Speak Softly My Love (4 page)

Missing
persons, unless they were children, all too often fell to the
bottom of the list.

“
Okay. That seems, ah, sensible enough.”

“
Yes, sir. The Inspector agrees. We are treating the two
incidents as related. Until we know otherwise. And yet it is
nothing if not open.”

Gravelet
nodded at the materials on the desk.

“
The little ones are the originals. The rest is for you
guys.”

Gilles
picked the snapshots up and handed them back.

“
Please thank Inspector David for me.”

Gravelet
was just turning to go when Levain came in.

“
Hey!”

“
Andre. Holy, shit.” He gave a quick look over his shoulder at
Maintenon. “I heard you were doing well. Congratulations. It’s
really good to see you again.”

“
The old bugger giving you any trouble?”

Gravelet
shook his head carefully, going rigid for a second, his back being
turned to an unknown quantity. Levain, grinning from ear to ear as
if he knew some dreadful and yet humorous secret about Gravelet,
grabbed him by the arm and steered him away from Maintenon’s desk
and over in the direction of the coffee pot.

“
Oh, I don’t know, Andre. The Inspector is expecting me back.”
Inspector David, like any other officer with nothing pressing, no
urgent calls or emergencies on hand, was hoping to escape at five
o’clock on the dot and would probably have some last-minute
instructions for Gravelet. “Like, five minutes ago, knowing
him.”

Gravelet
cleared his throat nervously but got no hints from
Maintenon.

There
would be a shit-load of typing and Gravelet would be lucky to get
out of there by six-thirty or seven.

The two
went out the door as Gilles looked at the clock, and then picked up
the best of their enlargements. In this picture, Didier and Monique
were by the seaside, very young. Perhaps a honeymoon or vacation.
The two younger males were talking outside the door, the rumble a
comforting backdrop and no real distraction.

He
heaved a sigh. Looking at the bland, oval, almost characterless
face, no hard lines or marks of suffering or sacrifice there. He
supposed it could be so. It wasn’t that the resemblance wasn’t
there. Gilles had barely gotten a look. There was also that element
of psychological shock. All of his instincts screamed against
making any kind of positive statements.

With
nothing else to go on, it would have to do for the time
being.

It
wasn’t his case anyways. For whatever reason, he gave in to the
impulse.

“
Young man.”

The door
opened and Andre came in, a bright and cheerful look on his face
after his little gossip and catch-up session with what was clearly
an old friend or acquaintance of some standing.

“
What? Oh, sorry, Gilles. He’s gone.”

“
Merde. What can I say? It was
probably
him, Andre. It was either
that, or it was somebody else.”

More
sober now, Andre gave a short, sharp nod. He understood
perfectly.

Maintenon couldn’t quite leave it alone—and it wasn’t his
case.

Suppressing a knowing smile, Andre reached and took
Maintenon’s hat off the rack as Gilles’ eyebrows rose. Gilles
looked askance as the hat sailed in his direction. Snatching it out
of mid-air, mouth open, he plopped it down in its rightful
place.

“
And—”

“
Go home. It’s the weekend. It’s supposed to be nice and
sunny. This might be the last of our nice weather. The better half
will be all over me and that’s okay too. Take the rest of the day
off. For Christ’s sake, Gilles.”

“
Huh.” He was probably right though. “So you’re saying this
rain is going to let up someday?”

It’s not my case and they will handle it just as well as I
could.

“
Very well. I can take a hint. So I’m not wanted
then—”

Tailler
hooted, turning from his task. The file he had laid out end to end
was hopefully not missing any pages, photos, statements or other
exhibits. He gave Andre a frankly admiring look.

“
Nailed it.”

Gilles
twitched but his demeanour remained unchanged.

Face
stern and expressionless but all right with it inside, Gilles
shoved his chair back. He rose in a determined fashion. Levain
tossed his raincoat at his outstretched left arm on the way by and
then the Inspector was marching down the hallway and headed for the
stairwell.

Chapter Four

Dropped
off at the front door on Friday evening, Gilles had enjoyed a quiet
weekend. Any sense of tedium had been relieved by doing his own
shopping. It helped to have something to do, however mundane. He
strolled to the nearest outdoor market early Saturday morning. He
made his own bed, and hung up his own clothes. He was relatively
self-sufficient.

He’d
brought the food home, putting it all away, preparing it in the
sense of taking the greens off the tops of a bunch of carrots. He’d
had a nap Saturday afternoon, feasted, feeling oddly youthful as he
dined on a tin of this and a jar of that. Nothing beat a good tin
of sardines, slathered in mustard. A few slices of cucumber cleaned
the palate. He’d hit the pickles and the coleslaw, one of the few
things he made well, pretty hard. There was a sense of
accomplishment from that coleslaw.

The rest
of the evening had been taken up with a book, cigars, cognac and
the radio.

With
even less to do on Sunday, he hadn’t even gotten out of his pajamas
until after noon. Only the fact that the telephone hadn’t rung in
the whole time, and that sooner or later, it surely would, finally
got him into the bath.

The
phone still didn’t ring, and it occurred to Gilles that he hadn’t
heard from any of the family in a while. It didn’t occur to him,
not really, that he might have called them.

Better
to leave well enough alone, as Levain would say.

Sunday evening, unfashionably early, he went to a favoured
nearby
ristorante
for spaghetti and meat-balls. There was a salad, rolls and
butter, and refills on the coffee. The wine was fine, and that was
about all he could say for it. The place was an old standby, hot
food at a good price. No waiting, no line-ups and no
reservations.

