‘You’ve been more indulgent towards murderers in the past,’ said Marc.
Vandoosler turned round sharply. ‘This one,’ he said, ‘will get no indulgence from me. This one is a bastard.’
‘You know that already?’
‘Oh yes. This one is a killer. A real killer, you understand? Good night everyone.’
XXIII
ON MONDAY, AT ABOUT MIDDAY, MARC HEARD A CAR DRAW UP AT THE gate. Dropping his pencil, he rushed to the window. Vandoosler was getting out of a taxi with Alexandra. The old man accompanied her to the garden house next door and came back humming to himself. So that was what he had been doing: he had gone to pick her up from the police station. Marc clenched his teeth. The subtle omnipotence of his godfather was beginning to infuriate him. A vein was throbbing in his temple. He couldn’t help these attacks of blind fury. The tectonic plates were shifting. How on earth did Mathias manage to remain so foursquare and laconic, even though nothing was working out for him either? Marc felt as if he was wasting away with exasperation. He had practically chewed his way through a pencil that morning spitting splinters of wood onto the paper. Perhaps he should try wearing sandals? No, that was ridiculous. Not only would he have cold feet, but he would lose the last shreds of originality he possessed, which lay in his sophisticated clothes. No, sandals were definitely out.
Marc tightened his silver belt and smoothed his tight black trousers. Alexandra hadn’t even come over to see them the night before.
But then why should she? Now that she had her own little house, she had her independence and freedom. She was the kind of girl who liked to feel free, and one had to watch out. Still, she had spent Sunday doing exactly what Vandoosler had told her to. She had gone to the park with Kyril. Mathias had seen them playing ball and had joined in for a while. The June sunshine was warm. The idea had not even occurred to Marc. Mathias knew how to perform quiet comforting acts which Marc would never have dreamed of, they were so simple. Marc had gone back to his study of village trade in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, though his enthusiasm for it had waned. The problem of the surplus of rural production was so treacherous that you had to lie flat on top of it, if you weren’t to plunge up to your waist in its quicksands. Bloody complicated. He might have done better to go and play ball; at least you can see what you’re throwing and what you’re catching. As for the godfather, he had spent the whole day perched on his chair, watching the neighbourhood from his skylight, the silly old bugger. Playing at being the watcher on high or the captain of the ship might make him look important to those who didn’t know him, but that kind of showing off was not going to impress Marc.
He heard Vandoosler climbing the stairs, but didn’t move, determined not to let his uncle have the satisfaction of hearing him asking for news. But Marc’s resolve weakened quickly, as it generally did over little things, and twenty minutes later, he was opening the attic door.
The godfather was standing on a chair, peering out through the skylight.
‘You look really stupid like that,’ said Marc. ‘What are you waiting for? Reactions? Pigeon shit? Moby Dick?’
‘I’m not doing anyone any harm that I can see,’ said Vandoosler, getting down from the chair. ‘Why are you so worked up?’
‘You’re making out you’re important, indispensable. You’re Mr Big. That’s what gets on my nerves.’
‘Yes, I agree, it’s annoying. But you’re used to it and it doesn’t usually bother you. Now, because I’m doing something for Lex, that rankles. You’re forgetting that if I am keeping my eye on her, it’s to avoid worse things happening for everyone. Do you want to be the one who does it? You don’t have the experience. And since you get worked up and don’t listen to anything I say, you’re unlikely to acquire it. In any case, you don’t have any pull with Leguennec. So if you want to help her, you’re going to have to put up with my interference. And you may even have to do what I tell you, because I can’t be everywhere at once. You and the other evangelists could be useful.’
‘What for?’
‘Wait, now is too soon.’
‘You’re waiting for the pigeon shit to start falling?’
‘Call it that if you like.’
‘Are you sure it will happen?’
‘Pretty sure. Alexandra played her cards well at the session this morning. Leguennec has been slowed down. But he’s got hold of something that’s not to her advantage. Do you want to know what it is, or don’t you care to be involved in what I’m up to?’
Marc sat down.
‘They examined Sophia’s car and in the boot they found two hairs. They are certainly Sophia’s.’
Vandoosler rubbed his hands together and chuckled.
‘And you think that’s funny?’ cried Marc, in despair.
‘Hold your horses, young Vandoosler, how many times do I have to tell you?’ He laughed again and poured himself a drink. ‘Do you want some?’
‘No thanks. But that’s serious, finding hairs. And you’re laughing. It’s disgusting. You’re cynical and sick. Unless… unless you think they won’t lead anywhere. After all, if it was Sophia’s car, it’s not surprising that they found some of her hairs inside.’
‘In the boot?’
‘Why not? They could come from a coat or something?’
‘Sophia Simeonidis wasn’t like you. She wouldn’t have chucked her coat in the boot. No, I was thinking of something else. Don’t worry. A police investigation doesn’t depend on one little clue. I have plenty up my sleeve. And if you would just take the trouble to settle down and stop worrying about my getting too friendly with Alexandra, and remember that I brought you up, and not as badly as all that, in spite of your dopey habits and my own, and if you would just give me a little credit, and keep your fists in your pockets, I have a small favour to ask of you.’
Marc thought for a moment. The business of the hair was really worrying him. The old man looked as if he knew more than he was saying. Anyway there was no point putting the question, he was not about to throw his uncle, read godfather, out of the house. And that, as Vandoosler would say himself, was the bottom line.
‘OK, go ahead,’ Marc sighed.
‘This afternoon, I have to go out. They are going to question Relivaux’s mistress and they’re seeing him again too. I’m going to hang around. And I need a watchman here for the pigeon shit, if it happens. You could replace me as look-out.’
‘What do I have to do?’
‘Just stay up here. Don’t go away, not even down to the shops. You never know. Stay at the window.’
‘But what am I supposed to be looking out for, for heaven’s sake?’
‘I don’t know. That’s why you have to be on the look-out. Even for something very ordinary. OK?’
‘OK. But I still don’t see where this is getting us. Anyway, if you do go out, bring back some bread and half a dozen eggs. Lucien is teaching until six. I was supposed to do the shopping.’
‘Is there anything there for lunch?’
‘There’s a bit of cold meat from the other day. Not very tempting. Shall we go to
‘It’s shut on Mondays. Anyway, I told you, we can’t leave the house unoccupied, remember?’
‘Not even to get something to eat?’
‘No. We’ll eat the cold meat. Then you can go back up to the window and wait. Please do
‘I’m going to be bored out of my skull,’ said Marc.
‘No, you won’t, you’ll see, there’s plenty to look at out there.’
From one-thirty on, Marc was grumpily at his post at the second-floor window. It was raining. There weren’t many people in their little street as a rule, and even fewer when it was raining. And it was hard to see who was
