The Three Evangelists

going past under umbrellas. As Marc had predicted, absolutely nothing happened. Two ladies went up the street one way, a man went the other. Then Juliette’s brother ventured out at about half-past two, under a large black umbrella. They certainly didn’t often see plump Georges. He worked on and off, when the publishers sent him to make a delivery in the provinces. He would be away a week then home for a few days. So you might meet him out for a walk or having a beer somewhere. He was a pleasant enough chap, with fair skin like his sister, but you didn’t get much out of him. He would pass the time of day, but didn’t get conversation. He never came to the restaurant. Marc had not dared to ask Juliette about him, but she did not seem over-proud of her overweight brother, still living with his sister when he was nearly forty. She didn’t talk about him much. It was rather as if she was protecting him. He was never seen in the company of a woman, so Lucien had hinted that he was perhaps Juliette’s lover. But that was absurd. The physical resemblance was plain to see, although she was the good- looking version, and he wasn’t. Disappointed, but bowing to the evidence, Lucien had changed tack and said he had seen Georges going into a special shop in the red-light district. Marc shrugged. Lucien liked making up stories, delicate or indelicate.

At about three o’clock, he saw Juliette come running in, protecting her head with a cardboard box, then Mathias, following her more slowly, made his way home. On Mondays, he often went to help Juliette get in the week’s supplies. He was dripping wet, but of course that didn’t bother him. Then another woman came past. Then another man a quarter of an hour later. Everyone was hurrying because of the rain. Mathias knocked at the door to ask for a pen. He hadn’t even dried his hair.

‘What are you doing there?’ he asked.

‘I’m on duty,’ Marc replied wearily. ‘The commissaire has told me to be the look-out. So I’m looking out.’

‘Ah. What for?’

‘That’s what I don’t know. Needless to say, nothing whatsoever has happened yet. They found two of Sophia’s hairs in the boot of the car that Lex borrowed.’

‘Ah. Not good.’

‘You said it. But the godfather just laughs. Oh look, here comes the postman.’

‘D’you want me to take over?’

‘No thanks. I’m getting used to it. I’m the only one here who’s not working. So it does me good to have a mission, even if it’s a pointless one.’

Mathias pocketed a pen, and Marc stayed at his post. Ladies went by with umbrellas. Schoolchildren started to come home. Alexandra went past with little Kyril. Without giving a glance at their house. And why should she?

Pierre Relivaux parked his car shortly before six. They must have given his car a going-over as well. He slammed the garden gate. Being interrogated by detectives does not improve anyone’s temper. He must have been alarmed that the business of his mistress in the 15th arrondissement would reach the ears of his superiors at the ministry. Nobody knew yet when the burial could take place of the pathetic remains of Sophia. The police were still holding on to them. But Marc did not expect Relivaux to collapse at the funeral. He looked concerned, but not devastated by his wife’s death. At any rate, if he was the murderer, he was certainly not play-acting, which was a strategy like any other, Marc supposed. At about six-thirty, Lucien came back. Goodbye peace and quiet. Then Vandoosler, soaked to the skin. Marc stretched his limbs, now stiff from sitting still. It reminded him of the time they had watched the police digging under the tree. Nobody mentioned the tree any more. And yet, it had all started with that. Marc couldn’t forget it. That tree.

Well, that was a waste of an afternoon. No excitement, not even any minor incident, or the slightest pigeon shit. Nothing.

Marc went downstairs to report to the godfather who was lighting a fire to dry himself by.

‘Nothing to report. I’ve got a crick in my neck from keeping watch for five hours. What about you? How is the questioning going?’

‘Leguennec is starting to clam up on me. We may be friends, but he’s got his pride. He doesn’t know which way to turn next, so he doesn’t want me to be an eyewitness. And because of my record, he only trusts me up to a point. And he’s further up in the hierarchy these days. He’s getting fed up at finding me under his feet all the time. He thinks I’m laughing at him. Especially since I did laugh when they found the hairs.’

