‘A four-wheel drive rammed the Peugeot near here,’ Hougardy said as he slowed down.
‘Did you find the vehicle?’
‘Never. Although if it had bars at the front, it might not have sustained a lot of damage, and if it had been used off the road, as many are of course, then it would not have been distinguishable, not around here anyway.’
‘Make, model?’ Larry asked.
‘We believe it to be a Toyota, but that’s supposition. We found a trace of paint on the Peugeot. Forensics ran it through a spectrometer, conducted solvent tests, came up with a Toyota green. Unless someone had resprayed the vehicle, we believe it to be a Toyota Land Cruiser, 1985 to 1992. There are a few around here and the borders are open.’
‘The photos?’
‘We’ve one witness to someone buying food in a supermarket not far from here. The man was English, no French, and not very pleasant. He became agitated that the person behind the counter didn’t understand what he was saying.’
‘Sounds like the English they get down in Spain,’ Emily said, having been embarrassed by her fellow English on holiday there, getting drunk, making fools of themselves. In her teens she had been there with a few friends, but they hadn’t enjoyed themselves, what with the local lotharios fancying their chances, and the English louts assuming that every English woman was there for their benefit.
‘Not the person we’ve got here. Big, muscled, not the sort of man to sit on a beach.’
‘We’ve got two people of interest. Any chance of meeting this person who was abused?’
‘Next stop.’
In the town square of Herzele, an attractive village not far from the murder scene, the three police officers entered the shop. Jules Hougardy spoke French most days of the week, but the shop owner, a woman in her sixties, small and neat, shook the hands of the two English police officers, especially Emily’s, and spoke in a language that neither Larry nor Emily could understand.
‘It’s Flemish,’ Hougardy said. ‘Most people speak both. In Brussels you’ll find the majority of conversations are in French, but outside of the big city, some prefer French, others Dutch, and some converse in Flemish. It pays to be trilingual if you want to be a police officer in Belgium.’
‘And you are?’ Emily said, noticing that Hougardy had no trouble talking to the woman.
‘I was brought up in a Flemish-speaking family, but regardless, at the station, we can speak in all the languages of our country. Not like the British, am I correct?’ Hougardy smiled.
‘Only English, and not even the Queen’s,’ Larry said, responding to the gibe.
Emily held two photos for the woman to look at. She studied them for a few minutes, putting on her glasses, before pointing at one of them, pulling a face to indicate non-verbally what she thought of him. She even gripped the tip of her nose and pulled at it. The definition of a stinker translated across countries and languages.
‘You know this man?’ Hougardy said.
‘We do. Please thank the lady for us,’ Larry said. ‘Would she be willing to testify that he came into her shop?’
‘She would. I’ve already asked her. We have another witness. Our people found him this morning. He nearly had an accident with the Toyota.’
‘Let’s go and see him,’ Emily said, as she shook the hand of the old lady, who in typical Belgian fashion grabbed hold of her and kissed her on both cheeks.
‘She likes you,’ Hougardy said. ‘She thinks you’re attractive and that you should find yourself a good Belgian man to settle down with, her son, for instance.’
‘Thank her for the offer, but I’m taken.’
Outside the small shop, where Emily was still feeling a little embarrassed by the woman’s exuberance, a man stood. He was a robust individual, ruddy complexion, extended belly. Larry liked the look of him. He was farming stock, his clothing indicative of that, as well as the tractor that stood not far away.
‘This is Monsieur Mathy. He is quite happy to converse in French.’
Emily tried out her French. Surprisingly, it wasn’t as bad as she had imagined, and Mathy grabbed both of Emily’s hands in his and shook them vigorously.
‘You’re a hit here,’ Larry said. ‘Maybe you should come back and marry the son.’
‘Maybe I will if there’s any more cheek.’
Emily showed Mathy the photo. He responded in French, Emily understanding what he said.
‘It’s confirmed. What else do we have today?’ Larry said to Hougardy.
‘A meal tonight with my team, a copy of our case files, in French originally, but we’ve translated most of them for you. And tomorrow I’ll drop you off at the station.’
Larry took the opportunity to phone Isaac on the way back into Brussels. No action would be taken until he and Emily were back in London. Two witnesses of the one person was not sufficient proof in itself. They still needed to find additional evidence, and they didn’t want the man to disappear.
Jules Hougardy drove past the police holding area where the Peugeot was stored on the way back. As he had said, the Peugeot did not reveal much in itself. It was severely dented at the front, the bodywork was peppered with holes where the bullets had pierced the metal, the windows were all broken apart from one side window, and inside there were still bloodstains.
‘The women?’ Emily said.
‘Locals, off the street. Both were addicts, neither was attractive. Sorry about the lack of detail, but there’s not much more to say about them. They had been picked up an hour earlier, heading out for the night to a house in the country. Samuels, now we know his
