Chapter Twenty-one
Shortly after breakfast
the next morning we motored the Breton
Belle away from the moorings at la Gacilly and headed back down river.
Cherie stood on the pontoon deck in a saucy nightie, watching us cast off and
turn away from the town. She waved and just before we lost sight of her she
blew a kiss. I wasn’t too sure who it was aimed at, me or the major.
Williamson
was rather quiet, as if he had things on his mind he didn’t want to discuss so
I left him to his thoughts. He had tried again to phone Lord Bracewell, but without
success. In his shoes I would have had a mind so full of problems I would
probably have wanted to run away to a monastery to contemplate my future.
My
thoughts were again fixed on Simone and that single night we had spent together
and my heart went out to her. I longed to see her again more than I dared
admit. Something about Simone had stuck in my head and my heart and I couldn’t
get rid of it. Maybe she was the one person who could take Penny’s place. But
this murder business had to be concluded first.
We saw
the Hassim chateau between the trees as we came around a sharp bend. It sat at
the heart of its estate, framed between the foliage and looking proud and noble
like Lizzie Bennet’s vision of Pemberely when she first saw the great house.
But there were no affable English gentry waiting for us in this edifice.
Moments later we lost sight of the grand building and I pulled in alongside the
bank at what I judged to be the river end of Hassim’s private woodland. From
that point we could neither see the chateau, nor be seen from it. Fortunately
the river was marginally wider here and other boats would be able to pass us
easily.
Williamson
hopped ashore and moored the boat to the bank. When we were secure, I killed
the engine and, quite suddenly, sensed a heavy silence all about us. Just one
lone bird was singing somewhere in the distance and even he didn’t sound too
pleased. Maybe it was something about this place, or the owner, that even the
local wildlife didn’t like.
Williamson
came back aboard and gave me a short nod. “You ready, old chap?”
“Sure,
Charlie.” I gave him a stern look. “But this is going to be my game plan from
here on. I’ll go ashore and you can stay here and mind the boat.”
His
jaw dropped. The major was not used to taking orders from a civilian. “Sorry,
old chap. No joy. This is more my problem than yours. Hang it all, I was hired
to look after Viola, not you.”
“And I
was the one who was with her when she died. Don’t let’s argue about this,
Charlie. It was me who found her body, me who called in the police at Rennes,
me who followed up on the L’Orlys, me who checked out Colette. And it’s me who
has hold of Viola’s money.” I drew a short breath. “I believe I have a good
claim to take the first look up there in the chateau.”
“It’s
my job…”
“That’s
a matter of opinion, Charlie. You were hired to mind Viola when she was alive.
You weren’t asked to investigate her death.” I tried to sound agreeable.
“Anyhow, you can’t mind her any more so your job is, technically ended.”
“But…”
“No
buts, Charlie. Look, I’d take it as a favour if you’d let me have the first
scout round by myself. You can do your bit later, if you really have to.”
“You
don’t trust me?” He looked a shade crestfallen. Like an English public
schoolboy who’s been told he’s not suitable for the school cricket team.
“There
are two things about this you should keep in mind, Charlie. One, someone should
be here to guard the boat and be ready for a quick getaway. Two, we can’t
afford both of us getting caught prowling about on Hassim’s land. Now, I’m the
younger man, so let me do a short recce up through the estate. When I get back
we’ll decide on our next plan of action.”
“You’re
the youngest, old boy, but not the fittest.” Was that a hint of malice in his
voice? “Who was it that got you out of trouble with those hoodlums from Redon?”
“Don’t
remind me.”
“I can
handle this…”
“Yes,
I’m sure you can, Charlie. Quite sure you can. But we don’t know what we’re up
against so we can’t afford to take chances. Look, we don’t know what’s up there
and we don’t want another killing, do we? It’s best if only one of us breaks
into the grounds. Less chance of being caught. The other should stay back here
as the safety pilot. Now, don’t let’s fall out over this, eh?”
I
think he saw the sense in my argument, but I could tell he wasn’t happy about
it.
