Bellringer (20 page)

‘Sergeant Senghor and Corporal Bamba Duclos. Caroline motioned to me, and I went over to her first before leaving the bike with them. Inspectors, I have been given to understand that the girl was killed in the Chalet des Ânes. Is such a terrible thing possible?’

‘Who else was nearby?’ asked Hermann.

‘Or did I follow her inside that stable and kill her with a pitchfork, I who have the hands and strength that could have done the job far more easily? A child, the hesitant lover of Jennifer Hamilton?
Ah, mon Dieu,
you two seem so in the dark it frightens me. Caroline
needed
the comfort of another human being; Jennifer
offered
it, and what was that lonely, desperate girl of nineteen to have done when she found herself a friend just along the corridor from her own room and in a hotel where most had shunned her? Certainly one thing led to another, but for the first time in her short life, she thought she was being valued by another. She had found, if I must put it bluntly to you, that sense of worth which is so necessary.’

‘Was Jennifer Hamilton predatory when choosing her relationship with Caroline?’ demanded Louis.

Ah, bon,
Chief Inspector.
Bon!
thought Étienne, but I will not give you the benefit of the answer you appear to want. ‘That I could not say nor think.’

‘But when you met her on that last afternoon, Caroline was uncertain?’

‘Hesitant. Upset and very depressed, which caused me to believe she had lost her lover and was brokenhearted. I gave her what she asked for and said she needed most, which was God’s blessing, and then a little snack and the few things I had brought for her.’

‘The nettles, Louis.’

‘The Host wafers and that small bar of soap, Hermann. Beechnut oil.’

‘Alfalfa seeds,’ said Herr Kohler.

‘A seashell,’ said the
sûreté
.

‘I didn’t give her that, inspectors.’

‘But you knew of it,’ said Louis.

Ah, merde,
without so much as a hint, the two of them had worked together to lay a trap for him. ‘A creamy white to yellowish, oval seashell with coarse, short teeth along its aperture, but only because the girl had shown it to me.’

‘But did she show you anything else?’ asked Hermann.

‘Nothing, Inspector, nor did she tell me why she had shown me the seashell. I think perhaps that she had simply been feeling it for reassurance.’

Like the buds of that beechwood sprig, but fair enough, thought St-Cyr. ‘It was near the end of the day, Brother. Most of the other internees would have gone indoors. A few were about but not too near?’

Ah, nom de Dieu,
how much did they really know? ‘All right, Becky Torrence was near. I. . . May God forgive me, I felt the girl might well have been following Caroline, for she stood some distance from us among the trees on the other side of the clearing where they used to walk the donkeys.’

‘Was Caroline aware of her?’ asked Louis.

‘I don’t think so. Her back was to her.’

‘Anyone else?’ asked Hermann, not taking his gaze from this healer for a moment.

It would have to be chanced. ‘Is it that you want me, Herr Hauptmann
und
Detektivinspektor, to name anyone, or am I to tell you how it really was?’

‘Don’t get too cocky.’

‘
Zut,
why would I? Nora Arnarson was some distance away and homeward bound from one of her forages.’

‘Trapping rabbits, Brother?’ demanded Louis.

Brother Étienne’s fists were again instinctively doubled.

‘
Ah, mon Dieu, mon Dieu,
so what if she traps a few of them in a place like this? Look, I know it’s illegal and that there are either three years forced labour if caught, or prison, but here. . . Surely you would overlook such a thing?’

Or would they? They gave no hint.

‘Did Mademoiselle Arnarson wave, pause, or start towards you and Caroline Lacy?’ asked Kohler.

‘Nora was cold and, seeing that I was occupied and late, pressed on.’

‘Nora, Louis. He knows her well enough.’

To have used the informal. ‘Must suspicion run constantly in your veins, Inspector? Nora looks after Angèle when I bring her, as I have today. She will have stabled her, rubbed her down, talked to her, thrown the buffalo robe my great-great Uncle Marcel brought home from the Western Plains of Canada and the United States of America over her, and forked out a plentiful supply of hay.’

And able to use a pitchfork—was that it? ‘Where, Brother?’

Ah, cher Jésus,
these two! ‘The former riding stables.’

‘Behind the former polo and jumping grounds, now the soccer field when weather permits, Hermann, and not all that far from our lodgings. Near to the fencing pavilions and the
tir aux pigeons
.’

