Darcy was in a foul mood. They had managed to trace Madame François, the former deputy matron at the Hospice de Lugny. She was married and living in Vienne and Darcy had shot down the motorway to talk to her, only to find she was not at home, nor even in the country, having gone on a visit to her son in Quebec in Canada.
Her husband, who worked for the railways, had not gone with her and, learning from him the date of her return, Darcy had gone back eagerly to find she had not turned up. Her husband said she had telephoned him to say she had decided to stay another week in Canada with her son. Without her, they seemed unable to find Madame Weill, the owner of the hospice, and Madame Weill seemed suddenly to have become one of the Chief’s Missing Persons.
In addition, Darcy had heard more rumours about himself and knew now that there was a definite suggestion floating about the Hôtel de Police that he’d been taking bribes. It was beginning to get on his nerves and he had picked on Debray over some trivial mistake and bawled him out. Debray was the youngest on the team and the look on his face made Darcy feel guilty, because he knew he had picked on him because of his own frustration and that reason alone.
It had relieved his feelings but it didn’t stop the rumours, and Darcy knew what happened when rumours floated to the surface. They had to be investigated and, while they were, the man involved was suspended from duty until there could be an enquiry. Darcy had a feeling that the business was coming close to a climax.
He knew the Chief had been sitting for some time on the decision whether to suspend him or not. The Chief was a loyal type, an honest bull-at-a-gate sort of man, and he didn’t want to suspend Darcy, but police work was always in the eye of the politicians and he had to do something, and rumours and the waiting were getting on Darcy’s nerves. Moreover, that morning, crossing the square at the Porte Guillaume, he had bumped into an old flame. Her name was Josephine-Héloise Aymé and she and Darcy had conducted a stormy love affair a few years before. He was about to greet her when she turned aside and walked past him, apparently without seeing him.
But he knew she had and it made him think. Even after they’d parted they had remained on good terms and she had always been willing to be friendly. He stood still, staring after the slim figure with its mass of red hair. He had a theory about what was happening. Nothing had appeared in the press about him personally, but he had no doubt the word had got around, because this had been the second incident in two days.
Troubled, Darcy thought it might be a good idea to take his mind off things by calling at the Hospice de Lugny again. As he approached, he spotted the woman they’d spoken to when they’d first arrived there. She was heading for the village, a plastic bag in her hand, an apron showing beneath her coat. He stopped his car alongside her.
‘Can I give you a lift, madame?’ he asked.
She clearly thought he had nefarious intentions towards her.
‘I don’t accept lifts from strange men,’ she said, hostile and haughty at the same time.
‘I’m not a strange man,’ Darcy said. ‘I’m a policeman.’ He flashed his identity card at her. ‘I met you at the hospice a few days ago, remember? I’m Inspector Darcy. You’re Madame–’
As he paused, she supplied the answer. ‘Brouchal.’
‘That’s it. Madame Brouchal. We talked.’
‘What do you want with me?’ She gestured with the plastic carrier bag. ‘What’s in here’s mine.’
‘What is in there?’
‘Food. And it doesn’t belong to the hospice. I do the cooking there and I sometimes take along my own ingredients and cook for myself and my family at the same time. But I buy it myself and just use their cooker. And why not? It doesn’t add anything to their bill because I have to use it for them anyway.’
Darcy didn’t believe her. What she carried would undoubtedly be for her family but he guessed the ingredients had come from the larder of the hospice. But he didn’t argue. He had better things to do than check for stolen food.
‘I was just about to visit the hospice when you happened along,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you can save me a lot of trouble and in return I can take you home.’
Unwillingly she admitted she had finally recognised him and climbed into the car.
‘Well,’ she admitted, ‘it’s a help because I’m late. I’ve been helping to lay the new carpet.’
‘What new carpet?’
‘In the television room. They said it was worn out. It didn’t seem worn out to me. I expect it was the red wine that was spilt.’
‘Red wine makes a mess,’ Darcy agreed.
‘He knocked over a tray of drinks.’
‘Who did?’
‘Him. The one who was found dead. They rang up Bertholle Carpets and ordered a new one. It came yesterday. They took the old one away. There were bits of glass in it. What are you wanting to know?’
‘Anything you can tell me about him. The man who was found dead.’
She shrugged. ‘He was a randy old devil,’ she said. ‘He liked to put his hand on my backside when he passed me in the corridor. I told him in no uncertain terms that my backside wasn’t free pasturage for the wandering hands of dirty old men.’
‘Funny he disappeared and turned up dead on the motorway.’
She sniffed. ‘He’s not the first.’
‘There’ve been others found dead on the motorway?’
‘Not that.’ She seemed to regard Darcy as having the intelligence of a rabbit. ‘I meant that he’s not the first to disappear.’
