course, positively. He said so.'

'I really appreciate that, honey,” Gideon said, unexpectedly touched, “but unfortunately judges and juries—and especially defense counsels—tend to be more skeptical than you are, and I'm not sure that a lecture on cowboy's thumb would've convinced them. A deposition from Carpenter's dentist will.'

'And you'll also be interested in this,” Joly said when they reached the Citroen. He reached into the ever- productive inside pocket of his suit coat and brought out a single sheet of paper. “It's a photocopy of his dental chart.'

Gideon scanned it. “What am I supposed to be looking for?'

With his pen Joly pointed to the upper right first molar, through which an X had been drawn—dental shorthand for a missing tooth. “The very first day you were here, in the abri, you predicted, from the