The clay-pigeon shoot, but was St-Cyr, having been in Vittel recovering from wounds prior to when the American wounded started to arrive in 1917, the more dangerous of the two since he was still able to remember the locations? ‘Colonel Kessler, the former Kommandant, liked to ride and kept two geldings there and a plentiful supply of hay. On the days that Angèle was with me, he felt a little comfort should be allowed. Today is fortunately no different. Mademoiselle Arnarson will be looking after her.’ But could Nora really handle St-Cyr or Kohler if either should go after her? wondered Étienne. Would it be possible to get a warning to her? ‘Now, may I leave, inspectors, and go on my rounds since I have nearly a thousand to deal with in this hotel alone?’

‘Aren’t there four French doctors in the hospital and one Scot?’ asked Hermann.

‘And do such ever really listen to their patients, Herr Hauptmann
und
Detektivinspektor? I do, and therein lies the rapport I have with each.’

Reluctantly Kohler stepped aside, the brother hoisting the heavy, iron-bound wooden medicine box of his surgery on to a shoulder and even closing the door after himself.

‘An ammo box, Louis, stamped with the First American Army.’

And another leftover from that other war. ‘He knows of Mrs. Parker’s supposed fountain pens, having encountered them here as a teenager.’

‘And probably knows of a hell of a lot of other things, having lived in the area all his life. Isn’t a homosexual and never has been,’ said Hermann, still not happy about having let him go.

‘Yet is somehow able to use that cologne, the herbs, sour milk, and cow shit that cling to this cloak of his to suggest otherwise, but does Brother Étienne have more than an idea of what must have happened to Madame de Vernon’s husband? Knowing of the casino fire here in 1920, he was taken aback by my mention of the husband’s probably having gambled her money away, but refused to tell us what had troubled him.’

‘It smells about as strongly as he does, Louis, since he just happened to mention that Madame de Vernon played the piano in Paris for a ballet studio. Did he learn that with his vows or just out of idle curiosity? And while we’re on him, is it that he came here today just to have a look at us and find out how far we’d got?’

‘Perhaps, but for now let’s consider this. Caroline Lacy wanted Madame Chevreul to ask Cérès what had really happened to Madame de Vernon’s husband. The girl had borrowed a photo of her governess’s former villa from that one’s locked suitcase and was terrified the woman would discover it was missing before it was returned.’

‘But Madame de Vernon didn’t lose that little perfume presentation box and bottle.’

‘Madame Chevreul did?’

‘And claimed she slept like a baby after every séance and was so emotionally exhausted she dropped right off,’ said Hermann.

Yet suffered from insomnia. ‘Was it stolen by our kleptomaniac?’

‘No doubt, but according to Madame Chevreul not by Caroline or Jennifer, who held hands through seven preliminary interviews, each needing reassurance from the other and having had no access to her bedroom, they being interviewed in the next room which was kept locked and still is, but supposedly has an entrance off the corridor. Frankly, I didn’t believe her. Why not interview them in her reception room, given that I had to walk right through it to get to her?’

‘A sleight of hand then, better even than that of Houdini?’ asked Louis.

‘Certainly as fast as Madame Chevreul’s cigarettes disappeared without her noticing the extra ones I took.’

‘
Bon!
And on the evening of Mary-Lynn’s death, they were alone in Room 3–54 when an enraged Madame de Vernon came to get Caroline and had the door slammed in her face.’

‘By Caroline, who was in tears, Louis, and very upset.’

‘Enough for Madame de Vernon to claim that the couple had broken up, and for Brother Étienne to now echo it, but did things go far beyond that?’

‘A wad of chewing gum. . . ’

‘A substance Madame de Vernon claims she has no taste for, Hermann.’

‘Becky Torrence knowing that woman couldn’t have been asleep, since neither was she, the others having gone off to play poker.’

‘Nora Arnarson publicly deriding Madame Chevreul’s success, both at the séance and later when the two dropped in to tell the poker players. She and Mary-Lynn argued vehemently, the one then running ahead and up the stairs in tears.’

‘Only to be shoved by Madame de Vernon, who was really after Caroline to put a stop to her enquiries?’

