Marc glanced at Mathias. The godfather’s good looks were ancient, they had done good service, but they were still quite effective. How would Mathias’ regular features be able to compete with the older man’s faded but powerful beauty?
‘I think it’s time for bed,’ said Vandoosler. ‘Tomorrow morning, I’ll pay a visit on Monsieur Relivaux. After that St Luke and St Mark will take over.’
‘Mission logged,’ said Lucien. And smiled.
XIII
VANDOOSLER, CLIMBING ONTO A CHAIR, HAD PEERED OUT OF A skylight to see whether anyone was getting up next door. On the Western Front, as Lucien called it. What an oddball that one was. And yet he had apparently written some reputable books about the Great War. How could he get interested in all that stuff when there was plenty of excitement in the corner of one’s neighbour’s garden? Well, maybe it was the same kind of thing.
And perhaps he had better stop calling them St This and St That. It got on their nerves, which was understandable. They weren’t kids any more. Yes, but it amused him. In fact he got a real kick out of it. And so far in life, Vandoosler had never seriously considered giving up anything that gave him pleasure. So he would see how they got on with the here and now, the three time detectives. If you were into detection, what difference did it make whether you were researching the life of the hunter-gatherers, the Cistercian monks, the lads in the trenches, or Sophia Simeonidis? Anyway, for now he had to keep an eye on the Western Front, to see when Relivaux woke up. There wouldn’t be long to wait. He wasn’t the sort of person to sleep late in the morning. He was a determined and disciplined man, of a slightly annoying kind.
By nine-thirty, Vandoosler decided from the stirrings next door that Relivaux was ready. Ready to be called on by him, Armand Vandoosler. He went downstairs, greeted the evangelists who had already gathered in the common room and were sitting side by side eating their breakfast. Perhaps it was the contrast between their talk and their action that amused him. He went next door and rang the bell.
Pierre Relivaux did not welcome the intrusion. Vandoosler had foreseen as much, and had opted for the direct approach: retired policeman, concerned about the missing woman, a few questions, perhaps we would do better to talk inside. Pierre Relivaux replied as Vandoosler had expected, that it was his business, and nobody else’s.
‘That’s quite true,’ said Vandoosler, installing himself in the kitchen without being invited to do so, ‘but there’s a slight problem. The police may come and see you, because they will take the view that it is their business. I thought the advice of a retired policeman might be useful.’
As expected, Relivaux frowned. ‘The police? Why are they involved? My wife has a perfect right to go away, hasn’t she?’
‘Certainly she has. But there has been an awkward sequence of events. Do you remember the three workmen who came a couple of weeks ago to dig a trench in your garden?’
‘Yes, of course. Sophia said they were checking old electricity cables. I didn’t pay them much attention.’
‘That’s a pity,’ said Vandoosler. ‘Because they weren’t municipal employees at all, nor were they from Electricite de France, or anything else official. There are no cables running through your garden. The men were impostors.’
‘What on earth would anyone do a thing like that for?’ Relivaux protested. ‘What the hell is going on? And what does that have to do with the police, or with Sophia?’
‘That’s just it,’ said Vandoosler, appearing to be genuinely sympathetic. ‘Someone round here, a busybody, or at any rate someone who doesn’t seem to like you, has found out they weren’t genuine. I suppose he recognised one of the workmen and asked him. Anyway, he’s told the police. I know about it, because I still have a few contacts down at the station.’
Vandoosler told lies with fluency and enjoyment, and it put him completely at ease.
‘The police just laughed at him and didn’t follow it up,’ he went on. ‘But they stopped laughing when this same busybody nosed around some more and discovered that your wife had “gone missing without telling anyone”, as they are already saying in the neighbourhood. And furthermore that this mysterious trench was ordered by your own wife, who wanted it to go under that beech tree over there.’
Vandoosler pointed casually through the window to the tree.
‘Sophia did that?’ asked Relivaux.
‘She did. According to this witness anyway. So the police now know that your wife was worried about a tree that appeared from nowhere. Also that she had someone dig underneath it. And that since then she has disappeared. For the police, that looks like a lot to happen in a couple of weeks. You have to look at it from their point of view. They’re programmed to be suspicious of any little thing. So they’ll certainly be round to ask you a few questions, you can count on it.’
‘Who is this “witness”?’
‘The information was anonymous. People are cowards.’
‘And just what is your interest in all this? What if the police do come round to see me, what business is that of yours?’
Vandoosler was ready for this predictable question too. Relivaux was a conscientious, stiff kind of fellow, apparently without an ounce of originality. That was indeed why the former
‘Let’s say that if I were able to confirm your version of things, that would certainly calm their suspicions. They know me of old.’
‘Why would you want to help me? What do you want from me? Money?’
Vandoosler smiled as he shook his head. Obviously Relivaux was moderately stupid too.
‘Well,’ Relivaux went on, ‘it looks to me as if you people in that ramshackle disgrace you live in, forgive me if I’m mistaken, but you all seem to be…’
‘Hard up, ‘Vandoosler finished the sentence. ‘Quite right. I see you are better informed than you let on.’
‘I’m used to dealing with down-and-outs,’ said Relivaux. ‘It’s my job. Anyway, that’s what Sophia has told me. So what’s your motive?’
‘Let’s just say the police and I have had our little run-ins in the past. When they get a bee in their bonnet about you, it can go on and on. So I try when possible to help other people to avoid it. A small-scale revenge if you like. Anti-police protection service. And it keeps me busy. No charge.’
Vandoosler allowed Pierre to reflect on this specious and poorly argued motive. He seemed to swallow it.
‘What do you want to know?’ Relivaux asked.
‘What
‘Which is?’
‘Where has Sophia gone?’
Relivaux stood up, spread his arms wide in a gesture and turned round.
‘She’s gone away. She’ll be back. There’s nothing to get steamed up about.’
‘They will want to know precisely why you’re not getting steamed up about it.’
‘Because I haven’t put the kettle on. Because Sophia told me she was going away. She said something about meeting someone in Lyon, if you must know. It’s not the other side of the world.’
‘They might not believe you. Be more precise, Monsieur Relivaux. Your peace of mind could depend on it, and I believe you do care about that.’
‘It’s really of no particular interest. On Tuesday, Sophia got a postcard. She showed it to me. It just had a drawing of a star and a date to meet at a certain time in a hotel in Lyon. Take such and such a train tomorrow night. No signature. Instead of keeping calm, Sophia got into a state. She had got it into her head that the card was from an old boyfriend, a Greek called Stelios Kutsukis. Because of the star. I had a certain amount of trouble from him, on several occasions, before we got married. He was the mad-rhino kind of admirer.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
Oh, nothing. Anyway, one of Sophia’s admirers.’
