Gently French by Alan Hunter Page A

mood is very black.’
    ‘And so he went out on this dangerous mission. He went out, and he didn’t come back.’
    ‘Exactly so.’
    ‘Yet you raised no alarm. Why was that, Madame Deslauriers?’
    She was still for perhaps two seconds, gazing emptily into nothing. Then she pulled back on the chair in cowboy style and smiled up into my face.
    ‘A trap, huh, pardner?’
    ‘I would like an answer to my question.’
    ‘I think it is a pity you couldn’t have questioned Freddy. My God! That would have been a treat. Do you know, in a way you are reminding me of him?’
    ‘You may have time to think, if you wish.’
    ‘He would have said that. He would have been thinking of ways to put me down, make me say what he wanted. Isn’t that bizarre?’
    I shook my head.
    ‘And you a policeman, he a thief. Uhuh, what is the difference? It is just two teams who play one game.’
    ‘No, Madame Deslauriers.’
    ‘You do not like my paradox?’
    ‘I am afraid this won’t do. Either you have your cake or eat it. If you don’t decide, I shall.’
    ‘Cake? What cake is that?’
    ‘The cake is your ignorance of the risk that Freddy was taking. That could explain why you raised no alarm. But it excludes you from persuading me that Rampant was the killer.’
    She gurgled throatily. ‘You think I try to do that?’
    ‘I think you have been trying for the past ten minutes.’
    ‘But it is logical, my friend. And you must admit, convenient. It is not insulting the credibilities.’
    ‘Then why no alarm?’
    ‘Oh foof. Perhaps I am giving it too much drama. I was uneasy, yes, but not too worried. This sort of thing has happened before. Freddy goes away for one, two days. If anyone asks me, I have an excuse. He has gone to view property in Wales, in Cornwall. Freddy was fond of little deals in property.’
    ‘He owned properties?’
    ‘Oh yes, one or two.’
    ‘In Wales, in Cornwall?’
    She pulled a glum face. ‘Haven’t I been telling you that Freddy was secretive? I do not know where his little pieces are.’
    ‘Buying property is legal. Wouldn’t he have taken you to visit them?’
    ‘No. His business was not my affair.’
    ‘He just bought them and forgot them?’
    ‘Oh, Freddy forgot nothing. Especially when not to open his mouth.’
    ‘You begin to make me think it’s catching,’ I said. ‘Freddy had property in Scotland. Also a nice villa at Cap Ferrat.’
    ‘The villa, oh yes, the villa. I was thinking you meant in this country.’
    ‘Also in this country. We know of another property.’ She drooped her mouth and humped her shoulders.
    ‘Would you like to know where?’
    ‘Should it matter to me?’
    ‘At present it has an occupant.’
    ‘Ah. Freddy let it.’
    ‘I didn’t say that. I doubt if this occupant pays any rent.’
    She looked askew for a moment. Then she sighed sadly. ‘My friend, I can guess what you are trying to tell me.’
    ‘I was sure you could.’
    ‘But I am quite resigned. I have long felt there was another woman.’
    ‘Another woman!’
    ‘But yes. It is not a thing a man can hide. Not even Freddy. I had intimations, you know? The way he was to me in bed.’
    ‘I am not referring to another woman!’
    ‘You try to spare me. You are so kind. But, my friend, it doesn’t matter now. All jealousy was over when Freddy died.’
    For a space I was silent. I couldn’t help it; I had to admire that splendid foil. With style of such an order it was no wonder that Mimi had triumphed over the machinations of her mother-in-law. Nor did she rub it in; she sat mournfully glum, as though bravely accepting her sad thoughts. Not a flicker or gleam in her downcast eye. Nothing to give scepticism a chance.
    I threw a look at Dutt: he was studying his notebook.
    ‘Very well,’ I said. ‘We’ll come back to that later.’
    ‘But Monsieur, her name?’
    ‘Never mind her name! What I’d like to talk about now is Bavents.’
    Her surprise was perfect. ‘The waiter?’
    ‘Indeed yes. The