‘Do they often walk out?’
‘Some of them aren’t all there. Round the bend. Senile. Their families stick them in the home to get rid of them.’
‘And they disappear?’
‘They have done. Most come back but there was one old boy eighteen months ago who didn’t. Wealthy old boy, too, I heard. His family just didn’t want to be bothered with him and they weren’t very worried when he disappeared. All they were interested in was getting their hands on his money. They even complained we’d stolen some of his belongings.’
‘What for instance?’
‘Oh, money he had on him.’
‘What happened to him?’
‘Nobody knows. In the kitchen we decided he’d chucked himself in the river. He was suffering from depression. I’d have been depressed, too, if I’d had a family like he had.’
‘Did he live with his family?’
‘Not likely. He lived on his own. His family paid him visits. But not often. I think he was glad to come to the hospice. At least they played cards with him at night.’
‘They seem to play a lot of cards.’
‘Well, when they’re old there isn’t much else they can play, is there? They certainly can’t go in for fun and games. Only a few like old Dupont try that. Usually it’s backgammon. Or scrabble.’
‘Does Madame Weill play?’
‘She used to when she was younger.’
‘Did she play with this old man?’
‘No. She’d gone to see her daughter in Saint-Trop’.’
Darcy’s ears pricked. ‘You mean she’s been there since God knows how long?’
Madame Brouchal gestured with a limp flap of her hand. ‘Well, she was getting on a bit herself. She must be eighty if she’s a day. She just leaves it to old Sully. Mind you, I expect she takes her share of the profits.’
‘Did she know she’d lost one of her inmates?’
‘Madame Sully was going to write to her.’
‘But she didn’t reappear to hold an enquiry?’
‘No. They hadn’t an address.’
‘I think,’ Darcy said, ‘that we ought to try to find her. So we can tell her she’s just lost another.’
Absorbed with his information, Darcy headed for the Hôtel de Police. The cold-shouldering he was receiving was worrying him. And he hadn’t finished yet.
Arriving in Pel’s office, he passed on what he had learned from Madame Brouchal. Pel seemed curiously uninterested.
Darcy’s anger was boiling out of him and, as he finished, he burst out at once with his unhappiness. ‘I met Philippe Duche downstairs,’ he said.
‘What’s he want?’ Pel seemed preoccupied and kept his eyes on the papers on his desk.
‘He came in to complain. His wife was with him. They say one of Goriot’s men’s been following them.’
‘Have you asked Goriot?’
‘I saw Goriot’s sergeant. He says not. But I don’t believe him and I reckon Philippe Duche knows whether he’s being followed or not. We’ve followed him often enough in the past. He says he’s being harassed.’
‘Harassing an innocent man won’t help Goriot,’ Pel said. ‘I think it’s time he had another medical. I wonder, in fact, if that medical that allowed him to return to duty was properly conducted or whether his uncle, Forton, had a hand in it.’
‘There’s another thing, too,’ Darcy said angrily. ‘I’ve just been accused of taking bribes.’
‘Who by?’
‘Gaston Lerenard. You know him. He’s Pierre la Poche’s sidekick. I brought him in six months ago. He’d been picking pockets. He was fined. He’s just been brought in again. One of the Uniformed boys picked him up. When he saw me he said, “Some people get away with it. It depends whom you know.”’
‘What did you do?’
‘I was going to wring his neck. The Uniformed boy – name of Pinchot – pushed me away.’
‘It’s a good job he did, Daniel.’
‘Yes. I’d probably have hit him. It all comes from this obsession Goriot has that Philippe Duche did the shooting at the airport. Because I’ve been behind him, he thinks I’m in his pocket.’
‘Hang on to your temper. It can only get you into worse trouble. And you’ve got enough, as it is.’
‘What do you mean, patron?’
‘The Chief’s decided: you’ve been suspended.’
Darcy’s face twisted. ‘For taking bribes?’
‘The Chief doesn’t believe that for a minute but people are a bit sensitive about the police these days and he felt it was best. Full pay, of course. You’re innocent until you’re proved guilty.’
Darcy managed a twisted smile. ‘I always thought your view of criminals, patron, was that they’re guilty until they’re proved innocent.’
‘You’re not a criminal.’ Pel snapped the words and Darcy knew he was angry. ‘But rumours are going round about you. You know they’re rubbish. I know they’re rubbish. That’s because we know and trust each other. But other people have to be convinced.’
‘When does the suspension start?’
‘Immediately.’
‘Who’s been doing all the talking?’
‘Goriot, for my money.’
‘We’ve no proof.’
