Son of Holmes - John Lescroart

“A woman in my kitchen? You’ll have to watch her, sir. Don’t let her use any of—”

I raised a palm. “It’s all right, Fritz. I’ll try to keep her under control.”

One of the conditions I’d met in hiring Fritz was a guarantee that I wouldn’t let a woman meddle in his affairs in the kitchen, but this seemed to be a special case. “She’ll be gone by the time you return.”

Lupa returned with Watkins and told Fritz that we’d now have three for dinner. Watkins looked the same as when I’d first met him, complete with swollen cheek, except that he was dirtier. There were smudges on his clothes and face. Lupa dismissed Fritz and he left.

“Suppose someone sees him going out?” I asked.

He looked at me with impatience. “He locks the outside door before coming in. Ah, more beer.” He sat, and bade us do likewise. After we were settled, he turned to Watkins. “Well?”

He emptied the olive pits into his hand, then dumped them into the wastebasket next to the desk. “It’s blown.”

“Yes. We know. Report.”

He looked at us, surprised. “But how could you know?”

“There was no smoke,” I replied.

“But that’s the funny thing. The stacks stopped smoking nearly an hour before the explosion. I thought at the time—”

“Enough!” Lupa bellowed. “Begin at the beginning.”

“Yes, sir. This morning I got up at dawn, as usual, and when I got to my post, there was already activity around the factory. Evidently today there was a big shipment scheduled. By the way, last night I was followed again, at least back to my hotel.”

“Same man?” Lupa asked.

“Yes, sir. I’m sure of it.”

“Did you get a better look at his face this time?”

“Yes, sir. I think I could identify him.”

“Satisfactory. Go on.”

“So I stayed my ground until nine o’clock or thereabouts, and a chilly ground it was, though not so bad as yesterday. Anyway, then I made it out to the road to Valence and waited for Pulis. He showed up in about an hour by horsecart, loaded with supplies. I kind of expected him to dawdle around, but he rode directly to the loading gate and left the cart with the guards while he crossed the street and had some coffee.”

“He never went inside the gate?”

“No. They don’t allow it.”

“How long did the unloading take?”

“No more than a quarter hour. Then they sent a man over to get him, and he picked up the cart and started back out of town. I followed him back to where I’d picked him up, but he looked like he was just heading back here, so I let him go. I didn’t like leaving the factory unwatched for so long. Then I got back and watched them arranging things for shipment for a time. Old Ponty kept running in and out, wiping his forehead and giving directions, but otherwise nothing happened for the next hour. Then, around noon, a woman came to the gate, and I recognized her as the one you, uh, you’ve been seeing.”

“Tania was there?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Was she alone?”

“She came alone and went inside. Then, a few minutes later, she left with Ponty. They were gone maybe an hour for lunch, or I suppose it was lunch.”

“How were they acting?” put in Lupa.

“I couldn’t say, sir, I was too far away.”

“All right. Continue.”

“They returned at about one, as I said, and both went back inside. After only a few minutes, she came back out and left. I was tempted to follow her, but you’d only said to follow Pulis if it looked promising, so I stayed. I’m glad I did. For about an hour, it was the same story of loading and unloading, with Ponty running around again—and then, all of a sudden, the stacks stopped smoking, as I said. Everyone was so busy I doubt if they even noticed. No matter. I stayed put and waited.”

“Good,” Lupa said. “Did anyone enter or leave after Madame Chessal?”

“Yes, the janitor.”

“When did he go?”

“Maybe ten minutes after the smoking stopped.”

“Is that his normal quitting time?”

“I can’t say for sure, sir. The other times I’ve been there, he’s left at all different times. Last night he was evidently still on duty when I left, and that was late. Maybe his schedule varies on different days.”

“All right.” Lupa nodded, and Watkins continued.

“About three o’clock, then, Ponty came out to check on something at the guard’s gate. Some of the trucks had started their motors, and things appeared to be getting under way, when all of a sudden the whole place just blew up from inside. It was something to see.”

“I’d imagine so.”

