Cupid's Arrow (17 page)

I pulled myself out of her arms. 'Sorry about what? What?' I felt hot and cold all at once, a stone sitting in my stomach.

'I'm so sorry,' she said, again, helplessly. 'But there's no doubt.'

'No doubt of what, for God's sake? They've found him, and he's confessed? It won't be true, they'll have forced him, they just want to clear up crimes quickly, they don't want to have to think beyond –'

'Fleur. Stop it. It's his bow. They've examined it. The only fingerprints on it are his.'

My head started spinning again. My voice felt thin and weak as I said, 'How do they know? He's not there. How do they know if those are his fingerprints? They –'

'They had them on file. Not because of any criminal record but when they came into the country, you see, there was some formality they had to go through. At least something like that. I can't remember exactly what the officer said, but the fact is, they
know.
And there are no others on the bow.'

'Of course his prints would be on it,' I said, faintly. 'He handled it all the time.'

'You see.'

'No, I don't! The killer
knew
that, knew he'd be blamed. They framed him! They wore gloves. Just like the person who killed Raymond!'

'Fleur –'

'In fact, it probably was the same person that killed Raymond,' I said, ignoring her. 'They probably were after the same thing – the dream book.' I stopped, suddenly aware that if that was true, then I–I was partly responsible for what had happened to Remy's mother. I'd given Remy the book for safekeeping at his place. The killer had found out somehow – or had had a lucky guess.

Mum was looking sadly at me again. 'Fleur, this isn't one of your thrillers. This is real. People don't kill people for dream books.'

'No, no, it's for the coin. For the evidence.'

'Evidence of what?' she flared up. 'So what if Raymond really did find a coin that may have been minted for Riothamus? So what if he thought it was Arthur? Even if it's all true, that is no reason for someone to kill Valerie. They could just have stolen the dream book. This was directed at her. Don't you remember those drawings, how violently they'd been defaced?'

I shuddered. I remembered all too well. I faltered, 'That's another reason why it couldn't be Remy. He loves his mother's work. He's proud of her. He would never –'

'He wasn't in a normal state of mind,' she said gently. 'He can't have been.' She paused. 'They had quarrelled violently. Obviously.'

'Just because his mother acted psycho doesn't mean he did,' I snapped, close to tears now.

She sighed. 'Oh, Fleur. Sooner or later you're going to have to face it. You liked this boy. You really liked him. But you didn't really know him. That's the truth of the matter. It's horrible, but there it is. You must put him out of your mind. You must try not to think about it. About him.' She touched me tentatively on the arm. 'I'm arranging for you to speak to a counsellor. You –'

'I don't want to speak to anyone like that.'

'You might feel like that now, Fleur, but it will help. Honestly, it will.'

Suddenly, I felt tired. So very tired. I nodded, and looked away, my eyes full of tears. 'Okay.'

'Good.' She hugged me, and I didn't resist. 'That's my brave girl. Oh, and Fleur, we're going to have to speak to the police again later. Are you up to it?'

I nodded, mutely.

I'd seen this scene on TV a million times. The small, bare room. The table. The plastic chairs. The closed door. And the look on the face of the woman who faced me across the table, her hand on a folder. The eyes that had seen it all, that had no illusions anymore about how people might be trusted to behave. Yes, I'd seen this scene a million times. But I never expected I'd be in it.

'And you're sure that was the last time you saw him?'

I sighed, and out of the corner of my eye saw the anxious look on my mother's face. I said, 'Yes, I told you.'

'Did you see him use the bow?'

I stared at her, my gorge rising. 'What do you mean?'

'I'm sorry, Mademoiselle.' The detective – who'd introduced herself as Lieutenant Balland – didn't sound sorry, though. She was watching me very carefully. 'I only meant if you'd seen him use the bow before. Hunting.'

