Jacquot and the Waterman (54 page)

'When I got there she wasn't alone. She had some friend with her. A woman.'

'You see who it was?'

They were stopped at lights on rue Maleve. When they changed to green, Jacquot glanced in his rear-view mirror and pulled out for the A7 feeder ramp.

'Some girl. . .'

'And?'

'Young. Twenties. Shortish hair.'

'So what did you do?'

'Stayed out of sight.'

'In the trees. You hid in the trees?'

Sardé nodded.

So Chevin had been right.

'And?'

'And then the girl leaves. I hear a car start up, drive away. When Madame comes back to the terrace she's alone.'

'She come through the house?' asked Jacquot, reaching the autoroute and joining the stream of traffic.

'No, round the side.'

'Which was when you made your move?'

'No, no. I stayed where I was. Watched a while, you

know. Make sure it's all clear.' 'And?'

'And then someone sees me, in the trees, calls out, you know. "Hey, you!" kind of thing. Scared the shit out of me.' 'And?'

'Well, I legged it, didn't I?' 'You see anyone?'

'Hey, I wasn't hanging around, you know.' 'Man or woman?' 'I told you I didn't see no one.' 'The voice, man or woman?' asked Jacquot patiently. 'I don't know. A man? Hard to say.' 'Did Madame de Cotigny hear the voice?' 'I dunno. I was out of there, wasn't I? Didn't stay to look.'

'So the last time you saw Madame de Cotigny she was alive and well?'

'Absolutely. Large as life. You gotta believe it.' Back at police headquarters, Jacquot took Sardé up to the squad room and handed him over to Serre.

'Our friend here was out at the de Cotigny place last night. And he'd like to cooperate in any way he can. Isn't that so, Monsieur?'

Sardé nodded, started to look hopeful. 'Seems to think I believe his story,' continued Jacquot, who had no doubt at all that Sardé was telling the truth. 'Maybe he'll be able to persuade
you.'

51

The boys were young, sixteen and eighteen according to Carnot, with the bodies of angels, skin coloured an ashy brown, hair black and curly, limbs loose and long. Coupchoux had brought them over to Raissac's house in Cassis the evening before. Now the two boys were preparing breakfast in Raissac's kitchen, sashaying out with cutlery and china to lay the table on the terrace where Raissac sat, his hand reaching out to caress their bodies whenever they came within reach. Which was as often as they could manage.

Raissac couldn't remember their names. Or rather, which was which. Was Hamid the older of the two, the one with the ring through his ear? Or was it Abdul, with the long eyelashes and sleepy brown eyes? It should have been a simple matter to tell the difference between a sixteen-year-old boy and an eighteen-year-old man, but it wasn't. Dressed in sarongs, knotted low around slim hips, their bodies were similar in every way - height, colour, muscle tone. They were like twins, heavenly twins, and really, thought Raissac, watching them, who gave a damn how old they were, or even what their names were? In an hour Coupchoux would be there to drive them back to town and Raissac would never see them again. Unless he chose to. For now, sitting at his breakfast table, the sun prickling its morning warmth across his pitted shoulders, it was enough just to watch them, a pair of young, supple bodies brushing together, the two of them squabbling like children over how to use the juicer, the correct way to prepare scrambled eggs, and how long to bake the freezer baguettes.

Pushing back his chair, its legs grating against the flagstones, Raissac pulled off his own sarong and stepped down into the pool, wading forward until the water was up to his armpits before striking out for the deep end. While he swam - the only exercise apart from sex that he ever took - Raissac listened to the giggles and chatter drifting pleasantly across the water. What a marvellous way to start the day, he thought, and was pleased that he'd decided to have the boys brought to Cassis, rather than be entertained in the city. So much nicer to be at home.

