“Close on midnight. People were coming out of the theaters and movies and crowding into the restaurants. Some of them were rather noisy.”
His brother at that time was already here at his switchboard.
“What did you do during the rest of the night?”
“At the corner of the Boulevard des Italiens, there’s a movie that stays open all night.”
“You’d been there before?”
Avoiding his brother’s eye, Olivier answered rather sheepishly: “Two or three times. After all, it costs no more than going into a cafe and you can stay there as long as you like. It’s nice and warm. Some people go there regularly to sleep.”
“When was it you decided to go to the movies?”
“As soon as I left Madame Fayet’s.”
Andre Lec?ur was tempted to intervene once again to say to the Inspector: “You see, these people who are down and out are not so utterly miserable after all. If they were, they’d never stick it out. They’ve got a world of their own, in odd corners of which they can take refuge and even amuse themselves.”
It was all so like Olivier! With a few notes in his pocket—and Heaven only knew how he was ever going to pay them back—with a few notes in his pocket, his trials were forgotten. He had only one thought: to give his boy a good Christmas. With that secured, he was ready to stand himself a little treat.
So while other families were gathered at table or knelt at Midnight Mass, Olivier went to the movies all by himself. It was the best he could do.
“When did you leave the movie?”
“A little before six.”
“What was the film?”
“C?urs Ardents. With a documentary on Eskimos.”
“How many times did you see the program?”
“Twice right through, except for the news, which was just coming on again when I left.”
Andre Lec?ur knew that all this was going to be verified, if only as a matter of routine. It wasn’t necessary, however. Diving into his pockets, Olivier produced the torn-off half of a movie ticket, then another ticket—a pink one. “Look at that. It’s the Metro ticket I had coming home.”
It bore the name of the station—Opera—together with the date and the time.
Olivier had been telling the truth. He couldn’t have been in Madame Fayet’s flat any time between five and six-thirty.
There was a little spark of triumph in his eye, mixed with a touch of disdain. He seemed to be saying to them all, including his brother Andre: “Because I’m poor and unlucky I come under suspicion. I know—that’s the way things are. I don’t blame you.”
And, funnily enough, it seemed as though all at once the room had grown colder. That was probably because, with Olivier Lec?ur cleared of suspicion, everyone’s thoughts reverted to the child. As though moved by one impulse, all eyes turned instinctively toward the huge plan on the wall.
Some time had elapsed since any of the lamps had lit up. Certainly it was a quiet morning. On any ordinary day there would be a street accident coming in every few minutes, particularly old women knocked down in the crowded thoroughfares of Montmartre and other overpopulated quarters.
Today the streets were almost empty—emptier than in August, when half Paris is away on holiday.
Half past eleven. For three and a half hours there’d been no sign of Francois Lec?ur.
“Hallo! Yes, Saillard speaking. Is that Janvier? You say you couldn’t find a tin anywhere? Except in her kitchen, of course. Now, look here, was it you who went through the old girl’s clothes? Oh, Gonesse had already done it. There should have been an old wallet in a pocket under her skirt. You’re sure there wasn’t anything of that sort? That’s what Gonesse told you, is it? What’s that about the concierge? She saw someone go up a little after nine last night. I know. I know who it was. There were people coming in and out the best part of the night? Of course. I’d like you to go back to the house in the Rue Vasco de Gama. See what you can find out about the comings and goings there, particularly on the third floor. Yes. I’ll still be here.”
He turned back to the boy’s father, who was now sitting humbly in his chair, looking as intimidated as a patient in a doctor’s waiting room.
“You understand why I asked that, don’t you? Does Francois often wake up in the course of the night?”
“He’s been known to get up in his sleep.”
“Does he walk about?”
“No. Generally he doesn’t even get right out of bed—just sits up and calls out. It’s always the same thing. He thinks the house is on fire. His eyes are open, but I don’t think he sees anything. Then, little by little, he calms down and with a deep sigh lies down again. The next day he doesn’t remember a thing.”
“Is he always asleep when you get back in the morning?”
“Not always. But if he isn’t, he always pretends to be so that I can wake him up as usual with a hug.”
“The people in the house were probably making more noise than usual last night. Who have you got in the next flat?”
“A Czech who works at Renault’s.
“Is he married?”
“I really don’t know. There are so many people in the house and they change so often we don’t know much about them. All I can tell you is that on Sundays other Czechs come there and they sing a lot of their own songs.”
“Janvier will tell us whether there was a party there last night. If there was, they may well have awakened the boy. Besides, children are apt to sleep more lightly when they’re excited about a present they’re expecting. If he got out of bed, he might easily have looked out of the window, in which case he might have seen you at Madame Fayet’s. He didn’t know she was his grandmother, did he?”
“No. He didn’t like her. He sometimes passed her in the street and he used to say she smelled like a squashed bug.”
The boy would probably know what he was talking about. A house like his was no doubt infested with vermin.
“He’d have been surprised to see you with her?”
“Certainly.”
“Did he know she lent money?”
“Everyone knew.”
“Would there be anybody working at the
“There’s always somebody there.”
The Inspector asked Andre to ring them up.
“See if anyone’s ever been round to ask for your brother.”
Olivier looked uncomfortable, but when his brother reached for the telephone directory, he gave him the number. Both he and the Inspector stared at Andre while he got through.
“It’s very important, Mademoiselle. It may even be a matter of life and death. Yes, please. See if you can find out. Ask everybody who’s in the building now. What? Yes, I know it’s Christmas Day. It’s Christmas Day here, too, but we have to carry on just the same.”
Between his teeth he muttered, “Silly little bitch!”
He could hear the linotypes clicking as he held the line, waiting for her answer.
“Yes. What? Three weeks ago. A young boy—”
Olivier went pale in the face. His eyes dropped, and during the rest of the conversation he stared obstinately at his hands.
“He didn’t telephone? Came round himself. At what time? On a Thursday, you say. What did he want? Asked if Olivier Lec?ur worked there? What? What was he told?”
Looking up, Olivier saw a flush spread over his brother’s face before he banged down the receiver.
“Francois went there one Thursday afternoon. He must have suspected something. They told him you hadn’t been working there for some time.”
There was no point in repeating what he had heard. What they’d said to the boy was: “We chucked the old fool out weeks ago.”
