Flykiller

‘Lucie Trudel,’ sighed St-Cyr, deliberately pausing to relight that pipe of his and to drop the match into the stove. ‘Lucie, Albert. She wanted a bottle of the Chomel.’

‘Her father Was sick!’ yelped Albert. ‘She was co-old.’

‘You took her down into the cellars, to your nest.’

‘She was free-zing!’

Taking him by the hand, Ines gently squeezed his fingers and then knitted her own among them. ‘You’re so very kind, Albert,’ she softly confided. ‘One of the kindest men I’ve ever met. The inspectors mean no harm, so please don’t be afraid. Just try to remember what Mademoiselle Trudel said to you. They’ll want to know. It might be important.’

And why, please, are you taking such an active part in this investigation? wondered St-Cyr.

A little of the untouched marc spilled over the rim of Albert’s glass. ‘Don’t know anything. Can’t remember.’

Merde, one would have to go so carefully and be so very gentle with him, thought St-Cyr, but the presence of Henri-Claude and what had almost happened on the roof was still very much with the boy. ‘You reached up to the board for the key to the Hall des Sources, Albert. Lucie would have seen you do this.’

‘She was cry-ing. She was co-old. I hadn’t put the coffee on. Always I gets to make the …’ Oh-oh, I shouldn’t have said that, said Albert to himself, using the secret voice in his head. Henri-Claude was staring at him and so were Monsieur Jean-Guy and his father. ‘I … I found a clean rag for her and she wiped her eyes.’

Albert had gripped her fingers so tightly he was hurting her. Ines winced, but better to be hurt than to have him take his hand away.

‘You went outside to the Hall,’ continued St-Cyr. ‘You removed the padlock and chain, and opened the door. Could you see her tears then, in the torchlight? You must have had a torch.’

‘Tears?’ yelped Albert. ‘What tears? She had just dried her eyes. Do you think I don’t remember what I said?’

‘Albert, what the Chief Inspector wishes to know is did Lucie tell you anything that might be useful?’

‘Can’t say. Don’t know.’

‘You filled the bottle for her,’ tried St-Cyr.

‘She hugged it. She was free-zing. She said she’d love to have a bathe in it, but …’

‘But was too afraid to go to the etablissement thermal?’ he asked.

‘My nurse was drowned there. Now I don’t have my nurse any more. It hurts.’

‘What hurts?’ asked Ines.

‘My back, my shoulders, my spi-ine!’

‘Albert, did Lucie speak to anyone else that morning?’ asked the Chief Inspector, his voice too insistent, Ines felt.

‘Don’t know. Can’t say.’

‘Inspector …’ began the elder Deschambeault, only to be silenced by, ‘Must I remind you it’s Chief Inspector and that you will speak only when spoken to?’

‘Albert, you’d best tell him,’ said Ines. ‘If you don’t, I’m afraid the Chief Inspector will think I spoke to Lucie. I couldn’t have, of course, for I wasn’t here, hadn’t yet met you, but he’s a detective, and they are always suspicious.’

‘No one spoke to her.’

‘And the rats, Albert?’ asked Ines gently. ‘He’ll want to know who you think might have taken them.’

‘The owner of the knife.’

‘A woman?’ asked Ines.

‘What do you think?’

‘I … I don’t know,’ she blurted. Albert had released her hand and had turned to stare at her as if she had owned that knife, as if she’d taken the rats from his shed without even having paid for them! ‘I … I didn’t kill her, Albert. I swear I didn’t.’

‘Your eyes are wet. You’re afraid. I can tell.’

Ah Sainte Mere, Sainte Mere! ‘I’m just worried about you.’

‘No you aren’t.’

‘Albert, please!’

‘Hermann, take these three into another room and grill them. Leave me to deal with these two! Mademoiselle, you arrive supposedly on the same train as my partner and me, but take a sleeper so as not to be disturbed at the Demarcation Line. You say you are bringing cigars for the Marechal, a gift from your director. You wear Shalimar, the perfume of the most recent victim, when found hanging about the lobby of the Hotel du Parc. You then wander into the Hall des Sources to view that victim and leave your fingerprints all over the place thus destroying others we desperately needed. In the Chante Clair restaurant I find you hanging about watching my partner while he’s having a little meeting with Bousquet, Menetrel and Premier Laval, and now … now we find you in the stable here and then following us to take a decided interest in the proceedings.’

‘I … I can’t explain coincidences. I had time on my hands and wished only to help.’

‘And have just provided one explanation but is it the truth? Your papers, mademoiselle. Papers, please.’

‘Of course. Albert, they are in my handbag. I’m sorry but you will have to move a little.’

Handed over, the papers were scrutinized. St-Cyr was obviously unhappy with himself for having demanded them as so many did these days. Her place of work and residence were there – he’d see those quickly enough. Her age, physical features, all such things, but would he ask what he would need?