“When things settled a bit, I ran over, as if I were a by-stander, to see if I could help. The whole building had been leveled, but outside, things weren’t so bad, not so bad as I’d imagined from the size of the explosion.” He reached into his pocket—“Anyone care for an olive?”—and continued. “Ponty was already up and around, trying to help wherever he could, and he did get a few of the trucks on the road, but generally he was running around in circles, and I can’t say that I blame him. There were an awful lot of dead and hurt, so I moved back so as not to be in anybody’s way. Before too long, the troops came and cordoned off the area, but I got friendly with one of them and found out that they thought it was the ammunition room that had blown. So I came here.”

“Satisfactory,” Lupa said. “You did well.” He turned to me. “You told me that the ammunition room was impossible to enter.”

“It seemed to be.”

“Hmm . . .” He leaned back and closed his eyes. Watkins and I watched him thinking for nearly a minute, though it seemed much longer. Finally, he sighed and sat up.

“Yes,” he said. “No doubt of it.”

There was a knock at the office door, and I got up to open it. It was Fritz, announcing dinner.

We cleared the desk to make room for the dishes. Fritz brought in a bowl so that Watkins could wash himself, and then began bringing in the courses. Being in danger didn’t seem to have any effect on Lupa’s appetite. I hardly touched the oyster bisque, and though the shad roe was superb, even for Fritz, I found it difficult to get it down. Lupa, on the other hand, ate with relish, talking animatedly about the new book he was reading, the socialist Jaure’s L’Armee Nouvelle. I tried to steer the conversation back around to the explosion, but he insisted we leave it until we’d dined.

“Business during meals upsets the digestion. In this case especially, there is nothing more to discuss.” He continued unperturbed through the crème caramel and coffee, while Watkins and I glanced at each other from time to time, shaking our heads.

He rang for Fritz to come clear the service, but there was no response. Evidently someone else was in the kitchen, and he’d unlatched the bell.

Lupa moved everything to one side, poured himself another cup of coffee, and sat back in his chair. I lit a cigarette and stared at him.

“Yes?” he said finally.

“I was casually wondering what we should do now.”

“You’re sure that everyone will be here tomorrow?”

I nodded and he sighed contentedly.

“Then there’s nothing else to be done. You may as well go on home. This affair will conclude tomorrow night. Indeed, it is over now—there only remains to wrap it up and deliver it to your friend Magiot.”

I thought he was kidding me. “Oh, fine,” I said. “Should I call him now?”

“I think not. It would be premature. Tomorrow will suffice. I’ll take care of it.”

I humored him. “Why do you want Magiot here at all?”

He sipped at his coffee. “So that he’ll be convinced not to harass me.” He tried the bell again. “Now, I suggest that tomorrow you see no one until you arrive here, and of course mention to no one that I’ll be present. Our man no doubt thinks the heat is off. It would be instructive to watch him react when he discovers he’s wrong.”

“Yes,” I said, “and, just for the record, who should we be watching?”

He looked shocked. “Is it possible you don’t know? I’m sure it will be clear if you reflect on it. Ah, Fritz, excellent! You were right about the cognac in the bisque—far more delicate than the sherry. I salute you.”

Fritz, who had just entered with his apron, bowed. “Merci.”

“Who was in the kitchen just now?” Lupa asked.

“Monsieur Anser. He wanted to see where the meeting would be held tomorrow night, so I showed him my quarters. He’s dining upstairs.”

“He’s not alone, is he?” I asked.

“I believe so, sir. Should I check again?”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Lupa. He looked at me.

“It makes no difference. As I’ve said, there’s nothing more to be done.”

When Fritz had finished clearing, I stood to go. “Have you any ideas about the ladies?”

“Yes. I have an idea that they are in no danger. I would not be surprised if they were back in Madame Chessal’s home this very minute.”

“Well, then, à demain.”

Not much mollified, I turned to go. Watkins held the tapestry aside for me. As I walked through the tunnel, I tried to think of what I had missed that made everything so obvious to Lupa, but to no avail.

I skirted the entrance to La Couronne on the way back, since Lupa had asked that I avoid the principals. The road was very dark, and it was beginning to get brisk again, so I walked quickly and was abreast of Tania’s house in under a quarter of an hour. It was still, to all appearances, closed up. Stopping to light a cigarette, I decided, principal or not, I wanted to see Tania, and so I walked up the drive to the front door.

It was still locked. I pushed the button by the door and set off a chorus of chimes. No lights, no sounds. I rang once more to the same effect, then shrugged and went back to the road. Lupa had been wrong there, and if he were wrong once, he could be again. The night seemed to get chillier.

