The Provence Puzzle: An Inspector Damiot Mystery(44)

“Does he?”

“Michel’s a pleasant fellow! All the other girls like him but he asks only for me. He phones at least twice a week when he knows what time he’ll be finished at the Auberge. Phones from the kitchen, during the dinner hour, so Madame Bouchard never suspects anything.” She giggled again. “That English girl’s after him also, but Michel says she’s skinny as a boy! That’s what he says, but I think he makes love to all of ’em! Not that I care…” She shrugged. “He still comes back to me!”

“Do you know a young farmer named Savord?”

“Achille? He comes here Saturday nights. Always asks for Clara. Achille’s a nice boy. Très gentil!”

“Not a rough type?”

“Certainly not! He sometimes brings little gifts for Clara’s new baby…”

“What about the Jarlaud girl? The one who was murdered. Did you know her?”

“I’ve seen her in the shops, but we never spoke. Most of the men in the village knew her. Even though they deny it! Madame didn’t like her, of course, because she took business away…”

“Eh bien! I must be going.” Damiot got to his feet. “Wanted to see you again. Find out how things were with you.”

“Not bad. As you can see.” She pushed herself up from the divan. “Madame looks out for us. Only at the moment, things are slow. Everyone’s afraid to go out, nights, because of those murders. Even the men!” She walked ahead of him toward the entrance, her hips swaying under the kimono. “Maybe you’ll catch the killer while you’re here…”

“I’m on vacation. Not looking for any murderer.” As he followed her through the hall, he took two hundred-franc notes from his wallet and folded them in the palm of his hand. “I came here to rest after I left the hospital.”

“You’ve been ill?”

“Last month, in Paris, I had to have surgery on my hip.”

“Mon Dieu!”

“But I’m much better now.”

“How’s your wife?”

“She’s left me.”

“For good?” She turned to face him as she opened the door.

“I don’t know.”

“You’re a fine man. If you want her, she’ll come back.”

“Au ’voir…” He held out his hand.

The unexpected gesture surprised her. “Will I see you again?” She shook his hand.

“Perhaps…”

“You are also a kind man.” She pulled her hand away.

Damiot realized that the hundred-franc notes were gone.

“Take care of yourself, M’sieur Inspecteur!”



Local gendarmeries were always housed in the town hall. There would be a small courtroom, an interrogation room, and a jail. He wondered what poor bastards were behind bars here today. Some farmer who had stolen a neighbor’s sheep. The village drunk…

This empty corridor stank, like all municipal corridors. It was a combination of many things, dominated by disinfectant and the unmistakable scent of poverty and fear, left behind by the unfortunates who had passed through here.

Damiot walked into a room where Gendarmerie was painted on the gray wall in crude black letters, and looked inside.

The room was small, with a row of files against one wall, and several wooden benches. Facing the door, between two windows, a low platform supported a long table that served as a desk. Low arched doorway in the wall opposite the files.

A man slumped in a chair at the desk was snoring.

The gendarme appeared to be in his twenties. Black hair, one clump hanging down over his forehead. Thin face and long nose.

Damiot cleared his throat.

The eyes opened. “M’sieur?”

“I’m…”

“Chief Inspector Damiot!” He struggled to his feet. “Forgive me, M’sieur! I must’ve dozed off…”

“You are Porel?”

“That’s right, M’sieur Inspecteur. I knew you’d be coming in this afternoon. Inspector Bardou phoned half an hour ago. Did you know he’s identified the first victim?”

“Has he?”

“Told me on the phone. Her name’s Annie Deffous and she came from Toulon. Inspector Bardou talked with the gendarmes there. They have no record of her name, but he’s asked them to check on her and get back to him.”

“Looks as though he’s making progress.”

“Inspector Bardou’s a terrific guy!”

“Did you know this Deffous girl?” Damiot asked, glancing toward the nearest windows as though his question wasn’t important.

“No, M’sieur Inspecteur. I’ve never been to Toulon.”

Damiot faced him. “But you did know the other girl! Lisette Jarlaud.” He saw Porel’s face crimson. “Someone mentioned that you knew her.”

“I guess everybody knew Lisette.”

“You slept with her, didn’t you?”

“Once or twice…”

“Only once or twice?”

“Four or five times, maybe. Half the men in the village slept with Lisette.”

“I’d like to have a look at that unidentified girl who, it seems, has now been identified. What did you say her name was?”