'No,' I almost shouted. 'No.' I had a sudden vision of coming across him in the woods, and the white deer, and the tears started in my eyes. 'You're all wrong,' I said. 'You're going after the wrong person.' I half got up from my chair. 'Remy didn't use that bow to kill his mother. He didn't. He couldn't.'

'Fleur,' protested my mother, easing me back down gently before the policeman standing behind the detective had a chance to move. 'Fleur, calm down.'

'Interesting you should say that,' said Lieutenant Balland, unperturbed, as I subsided. 'Because he didn't, of course.'

We both stared at her. 'What?' I said, faintly.

'She wasn't killed that way.'

'But the arrow – we saw it in her neck.'

'That wound was inflicted after death,' said the detective. 'Something else was used to kill her.'

For an instant, I was speechless. Lieutenant Balland watched me. Her eyes were hard.

'What
did
kill her, then?' I burst out, at last.

'I can't tell you that.' She paused. 'Why did you say Remy
did not use the bow
to kill his mother?' she said, softly.

'Because he didn't! He didn't use that – or anything else,' I said, furiously, defiantly. 'Because he's innocent. Because he's in danger too from this killer, whoever it is, whatever they want. And you don't care! You want to pin this on him. You want it to be easy!'

'Fleur!' wailed Mum. I took no notice. I was filled with rage and fear. 'Did you find the dream book?' I hissed. 'Did you find it? I bet that's what they were after ...'

Lieutenant Balland's eyebrows shot up. 'The dream book?'

'You haven't found it, have you? They took it. That's what you have to look for. That's the connection – between Valerie's death, and Raymond Dulac's, and that PI in Vezelay, too. That's what you should be looking for!'

'Mademoiselle Griffon,' said the detective, coldly, in her precise English, 'I have no idea what it is you are talking about. What is this dream book, and why should you think it has anything to do with this?'

So I told her. Quickly, choppily. She listened. Her face showed no expression, no reaction to what I was telling her, but she listened. Then when I'd stuttered to a halt, she said, 'We found no such thing in Valerie Gomert's house.'

'Then he must have taken it – the killer, I mean – can't you see?'

'Perhaps. We will keep looking for it, anyway.' She opened the folder, and took out a clear plastic envelope with something in it. She pushed it across to me. 'Can you tell me what this is?'

I looked at it. A vivid sketch, defaced. A number. I said, 'It's from the Bellerive Tarot. The new tarot she was making. She had made others. We have another one of hers. Ask Mum.'

'That's right,' said Mum. She was very pale. 'It's a beautiful thing. I–I've often used it.'

'You use the tarot?' Lieutenant Balland's tone was neutral, but I thought I caught a contemptuous expression in her eyes. I said, fiercely, 'So what? What's it to you? Plenty of people use the tarot. Plus,
you
don't have to believe in it. No-one's asking you to.'

'Fleur!' Mum, said, anguished. No-one paid her any attention.

'Did you know the Gomerts before you came here?' said the detective. Her abrupt change of subject was startling.

I stammered, 'Of course not,' just as Mum replied, hotly, 'Of course we didn't. What are you talking about? Where is this leading? I don't like your implications at all, Lieutenant.'

'You say you didn't know them, yet you own a tarot she made.'

'That was a gift from Raymond Dulac. I had no idea who had made it before we came here from Australia,' said Mum, staring her right in the eye.

'Ah yes. You come from Australia,' said the detective, coolly. She paused. 'Are you sure about that?'

We goggled at her. She went on, gently, 'You're sure you're not originally from Canada?'

'Canada!' Mum's voice rose. 'What is going on? What are you talking about? Of course we're not from Canada. My parents are French. We came to Australia when I was small. You can check, if you don't believe us.'

'Oh, but I do,' said the detective, with the ghost of a smile on her face. 'We've already checked you out, you see.'

Mum got up. 'Then what is this charade? I demand to know. And I demand to call our solicitor.'

'And who might that be, Madame?'

'Nicolas Boron.'

'Ah. Monsieur Dulac's solicitor.' Her tone changed. 'But there is no need to call him, Madame. You and your daughter are not under arrest. You are not even under suspicion.'

