The Provence Puzzle: An Inspector Damiot Mystery(45)

“Annie Deffous.”

Damiot followed as Porel swung a heavy door open into a cool corridor where one small bulb glowed in the ceiling. Their footsteps echoed on the stone floor.

“We usually don’t keep a dead body here more than a few days. In fact, this is the first since I came on staff.” He opened another door and snapped a switch that lighted several ceiling bulbs.

Damiot blinked as he entered a narrow, white-tiled room. The windows at the far end had been plastered over but never painted. There was an old-fashioned autopsy table in the center, and the smell of disinfectant was overpowering.

“Didn’t like to look at her at first, but I’ve gotten used to it now.” Porel walked to a tier of three large drawers and yanked the center one out with a harsh clatter of metal.

As Damiot moved closer he felt cold air strike his face.

Annie Deffous, even in death, was a pretty girl. Delicate nose, thick eyelashes, and a pleasant mouth that seemed about to speak.

Damiot frowned. It was still a shock, after all these years, to see the dead body of a young person or a child. He recalled, as he circled the open drawer, that Tendrell had said the murderer’s skill with a knife showed knowledge of anatomy. The cut across the throat, neat and precise, had almost severed her neck.

A slit from the médecin-légiste’s scalpel extended from the breastbone down to the mound of Venus. The long red hair, tucked like a pillow under her head, looked dull and lifeless. It had continued to grow for a time after death, and the dark roots matched the pubic hair. The Englishman had been right—her hair was dyed.

“Who performed the autopsy?” he asked.

“Doctor Mondor, from Salon. He does all our police work. There’s no doctor here in the village.”

Damiot peered at the hands. “See this callus? Middle finger, right hand. Took years of pressure to cause that. Pen or pencil. She must’ve done some sort of clerical work.”

“I never noticed that!” Porel leaned down for a closer look. “You’re right about her work. Bardou’s found out she was a bookkeeper. But you knew that from looking at her hand!”

Damiot straightened. “I’ve finished.”

Porel closed the drawer and turned toward the door again.

“One thing more, while I’m here.”

“Certainly, M’sieur Inspecteur!” He opened the door.

“I’d like to see where the other girl’s body was found.” He went ahead, into the corridor. “Behind here, wasn’t it? In the alley?”

“I can show you the exact spot.” Porel switched off the light in the morgue and closed the door. They continued on through the corridor. “This takes us to the alley.”

Damiot followed, between stone columns, toward a distant door. “What hour of the day was the Jarlaud girl’s body discovered?”

“Early morning. Two children stumbled over it as they took a shortcut to school…” He turned a key in the lock and opened the door.

The sunlight was dazzling, the air warm, after the cold interior.

He walked with Porel toward a mass of bushes that formed a green oasis sheltered by tall poplars. “This was the spot?”

“The body was found in here.” Porel thrust the bushes apart with both hands and moved between them into an open space where daylight barely reached. “We made marks on the ground to show the exact spot, but of course the rains have washed all that away.” He turned to Damiot. “There are photographs, if you’d like to see them.”

“Another time… This alley must’ve been convenient for all concerned. Too narrow for cars to pass through, and no people around after dark. Lisette Jarlaud was able to come here unnoticed, after her day’s work at the H?tel Courville. Anyone could meet her without being seen! The alley runs behind all the shops on this side of the square. Any one of a dozen men could’ve slipped out and met her here…”

“That’s right, M’sieur Inspecteur. We’ve questioned all the shopkeepers.”

“And anybody could come out for a rendezvous—as we did, just now, from that rear door of the town hall!”

“That’s possible…”

“I suppose you met Lisette here?”

“Well, I…” His voice choked in his throat. “You won’t report me?”

“I’ve already told you. This is Bardou’s investigation—not mine. I won’t report you to anybody.”

“In that case, M’sieur Inspecteur, I will tell you—in strict confidence—I did meet Lisette here. But only twice! The other times we always drove into the hills in my car.”

For a moment, as they walked toward rue Voltaire, visible at the end of the alley, neither spoke. Damiot remembered days when he had run through this alley, avoiding the square, on an errand for his parents or up to some mischief of his own. But never at night…

As they reached the street, he glanced at Porel again. “I think I’ll drive up and have a look at the spot where that other girl died.”

“Want me to come with you?”

“That’s not necessary.”

“I will tell M’sieur le Commissaire that you were here.”

“If you must.” He turned down rue Voltaire toward the square.