A month back it had been three girls here in Cassis, again supplied by Carnot, and the pleasure he'd had from them was on a par with the pleasure he'd found in the attentions of Abdul and Hamid. Distinct and different, of course, but no less gratifying, Raissac decided, sliding his way through the water. How fortunate he was to enjoy the two, men and women both. He tried to decide which he liked the most. Boys or girls. But it was impossible to say. . . Maybe if he'd slept with more of one than the other, that might somehow show a preference, but he'd long ago lost count of the men and women who'd shared his bed. What Raissac
did
know was that he invariably alternated between the sexes. After sleeping with a woman, he usually felt a deep compulsion to sleep with a man, both encounters providing the diversion he sought, the pleasure he needed, but neither doing more than leave him with a dull dissatisfaction, as though he'd asked for directions but still couldn't find his way.

After a dozen languorous lengths, Raissac stepped dripping from the pool to be dried and pampered by Abdul and Hamid, led to the table and fed his breakfast, the two of them bickering over who buttered the croissants, who poured the coffee, and who served the scrambled eggs. Raissac reached out a hand and stroked his fingers over the closest thigh. Skin smooth as glass. Not a blemish. Raissac often wondered what it would be like to have smooth skin.

It was over the eggs, a little dry for his taste, that Raissac began to feel the first faint stirrings of impatience with his youthful companions. And when he heard the soft bleating of his mobile, he was pleased for the interruption. The boys were starting to tire him with their petty tantrums, endless chatter and pathetically eager advances. They had done what had been required of them and now it was time for them to go. Reaching for his mobile, he told them to clear away breakfast and get their things together; his driver would be arriving soon to drive them back to town.

Leaving the boys to get on with it, Raissac strolled out onto the lawn to take the call.

It was Basquet.

'I thought you should know,' said Basquet. 'I had a visit from the police. Some Inspector. Apparently a tenant at Cours Lieutaud was murdered. Drowned.'

'You don't say,' said Raissac.

'He wanted to know who held leases. Rentals.'

'And you told him?'

'I said I didn't know. I told him to contact Thierry at Basquet Immo. Said he'd have the relevant information. It only struck me after the cop had gone that you had an apartment there.'

'So you think he might pay a call?'

'If it's the same apartment, it's possible. He didn't seem the most energetic detective. Just thought I should let you know.'

'That's kind of you. I doubt he'll follow up, but I'll be on the lookout.'

The conversation over, Raissac headed back to the table and flicked through the papers. There was no sign of Abdul or Hamid, which was a relief. Five minutes later they came downstairs from his bedroom, dressed identically in T-shirts, jeans and flip-flops, just as Coupchoux drew up at the front of the house. Without needing to be told, Coupchoux herded them up and took them to the car where they started to argue over who should sit in the front.

While they squabbled over the seating arrangements and then which tape to play for the drive back to Marseilles, Coupchoux came back to the terrace where Raissac handed him an envelope: money for the boys when he got them home to Marseilles.

Coupchoux slid it inside his jacket and turned to go, but Raissac caught him by the arm.There was one more thing. 'Is it done? Doisneau?' 'Tonight, boss.' 'Make sure of it.'

t didn't take long for the squad to make progress.

Gastal was first to report in, calling from the gym.

'Latest victim was a club member. Registered as Suzie Cotagnac. Gotta be the same. They're getting me a list of people using the gym the same time as her. Last two weeks. Staff and members.'

'Great,' said Jacquot. And meant it. The only problem, as Madame Bonnefoy would icily point out, was that it had taken four Waterman kills, and likely as not a fifth - to be confirmed in the next few hours - to get as close as he now felt they were. But somewhere along the line, as he'd told her, there'd be a break, a weakness, a flaw, and Jacquot's squad would maximise it. Maybe this was it.

'There's something else,' said Gastal. They were Jacquot's favourite words.

'Yes?'

'The victim's address. According to the gym, it's some place in town. Up on Paradis. Not, repeat, not Roucas Blanc.'

'Sounds interesting. Why don't you check it out? You're in the area.'

'I'm on my way there now. I'll get back to you.'

Serre was next, popping his head round Jacquot's door, the usual cigarette burning between his fingers.

'That guy Sardé's clean, you ask me. Been through the same story three times since he came in. Whatever he was doing there - taking a peek, making a play - he wasn't alone. You ask me, the Waterman stole his pitch.'