“Has he— done anything boorish around you?”
“Just to Sabine,” Audette said.
“But the caterer has seen them have arguments?” Elise asked.
“Yes,” Gini said. “He told me about one. Called it ‘down-right bonkers.’ Something about the placement of spoons.”
Conor, followed by Pascal and Merle, exited the bedroom and paused to collect Elise. Pascal spoke to Audette in French again. “If you think of anything about them, Sabine and Gabriel, that might help find him, and figure out what happened to her, please call me.” He handed her one of his police business cards. “My mobile is there on the back.”
At the bottom of the stairs, as the foursome was readying to split up and go to bed, Elise wondered how Pascal and Merle were getting back to town. Conor would have to make another trip. She opened her mouth to volunteer to go with him when Pascal’s mobile phone chirped.
“That was quick,” Merle said. “Is it from Audette?”
He squinted at it in the dark, the screen lighting up his face. “No. They’ve found your car, Conor.”
“And Gabriel?” Merle asked.
“Just the car. Parked at the rail station in Newport.” He clicked off his mobile. “Looks like he’s on the run.”
Chapter Six
The drive from Monmouth to Newport the next morning was a short one, less than forty-five minutes, although the motorway was slick in spots, slowing traffic. The Albion’s Range Rover was dependable and heavy. As they merged onto the southbound A449, Elise turned to Pascal and Merle in the back seat.
“I didn’t get a chance to tell you about my conversation with the chef last night,” she said. “And the maid.”
Pascal leaned forward against his seatbelt. “What about?”
“Sabine and Gabriel.” She looked at Conor who glanced at her, listening. “The two of them, the chef and maid, are cousins. They came over from France sometime over a year ago to work with a caterer who calls himself Louis Bordeaux. They don’t know his real name.”
“They suspect he uses a false one?” Pascal asked.
She nodded. “He lives in London, as do they. And guess who else? Sabine and Gabriel. They’ve lived in London for over a year, they say. Audette said they held several catered events last spring.”
“In London?” Conor asked.
“Yes.”
Pascal asked, “And the chef, she says she has been to their home, worked there?”
“Right but she didn’t remember their address.” Elise pulled the caterer’s card from her pocket. “Here’s the caterer’s number. He will know where they live, I imagine.”
“Gabriel must have gone back to London,” Merle speculated.
“Perhaps,” Pascal said.
To Conor Elise said, “Your mother hadn’t heard from Sabine for some time, right? A few years?”
“That’s right. I think she lived in Paris then, but I’m not sure.”
“Can we ask her?” Elise said. Conor said he would handle it.
“What else did they say?” Pascal asked Elise.
“That Sabine and Gabriel had many fights, shouting matches. The caterer has witnessed at least one, over something silly like spoons.”
“We have heard this,” Pascal said. “Their relationship must be very volatile.”
“Enough for him to kill her?” Merle asked. “I thought you said he seemed to care for her.”
“Well. I could be wrong about that. He did point the search away from her body, whether on purpose or not.”
“How long have they been together?” Merle asked.
“Do you know, Conor?” Elise asked.
“No idea. He was a new wrinkle when they showed up.”
They tested various theories about Gabriel and Sabine for the remainder of the drive to Newport. Soon they were at the rail station in the middle of the city, trolling through the parking lot, looking for the navy blue Ford sedan. Conor asked if the police had impounded it but Pascal thought not.
Conor parked and got out to walk through the hire car section of the lot. In a moment he raised a hand and waved: he had found it. The others waited for nearly an hour as he spoke to the rental agency about the car inside the station. Finally he emerged and got back in the Rover.
“Well, that car is not for me anymore. I guess it’s part of the investigation into Sabine’s death. They’ve given me something else and a lot of grief about it.”
“Something powerful, I hope,” Pascal said, always ready for a fast car.
“I’m afraid not.” He turned to the back seat. “Who is ready to drive on the left?” He glanced at each of them in turn, smirking.
“Oh, it has to be Pascal,” Merle said. “Not me.”
“Nor me,” Elise said.
Pascal rolled his eyes. “Do I get this car then?”
Conor agreed to let Pascal drive the Range Rover and he and Elise left to find the new hire car. In a moment they were back, in the pale green Fiat that was a third of the size of the Rover. Pascal began to laugh, starting the engine of his new ride. He followed Conor out of the rail station and down into a shopping district for lunch.
As they drove back north later in the compact Fiat, Conor with his knees around the steering wheel, he told Elise what had happened on the first day, with his father.
“I don’t like to admit it,” he began, “but my parents have been helping me with my career, giving me money every year. They say it’s because I never finished uni and they saved all that money, but I think they just liked to have a stake in my future. Or so I like to think.”
“That was nice of them,” Elise said. “But now—?”
“My dad says they’re cutting me off. It’s fine actually. I make enough on the circuit, I don’t need their money.”
“What did you use the money for?”
“Travel mostly. It’s expensive to fly around the world with your caddy. Flights, hotels, meals, and all that.”
“I bet.” Elise frowned. She really had no idea how much money Conor made playing golf. He wasn’t in the top tier. The last time she checked he ranked under 200 in the world, which was great really, but not