“If
you say so, old chap,” he conceded. “But don’t do anything rash. What?”
“That
sure as hell ain’t my plan, Charlie.”
Before
he could change his mind I hopped onto the riverbank and set off up through the
woodland that led to Hassim’s chateau. The air felt chilly and I shivered
despite the weak sunshine now filtering down through the greenery. The sky was
beginning to cloud over, the sun occasionally dipping behind small, fluffy
bursts of cumulus, lining up like they were ready to lead a grand parade of
thick nimbus waiting in the wings. There were no easy signposts, so I followed
a steep path up through the overgrown wood, hoping I had guessed right and that
I was heading towards Hassim’s chateau. I had no clear plans in my mind about
what I’d do if I met Neanderthal man along the way. A simple claim that I’d
lost my way would be just too obviously bogus to hold water even to a
birdbrain. I slowed my pace when the gray coloured chateau came into sight
between the trees. Again, I felt a chill atmosphere tingle my skin.
Pausing
just in the cover of the woodland, I listened for sounds of voices. But there
was nothing, no longer even the reassuring sound of birds. The solitary
creature I’d heard earlier must have given up and struck out for somewhere more
inviting. I stepped cautiously out onto the level garden, which surrounded the
chateau. Spread out on either side of me was a wide panorama of overgrown
flowerbeds, lawns, fishponds and flowering shrubs. A gravel path led off
towards the chateau, which, now that I was close to it, looked gloomier than I
had expected. It would once, not so long ago, have been an imposing mansion but
now it looked bleak and forbidding. Dark, crenulated turrets, capped with
dunce-cap roofs would have set light to the imagination of any Hollywood
filmmaker with a Gothic bent, but they left me cold.
As I
came closer to the building, the sun slid completely behind a large cloud mass
and the gray walls of the mansion turned suddenly grim. Most of the windows
were shuttered and a vague sense of despair hung over the whole place. It was
the cold, clammy atmosphere that really set the scene. Nothing I could put my
finger on, just a feeling. Dead leaves were blowing gently across the path
behind me. No one seemed to be in attendance here and it felt wrong.
“What
do you want?”
I
swung round towards one end of the building where a dark figure now stood. It
was Jacques Hassim, the young long-armed gorilla. He looked as brain-dead as
ever, his threatening image enhanced by a pair of large Dobermans, one sitting
menacingly either side of him. But he also looked somehow less powerful, as if
something had gone out of him. His skin seemed even more parchment-white and…
was he really looking thinner? I couldn’t be sure. He had a rifle clutched in
one hand and he slapped it lightly against the leg of his scruffy jeans.
“Hello.”
I tried to smile but failed miserably. My heart just wasn’t in it.
“I
asked you what you want here, American.” Jacques Hassim’s voice was slurred. He
took a few unsteady steps forward and the dogs followed, matching him pace for
pace. It didn’t take much in the way of perception to see that something was
wrong with the big youth. He had difficulty keeping his balance.
“I
called to see Mr Ali Hassim.” I replied, standing my ground. There weren’t too
many options open to me at that moment and none of them promised any guaranteed
protection from the dogs. Anchoring my feet to the ground seemed the better
bet.
As he
came closer I noted that the youth’s eyes were dull, like someone boozed out of
his mind or high on drugs. Or was it something more than that? The look in his
eyes wasn’t just dope. Hell, whatever
it was, he was likely to be dangerous in that state. I should have noticed it
before, which only proved that I wasn’t cut out for this sort of thing.
“Go
away.” Jacques Hassim took another lurching step towards me and aimed the rifle
at my chest. His hand was unsteady and his body swayed one way as the gun
swayed the other. He growled at me, “Just go… go away before I set the… set the
dogs on you.”
I eyed
the two Dobermans and decided that I didn’t trust them any more than I trusted
young Jacques and the rifle. Maybe discretion would be the best course of
action here. I backed away slowly, eyes firmly on the weapon. I notched my fear
down a shade when I saw that the gun’s safety catch was on, but I continued to
edge across the lawn, aiming my backside at the path that led back down through
the woods.
