Swiss Vendetta (Agnes Luthi Mysteries #1)(64)

“He wanted to die in command of the surroundings, just as he’d lived.” Vallotton turned to Agnes. “He’d lived through a century of change and probably thought willpower would get him through another one. He and Arsov are like-minded.”

Ice crunched and they both turned. Petit arrived at a near run, slipping with every other step but managing to keep his balance. “Carnet sent me to find you, Inspector. I got the radio working regular and he talked to my chief. I wrote it out for you.” He thrust a piece of paper into Agnes’s hand. “And the doctor gave me this for you.” He extracted an envelope from his pocket.

Agnes pulled the doctor’s note from the envelope first. Skimming it, she wasn’t surprised. She handed it to Vallotton.

“The family has to know,” he said after reading. “Sad, really, better if they didn’t.”

Petit looked from one to the other. Agnes took the note and handed it to him. She watched the expression on his face when he read the words. Joy, surprise, then comprehension.

“This affects Thomason and his story,” she said to Vallotton. “He certainly didn’t mention it and I think he would have.” She slipped her hand inside her coat and ran her thumb along the inside of her waistband, biting her lip. “Maybe she told him and he was angry and killed her.”

“Because she was pregnant?” Vallotton asked.

Petit sucked in a shock of air.

Agnes gave Vallotton an exasperated look, turning to Petit. “Take Doctor Blanchard’s note to Carnet if he hasn’t seen it. He needs to know.”

Petit walked off silently, reading the note again.

Vallotton waited until the other man was out of earshot. “You think Thomason might not be the father?”

They studied each other then turned to view the landscape.

“We shouldn’t think the worst, not yet,” Agnes said, scanning Carnet’s note. “This will probably be terrible news for him.”

“Either way,” Vallotton added, which earned him another sharp look.

Winston ambled up, crossing the ice with an expression of fixed dignity, as if he was entirely comfortable with his paws slithering out from under him every fifth step. Agnes smiled. He had a long bone in his mouth, which reminded her that he usually managed to convey an attitude more human than canine. He drew near and Vallotton started to take and throw it when she gave a startled shout. She grabbed Winston’s collar and wrenched the bone from between his teeth.

Vallotton arched an eyebrow. “Is that what I think—”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “This is a human femur.”





Twenty-three

It wasn’t difficult to retrace Winston’s path across the crust of new snow. It was perfect for retaining paw prints.

“Maybe he picked the bone up in the village,” Agnes said.

“A human bone? What, from the butcher?” Julien Vallotton asked, dubiously.

“The local cemetery.”

Passing a member of the household staff who was vigorously attacking a fallen tree with an ax, Agnes and Vallotton exchanged a look. “Maybe it’s the result of an early morning accident,” she said.

“I’ve seen that in a movie. Person killed, then boiled.”

“I think I’ve seen that one, too.” Agnes turned the bone over in her hands. “It’s cracked and dirty. Clearly old and I think it’s safe to say it’s been exposed to the elements or in the earth for some time. Is there a cemetery in the village?”

“Yes, it’s small but adequate since we don’t have a big demand for plots here.”

Meaning they didn’t practice the recycling of gravesites common elsewhere in the region. Also meaning there was absolutely no reason a human bone would have been unearthed.

Closer to the chateau, the ground was more heavily trafficked. Agnes studied the mess of footprints and broken ice. Off to the side, Winston watched as they looked for evidence of his path. Then, with a bored sigh and wagging tail, he turned and trotted in the direction of the grove. Without comment, the humans followed and Agnes felt a shiver of apprehension as she neared the place where they had found Felicity Cowell two days ago.

“It’s not hers,” Vallotton mumbled.

Agnes gave him a scathing look as they rounded the final branches. She hadn’t walked this deep into the grove since the previous morning and the change was shocking. More trees had fallen, including one enormous old chestnut. The trunk had been a few meters from the bench where they found the body; its branches forming part of the canopy that had protected the corpse from the worst of the storm. Now, the strength of the branches that had held against the weight of the ice was the reason for the tree’s demise. Instead of the branches shearing off, leaving a bare trunk, the tree had been weighted with ice until the roots sheared and the entire structure fell. When that happened, an enormous clod of earth was excavated along with the roots. The soaring structure loomed three meters high, dangling roots and soil. The black hole of frozen ground where the earth had been ripped up stretched almost to the bench and it was there, very near the stone seat, that a skeleton lay at the bottom of the dirt pit. Only the bones of one foot and leg were clearly visible. The remainder was covered by a layer of earth and something that appeared man-made.

“A shroud,” Vallotton said, before jumping into the hole. It was obvious this was a human skeleton. He held out his hand to her and Agnes clambered down, slightly unsettled to be nearly waist deep in the earth.