Part 16 (1/2)
”So we prove she was married to him. That doesn't prove that she killed him. And if they really were on the run and hiding from someone, maybe this proves they were found.”
Watkins nodded. ”Okay, so what do you think we should do?”
Evan stared out of the pub's bay window to the seafront beyond. The wind had sprung up, making flags stand out stiffly and awnings flap wildly. ”I think we have to find out more about their life in France. We need to know what happened to them and why they came to England.”
”And how do you propose doing that?”
Evan pointed to the copy of the obituary. ”This mentions the town where he was born and we know she went to the Cordon Bleu school in Paris. Two known facts. We can work from there.”
”Go to France, you mean?” Watkins laughed.
”Why not? I told you it's only half an hour through the chunnel these days. We could go over there for the day.”
Watkins grinned uneasily. ”I'm not too hot at driving on the proper side of the road. And I don't speak Froggy.”
”We'll manage,” Evan said. ”I don't mind driving. I think we should do this if we want to solve this case, Sarge. We're not going to get too much help in a hurry from the French police-that's pretty obvious, isn't it? Let's find a map of France and see where his birthplace is.”
There was a W. H. Smith's on the corner and they found a map of France. ”Port St. Valery-how do you spell it?” Watkins asked, looking at the index.
”Here it is on the coast, not far from Calais.” Evan pointed at the entry. ”The sort of place where you'd expect a man to be interested in boats.”
He studied the map, his finger on St. Valery, tracing the line from the Channel crossing. Then he tapped the page excitedly. ”And look here, Sarge. It's only a few miles from Abbeville, where Philippe du Bois is in the mental hospital. Another coincidence, do you think?”
Watkins grabbed the book. ”All right. Let's buy the map. But we can't just go jaunting off to France without permission, you know. They weren't even too keen about letting us come to Eastbourne. And D.I. Hughes is out playing at drug wars.”
”So call the old man.”
”Call the D.C.I.?” Watkins's eyebrow twitched. ”Oh, I don't know about that, boyo. He'd say I was overstepping the bounds of my authority and getting too big for my boots.”
”It's only a day trip we're talking about-it's not as if we're going on our holidays at their expense!” Evan paused. Watkins stood clutching the Michelin guide, still undecided.
”Tell him we're in the middle of a murder investigation and if we wait for the French authorities to come through, it might be too late. It's possible that Madame Yvette's life is still in danger, you know.”
”You could be right there,” Watkins agreed. ”I'll ask the D.C.I. to put surveillance on her. That would be a good way to start the conversation, wouldn't it? Make him realize this is important.” Evan nodded. Watkins swallowed hard. ”All right. I'll call him.”
They paid for the map and then found the nearest phone booth. Evan waited outside on the busy pavement. He saw Watkins's face twitch as he started speaking. Evan heard him say, ”I'm only talking about going over there for a day trip, sir, not for my summer holidays.” Then, ”No sir. I wasn't trying to be funny. I was just pointing out that it's only half an hour through the chunnel.”
Finally he hung up and came out of the booth.
”Well?” Evan asked. ”Did he chew you out?”
A smile spread across Watkins's face. ”He said go ahead, but if he gets expenses for Paris hotels and the Folies Bergeres, he's going to veto them.”
”It doesn't make sense to go until the morning,” Watkins said. ”By the time we got over there everything would be closed. And we've already paid for our hotel here. I bet that old dragon wouldn't refund us our money.”
”So what shall we do for the rest of the afternoon?” Evan asked. ”We could always go and talk to the ex-neighbors in the village. One of them might have been friendly with her or might have seen something useful.”
”It's worth a try,” Watkins said. ”It's either that or an hour's kip in a deck chair-and the wind's a little cold for that.”
They drove back along the windy Downs road to the village of Alfriston. A coach was parked outside the Packhorse pub and tourists were cluttering the high street, taking pictures and looking into antique shop windows.
They went into the pub first and chatted to the landlord. Yes, he remembered the restaurant. It hadn't done too well, although people said the cooking was very good. Still, most folks didn't go in for fancy French muck, did they? he asked genially. And most trippers came out for an afternoon drive, had a cup of tea and went home.
”Tell me about the couple who owned it-the Bouchards,” Watkins asked. ”Did you know them?”
”I said good morning when we pa.s.sed in the street,” the publican said, ”but I can't say that I knew them. They kept themselves pretty much to themselves. Always together, they were. And after he died, you hardly ever saw her. Of course, she was trying to run that place alone. I don't know how she did it. I'm run off my feet here and I've got the two girls to help me.”
”But what did you think of them?” Evan interrupted.
The man shrugged. ”I don't know what to say to that. They didn't cause no trouble, if that's what you're getting at. Quiet. Good-looking couple, in a foreign kind of way. She was more friendly than him. He was a bit on the surly side, but maybe his English wasn't as good as hers. I know he did all the heavy work and she did all the cooking. She told me that. She said she was a trained chef-very proud of it, she was.”
”Did she have any friends here in the village?” Evan asked.
”I think she was quite chummy with Brenda in the greengrocers. She used to buy a lot of her fresh produce from them.”
”The greengrocers?”
”Just down the street. You can't miss it. There's five shops and that's one of them. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got customers waiting.”
He turned away, wiping his hands on his ap.r.o.n as he went. ”Now then, ladies, what will it be?”
Watkins and Evan walked around the trippers and continued along the high street until they came to the greengrocers. A large-boned woman was carrying out a box of cabbages as they approached. She put it down and smiled as she saw them standing there.
”What can I get for you gentlemen?” Her voice had a pleasant country softness, and her face had the rosy cheeks of a life spent in the open air. It was hard to judge her age, but Evan thought she was possibly younger than she looked. This was borne out by a toddler on a trike appearing from inside the shop.
”Get that thing back inside, Jimmy. Not near the street. I've told you a thousand times,” she said and gave him a little shove to redirect him. ”Sorry. He's at that age,” she said. ”A right terror like his big brother was.”
”Are you Brenda? We're from the North Wales Police,” Sergeant Watkins said. ”We understand that you used to know the French couple who owned the restaurant that burned down.”
”The police?” A wary look came over her face.
”We're investigating another restaurant fire and we think they might be linked,” Evan explained.
She nodded. ”What a terrible thing to happen. I looked out of my window and I saw those flames. There was nothing anyone could do. It went up like a torch-well, it would do with the thatched roof, wouldn't it? Regular firetraps, those old buildings are. I'm only glad they got her out alive, although I hear she was badly burned. I often wandered how she was doing.”
”She's fine,” Evan said. ”She moved to North Wales and opened another restaurant.”
”Did she? Fancy that. North Wales, eh?”
”Did you know her well?” Watkins asked.
”I wouldn't say well. We didn't go out together socially or anything-not that either of us had time for socializing, especially after her husband died. She was running herself ragged trying to keep that place going. Hire someone to help you, I told her, but she said she couldn't afford it at the moment.”
”Did she ever talk to you about her husband's death? Did she seem very upset by it?”
”Oh yes. Very upset-well, you'd expect it, wouldn't you? She thought the world of him. She said she didn't see how she was going to manage without him. And it was worrying for her, too, not knowing. They never found the body, see.”