Chapter 23

Rupert decides on a quick trip to France, taking a flight to Paris and catching the train to Dijon. Clemence meets him at the Rime ni Maison office and they work through the purchase of the chateau together.

In the evening he updates me from his hotel.

“After hearing Helena’s warning not to trust Clemence, I asked her for my fee upfront. I said it would be simpler and cheaper for both of us. Neither of us wants to pay for a French notary to handle any claims against Ambrose’s estate as the business owner. I don’t understand the way French probate works – and she didn’t sound like she does either – but it sounded plausible. I pointed out my act of faith in flying over here at my own expense to do the work. She could trust me to finish the job. She agreed and transferred the money. Luckily for both of us this is the only purchase pending. She can then decide whether to take over the business herself or sell it.”

“I’m relieved, Rupert. Well-handled.” He’s also good looking and an accomplished schmoozer which would have helped. “What’s she like?”

“Not what I expected. As his fourth wife – and French – I thought she’d be younger and more stylish. She’s neither. I’d say mid forties and plain – in looks and wardrobe choices.”

“She’s just lost her husband to murder. Unless she killed him, of course. Either way, I doubt she’s spending time matching her handbag with her shoes.”

“True. It’s just unusual for a French woman not to dress well, even in grief. Just by pulling on any old thing out of the wardrobe, the clothes she owns would look good. But Clemence does look like she was shapely in her youth. She might have been a knockout in her twenties.”

Perhaps Ambrose met her when he first moved to France and the office manager who was said to have ‘disappeared’ with him took another job. Anita did say it was just a rumour. Would that make Clemence wife number three?

“Some men also marry for love,” I say. “And the shape of the package isn’t the most important thing.”

“Touché,” he says.

Whatever package attracts Rupert, he keeps to himself. He hasn’t mentioned a romantic partner since I’ve known him.

He finishes the call by reading me the hotel’s dinner menu. I fake a jealous outburst and hang up.

Baxter shows me the illustrated letter he’s about to send back to Tom-Tom.

“I love these quirky drawings,” I say. “How is it a letter?”

“Have another look, Tiggy. You’ve been staring at words too much. These pictures tell a story.”

He hasn’t put them in a strip of framed scenes like a comic. That’s what threw me. Each mini scene is floating in a cloud. In one, a boy and a spotted dog are playing with a stick. In another, the boy is sitting on a bench in the street, his phone pointing towards the ground where two people are walking.

I point to it. “Photographing suspicious shoes.”

He grins. “What about this one?”

The boy is up a tree holding a pair of binoculars.

“Train spotting?” I suggest.

“Surveillance!”

Another cloud shows the boy with two smaller boys dressed the same. His twin brothers.

And in the last two, the boy is in combat, tossing his opponent. Aikido. Then sitting at an easel with a paintbrush.

“These are wonderful vignettes about you, Baxter.”

“Like a … snapshot? I want to show Tom-Tom about me and what I like without saying my name and address or anything. My codename is Spectre but I’m not … invisible.”

“That’s a great way to describe these drawings. And because they’re your creation they say even more about you. It’s what we do in writing too. Use words that show a lot about the characters and how they’re feeling and let the reader bring their own experiences to understand what’s happening. Since Tom-Tom is such a visual person, he’ll feel like he knows you, I’m sure. Have you been able to learn some things about him from his drawings?”

“They’re pretty deep. Like there’s layers, things hidden in the pictures that you can’t see because the patterns distract you. I asked Jack to have a look,” – he’s just called his step-father Jack! – “and he gave me the money to buy one of those magnifying glasses like entomologists use to look at insects. I put it down on the drawings and there are drawings inside the other drawings.”

“How very clever.” And seriously intense. Then I panic. “Like a code?”

“Nah. I don’t know what the symbols mean. I’d have to have a key to the code. I think he’s just buried things in the patterns – about his life and what he likes.”

“Have you seen anything you can identify?”

“A mug! It’s repeated as part of the pattern but you can’t tell it’s a mug till you look with the magnifying glass. I suppose when you’re in prison, a mug for your tea is pretty important. And it’s got an arrow on it.”

“Like a weapon?”

“Like a broad arrow, the one they used to print on prison uniforms. I looked it up. It’s pretty clever. I like the way Tom-Tom’s mind works.”

Looks like these two make a good match. Jack’s system for pairing up the pen-friends isn’t as haphazard as I thought.

Raider needs a run and there’s a dog park in Serpentine Crescent. It’s only a ten-minute drive outside of peak hour. I hang the lead on the front door knob, not to taunt the pooch but to make a promise he knows I’ll keep. He sits patiently by the door.

While the morning commuters vacate the roads for us, I put Piper Halliday into a testy interview with another member of the camera club, not sure myself if this person is the murderer. Then with a good chunk of words behind me, I rattle my keys and we’re off.

My first cruise around the Crescent lands a parking space. As we enter the dog park for some off-leash stick-throwing therapy, a call from Rupert surprises me. I’m expecting him back later tonight.

“Sorry to interrupt your work, Tiggy, I’ve stepped out for a coffee so I can talk freely.”

“What’s happened?”

“This is going to feed your obsession with the Loxtons but I had to share it now. Clemence and I were back in her office this morning. Suddenly she looked up, saw a young woman just outside and took off out the back way, saying, ‘I’m not here.’ The young woman came in asking for Clemence or Ambrose and I told her the truth.”

“They’re not there.”

“Exactly. It turns out I did the right thing getting my fee upfront. We can thank you-know-who for that. This woman did some part-time office work and hasn’t been paid. I told her Ambrose has died suddenly, expecting her to at least ask how Clemence is. Instead she said, ‘Does Lulu know?’”

“Who’s Lulu?”

“That was my next question and she said, ‘Their daughter. I thought she might want to know her father is dead.’”