‘And why was that, by the way?’

‘Tactics, my boy, tactics. Poor old Leguennec. He thought he was on to something and now he has half a dozen potential culprits, any of whom would fit the bill. I’m going to have to invite him round to play cards to get him to loosen up.’

‘Half a dozen? What do you mean? Were there some more candidates?’

‘Well, I pointed out to Leguennec that young Alexandra might have got off to a bad start, but that was no reason to risk putting his foot in it. Don’t forget that I’m trying to buy some time. That’s the whole point. So I suggested plenty of other plausible suspects. This afternoon, Relivaux, who is putting up a good defence, made a favourable impression on him. So I had to add my two pennyworth. Relivaux insists that he never went near his wife’s car. That he gave Alexandra the keys. I had to tell Leguennec that Relivaux had kept the spares at home. In fact, I brought them in for him. What do you think of that, eh?’

The fire had started to blaze up in the fireplace and Marc had always liked that brief moment when the flames jump up wildly, before the kindling collapses and ordinary burning takes over, which is captivating too, but for other reasons. Lucien arrived and warmed himself. It was June, but their hands still felt cold in the upper rooms at night. Except for Mathias, of course, who had just come in stripped to the waist to start cooking the supper. Mathias had a muscular but practically hairless torso.

‘Well, fantastic,’ said Marc suspiciously. ‘How did you get hold of the keys?’

Vandoosler sighed.

‘Oh. I get it. You broke in while he was away. You’re going to get us into big trouble.’

‘You pinched a hare the other day,’ replied Vandoosler. ‘Old habits die hard. I wanted to see inside his house. I had a good look round. Letters, receipts, keys. He’s a methodical fellow, Relivaux. Nothing compromising lying about.’

‘How did you find the keys?’

‘Easy. They were hidden behind the letter C of The Larousse Encyclopedia. The fact that he hid the keys doesn’t necessarily mean he’s guilty, though. He’s probably scared and it might have seemed simpler to say he didn’t have a spare.’

‘Why not just throw them away?’

‘In times of stress, it might be useful to have a car to which in theory you don’t have a key. As for his own car, it’s been given a thorough going over. Nothing to report.’

‘And the mistress?’

‘She didn’t stand up for long to Leguennec. St Luke was wrong about her. She’s not happy just to be Relivaux’s ladylove, she’s using him. He’s subsidising her and her real boyfriend, who doesn’t seem to mind pushing off when Relivaux turns up for the weekend. Not being the world’s most perceptive character, Relivaux doesn’t suspect a thing, according to the girl. Occasionally the two men have bumped into each other, but he thinks the boyfriend is her brother. According to her, he was happy with things as they stood, and I can’t see what she would have to gain by marrying him, since that would rob her of her freedom. And I can’t see what Relivaux would get out of it either. Sophia Simeonidis was a much more prestigious wife for him to show off in the social circles he aspired to. I did probe a bit harder though. I suggested that Elizabeth-that’s the girl-might be lying all along the line, and was really hoping to benefit from the advantages of hooking Relivaux, once he had got rid of his wife and inherited her money. She might have succeeded in marrying him, since she’s strung him along for six years, she’s quite pretty and a lot younger than he is.’

‘And the other suspects?’

‘Naturally, I lined up Sophia’s stepmother and her son. They have alibis for each other on the night of the Maisons-Alfort fire, but it’s entirely possible that one of them went there. It isn’t far from Dourdan. Nearer than Lyon, for sure.’

‘That still doesn’t give us half a dozen,’ objected Marc. ‘Who else have you suggested to Leguennec?’

‘Well, there’s St Luke, St Matthew and you. That will give him plenty to think about.’

Marc leapt up from his seat, while Lucien smiled. ‘For Christ’s sake! Are you crazy?’

‘Do you want to help Alexandra, yes or no?’