The Provence Puzzle: An Inspector Damiot Mystery(75)

“But some of the villagers have seen it. Several times…”

“They saw it again tonight. Unfortunately, they killed it.”

“Killed it?”

“You were the one who started those rumors about a monster.”

“What makes you think that, Monsieur?”

“Because you murdered Annie Deffous and Lisette Jarlaud. The rumors about a monster were started by their murderer to confuse the police and frighten the villagers.”

“Those rumors worked! I had heard stories about lights seen at night in the windows of the castle…”

“There were lights because someone lived there. The young Comte de Mohrt. Your rumors gave him the idea to create a monster figure that he displayed for the villagers as a joke.”

“So that’s what it was! I was surprised, of course, when those idiots said they’d seen something.”

“They destroyed the monster tonight. Murdered the Comte de Mohrt! Only it was you who killed him. As surely as you murdered those two young women. But you’ll not harm this girl, because there is no monster now to blame for her death.”

“Jenny knows too much. And suspects even more! I can’t allow her to jeopardize my contract with the new hotel. That’s the ambition of my life! Head chef for a three-star restaurant!”

“You will never see the new hotel. And you’ll not see Blanche Carmet tonight.”

“How do you know about Blanche?”

“You were with her both those nights, after you killed Annie Deffous and Lisette Jarlaud. Had an alibi ready, each time. Provided for you by a prostitute! The way you use women disgusts me!”

Giroud shrugged again, his eyes hardening. “You are only a detective, Monsieur. Not a judge.” He motioned toward the open window with the blade of his knife. “We must go now.” Damiot wondered if Michel would lack the courage to use his knife, and only make intimidating gestures. Slash at one of his hands, perhaps, or his face. The possibility caused him to relax, although these next seconds would be the most dangerous. He must talk himself out of this corner, as he’d done many times in the past…

Giroud seemed to be tensing for attack. Adjusting the knife in his hand.

“I would suggest, Monsieur, that you place your knife on the foot of the bed. Leave here through the window…”

“And walk into a trap?”

“There is no one waiting outside.”

“I don’t believe you!”

“I’ve told no one what I have learned about you. I came here alone.” He kept his voice low, persuasive. “You can get your car and drive away.”

“And you will follow!”

“I will not follow you.”

“It won’t work, Monsieur Inspecteur! I’m taking you with me. In your car.” He lunged suddenly, the knife flashing.

Damiot, caught off guard, felt the blade slice through the sleeve of his waterproof.

Fric-Frac barked.

Giroud, eyes wild, raised the knife again.

As Damiot stepped back to avoid the blade, he was aware of the small black body hurtling past him.

“Mon Dieu!” Giroud, off balance, was surprised by the dog’s attack. Toppling back, he struck against the foot of the bed and slid to the floor.

Damiot saw the knife fly out of his hand, onto the bed. At the same time he was aware of Fric-Frac savaging Giroud’s ankle.

Giroud screamed. “That dog! Get her away!”

Damiot moved swiftly to snatch up the knife.

“She’s biting me!”

“Here, Fric-Frac!” Damiot ordered. “Come away.”

She turned at once and ran toward him.

Giroud rubbed the ankle, then got up and faced Damiot again. “You’re going to arrest me?”

“No. I am not.”

“What?”

“Here’s your knife.” He held it out, handle toward Giroud. “Take it and leave. I must, of course, report what I know to the local police, but that will give you at least an hour. Perhaps more…”

“An hour?”

He saw Giroud’s eyes narrow as he glimpsed a chance for escape.

“Bien! In an hour I will be far away from here.” He snatched the knife from Damiot’s hand. “The local gendarmes will never be able to find me.” He thrust the knife under his jacket. “There is someone in Marseille who will hide me.”

“A woman, I suppose…”

“But of course!” He flashed an arrogant smile. “Au ’voir, Monsieur Inspecteur!”

Damiot watched him go to the windows, push the curtains aside, and disappear into the night.

Poor bastard… He was feeling sorry for him!

“Your murderers are your children,” Sophie had said.

Maybe his wife was right. He had felt sorry for many of them.

Fric-Frac pawed at his trouser leg.

“Good girl.” He leaned down and stroked her head. “You are the best assistant I’ve ever had!”

Damiot turned back to the bed and, moving closer, looked down at the drugged girl. Jenny’s delicate young face, so vulnerable against the soft pillow, reminded him of that other girl. Annie Deffous…

Jenny would never know what had happened in this room. Never suspect she had been so close to death…