Swiss Vendetta (Agnes Luthi Mysteries #1)(14)

“Scared you, didn’t it? The woman dead out there,” Arsov said. “You think about the cold and what it can do. You think this will keep me inside now?” He took a deep draw on his cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke. Agnes resisted the urge to shift nearer and inhale. “You think it’s cold tonight? You haven’t felt cold until you have lived through a Russian winter. We used to wake up with frost on our blankets every morning from October till April.”

The nurse made a disparaging sound and Arsov laughed. “You imagine I exaggerate? Find someone who grew up in the country eighty years ago and they will tell the same tales. Cold, real cold, hurts. It reaches into your lungs and burns with each breath. It dries your eyes and numbs your ears. Winter in Russia is a hard lesson.”

A log crashed in the fireplace and the flames blazed. Agnes felt the added warmth and realized that her back was growing cold as the room lost the last of its electric heat. Reaching for a blanket from the stack left by the servants she was struck by the idea that she was seeing the room as it was originally experienced: a world lit only by fire.

“Tell me what happened tonight,” she said. “Julien Vallotton came here to telephone the police?” She had already asked Arsov if he knew the dead woman. He didn’t. Hadn’t seen her. Didn’t recognize her name.

The old man took another long drag on his cigarette and closed his eyes as he exhaled, enjoyment in the lines of his face. He fingered the fabric of his striped cravat. “The others, they have spoken with you. They are good people. Hardworking.”

“Yes, but you were the one who saw Monsieur Vallotton arrive.” Agnes had heard the same story from each member of the staff with varying degrees of detail. The discovery of the body went as follows: Julien Vallotton had pounded on a French door leading from the salon to the lawn. Hearing him, the nurse and Arsov had rushed into the room, unlocking and opening the door. Opening the door had triggered an alarm and others arrived at a run, entering the salon in the minutes after Vallotton was admitted. The butler had silenced the alarm; still, the remainder of the household knew what had happened second-or third-hand.

“They will exaggerate. We live by routine and this will excite some into creating little details. Misremembering to make their viewpoint important.”

“I think they’ve been accurate enough,” she said. The house ran like clockwork, no one alone at any time as they cooked and cleaned and served. Their impressions coincided. “Monsieur Vallotton arrived at that door?” She pointed toward the farthest of the sets of doors facing the lake.

“He pounded and we heard.”

“We ran,” interjected the nurse. “As I told you, Inspector Lüthi, we were in the smaller salon, the room next to this, working on correspondence, and heard fists on the glass. And a man’s voice shouting.”

“She can run.” Arsov grinned. “Pushed me in here like a battalion was in pursuit. Unlocked the door and Julien ran in. I thought he was in London.”

“Mimi was with him?” Agnes glanced at the child asleep on the long sofa.

“Yes, yes, she was with him. They saw the woman and ran here because we are closer than returning to the chateau. They were frightened.”

“What had you heard earlier in the afternoon? Had you seen anything unusual?”

“What do you know unusual? How can we pick out what detail you must know to find your killer?”

“There might have been something, someone. A sound.”

“You want me to tell you of a man with a weapon skulking around my lawn and say, yes, that was him? This unusual man is the killer and I will direct you to this evil. Is this how you think you will find your murderer? Inspector Lüthi, I will tell you that evil hides its face until the last minute. Evil hides in the ordinary. You will not find it with these questions.”

Nearby, the nurse shifted. Her old-fashioned winged hat cast long flickering shadows. The woman looked tired, yet unable to go to bed while Arsov was awake. They were all tired and Agnes was prepared to tell Arsov she would come back in the morning when he surprised her.

“You have not seen murder before,” he said, jabbing the air with his cigarette, trailing smoke in a lazy arc. “Do not argue. This is a truth. You were nervous when you arrived tonight, the thought of crossing near where the woman died was disturbing. Ghosts were in your mind. But you have courage. You made the journey alone. I know this because I remember the first time I saw murder. I was not seventeen. And this is how I know that evil can come out of the ordinary.” Arsov grimaced. It was not a pleasing sight, and for a moment he looked every one of his ninety years.

“You are shocked that she was killed in our safe surroundings. I, too, found murder where I felt safest. In my village we knew of war, but as a distant idea. When it came, it came swiftly. It came with the Fritzes. When they invited us to a field at the edge of the woods. To collect data they said, and we believed them. We were deep in the heart of Russia and some of the children had never seen Roman letters before. They were excited. I remember how they begged to see the list with their names.”

The nurse stood and without a word left the room, shielding a candle before her.

“When my family crossed the top of the hill we saw that the ditch was dug. The pit deep enough to hide a man and ten meters long, gutted into the hard cold ground. Easier for us. The walk wasn’t far and the surroundings were familiar, so we hadn’t time to worry. We had only a few minutes. Two … maybe three. Not enough time. Too much time.”