Swiss Vendetta (Agnes Luthi Mysteries #1)(40)

“To make a clean slate I also wanted to talk to you about the painkillers. I haven’t taken one in a few weeks.” He stopped. Agnes was uncomfortable. Why had he stopped here, in the deepest shadows?

“I was hiding, and didn’t want to admit it in front of my entire family. I knew Julien had arrived so I faked being asleep when MC came into our room.”

Agnes moved closer to a window, away from the shadows. “I’m glad you sought me out. I’ve wanted to ask if you chanced to meet Felicity Cowell in London. Your wife says that you spend more time there than she does.”

“What else did she say? Did she tell you how we married?”

“I’m more interested in your relationship with Felicity Cowell.”

“Is that what Julien suggested? Well, there wasn’t a relationship. No matter what they tell you, there wasn’t one.” Daniel leaned heavily on one crutch. “Marie-Chantal almost married him, you know, Julien I mean. The morning of the murder I didn’t want to see her reaction when he arrived and wonder if she regretted her decision to marry the second son.”

Agnes didn’t reply.

“She doesn’t paint anymore.” He shrugged. “I think we’ve made a big mistake.”

He limped away and Agnes felt oddly sorry for him. She would need to talk to him again, and press him on any previous relationship with Felicity or Courtney Cowell. He struck her as a man of the world and it was possible he met Courtney in a circumstance where he either wouldn’t want to remember her or actually didn’t. Thinking about Felicity/Courtney, Agnes felt slightly ill. She collapsed onto a cushioned bench. Staring at an unfamiliar stone wall, thinking about a young woman selling her body when she had a first-class mind, she felt a cold hollow inside. One that no fire would warm.





Thirteen

It was late afternoon and the sun was setting when Agnes joined Carnet on the ground floor of the chateau in a small room that had been set aside for their use. Not luxurious, it was comfortably furnished with two deep sofas and a large table where they could lay out their notes. The slit windows let in strips of cold north light, however several old-fashioned oil lamps were lit and the room was reasonably bright despite the lack of electricity. Agnes started to remove her outdoor coat, but changed her mind. Despite the blazing fire in every fireplace it seemed that each room was colder than the last.

“One last thing from me,” Carnet said after hearing her account of the day. “You were right about the coat. She was wearing one of Mulholland’s when she died. He confirmed it.”

“And others have confirmed that it always hung there. Looks like she pulled it on in haste. Grabbed the first one, not caring if it fit.”

“Points to panic.”

“Panic or fear. Either way she didn’t plan to go outside until she was by the door.”

They sat in contemplative silence for a few minutes.

“Not much different from financial crimes,” Carnet said.

Agnes nearly missed the irony but caught his smile in time. “Thank goodness I had a chance to tell Sybille I made it here, or my kids would be frantic with worry. Now they probably can’t wait to hear all about the place. They’ve seen it from the lake often enough to be curious. Of course, that will only make Sybille more irritated.” She smiled. “But not with them. She takes good care of them. We’re lucky that way, I suppose.”

“I’m only inside to pretend to warm up,” Carnet said, pulling on a second scarf. “I’m going to do another walk along the perimeter of the property. Haven’t found a weapon, and between the two of us, Petit and I have searched every inch of the lawn and the outbuildings.”

“Won’t the plants in the Orangerie die in the cold?” Agnes asked.

“A solar-charged system keeps it above freezing. We’d probably do well to sleep there tonight.” He held his hands to the blaze.

“Robert, I doubt you’ll find anything more outside. Of course we aren’t finding anything inside either. It’s frustrating, all of these little lies. Nick Graves is only the most obvious. Reminds me of my oldest. He can look you right in the eye and lie, but you know it’s a lie because when he’s telling the truth he glances around, interested in everything else that’s happening. The lie makes him think about how his actions are perceived. Wish they’d tell the truth and let us ignore the lies we don’t care about.”

“Which are those?” Carnet turned to warm his backside.

“Right now, I suppose all the ones that don’t lead me to find who killed Felicity Cowell. I really don’t care if they are trafficking heroin, I just want to bring the victim’s murderer to justice.”

“Actually, I think you would care if they were trafficking heroin.”

Agnes rubbed her face and started to laugh. “Okay, so heroin or child pornography, arms trafficking maybe, but nothing else. I have the feeling that everyone tells these small lies, protecting things that aren’t important given what we are trying to do, and if they told the truth we would make some progress. It’s like my kids. The little lies take up so much energy that when they tell the truth it doesn’t seem so important anymore, all those days of concealing and fretting.”

“Keep whittling away. We’ve not found evidence of an outsider. Not that there was much chance of finding that after the storm.”