“I’m
going.” I said, “Just you keep those dogs at bay.”
“How
did you… you get in here?” He shuffled after me, the rifle wavering in his
unsteady hand. In this state, the creep was incapable of shooting anyone except
by accident, but that was little comfort at the time.
“I
came up river on the boat. Left it moored down at the riverbank.”
“The Breton Belle?”
“Yes.”
“Why…?”
“Well…
actually…”
“Jacques!”
A woman’s voice pierced the quiet air, abruptly putting paid to Jacques’s
questions. I looked up and saw Colette running across the lawn from the chateau.
She looked different. This was not the tartly dressed Colette I had seen on the
riverbank, nor the half-drugged young woman I had visited in the Redon marina.
This was an elegant young lady wearing a formal two-piece suit. Designer label,
by the look of it. The pleated skirt just reached her knees and her white
blouse was set off with a ruffed collar. Her face was made up like some sort of
model.
She
slowed as she came closer, ran her hands down her neat attire and stared at me
with venomous eyes. “What are you
doing here?”
“Jacques
already asked me that,” I replied as coolly as I could manage. “I came to see
Mr Ali Hassim.”
“No!”
She stopped suddenly, heels digging into the lawn, and roared at me. “No! You
must go away.”
“Why?
What are you hiding here, Colette? It doesn’t look like I’ve gate-crashed into
some sort of private picnic. So, if it isn’t that, what is it? Papa
entertaining the village priest? Or are you afraid I might find out what really
happened to Viola Bracewell?”
We
were at the edge of the lawn now, just a gravel path between me and the trees
that led down to the riverbank. If I had to, I knew I could make it into the
woods before the dogs got to me and the thought gave me some element of false
courage.
“Jacques,
take the dogs away, please.” Colette spun round on her pretty little high-heels
and grabbed the youth by his arm. She suddenly slipped into French when he
looked like he was about to argue and then she finished up with, “You know I
don’t like it when you let the dogs loose. They might savage someone.” She was
looking at me when she said that.
Jacques
responded in garbled French, which left me completely at a loss. He waved his
gun hand first at me then towards the chateau and I picked up the word, ‘Papa.’
Was Ali Hassim up there in the closed-up mansion? Despite Jacques’s anger, Colette
persisted, clutching him tighter and arguing with him in equally voluble
French. Finally she pushed him back.
“Merde!” He jostled her as he swore, but
the trick worked and he staggered off towards the mansion. His stance was still
unsteady, but the dogs backed off with him and that was a relief.
“I
will see that the American leaves the way he came,” Colette said calmly
although it was a fair bet Jacques wasn’t listening. She turned to me and
added, “You must go. Right now.”
I
watched Jacques staggering off with the dogs obediently following. They seemed
cowed by him and, for Dobermans, that was some feat.
“He’s
dangerous, you know,” I said as the tension began to drain away from me.
“What’s he on? Heroin or cocaine?”
“He
has had a little too much to drink. It is of no consequence to you.”
“He
may be boozed up, Colette, but there’s more to it than that. Damn it all, in
the state he’s in, he could have killed me!”
“He
would not have hurt you.” Colette shrugged. “Guns have frightened him since he
was a child. It’s the noise, you see, the noise of them still frightens him. He
never learned to shoot anything when he was younger and he isn’t going to learn
now. He only carries the rifle for show. He is a child at heart and it makes
him feel brave if he threatens people with a gun, but the safety catch was on.
Didn’t you notice?”
“I
still don’t trust him. Safety catches are easily flicked off.”
“For
heaven’s sake!” She was getting exasperated now, but she held her bearing like she
knew what she was doing. Stiff chin and a smart suit. “I told you to take the
boat on down river. Why did you come here?”
I saw
her suddenly in a new light, elegant and commanding. In hindsight, it fitted
the commanding sort of image she had portrayed that day on the canal bank.
Jacques had been no match for her then and he certainly wasn’t any match for
her now. The incident aboard the yacht had shown her out-of-character. She’d
been too doped up to be herself.