‘No. Because Deputy Lax’s been opening his mouth, too. But then he always does. He thrives on things like this, even when they’re untrue. We’re not noted in France for electing good politicians. A man’s not usually given power because he’s the best. Usually it’s because he’s just better than the others. If Goriot’s been talking, he’s in trouble. The Chief won’t stand for disloyalty. Unfortunately rumours can’t go uninvestigated. But they will be investigated. The ballistic report on Gehrer’s car’s due any time – I’ve heard that Castéou’s almost finished – and that might surprise a few people. In the meantime–’
‘I’m off the Dupont case.’
‘I can’t let you touch it, Daniel.’
Darcy’s face was grim as he turned to the door. ‘I’ll be seeing you, patron,’ he said.
When Darcy left the Hôtel de Police, he made a point of moving among the haunts of his old girlfriends. There were several who worked in the city and he deliberately went there.
He spent the rest of the day not knowing what to do. What had happened had come as a shock to him. He sat in the park and walked the streets and eventually to his surprise found himself in the Church of St-Michel et Tous les Anges. He didn’t consider himself a good church-goer and even now he didn’t pray, not even that things would come right. He simply sat and stared in front of him, trying not to think. After a while, he found the priest sitting beside him.
‘You have trouble, my boy?’
Darcy shrugged.
‘The Lord never intended the Via Crucis to be paved with lobster mayonnaise.’
Darcy turned quickly at the words and couldn’t help smiling.
‘Perhaps you would like to make a confession?’
‘I’ve nothing to confess, Father.’
‘Nothing?’
‘Well, by the standards of the Church, perhaps I have. But I’ve done nothing very bad. Do you believe that?’
‘The ability to distinguish truth from falsehood is not one of the powers granted by the Holy Ghost, my son. But the Church is more broadminded than you think.’
‘I’m a cop, Father,’ Darcy said suddenly. ‘I’ve been accused of taking bribes.’
‘And did you?’
‘No.’
‘Then it will come right in the end.’
‘I wish I could be sure.’
‘Well, the Lord teaches us not to count our chickens before they’re hatched, but I’m sure you have God’s right arm behind you, my son. Even so, God’s grace isn’t laid on like central heating. You will need to be patient.’
The talk helped a little but it soon wore off, and when Darcy arrived at Angélique Courtoise’s flat that evening, he was in a bad temper again.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.
‘I’ve been suspended from duty.’
She put her arms round him. ‘Why?’
‘For taking bribes.’
‘What nonsense. Surely they believe you?’
‘Do they? Perhaps. Pel does, thank God. But others? You know how it gets around. What a nice flat you’ve got! Does your boy-friend get a lot of bribes? Do you believe me?’
‘Of course I do.’
‘That’s because love is blind. But it’s only blind because it’s easier than mistrusting.’
She tried to brush his anger aside. ‘What are we doing tonight? Shall we try the cinema?’
‘Why not the usual? There’s nothing a young full-blooded girl enjoys more than the pleasures of the bed.’
She looked at him, startled.
‘Virginity should be lost gloriously,’ he said.
‘I’m not a virgin! You, of all people, should know that.’
‘Yes. Virgins are collectors’ items these days.’
She lost her temper. ‘Stop it, Daniel,’ she snapped. ‘Don’t talk like that. It’s flip. It’s hard. It’s childish. You’re not normally like this.’
‘Noted for my sense of humour? My laughter? Always in overdrive?’
‘Not like this, anyway. This is cruel. You do laugh. You make me laugh.’
Suddenly there were tears in her eyes. ‘But you’re kind, Daniel. You’re always kind. You’re a policeman and you have to be tough, but you’re never mean.’
‘I’ve been mean today.’ Darcy frowned. ‘Normal men have their little fiddles. Use of office paper for private letters. Office telephone to contact their wives. Office car to see a girl friend. Not much. Only a little out of your way. But cops are different. You don’t have to be a hundred per cent honest. You have to be a hundred and twenty per cent. More, if possible. And you have to be seen to be. There’s a saying in France about the police: when a cop laughs at the cop-shop, all the cops laugh. It’s true, but it’s also true that sometimes they do the other thing.’
‘Stop it, Daniel.’
‘I’ll plead Article 64 of the penal code. “There is no crime or misdemeanour if the accused was in a state of dementia at the time of the act, or if he was driven to it by an irresistible impulse.” I’ll claim I was mad.’
She was growing angry. ‘You’re talking nonsense.’
‘Perhaps I am. I’d better go.’
‘You don’t have to.’
‘I think I do. I’m not fit to be with decent people and it’s better than skirmishing round each other like a couple of terriers, snapping at each other’s ankles.’
As the door slammed, she stood staring at it, white-faced and sick-looking, and tears began to fill her eyes.