Mum spluttered, 'Then what on earth –'

'We are merely trying to obtain information, Madame.'

'You have a strange way to go about it!'

'This is a very vicious murder, Madame. I am sorry if my questions have offended you, but I am determined to get to the bottom of this.' She looked at me. 'I know you have both had a nasty shock.' Her tone had changed, become much gentler, almost placating. 'Please understand that my questions have a point, strange as they may seem.'

'You're trying to frame Remy,' I said.

She looked at me. 'I am trying to understand what has happened.'

'But you think he did it!'

'I have no preconceptions at this stage, Mademoiselle,' she said, very formally.

Hope surged in me. 'Please believe me – there is no way he could have done this. No way.'

'Then he only needs to come in here and speak to us.' She leaned forward. 'Will you tell him that, Mademoiselle Griffon?'

Our eyes met. I blushed and looked away. I said, weakly, 'I don't know where he is. I really don't.'

'Will you tell him that?' she repeated.

'Lieutenant Balland,' said my mother sternly, 'my daughter has already told you she has no idea where this boy is.'

'Yes, Madame,' said the detective, in a neutral voice. She picked up the plastic envelope again. 'Do you recognise this figure, Madame? I mean, what does it represent, in the tarot?'

Mum took a deep breath. 'It is number 4 in the Major Arcana – the Emperor. I don't know if you know, but a tarot deck consists of two sections – a Major Arcana and a Minor Arcana. They're all symbols, but the Major ones are the most important and have to do with a person's inner being. The Minor ones are about emotional and mental states. The Minor Arcana come in suits – Cups, Swords, Wands and Disks – like ordinary cards, and in each suit, there's Kings, Queens, Knights, Aces, and numbers from 2 to 10. But the Major Arcana are by themselves, and each of them has its own individual number. There are twenty-one of these. When you do a reading, you can use just the Major Arcana, or a combination of Major and Minor. It depends on what you're doing, what you're looking for.'

'If you're telling a person's fortune, you mean?'

Mum sniffed. 'Certainly not. A tarot reading is not fortune-telling. You can't map the future from it.'

'Then what is it for?'

'It's a combination of self-reflection and counselling,' replied Mum. 'An outer mirror of an inner state, if you like. It can help you to make up your mind about things. It can help you understand yourself – and other people.'

'I see,' said the detective. For the first time, she sounded a little uncertain.

Mum looked at the drawing. She said, 'The Emperor represents power, leadership. If you draw a card like this, it may be you are being told you need to own your own power, to lead your own life.' She peered at it more closely. 'Each tarot pack illustrates each symbol differently. For instance, my pack has Arthurian characters as the symbols, and Arthur is depicted as the Emperor. It's interesting – this one was going to be in modern dress. You said she .. .Valerie – called it the Bellerive Tarot,' she said, turning to me. 'I wonder if that meant it was going to depict all the locals as the archetypes of the Major Arcana? Because, unless I'm much mistaken, this one – what I can see of it through the scribbles – was going to be a portrait of Raymond Dulac. See? That's one of his books the figure's holding –
Le Lac des Demoiselles –
The Ladies' Lake.'

She was right. Now I could see it, it was obvious. Lieutenant Balland said, with a trace of excitement in her voice, 'We wondered if there was any significance in it.' She pulled out another plastic envelope. 'What about this one?'

It was number 0 in the Major Arcana. 'The Fool,' said Mum. She glanced at me. 'Interesting. He's depicted with a quiver of arrows on his back.'

'Right,' said the detective, expressionlessly. 'Would you say the portrait on this card is of someone you may know?' Her eyes were on me.

I gulped and said, 'I–I suppose it's meant to be Remy.'

'Would he like being thought of as the Fool? Hardly flattering for a mother to think that of a son, is it?'