The light was on in the sitting room of my own house, and I entered to find Danielle sitting on the settee by the front window. She smiled weakly when I entered.

“Evening, sir.” She stood, looking much calmer than she had been in the morning. “Have you heard from the madame?”

“Not directly,” I said, “but one of my friends saw her today in St. Etienne, so she’s probably on her way back now.” I wished I could have believed what I was saying, but it would do no good to upset the child. “I’m sure she’ll be home by tomorrow evening and wondering where you are.”

She brought her hands to her face. “Oh, sir. Then I must be off. The madame would be very upset to find me gone.”

“It’s all right, dear, I’ll take care of it. She wasn’t there yet when I passed just a few minutes ago. She’ll be all right without you for one night.”

“You’re sure, sir?”

I smiled. If I could do without Fritz . . . “Yes, yes, I’m sure. But for now, have you eaten?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, come, that won’t do.” I led her into the kitchen and found some eggs, cheese, and a few dried mushrooms. Remembering my promise to Fritz, I decided to cook her dinner myself, though it scandalized her.

“What would people say?” she asked. “Monsieur Giraud cooking my dinner?”

I laughed. “What would people say now? Just sit down and relax. Would you care for some cognac?”

“Oh no, sir, I couldn’t.”

“Au contraire, you could. I wish you’d join me.”

While the omelette was setting, I went and poured us two snifters. She took a sip and made a face. “I usually have spirits with water.”

I turned the omelette. “Not tonight,” I said. I wanted her to go off to sleep. She ate slowly and carefully. I don’t think she tasted a thing.

When she finished, she was drowsy, and I sent her up to my bed. Fritz would never approve of letting a woman into his room alone. I took down a comforter Tania had made for me, turned out the lights, and lay down on the settee to sleep.

Just before I dozed off I became wide-awake, and swore. After getting up and lighting a candle, I walked over to the table by the hearth. I set the candle down and looked carefully. The only mark was the small depression that the detective had noted the previous Wednesday.

“Sir?”

I started. Danielle stood wrapped in a blanket in the foyer.

“I heard you moving. Are you all right?”

“Perfectly,” I said. “I’d just forgotten something.”

She remained, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot.

“What’s the matter?” I asked. “Can’t you go to sleep? Would you like some more cognac?”

“No sir, only . . .” she stammered.

“What’s wrong, child? Speak up!”

“Well, sir, I just don’t know why she wouldn’t have left me a note.” She started to sob, then turned and ran up the stairs. I went back to the divan and pulled up the comforter.

Neither do I, I thought. Neither do I.

16

The next day I awoke early, had coffee alone in the arbor, then worked in the garden, weeding. At noon, I sent Danielle over to Tania’s to see if she’d returned, but she hadn’t. It was quite warm. At about two o’clock we took a sparse lunch of tomatoes, pâté, and bread, after which I napped while she did some laundry. Finally, when the sun had just set, she helped me load three cases of beer into the Ford, and I drove to La Couronne.

I entered via the front door and asked Charles if he’d help me unload my cargo. A few of the patrons looked up as we passed. It was certainly irregular to make deliveries through the dining room, but no one complained. I was evidently the first to arrive.

Lupa’s quarters had been rearranged to accommodate a crowd, with chairs brought down from above and set around the walls. Fritz was busy with dinners, and I watched him for a short time until I became restless and moved back to the apartment for a beer. Generally I waited until some of the group arrived before I drank, but tonight I made an exception.

The next to appear were Georges and Henri—together, as they usually were. Henri was more relaxed than I’d seen him in the past week. We shook hands, and his grip was dry and firm.

“Georges tells me they’ve arrested Lupa.”

“I think not yet,” I said.

“But he did it.”

“It appears so.”

He breathed out. “That’s a relief. I was sure they were going to arrest me because I was a foreigner—but then I forgot”—he smiled—“so are Lupa and Paul.”

Georges walked up and laid his arm across Henri’s shoulders. “I kept telling him last week not to worry. If he’d escaped the arrests last August, the authorities didn’t suspect him at all.” Georges was referring to the Carnet B arrests of suspected foreign agents, which took place upon mobilization. “The same went for Paul, but Lupa—aren’t I right, Jules?—came to Valence after August.”