“I’m
still trying to find out what happened to Viola Bracewell,” I said. Her eyes
flickered and her gaze dropped. I knew that I had to tackle her now while we
were alone. I went on, carefully and precisely, feeling for a flaw in her
defence. “She really is dead, you know.”
“Yes,
I know.” She replied in an equally calm tone, her anger quite dissipated.
I was
stumped. I had expected her to protest that she had no knowledge of Viola’s
death, but her self-control remained steady. When I recovered my own composure,
I asked, “What happened to her?”
“Maybe
it was an accident.” She paused, her eyes flickered again and then the anger
returned. “It must have been an accident of some sort. For God’s sake! Why
don’t you leave us alone?”
“Because
there’s a little matter of law and justice involved. And it wasn’t an accident,
so don’t give me that nonsense. People who witness accidents generally stop to
help the victim, and no one stopped to help Viola. So why was she killed? You
do know why, don’t you?”
Her
teeth were gritted tightly together, her eyes blazing. But her mouth remained
tight shut. It was beyond doubt now. She knew what happened that morning.
“Tell
me, Colette,” I persisted.
She
glanced across her shoulder as if she was about to speak and then something at
the chateau had caught her attention.
“What
is it, Colette?”
“Shhh!”
She put a finger to her lips, then whispered, “It’s papa.” She pointed towards
the far end of the building where another figure was now coming into view. A tall,
grey-haired man in a dark lounge suit.
“Good.”
I said defiantly. “I need to speak to him.”
“No!
He will get very angry because I have spoken to you. You must go.”
“No
way, Colette. No way.” I pushed past her and headed towards Hassim senior.
This
was a golden opportunity and no one was going to stop me now. Who knows what I
had been expecting the old guy to be like—probably exactly what I saw—but that didn’t stop me getting that
sudden twinge of angry realization. It was the same man from St. Malo all right.
Imposing like he was some sort of lord. So he was the mirror of Omar Sharif in
his prime? But what the hell were Viola and Brigitte thinking about when they
got mixed up with him? And as for Brigitte hopping into bed with him—the mere thought of it sickened me.
He
stared at me as I walked up to him, his dark eyes firmly focussed on my face.
If he had any inkling of what I had in my mind he would have done well to call
for assistance. But he didn’t, he just stared straight at me.
Colette
hurried on ahead of me and grabbed the man’s hand. Her voice was none too
steady. “Papa, this is the American who was aboard the Breton Belle with Viola.”
“Name’s
Henry Bodine, Mr Hassim.” I stuck out my hand as I reached him but he ignored
it. I wasn’t too surprised or sorry.
“What
do you want here?” Hassim spoke with a thick sort of Middle Eastern accent.
There was something deeply offensive in his tone of voice, as if he was working
on how to get my balls chopped off without incriminating himself.
“I
came to bring your boat back to you,” I replied. “She’s moored down at the
riverbank.”
“You
were travelling on my boat?” His face twitched. “With Viola Bracewell?”
“Yes.”
“And
you are the one who told Inspector Le Fevre at the Redon Gendermarie that she has been murdered?” The question was almost
spat out at me.
“Yes.
How did you know?”
“I
make it my business to know everything.” He advanced closer to me with venomous
eyes. “You will get off my land and you will get off my boat. Now!”
For
all his age, it seemed to me that he was spoiling for a fight. That didn’t
worry me unduly. He didn’t frighten me by himself, but there was always the
risk of reinforcements being called in.
Colette
was close beside him, trying to hold him back. “Papa! He doesn’t understand. He
is just a foolish American visitor.”
“Then
he can get away from here. He can take himself back to America!” Hassim’s face
twisted acutely when he shouted. He glared at me lopsidedly. “Do not meddle in
things that are no concern of yours.” The man was getting really nasty now, and
that wasn’t going to do me any good. Certainly didn’t put him in a mood to talk
easily.
“Okay.