'Oh no, Lieutenant.' Mum shook her head decisively. 'You are mistaken. The Fool is not a negative symbol. He represents youth, curiosity, innocence, energy, creativity, courage. If you draw that card, you are being told you should grasp life with both hands, proceed without fear, open yourself up to the wonders of life. A person representing this life-symbol is a positive sign. Hardly unflattering.' She paused. 'In fact, I'd say it showed a great deal of love on her part.' She smiled at me, and I felt the tears in my eyes again, because I knew, without words, just how much she loved me too, just like poor Valerie had loved her son.

'I see,' said the detective. 'This is most interesting.' She reached inside her folder again. 'We will maybe ask you, Madame, to interpret various others for us, later – but in the meantime, what do you make of this?'

This was a small plastic envelope, smaller than the others. In it was a crumpled scrap of paper that looked like it was a corner, torn off a much larger sheet. There was a number, partly torn, just visible on it. 'It must have come from one of the tarot sketches,' said Lieutenant Balland, 'but the rest of it was gone. We found this scrap in the victim's clenched hand. It must have been ripped from her before –' She paused, and went on. 'I believe it may be significant – in light of what you've told me. Do you know what part of the tarot this was meant to represent?'

'I cannot be absolutely sure,' said Mum, looking closely at it, 'because of the way this paper's been ripped, but it could be either a 12 or a 13. See, you can see the beginning of the straight 1, and then the curve beginning, which could be either a 2 or a 3.'

'But what do these numbers represent?'

'Number 12 is the Hanged Man. Number 13 is Death.'

There was a small silence. I felt a cold shiver ripple up my spine and into my scalp. Lieutenant Balland said, 'Then –'

'We can't be sure,' said Mum uncertainly. 'You see, those symbols need not be negative, either. The tarot inverts many things, finds meanings that you may not think of at once. For instance, to draw the Hanged Man may be a bad sign – but it could also mean that you need to break old patterns, to go beyond limits you have imposed on yourself. And Death may also be an unpleasant card to face – but it may also mean that you need to kill off old ways of life, old preconceptions, before you can become reborn into a better, more authentic life. Do you see?'

'I think so,' said the detective. 'But the symbols may also be negative. Correct?'

Mum nodded.

'Who do you think may have represented either one of those ... er ... symbols, in Valerie Gomert's tarot?'

'I'm sorry, Lieutenant. I have no idea.'

She looked at me. I shook my head.

'The other sketches were defaced. This one – this one was taken,' said Lieutenant Balland.

Something had suddenly clicked in my mind. I said, triumphantly, 'Then it proves Remy had nothing to do with this, doesn't it? It proves it – because he's depicted as the Fool. You can't be both things. You can't. So – someone else was shown on that sketch – and that someone took it, because it gave them away.'

Lieutenant Balland said, very gently, 'It is an interesting point, but I am afraid we will need more than this to prove who killed Madame Gomert. And though the arrow wound did not cause her death – someone still fired that arrow into her neck. The only fingerprints on that bow are those of Remy Gomert.'

'You can't seriously think that he killed his mother with something – whatever –' suddenly, sickeningly, I remembered the hair matted with blood at the back of the head and thought, somebody hit her with something, something sharp – 'and
then
that he coldly fired an arrow into the back of her neck! I mean, why would he do that? What sort of a monster do you think he is?' I trailed off, unable to go on.

'Mademoiselle Griffon,' said the detective, 'we do not necessarily think any of these things. But we can only be sure if we talk to him. Why hasn't he come forward? Why is he hiding?'

'He's afraid,' I said. 'Someone's hunting him. That person – the model for Death, or whoever they are.'

'But he'll be safe if he comes to see us. He
must
come in. You must tell him.' Her eyes locked on mine. I said, feebly, 'I told you, I don't know where he –'

'Very well.' She ran a hand through her short hair, so that it stood up in spikes. She got up. 'We will not detain you any further for the moment, Madame, Mademoiselle.'

'You mean, we can go?'

Yes. Will you be returning to Bellerive?'