‘It’s possible, Hermann, but then. . .
Ah, mais alors, alors
. . . ’

‘Louis, if that woman’s bed was empty, Becky Torrence must have known of it, hence her nervousness when I first encountered her.’

‘And then her interest in Caroline’s whereabouts late last Friday afternoon, if the brother was telling us the truth?
If,
Hermann, but why wasn’t Jennifer Hamilton with Caroline, if for no other reason than reassurance, since that girl, if still a lover as Jennifer has claimed, would have confided in her?’

‘Women, girls. . . Caroline
was
wanting to tell the new Kommandant that Mary-Lynn’s death hadn’t been an accident and that she’d seen her being pushed.’

‘But was convinced, Hermann, that she herself had been the intended victim.’

‘Jennifer must have known who Caroline was to have met in the Chalet des Ânes. I’ll look forward to seeing her.’

‘But you already have? The girl said so.’

‘A soup-and-bread carrier?’

‘With a childhood scar on her chin.’

‘She’s one of Weber’s informants. I’m certain of it.’

‘Then chase after our healer. If my guess is right, he’ll either be in Room 3–38 or Room 3–54. I think I’ll take a walk and have a word with that horse of his. Nora Arnarson tried to lie to this chief inspector, and the others in that room of hers, knowing that she was, went right along with it to shield her. Instinctively the female herd closes round to defend the threatened.

‘There’s another thing, Hermann. Brother Étienne is also treating Jennifer Hamilton. The girl’s a tidier with her own things, but did she lay out and tidy Mary-Lynn Allan’s last effects, or did some, as yet unknown, fanatic tidier have access to that room and reason beyond that of the others?’

‘What’s he treating her for, an irrepressible desire to steal little things?’

‘Find out.’

‘Two flat tires, Louis. Each causing him to arrive late, but hours before Mary-Lynn’s killing, the second too damned close to Caroline’s.’

‘
Bien sûr,
it’s a puzzle, especially since a man like that can’t be suffering from memory loss and wouldn’t have forgotten that he had already used such an excuse.’

‘Have you had breakfast?’

‘Not yet.’

The riding stables had the look of the long-abandoned, the stock having been requisitioned by the Wehrmacht and used for transport to the Russian front or sent to farms in the Reich. Apart from one stall, halfway along the central aisle and chosen for its maximum shelter, there was no other sound save that of the mare moving about as she enjoyed the hay the girl had thrown down from the loft above.

Of Nora Arnarson there was no sign, but was she watching him? wondered St-Cyr. Patting the mare’s neck, he ran a hand over the robe of the brother’s ancestor. Was it a tidy arrangement, the mare being used on those days the
petrolette
wasn’t?

Beneath the fur there was a moth-eaten backing of wine-coloured, faded velvet. The seam had been torn open long ago—an arm could be slid well in-between the two, though by now anything that had been left would have been removed.

The loft was empty but for the remains of the winter’s hay and a wooden-tined pitchfork that leaned against a nearby wall. Had she gone off on one of her traverses? Had she sensed she might be followed here and taken precautions?

Out across the open expanse of the polo grounds there was no sign of her or of anyone else, nor across the former racecourse beyond it and right to the three-metre-high barbed wire of the perimeter. The golf course on the other side gave only winter, the Hôtel de l’Ermitage, that of luxury and temptation. It had to have been the source of the golf balls and wallpaper, but the road that led up to it from the Parc Thermal had not been plowed, and neither was there any sign of wheeled tracks or of chimney smoke.

Sacré nom de nom,
where was she?

As he started toward the Institute of Physical Education, the sound that came was that of the persistent: a thump, a pause, a thump, the three repeated with a constancy that puzzled until he found her in the first of the fencing pavilions, which was open on three sides and facing the polo grounds. Lacrosse stick in hand, the hard rubber ball was being flung against the inner wall only to bounce back, be caught and returned. She had even marked out the size of the goal net and could put that ball wherever she wanted. Sometimes she threw it so that it bounced on the floor first, just ahead of the goal; sometimes it hit the top-left corner or the lower right, but with a swiftness and surety that impressed. She never missed, always caught the rebound, worked ball and stick both before her and above her head as she sometimes ran in to turn and put it into a corner behind her imaginary goalkeeper.

The three-quarter-length brown anorak had its hood thrown back. The dark-brown toque fitted snugly.

‘Inspector. . . ’