If that’s the way you want it.” I had learned nothing and it was plain that I
was not going to learn anything. Once again I decided that a tactical retreat
would be best. I backed off towards the woods with the idea of retreating to
the boat. But Hassim was not having that.
“The
main gate is that way.” He pointed towards the far end of the chateau. I saw
then that his tongue was almost lost behind ranks of gold fillings.
“But,
Mr Hassim, all my belongings are aboard the boat.”
“They
will be returned to you. Get off my land now or… or I will bring the dogs back
here and have them set upon you.”
“Okay,
okay.” It was a persuasive argument. I changed direction.
“I
will show him out, papa.” Colette came to the fore again and indicated for me
to follow her. Reluctantly, I complied and we headed off towards the main gate.
I glanced over my shoulder and saw Hassim senior snarling at me. Despite their
different sizes, his face bore an expression that closely reflected the look of
his son.
“He
certainly isn’t too happy to see me,” I quipped as we passed round the corner
of the mansion and out of Hassim’s hearing.
“You
should have listened to me. I told you to keep away from him.”
“That’s
right, you did.” I conceded. “I’ll remember next time.”
“There
will not be a next time, Mr Bodine. I will not let you near him again. To me,
he is a very special man.”
“Really?”
I wasn’t convinced. The words were too contrived. “You know, it didn’t take you
long to get back here once I told you that Viola had sold her engagement ring.
Gave up trying to steal it from the boat, did you?”
“Get
out of here.” Colette stood by the main gate and waited for me to leave. “Papa
would have no hesitation in doing it, you know.”
“Doing
what?”
“Setting
the dogs onto you.”
“Nice
chap.”
She
slammed shut the heavy main gate behind me and hurried back to the chateau,
leaving me standing alone in a leafy lane. A wind whistled along the river
valley and the sky was now clouding over fast. I waited until the girl was out
of sight and then I jogged a short distance down the lane until I came to a
small village, nestled around the approach to a road junction. It was little
more than a collection of old houses stretched out either side of a single
highway leading up to a fork with no indication of where either road went after
that. There was a church, a grocery store and a cafe and not much else, except
a few people slowly winding their way along the street.
The
cafe was nearest so I went in and asked to use their telephone, or tried to.
The owner was a machine-gun-tongued, French-speaking guy who must have gone
down a treat with any foreign visitors who strayed into the village. I waved a
fistful of francs under his nose and made gestures to indicate what I wanted.
Despite his severe lack of English, he readily agreed when he saw the colour of
my money and he led me away to a private sitting room where I found a telephone
and quickly got through to Simone.
“Henry?
Am I glad to hear you.”
“No
more than I am to hear you, Sweetheart. How are your investigations going?”
“I
think I’m getting somewhere. I managed to telephone Lord Bracewell,” she told
me in a rush of words. “In fact I spoke to him personally.”
“Good
girl.”
“He
knew nothing about what happened over there. Why wasn’t he told?”
“A
long story, Simone. What happened when you spoke to him?”
“He
was absolutely devastated when I said that Viola had been shot, not
surprisingly really. It wasn’t easy breaking it to him, I can tell you. But he
certainly isn’t going to sit back and wait to see what happens. You can take it
from me that he’ll use all his influence to get things moving fast. You can
expect the French police to believe you now.”
“They’d
better.” It was good news but, whatever I did now, I had to be quick to be one
jump ahead of the police.
“One
more thing you should know, Henry. Ali Hassim has an illegitimate daughter
called Colette.”
Illegitimate daughter! Did that mean Colette had
no legal claim upon the old man’s estate? It could explain a thing or two. I
flustered out the words, “Yes. I’ve met her.”
“Well,
just you beware of her. Lord Bracewell told me her mother was a prostitute in
Marseilles and she only came to live with Hassim when his wife died. His Lordship
thinks Colette had her eyes firmly set on Hassim’s fortune before Viola came
along.”
“How
come? Surely Jacques Hassim would have been the rightful heir to Hassim’s
fortune?”
