The Provence Puzzle: An Inspector Damiot Mystery(24)

“Who do you suspect killed them?”

“There hasn’t been a clue. Except it must have been the same man. The method was identical with both.”

“How do you know it was a man?”

“The autopsy reports show that both girls had had sex before they died.”

“Must’ve been cold, on the ground. Of course, they could have been in his car.”

“The first murder was in January. That’s the week we had a false spring, with high temperatures. And the second was less than four weeks ago—it was warm then too—before the rains started again.”

They turned back, walking slowly, toward the church.

“What about this monster in the Chateau? You think he’s the killer?”

“There is no monster, M’sieur Inspecteur. You’ll know that when you talk to Pouchet. The villagers take several bottles of Calvados up there with them. That’s how they’re able to see a monster and hear a bell tolling!” He opened the wooden gate and motioned for Damiot to go ahead. “I’ll stop at the gendarmerie and pick up the key to those gates at the Chateau. Pouchet’s getting deaf. Never hears the bell.”

“You have a key?”

“For emergencies. The lawyers in Paris arranged that years ago. From time to time, if nobody hears from Pouchet, someone goes up to check. Never been anything wrong. He just forgets to contact them.”

“Do these lawyers know about the monster?”

Bardou hesitated. “No, M’sieur. Nobody’s told them.”

“Would anyone object if I went inside the Chateau?”

“A Chief Inspector from Paris? Certainly not!”

“Let me warn you! I’ve no intention of getting involved. I came to Provence for a rest.”





CHAPTER 9


The gates, as before, were closed and padlocked.

Damiot peered through the wrought-iron grille at the shaded entrance drive between the rows of poplars, and saw the castle rising in a blaze of sunlight above the distant courtyard.

The pigeons circling the towers were the only signs of life.

Nothing had changed, although the walls of the Chateau seemed a much lighter color today. Almost golden! More like he remembered them in the past.

He turned to see the dog scampering off in pursuit of some animal, real or imagined, into thick underbrush edging the wall. “Fric-Frac!” Clapping his hands. “Come here, Madame!” He watched her trot back, tail waving. “Maybe I should lock you up in the car while we’re here.” The dog whimpered, as though she understood. “All right! Promise to behave and you can come with us.” The tail wagged again.

Directly opposite the gates, on the other side of the road, was an open meadow ringed by a copse of young trees with the forest beyond. That meadow was said to have been cleared, hundreds of years ago, for the crowds that came to attend the public trials held by visiting judges in the courtyard of the Chateau. The gallows must have stood in the center of the field. When he was a kid he had dug up old coins there. Probably valuable. He had no idea what had become of them…

The first girl had been murdered somewhere in that meadow. Maybe he should take a closer look…

No! This morning, with Bardou, he would visit the Chateau, but afterward he was going to forget the Courville monster. He only wanted to see inside the castle because of his memories.

Turning back to the locked gates, he leaned down and saw that the padlock, chained on the inside, was a recent model. He straightened as he heard a car approaching, chugging noisily, from the direction of the village.

As it came closer he saw that it was a black, older-model Peugeot, covered with a layer of mud and dust that made it appear gray. Bardou’s face was barely recognizable through the bird droppings on the windshield.

He moved away from the gates, Fric-Frac at his heels, as the car slowed to a stop.

Bardou got out. “I have the key but I’d better ring the bell. Pouchet doesn’t like to be surprised, and there’s no telephone.” He went to the right gatepost and fumbled among the ivy leaves until he found a button, which he pressed several times. “This rings somewhere in the kitchen, but unless the old man’s nearby he won’t hear it.” He produced a key from his pocket. “Why don’t we drive up to the Chateau in my car? Leave the other one here.”

“What about the dog?”

“Bring her along.” He turned his key in the padlock. “Pouchet has a dog.”

Fric-Frac capered when she realized she wasn’t being left behind.

Damiot opened the door of the other car, motioned for the dog to jump in, and sat beside her as Bardou slid in from the other side.

“I’ll drive round to the back.” Bardou exhaled spurts of pungent tobacco smoke as he talked. “The old man’s usually there, unless he’s off in the forest. Hunts for most of his meat and raises the rest. You must have known Pouchet when you lived here…”

“There was a gamekeeper who chased me off the place many times. I used to climb the fence to steal walnuts. There wasn’t any wall in those days. When was that built?”

“I’ve no idea.” He sneezed.

Damiot wondered, as the car rolled up the drive, whether the wall had been put up to keep people out or to keep someone—something—inside? “Why weren’t you here last night, with those villagers? You must’ve suspected what they’d be doing.”