Belly full and back at home in his old familiar armchair,
Sylvestre, who had been following him around the house all weekend,
hopped up into his lap. Gilles set the book aside and scratched the
animal behind the ears. A black short-haired cat with a white
muzzle, he’d always thought the name very fitting. Madame Lefebvre
had initially been opposed. She’d wanted to call it
Monsieur Thom.
It was
one of the few times he’d pulled rank on her, he being the owner
and she merely the housekeeper. Even now, he still grinned when he
thought of it.

The
cat’s claws began to knead at his red sweater and the thing curled
up on its side, seemingly fascinated as it bit and tugged at a bit
of loose thread. It being an old sweater, Gilles let it go
on.

The
phone rang.

“
All right, Sylvestre. Down you go.”

“
Meow?”

“
Yes.”

“
Mawrr…mawrr.”

“
Uh, huh.”

Gilles
dragged himself out of the chair on the third ring and shuffled
over. It was very dark on the other side of that glass. Time just
flew when you were on your own and there was nothing much going
on.

The
clock on the mantel said seven forty-three p.m.

“
Hello?”

“
Hello. Is this Gilles Maintenon?”

It
reminded him of his mother, and he’d always been tempted to say no,
this is not me.

“
Ah, yes, who’s calling?”

“
Sergeant Girard.”

“
Ah.” Maintenon took the thin black cigarillo out of the
corner of his mouth.

He’d had
the phone installed with an unusually long base cord. Picking up
the heavy lower part of the unit, he went and stood and looked out
the window. What he expected to see was a good question. His
reflection impressed him as that of a terribly desperate and lonely
old man. The fact that it was just the highlights, all the dark
tones going transparent, completely disappearing, may have had
something to do with it.

“
Okay, sir. As you may recall. We sent out the Belinotypes.”
These were wire-photos, a real sign of the times. “All major and
regional detachments, n’est pas? And the funny thing is we got a
hit, almost right away.”

“
Where?”

“
Lyon.”

“
Go on.”

“
You’re going to like this.”

“
What is it, a body?” Gilles turned again to take another
quick look out the window, some odd prickling sensation at the base
of the neck.

It was
dark, and windy. With the windows closed tight, he was alone with
nothing but the sounds of the old place settling. It was cracking
away from the adjoining properties.

“
No, Inspector. They have a missing persons report. Going by
the picture they sent…well, we don’t know what to
think.”

“
Interesting.”

“
It is.”

“
You know what’s even more interesting, Inspector?”

Gilles
waited.

“…
the gentleman’s name is Didier Godeffroy.”

“
No!”

“
Yes.”

Gilles
stood there.

“
Who made the report?”

“
A woman claiming to be his wife.”

“
What’s the wife’s name?”

“
Her name is Lucinde. They have two children, age five and
seven. He’s a couple of years younger than the wife, and she says
they’ve been married about eight years. Their anniversary is coming
up. The pictures bear an uncanny resemblance. She says he’s a wine
representative for Gaston e Cie. That’s all I know.
Sir.”

“
Interesting.”

“
So what do you think, Inspector?”

“
Damn it all. Does Inspector David know about this
yet?”

“
He’s not around, Inspector Maintenon.” There was a
hesitation. “His kid’s in a bad way and he’s a bit distracted
lately. We try not to bother him, and sort of let him have his
weekends…”

“
Ah. What’s wrong with the child?”

“
Polio. The kid’s about twelve.”

“
Oh. Ah. Not good. And you’re what, on night shift or working
late?”

“
Shit. Something like that.” He didn’t even hardly know
himself these days, but he’d heard through the grapevine that
Gilles and his crew didn’t have anything really interesting going
on—just wrapping up some big ones, but mostly routine, easy stuff
coming in the front door in recent days.

A
stabbing here, a shooting there, a strangling somewhere else. The
criminals were being really dumb these days. It was a phenomenon,
it seemed to come and go in waves. It was all too easy
sometimes.

Girard
thought he’d do a little fishing. There were times you needed to
ask a favour and everyone knew Maintenon was a pretty good
guy.

“
Yes. I see the problem. Okay, let me think about
it.”

“
The Inspector will be in the office at about nine or
so.”

“
Thank you. I will definitely speak to him.”

The
sergeant rang off.

Gilles
wandered back to his armchair. It seemed like a long shot. It was
definitely one weird coincidence.

Considering the pictures he had examined, and they had the
exact same pictures in Lyon, it just seemed so unlikely.
Unfortunately, by this time the gears in his brain had begun to
turn over.

***

First
thing Monday morning, Gilles called Inspector David. A mental
picture of the fellow’s long sideburns and walrus mustache were a
reminder that the old guard still hung on in certain quarters. In
the event, David was happy enough to give it up, having heard from
Girard already.

“
Yes, Gilles, and thank you.” Inspector David was getting up
there in years and Gilles wondered at his health or when his
retirement date might roll around.

Gilles
wasn’t looking forward to his own particularly, but other men felt
differently. It was true that people got tired after a
while.

“
It’s my youngest boy.” The Inspector had been a widower, but
he remarried, his wife bearing young Frederic in her forty-fourth
year.

An
impressive feat. One had to admit. Gilles was a little preoccupied,
or he might have asked more questions.

“
We’ll be more than happy, Inspector David.”

The
Inspector gave him a name in Lyon and Gilles jotted it
down.