‘Well, that would make it five years after “Elektra” and the attack,’ said Marc, ‘and four years after the murder of the two critics. So why, after all that time, should he come and live near Sophia. Why was he so keen to stick close to her?’
‘Obsession, I suppose,’ said Vandoosler. ‘He was obsessed. He wanted to be close to the star he had tried to beat up and rape. Return to the scene of his crime, call it what you like. He wanted to come back, to watch and wait for her. Ten years waiting, with his secret violent thoughts, then one day he would kill her. Or have another go, and then kill her. A maniac, under the guise of an unobtrusive nobody.’
‘Does that actually happen?’ asked Marc.
‘Oh yes, it happens, alright,’ said Vandoosler. ‘I’ve caught at least five guys of that type. The slow killer, who chews over his frustration, and puts off the moment, calm as can be on the surface.’
‘Excuse me,’ said Lucien, lifting Mathias’ huge arms.
Now he was shining the table with a soft cloth, and barely listening to the conversation. Marc thought that he really would never understand Lucien. They were all sitting there intensely, with the murderer only a few yards away, and all Lucien could think of was polishing his table. And yet without him, they would have got nowhere. It was practically all his own work, but he didn’t give a damn.
‘Now I understand something,’ said Mathias.
‘What?’
‘Nothing. Why I felt warm. I understand now.’
‘Well, what should we do next?’ Marc asked his godfather. ‘Tell Leguennec? If something else happens, and we haven’t told him, he’d have us for aiding and abetting.’
‘Yes, and concealing information from the agents of the law,’ said Vandoosler, with a sigh. ‘We’ll tell Leguennec, but not straightaway. There’s one little detail missing in this scenario that bothers me a bit. St Matthew, would you be so good as to ask Juliette to come over? Even if she’s cooking for tonight, ask her to come. It’s urgent. As for the rest of you,’ he said sternly, ‘not a word to anyone, do you understand. Not even to Alexandra. If a whisper of all this gets to Gosselin, I wouldn’t give much for your chances. So not a word until further notice.’
Vandoosler interrupted himself and grasped Lucien by the arm. Lucien was still polishing the table with wide sweeps, and stooping to the surface to take a view of how it was coming up.
‘Do you hear me, St Luke?’ said Vandoosler. ‘That means you too. Not a word. I hope you didn’t hint at any of this to your photographer?’
‘No, of course not,’ said Lucien. ‘I may be polishing the table, but I can hear what you’re saying.’
‘That’s just as well,’ said Vandoosler. ‘Sometimes you give the impression of being half-genius and half-idiot. It’s infuriating, take it from me.’
Mathias went off to change his clothes before going to fetch Juliette. Marc looked down at the table in silence. It was true that it was beautifully polished now. He ran his finger over it.
‘Feels good, huh?’ said Lucien.
Marc shook his head. He did not really want to talk about the table. He was wondering what Vandoosler had in store for Juliette, and how she would react. The godfather was good at breaking things, he had got it down to to a fine art. He always cracked nuts with his bare hands, never deigning to use a nutcracker. Even when they were fresh, which makes it harder. But that had nothing to do with this.
Mathias brought Juliette in and seemed to help her onto the bench. Juliette didn’t look at ease. It was the first time that the old
Vandoosler lit one of the shapeless cigarettes he always had loose in his pockets, no-one knew why.
‘Marc told you about Dourdan, did he?’ said Vandoosler, looking hard at Juliette. ‘The production of “Elektra” in 1978, in Toulouse, and the attack on Sophia?’
‘Yes,’ said Juliette. ‘He said that complicated things without making them any clearer.’
‘Well, now, they’re becoming a bit clearer. St Luke, pass me the photo.’
Muttering, Lucien fished about in his bag and gave him the photograph. Vandoosler placed it in front of Juliette.
‘Fourth on the left, fifth row down, recognise him?’
Marc stiffened. He would never have gone about it this way.
Juliette glanced at the photograph but without concentrating.
‘No,’ she said. ‘How am I supposed to recognise anyone? It’s an opera Sophia was in, isn’t it? I’ve never seen an opera in my life.’
‘It’s your little brother,’ said Vandoosler. ‘And you know that as well as we do.’
Bang goes the nut, thought Marc. Single-handed. He saw the tears come into Juliette’s eyes.
‘Alright,’ she said with a trembling voice, her hands shaking. ‘It’s Georges. But what about it? What’s wrong?’
‘There’s so much wrong with it that if I call Leguennec, he’ll have him down at the station in an hour. So tell us about it, Juliette. You know it will be better in the end. It might avoid people jumping to conclusions.’
Juliette wiped her eyes, took a deep breath, but said nothing. As he had in
‘There’s nothing wrong with it,’ said Juliette. ‘When I came to live in Paris, Georges followed me. He’s always followed me. I started doing cleaning jobs and he didn’t do anything. He wanted to work in the theatre. You might laugh now, but he was quite good-looking then, and he’d had a bit of success acting at school.’
‘Any success with the girls?’ asked Vandoosler.
‘Not much,’ said Juliette. ‘Well, he looked around and he got a few walk-on parts. He said you had to start that way. Anyway we didn’t have enough money for him to go to drama school. Once you are an extra, you get to know your way around. Georges managed quite well. He was an extra several times in operas where Sophia was the lead singer.’
‘Did he know Julien Moreaux, Simeonidis’ stepson?’
‘Yes, of course. In fact he used to hang around him, hoping he would get a bit of help. But in ‘78, Georges gave up the stage. He’d been at it for four years and it wasn’t going anywhere. He got discouraged. Through a friend in a theatre company, I can’t remember which one, he got a job as a courier for a firm of publishers. He stayed there, and now he travels for them. And that’s all.’
‘No, it’s not all,’ said Vandoosler. ‘Why did he come and live in rue Chasle? And don’t tell me that it was a fantastic coincidence, as I won’t believe you.’
‘If you think Georges had anything to do with the attack on Sophia,’ said Juliette, getting indignant, ‘you’re completely on the wrong track. It upset him and he was quite shaken, I remember very well. Georges is a timid, mild man. Back in the village, I had to push him to make him go and talk to girls.’
‘He was shaken? Why was he shaken?’
Juliette sighed, looking unhappy and hesitating to go on.
‘Tell me the rest before Leguennec gets it out of you,’ said Vandoosler gently. ‘You can give the police an edited version. Just tell me everything and we’ll sift it all afterwards.’
Juliette glanced at Mathias. ‘Alright’ she said. ‘Georges had fallen for Sophia. He didn’t tell me about it, but I wasn’t so stupid I couldn’t see it. It was just obvious. He would have turned down any walk-on part that was better paid, if it meant missing a chance to be in Sophia’s opera season. He was mad about her, absolutely mad. One night I got him to tell me about it.’
‘What about her?’ asked Marc.
‘Sophia? Oh she was happily married, and a million miles from suspecting that Georges worshipped her. And even if she had known, I don’t think she would have been attracted to him, he was so clumsy and awkward and unsure of himself. He didn’t have much success, no. I don’t know how he managed it, but women never noticed that he was quite good-looking in fact. He always walked about staring at the ground. In any case, Sophia was in love with Pierre and she still was, up to the time of her death, whatever she might say.’
‘So what did he do?’ asked Vandoosler.
