‘Were you in here when the knifing occurred?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘What did you see?’
‘I didn’t see anything at all. I was down here in the crypt.’
‘What? Nothing at all? You didn’t go out in the square?’
‘More than my job’s worth, Sir. I stayed in here.’
‘And what about the congregation? Did they all stay?’
The security guard hesitated.
‘You’re not trying to tell me that with a near riot going on outside in the square, everybody simply stayed in here and kept on praying?’
‘No, Sir. Most of them went out.’
‘Most of them?’
‘Well. All of them.’
‘And you followed, of course?’
Silence.
Calque sighed. ‘Look here, Monsieur…’
‘Alberti.’
‘…Monsieur Alberti. I’m not criticising you. And I’m not here on behalf of your employers at the Town Council. What you say to me will not go any further.’
Alberti hesitated. Then he shrugged. ‘Okay. When the crypt emptied, I did go up for a short look-see. I stood right outside the church door so that no one could come past me, though. I thought it might be a matter for Security. I thought I ought to look.’
‘And you were right. It might very well have been a matter for Security. I would have done the same.’
Alberti didn’t seem convinced.
‘And when you came back. Still empty?’
Alberti blew out his cheeks.
Calque felt around in his pockets and offered him a cigarette.
‘We can’t smoke in here, Sir. It’s a church.’
Calque cast a jaundiced eye at the plumes of candle smoke rising towards the low-slung ceiling of the crypt. ‘Answer my question then. Was the crypt still empty when you came back inside?’
‘As good as. There was just one man here. Stretched out in front of the statue. Praying.’
‘One man, you say? And you definitely hadn’t seen him when you left?’
‘No, Sir. I’d missed him.’
‘Right. Macron. Hold this man here while I check out the statue.’
‘But you can’t, Sir. This is a religious festival. Nobody touches the statue until tomorrow.’
But Calque was already striding through the massed phalanx of penitents like Old Father Time with his scythe.
43
Calque stood outside the church, squinting into the late-afternoon sunshine. ‘I want six detectives. You can second them from Marseille.’
‘But that’ll take time, Sir.’
‘I don’t care how long it takes. Or how unpopular it makes us. They are to visit every chef de famille amongst these gypsies. Every caravan. Every lean-to, tent and cabanon. And I want them to ask these questions…’ He scribbled rapidly on a sheet of paper and handed it to Macron. ‘… these specific questions.’
Macron eyed the sheet. ‘What did you find, Sir?’
‘I found a hole in the base of the statue. And fresh shavings scattered in and amongst the knickknacks surrounding it. Also this piece of linen. See how it curls up when you let it hang free? Not surprising, really, seeing as it’s been shoved inside a statue for the past five hundred years and used as a stopper.’
Macron whistled through his teeth. ‘So Sabir finally found what he’s been looking for?’
‘And what the eye-man is looking for. Yes. Almost certainly.’
‘Won’t he get in touch with you, Sir?’ Macron couldn’t quite keep the sarcastic undertone out of his voice.
‘Of course he won’t. The man has no idea who he is really dealing with.’
‘And we do?’
‘We are beginning to. Yes.’
Macron started back towards the car.
‘Macron.’
‘Yes, Sir?’
‘You wanted to know what I was up to? Back at the Domaine de Seyeme? With the Countess?’
‘I did. Yes.’ Macron was uncomfortably aware that he was missing something again. Something his boss had managed to tease out and which he had misapprehended altogether.
‘Tell the pinheads back in Paris that I’ve got a little test for them. If they succeed at it, I’ll acknowledge that computers might be of some use after all. I’ll even agree to carry a mobile telephone whilst on duty.’
Macron widened his eyes. ‘And what test might that be, Sir?’
‘I want them to trace the Countess’s eldest adopted son. Bale. Or de Bale. Firstly, through the nuns at the orphanage – that should be easy enough. The boy was already twelve when he was adopted. Secondly, I want them to get me a full rundown of any career he might have had with the Foreign Legion, including a complete physical description, with particular attention paid to his eyes. And if they find that he did belong to the Legion, I want someone to go and talk personally to his commanding officer and ask him – no, tell him – that we want access to the man’s military records. As well as to his own personal summing-up.’
‘But, Sir…’
‘They are not to take no for an answer. This is a murder inquiry. I want no nonsense from the Legion about security and promises they may or may not make to their men on sign-up.’
‘You’ll be lucky, Sir. I know for a fact that they never share their records with anyone. I come from Marseille, remember – I grew up with stories of the Legion.’
‘Go on.’
‘Their HQ is at Aubagne, only fifteen kilometres from where my parents live. My second cousin even became a Legionnaire after he was let out of prison. He told me that they sometimes bend the rules and let French people join under a false nationality. They even change the men’s names when they join. They get a new Legion name by which they’re known throughout their tour of duty. Then, unless they are shot and become Francais par le sang verse – meaning French by virtue of spilled blood – or unless they take advantage of the right to become French citizens after three years’ service, their own names are buried forever. You’ll never find him. For all we know he might even have become French for a second time around, but under a new identity.’
‘I don’t believe it, Macron. Their own names are not lost forever. And certainly not to records. This is France. The Legion are like any other godforsaken bureaucracy. Up their own arses with paperwork.’
‘As you say, Sir.’
‘Look, Macron. I know you don’t agree with some of my methods. Or some of my decisions. That’s inevitable. It’s what hierarchies are for. But you’re a lieutenant and I’m a captain. That makes whether you agree or disagree with me irrelevant. We need to find Sabir and the two gypsies. Nothing else counts. If we don’t, the eye-man will kill them. It’s as simple – and as fundamental – as that.’
44