There
was a pause before she said, “Seems not, Henry. Jacques has been mainlining
with dirty needles. He’s dying of AIDS. He won’t see another birthday party.”
“Shit!”
Understanding suddenly flooded in. That explained a lot. “Are you sure?”
“I got
it from Lord Bracewell himself. He’s been looking into Hassim’s private life.
Because of Viola’s… well, anyway, Jacques, is on the way out.”
She
paused once more to let the words sink in and I conjured up an image of
Jacques’s shaking hands. It hadn’t been the booze alone. Then she went on.
“Illegitimate or not, the chances are that Colette would have got everything.
There’s no other living relative with any sort of real claim on the estate. So Colette
had every reason to hate Viola’s guts after the engagement.”
“She
thought Viola would steal it all? Everything she thought of as her inheritance?
But that’s all gone now, isn’t it? With the bankruptcy.”
“The
bulk of it is certainly gone. The chateau will be sold to pay off some pretty
hefty debts. But there’s bound to be money hidden away somewhere, money the
receivers will have difficulty getting hold of. The sale of the Breton Belle, for example, and the sale
of the ring. There’s that cheque for two hundred thousand and fifty pounds.
Colette will want to get hold of that, one way or another.”
“Viola
said someone was tailing her. She must have known all this.”
“It
could have been Colette or Jacques tailing her.”
“It
was both of them.”
“There’s
something else you should know, Henry.” Simone added a thoughtful edge to her
voice. “Hassim had two sons. One was killed: his elder son, Yusuf. He was
killed in the Gulf War. The story is that he was a bit of a tear-away and he
was taken in by Sadam’s rhetoric so he ran off and joined the Iraqi army when
they invaded Kuwait.”
“That’s
too bad. But I just don’t see the connection.”
“The
sons were both in the same war. Lord Bracewell’s elder son is an RAF pilot. He
flew in the Gulf War. He killed Iraqis.”
“You
think it might have been retribution?”
“They
say that Hassim was deeply upset when Yusuf was killed. Threatened revenge on
the Western World at large and the Western military in particular.”
“I thought
he made his money out of Western civilization?”
“Don’t
look for rational answers. There are none.”
When
the call was ended I went back into the cafe and ordered a coffee. It seemed
the polite thing to do and it gave me time to think. Half an hour later I
thanked the cafe owner and gave him a few more francs to keep him happy. Then I
ran back down the lane and turned off into the woodland that bordered it.
Despite Hassim’s threats, I had it figured out that I could make it back to the
riverbank and then find the Breton Belle.
No way was the Hassim family going to scare me off.
As I
pushed through the dense undergrowth, I heard dogs barking in the distance.
Probably the Dobermans. Heaven help the man who got the worst of those two
hounds. I pushed on, my thoughts partly taken up with Colette. Before I went to
the chateau, I had all but eliminated her from my list of suspects. I hadn’t
been able to pin any real motive on her. But that idea was now wiped away
because Colette had a very real motive.
Greed.
Viola had something which Colette wanted.
It
took me a good half hour to locate the riverbank and then make my way along it
towards the Hassim estate. With so many overhanging trees and bushes at the
water’s edge, I had difficulty reaching the spot where the boat was moored. I
called out to Williamson as I came nearer, but got no reply. From outside, the
boat looked deserted. The doddering old major was not keeping a good watch.
I
hopped aboard and called out, “Charlie! Are you there?”
Again,
I got no reply and I headed down through the open hatch to the saloon. The
first thing I noted when I came inside was the appalling mess, as if someone
had been deliberately wrecking the boat. Chairs were up-turned, books and
papers lay sprawled about the floor. Even the curtains were ripped. I pushed
aside the broken table and levered my way towards the far end of the saloon.
Then I
saw Williamson.
He was
lying face up on the floor, staring blindly up at the ceiling with a look of
absolute fear spread across what remained of his face. His mouth hung wide open
and blood ran from his neck down his white shirt front like a scarlet
exclamation mark. The floor around him was still vividly red.
The
dogs! He had been attacked by the dogs! His jugular had been savagely ripped open.
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