Flykiller полностью

‘Twice we heard someone on the stairs, Inspector. At first I thought it was Celine and that she must have stayed overnight at a friend’s to avoid being out during the curfew, but those steps faded away. Later the Secretaire did come, as Paul has said, and with the doctor.’

First visit: the identity card. Had Herr Kohler scribbled this? wondered Blanche, or had he written: Killer ducked into room before Camille’s lover and Petain’s eminence grise?

‘And today?’ he asked sharply.

‘Once. Before … before you and … the other one came here.’

Before our first visit to the hotel – did he write that? wondered Blanche.

‘How long have the two of you lived here in the hotel?’

‘Since the beginning’

‘Jobs?’

How brutal of him! ‘Translator, and croupier, though the casino is open only on weekends, with a consequent loss of promised wages which has, I am afraid, made my brother somewhat bitter.’

‘Blanche!’

‘Paul, we should be thankful for what is ours. Others have it far worse!’

Nom de Dieu, they were a pair. ‘Do you know Albert Grenier, the groundskeeper?’

‘Everyone knows Albert, Inspector,’ said Paul spitefully. ‘The fool makes a point of saying hello even when not wanted.’

‘To those who like him, and to those who don’t,’ confessed the sister. ‘Paul, you mustn’t think Albert stupid. He’s really very intelligent, just a little awkward perhaps, but in his own way he’s himself. That is more than one can say for a lot of the others in this town, Inspector.’

Again the sister realized she had said too much. ‘Who did the birds?’ Kohler asked, indicating the stuffed one.

‘I did,’ she quickly admitted. ‘I had such plans when a child, didn’t I, Paul? But as you can see, my talent was sadly lacking. Celine loved birds – live ones. They were free to fly, she used to say when thinking of Annette and building dreams for when the two of them would be together again. She wanted me to give her one of the tail feathers from each of those. Paul wanted her to take the birds and be done with my memory of them, but she wouldn’t do that and … and never brought the matter up again.’

‘A quail,’ muttered Herr Kohler, flipping back through his notebook. ‘A male hen harrier …’

‘A merlin, a peacock … Celine was going to try to write to her daughter using a tail feather from each. That way her words would appear as though they’d flown to Annette and every time the girl visited the zoo at the Jardin des Plantes, she’d think of her mother. Your coffee is getting cold, Inspector. Don’t you like it?’

‘Can’t you see you’ve prattled on so hard he’s been too busy?’

‘Paul, please. I want to help.’

‘Then why not tell him where Celine would have got the tail feathers! Go on, idiot. Can’t you see that’s what he’s fishing for and he’ll soon find out anyway?’

Ach! had the sister been trying to avoid doing so?

‘Herr Abetz, your ambassador in Paris, keeps a chateau nearby, Inspector,’ said Blanche. ‘Its … its custodian and former owner tends the birds he once collected.’

There, she said sadly to herself, now he’s writing that down too. A chateau, his expression grim at the thought of Herr Abetz being even remotely connected to the killings. In a way she felt sorry for Herr Kohler, sorry for herself and Paul too, of course.

A mist of fear and anxiety was in the detective’s eyes when he looked up at her to ask, ‘Just how the hell did Madame Dupuis get to visit our Otto’s birds?’

Paul should have kept quiet. ‘The parties,’ she said not daring to look at Herr Kohler. ‘The dances and nights of games and … and other things.’

‘And your brother and you, Mademoiselle Varollier? Did the two of you also attend these evenings out?’

These orgies, was this what Herr Kohler thought? To deny it would be foolish; to admit it, suicidal. Why did Paul have to force the issue? To get everything out in the open and over with in spite of what might happen to them? To get back at her, his sister, his twin?

‘Occasionally, Inspector, but … but not in some time. Wasn’t it well before Christmas when we were last there, Paul?’ she asked acidly. ‘My brother to deal the cards or tend the roulette wheel, myself to translate when necessary.’

Speaks Deutsch fluently – was this what Herr Kohler now scribbled? wondered Blanche, but when he looked across the table at her, it was to ask, ‘Who else was there?’

Had Paul wanted this to come out too? ‘Celine and … and others.’

‘Lucie Trudel? That is her portable gramophone on the bureau next to your brother’s chair, isn’t it? When was the last time you saw her? You first, Monsieur Varollier, then you, Mademoiselle Blanche.’

Ah Sainte Mere! Herr Kohler had led them into believing he hadn’t noticed the record on its turntable, hadn’t thought it important. He had laid a little souriciere for them.

A mousetrap.

*

The blood-and vomit-stained sock that had been crammed into Lucie Trudel’s mouth and then taken from it had been thrown behind her killer or killers and had landed under her bed.