The Three Evangelists

pretty far-fetched to me. Life’s too short, to nurse a grudge so long, you know what I mean? If everyone who’d ever been jilted plotted their revenge for years, we’d all be at each other’s throats, wouldn’t we?’

‘Well, you can go on thinking about someone for years, you know,’ said Vandoosler.

‘Killing someone right away, OK,’ Juliette was going on, without hearing him, ‘I know these things happen. A sudden rage. But getting murderous twenty years later, no, I can’t see it. But Sophia does seem to believe in some sort of delayed reaction. Perhaps Greeks are like that, I don’t know. But if I’m telling you all this, it’s because Sophia took it very seriously. I think she’s rather sorry she let her Greek go, and since Pierre’s turned out to be a bit of a disappointment, maybe this is her way of remembering Stelios. She said she was afraid, but actually I think she rather likes thinking about Stelios, the long-time lover.’

‘Pierre’s a disappointment?’ asked Mathias.

‘Yes,’ said Juliette. ‘Pierre takes no notice of anything any more, that is, he doesn’t take any notice of her. He just says yes and no, that’s all. He converses, as Sophia puts it, he reads the paper for hours on end, and doesn’t look up when she goes past. Apparently that’s how he is from first thing in the morning. I told her it was pretty normal, but she thinks it’s sad.’

Oh well,’ said Lucien, ‘if she’s decided to run off with her Greek, what’s that to us?’

‘Well, for a start, there’s the veal and mushrooms,’ insisted Juliette obstinately. ‘But anyway, I’d just like to know what’s happening. I’d feel better about it if I know.’

‘It’s not so much the lunch that bothers me,’ said Marc. ‘It’s the tree. I don’t know if we should just do nothing, when we have a wife who disappears without warning, a husband who doesn’t give a damn, and a tree popping up in the garden. What do you think, commissaire?’

Armand Vandoosler raised his finely wrought profile. He was looking like a policeman now. He had a concentrated expression which seemed to draw his eyes in under his eyebrows; his nose appeared somehow more commanding. Marc recognised the look. The godfather had such an expressive face that you could tell the kind of thoughts he was having. When he looked serious, it was the twins and their mother, lost somewhere in the world; when it was medium-serious, it was police business; when it was sharp, it was some woman he was trying to seduce. At least that was the simple reading. Sometimes they all got mixed up together and then it was more complicated.

‘I’m concerned, yes,’ said Vandoosler. ‘But I can’t do much on my own. From what I saw of him the other night, Pierre Relivaux isn’t going to bare his soul to the first disgraced policeman he meets. Certainly not. He’s the kind of man who will only respond to officialdom. Still, we do need to know.’

‘What?’ asked Marc.

‘Whether Sophia did give him a reason before going off, and if so what it was, and also whether there is anything under the tree.’

‘Oh, not that again!’ cried Lucien. ‘There’s nothing under the bloody tree. Just old clay pipes from the eighteenth century-or rather bits of them.’

‘There wasn’t anything under the tree,’ Vandoosler said carefully. ‘But what about now?’

Juliette was looking at them in puzzlement.

‘What’s all this about a tree?’ she asked.

‘A beech tree,’ said Marc impatiently, ‘close to the back wall in her garden. She asked us to dig under it.’

‘The beech tree?’ said Juliette. ‘But Pierre told me himself he’d had it planted to hide the wall.’

‘Well, well,’ said Vandoosler. ‘That’s not what he told Sophia.’

‘Why on earth would someone plant a tree in the middle of the night, without telling his wife? Getting her all worked up about nothing? That’s idiotically perverse,’ said Marc.

Vandoosler turned back to Juliette.

‘Did Sophia say anything else? About Pierre? Any hint that she had a rival?’

‘She doesn’t know,’ Juliette said. ‘Pierre is sometimes away a lot on Saturdays or Sundays. Getting a breath of fresh air, he says. That sounds suspiciously like an excuse. So, as anyone would, she has wondered about it. That’s one thing I don’t have to worry about, I must say. It may not seem much of one, but it’s a distinct plus.’

She laughed.

Mathias, still not moving, looked intently at her.

‘We need to know,’ announced Vandoosler. ‘I’ll try to fix a meeting with the husband, somehow get to see him. What about you, St Luke? Are you teaching tomorrow?’

‘His name is Lucien,’ muttered Marc.

‘It’s Saturday tomorrow,’ said Lucien. ‘A day off for saints, soldiers on leave, and some of the rest of the world.’

‘You and Marc, follow Pierre Relivaux. He’s both busy and prudent. If there is a mistress somewhere, he will have timetabled her in classic style: Saturdays and Sundays. Have you ever had to tail someone? Do you know what to do? No, of course you don’t. Apart from following clues through history, you’re good for nothing. But three historical detectives, who manage to work their way into the unfathomable past, ought to be able to stalk someone in the here and now. But perhaps you don’t like the here and now?’

Lucien pulled a face.

‘Think of Sophia,’ said Vandoosler. ‘Don’t you care what happens to her, is that it?’

‘Of course we do,’ said Marc.

‘OK then. St Luke and St Mark, you get on the trail of Pierre Relivaux all weekend. Don’t let him out of your sight for a minute. St Matthew will be working, so he can stay in Le Tonneau with Juliette and keep his ears open. You never know. As for the tree…’

‘What is there to do about that?’ asked Marc. ‘We’ve already played the card of being council workmen. But you don’t seriously think…’

‘Anything’s possible,’ said Vandoosler. ‘With the tree, we’ll have to tackle it head on. Leguennec will help. He’s tough.’

‘Who’s Leguennec?’ asked Juliette.

‘Man I play cards with,’ replied Vandoosler. ‘We invented this crazy game called “Whaling”. Great game. He knows a whole sector of the sea like the back of his hand, because he used to be a fisherman in his youth. A trawlerman, Irish Sea and so forth. Good guy.’

‘What’s the use of a card player who knows his way round the Irish Sea?’ asked Marc.

‘The card-playing fisherman joined the police.’

‘Like you, is he?’ asked Marc. A bit dodgy?’

‘Not at all. And to prove it, he’s still in the force. These days he’s inspecteur en chef of the 13th arrondissement. He was one of the few people who stood up for me when I was chucked out. But I can’t get in touch with him direct, that would put him in an awkward position. The name Vandoosler still raises hackles in the police. St Matthew will have to handle it.’

‘On what pretext?’ asked Mathias. ‘What am I supposed to say to this Leguennec? That a lady we know didn’t come home one day, and her husband doesn’t seem worried? Far as I know, grown-up people have a right to go where they want, for heaven’s sake, without the neighbours calling in the police.’

‘A pretext? Easy. It seems to me, now I think about it, that a couple of weeks ago, three men came and dug up the lady’s garden, claiming to be council workmen. They were impostors. There’s your pretext: it’ll do fine. You provide the other elements, and Leguennec will catch on. He’ll be round.’

Oh, thanks very much,’ said Lucien. ‘The commissaire encourages us to go dig up the tree, then the commissaire sets the police on to us. Terrific.’

‘Use your brains, St Luke. I’m setting Leguennec on to you, that’s different. Mathias doesn’t need to give the names of the diggers.’

‘Well, Leguennec will soon find them out, if he’s any good.’

‘I didn’t say he was good, I said he was tough. Yes, he will find out the names, because I’ll tell him myself, but only later. If necessary, that is. I’ll tell you when to call him, St Matthew. And for now, I think Juliette is tired.’

‘You’re right,’ she said, sitting up. ‘I’m going home. But do we really need to call in the police?’

Juliette looked at Vandoosler. His words seemed to have reassured her. So she looked at him and smiled.