Part 17 (1/2)
”Attendez, monsieur,” he said, and gestured toward the promenade. he said, and gestured toward the promenade.
”He wants us to wait,” Evan said.
”What for?”
”I'm not sure.”
A few minutes pa.s.sed. Gulls screamed overhead. A boat chugged out of the harbor.
At last the old man could be seen returning with a young girl at his side.
”Ma pet.i.te fille,” he announced. he announced.
The girl looked at them shyly. ”My grandfazzer,” she said, pointing at him. ”I learn English in zee school. Please tell me what ees you want?”
Evan told her. She listened solemnly, nodded, then let out an explosion of rapid French.
”Aah!” The old men looked at each other, nodding and smiling.
Evan heard the word Bouchard Bouchard repeated many times. Then torrents of rapid French came flying back at the child. repeated many times. Then torrents of rapid French came flying back at the child.
”Monsieur Bouchard ees dead-many years now,” she said. ”His wife, she ees also dead, five or six years ago. Zere was one son, but he is gone away.”
”Can they tell us about the son?” Evan asked.
Another quick exchange.
”He went away. He worked on the ferry boats from Calais. n.o.body has seen him for many years now.”
”Do they remember his wife?” Evan asked.
The old men couldn't seem to agree on this one. There was a lot of gesturing and shrugs.
”Zey sink he marry zee local girl but zey do not know her name. Zis man say he meet her once . . . she was very pretty, but zee ozzer men say at ees age he sink zat all young girls are very pretty, no?” She smiled shyly at Evan.
The old man who was mending the net said something else.
”He sinks zat she come from zee orpheline orpheline . . . orphanage in Abbeville, but maybe no.” . . . orphanage in Abbeville, but maybe no.”
”Would they have heard if Jean Bouchard had died?” Watkins asked.
More shrugs greeted this question.
”They have not seen him for several years. Not since his mozzer die. He not come 'ere no more.”
”So he had no friends in the town who might know about him?”
”Zey do not know. Perhaps he 'ave zee friend. They can only say zat they do not see him 'ere no more.”
”Do they know if any members of the family are still alive in this area?” Evan asked.
They debated this with animation until Evan caught the word imbecile imbecile.
”What was that about an imbecile?” he asked.
She shrugged, a perfect imitation of the elders' gesture. ”Zere ees n.o.body alive now but possibly zee imbecile ees still living. Zee brozzer of Madame Bouchard. He went-how you say-crazy?”
”Was his name du Bois?”
No reaction from the old men. They had never met him personally. They could only repeat what they had heard. But if he was crazy, they said, he would surely be in the hospital in Abbeville because that was where all the crazy people went.
”At least we've established one thing.” Watkins looked pleased as they drove out of St. Valery. ”Philippe du Bois could have been his uncle. His mother might have had guardians.h.i.+p over him.”
”Which meant she would have opened his mail, signed his checks . . .” Evan continued the train of thought.
”Applied for a pa.s.sport in his name?” Watkins finished.
The two men exchanged a grin. It felt good to be getting somewhere at last. It was a small fact, but it was the first sliver of proof of what had been all conjecture until now.
”And if Jean's wife came from the orphanage in the same town, we can kill two birds with one stone and find out more about her background,” Watkins went on, sounding really animated now.
”He could have married more than once,” Evan pointed out. ”Yvette could be his second wife.”
”Do we know her maiden name?” Watkins asked.
”She put something like Hetreau on the form she filled in for us.”
”Yvette Hetreau.” Watkins repeated the words. ”We'll see if that rings a bell with anyone at the orphanage, but let's start with the hospital first. We know where to find that.”
The Hopital St. Bernard was a square brick building at the edge of the town. It was surrounded by neat, leafless plane trees and wide sandy paths, newly raked. They went inside and were met by a nun in full habit, who understood a little English and listened politely.
”Philippe du Bois? We have had other inquiries about him.”
”Yes, that was us. North Wales Police. Somebody rented a car using Philippe du Bois's name. We're still trying to find out who might have done that.”
”You had better talk to Mozzer,” she said and swept down a wide corridor to an office at the far end. The elderly mother superior welcomed them graciously. Yes, she had received their inquiries but she regretted she could tell them nothing. ”Poor Monsieur du Bois. He was in his own world. Such a shame. A clever man once-a mathematics teacher. But then the illness struck, and now he doesn't know where he is or who he is.” She shrugged. ”And to see him-he still looks healthy-handsome, big, lots of dark curls . . .”
”Does he ever get letters or visitors from the outside?” Watkins asked.
”Not anymore. What point would there be?” She smiled sadly. ”And now his family is all gone, I believe. His sister used to come, but she died years ago now.”
”So who would his guardian be?”
”The state is his guardian, monsieur.”
”And he never goes out, ever?” Evan asked. ”Would he be able to get out if he wanted to?”
The mother superior looked surprised. ”He does not wish to leave, monsieur . . . but to answer your question, it would be possible to get out, if he desired. Of course, we would soon notice he was missing and bring him back, but he has never wanted to wander. Some of our patients-we have to keep a very close eye on them, but not Philippe. He is happy in his room.”
”Would it be possible to visit him?” Evan asked suddenly.