Part 9 (1/2)
”Not yet, Madame. What makes you sure it's a man?”
”What woman would do such a terrible thing? I sink it must be zee same man who write zee notes? You 'ave not caught him either?”
”We're still working on it,” Inspector Hughes said. Evan noted his voice was even tighter and more clipped than usual. He obviously hadn't expected to be attacked. ”And we're not at all sure that the notes were written by the same person. Our handwriting expert isn't convinced. And Forensics says it wasn't the same pen that was used.”
”Zat ees interesting.” Madame Yvette nodded, then took a sip of coffee and made a face. ”Zay 'ave no idea how to make coffee.” She put the cup down. ”And you must excuse my appearance. Zay are very kind and lend me clothes, but . . .” She motioned helplessly at her Fair Isle arm. ”I 'ave nozzing,” she said simply. ”All is gone, n'est-ce pas? n'est-ce pas?”
”Have you been to take a look for yourself?” Hughes asked.
”I 'ave not yet been outside. Zay give me a pill to make me sleep. It ees very powerful, I sink. But I watch the fire from zee window 'ere last night. I sink not much is left after zat blaze.”
”No, there's not much left, I'm afraid,” Evan said.
”Now if we can just ask you a few questions,” Hughes began. ”You say the restaurant was closed and you locked up for the night.”
”Zat is correct.”
”Did you check the whole place? The men's toilet, for example?”
Dismay showed on her face. ”I sink so. Now I am not sure. You are saying zat maybe someone-zee person who burn down my restaurant-was hiding in there?”
”It's a possibility,” Hughes said. ”He had to have got in somehow and if you'd already locked the doors . . .”
”Maybe he didn't come in,” she said. ”When zee cottage ees burned down, zay tell me zat zee fire ees started through zee letter box, no?”
”But your letter box was at the front door. That part of the building was least badly burned.” Hughes paused. ”You say you woke to smell smoke?”
She nodded. ”I have my usual nightcap in front of zee TV. I must 'ave fallen asleep. Suddenly I am coughing. I hear zee crackling from downstairs. I look-mon dieu, zee kitchen ees on fire. Flames going up to zee ceiling. Zere ees no way I can put it out. I grab my coat, I put it over my 'ead and I rush down zee stairs. Luckily zee back door ees beside zee stairs, ozzerwise I would not have escaped.”
”Excuse me, Madame,” Evan interrupted. ”Why didn't the smoke alarm wake you? I know this is a new business so you must have had a fire inspection?”
She looked fl.u.s.tered and embarra.s.sed. ”Ah, you see . . . I turn off zee smoke alarm.” She looked from Evan to Hughes. ”I know, it ees very foolish of me. But zay put it in zee wrong place. Every time I try and cook, zee smoke alarm go off. It drive me crazy so I turn it off. I call zee man to come and put it where it will not drive me crazy.” She gave a very French shrug of resignation.
”So you smelled smoke and got out just in time,” Hughes repeated. ”And, as far as you know, you were the only person in the building at the time?”
”Mais oui.”
”You're sure about that?”
Her eyes darted suspiciously. ”Of course. I tell you. Why do you ask zis?”
”No real reason.” D.I. Hughes paused, drumming his fingers on the oak table for a moment. Then he looked up suddenly. ”There was a man who came to your restaurant last night, Madame. He sat alone, according to Constable Evans. Was he someone you knew?”
She shrugged. ”Zee customer? I never see 'im before in my life.”
”But he said something to upset you?”
Her eyes darted to Evan for a second. Then she smiled and shrugged again. ”It was nozzing really. 'E asked for lobster and I 'ad none. 'E said 'e was disappointed. 'E had heard how well I prepared lobster. So naturally I was upset. I am still trying to build up my reputation, Inspector. I have to give zee customers what zay want.”
D.I. Hughes nodded and stared down at the table again. It was an old surface, much scratched, and decorated with graffiti like a school desk.
”Was he a Frenchman?”
Again the briefest wary look and another shrug. ”We speak to each ozzer in English. It ees possible 'e 'ave an accent. I really can't remember everysing zat happen wiz every customer who come 'ere.”
”Have you notified your insurance company yet?” Hughes asked.
”I will do it today, I suppose,” she said. She gave a long sigh. ”I do not look forward to zee days ahead. It ees not easy to begin again when you are a woman alone in zee world.”
”You don't have a husband or family?”
”Neither, monsieur. My husband died five years ago. I ran our restaurant alone and zen I was very sick in zee hospital and zen I was recovering for about a year.”
”Where was this restaurant?”
”On zee South Coast, near Eastbourne. Do you know it?”
”I might have been there once. Sort of genteel place like Bournemouth where old rich people go to retire?”
She nodded. ”Old rich people. You are right. My 'usband sink zat people 'ave time and money to eat at good restaurants.”
”And did they?”
”Not enough of zem. And we were outside of town. Old people do not drive at night.”
”So why come here?” Hughes asked.
She gave a tired smile. ”I come where I can afford to buy property. And where zay do not yet 'ave too many French restaurants. After zis-I 'ave no idea where I go next.”
Hughes got up. ”I think that will be all for now, Madame. But please don't go anywhere for the time being. We'll need to talk to you again and I'm sure you want this whole thing cleared up as quickly as we do.”
”But of course. Please do your very best for me, Inspector. I am counting on you.” She held out her hand to him. For a second Evan thought that Hughes was going to kiss it, but he changed his mind and gave it a brief shake.
”You didn't tell her about the body, sir,” Evan mentioned as they came out into the bright suns.h.i.+ne.
”No.” Hughes smiled. ”I thought I'd wait awhile after all. If she knows nothing about it, then no harm's done. If she does, then it might do her good to stew for a while.” He squinted as he stared up at the green slopes. ”She's a cool customer, Evans. She had an answer for everything, didn't she?”
”Either that, or she was telling the truth, sir.”
”As you say. Oh well, time will tell, I'd imagine.” He strode out briskly toward Watkins's police car.
Chapter 11.
Llanfair was still quiet and deserted when Evan returned. No sign of Evans-the-Milk delivering or Evans-the-Post reading postcards or children running to school. He looked about him in bewilderment, wondering what could have happened, until he realized that it was Sunday morning. As he opened the car door he heard the sound of a distant church bell, mingling with the bleating of sheep on the hillside. Smells of Sunday morning fry-ups wafted from windows. Harry-the-Pub came out with a bucket and started was.h.i.+ng down picnic tables and putting up umbrellas in the hope of catching late-season tourists.
It always surprised Evan that life could go on its normal peaceful way right next door to tragedy and violence.