The Disappearance of Adèle Bedeau (6 page)

Manfred audibly drew breath. ‘Can I offer you a coffee?' he said. ‘Or a cup of tea?' He did not know why he had added the offer of tea. Manfred did not drink tea and did not keep any in the house. The woman pursed her lips and looked at him for a moment, as if she was evaluating him.

‘I'd better not,' she said. ‘Another time perhaps.'

‘Of course,' said Manfred. The woman stepped into the corridor.

Manfred closed the door gently behind her and exhaled slowly. He felt he had acquitted himself well. He went into the kitchen and started sorting through his laundry. The woman had appeared to actually consider accepting his invitation.
I'd better not
. The phrase suggested that she would have liked to accept, but she was unable to. Perhaps she was married and thought it would be improper to accept his invitation, that they would be engaging in something illicit. Or perhaps she had merely meant that she did not have time. In any case, she had not flatly refused. She had implied, clearly implied, that it was beyond her control and given a different set of circumstances, she would have accepted. And then, as if things were not already clear enough, she had added,
Another time perhaps.
Manfred had not detected any note of sarcasm in her voice. Of course it was difficult to imagine how ‘another time' might come about, but even so he felt quite elated by the exchange. He should have asked her name. And he should buy some tea.

Manfred fetched the ironing board from the kitchen cupboard, plugged in the iron and sat down at the table, waiting for it to warm.

W
HEN
M
ANFRED ARRIVED AT
the bank on Monday morning, the staff were talking animatedly about the disappearance of Adèle Bedeau. Mlle Givskov, the senior teller, was voicing the opinion that girls these days were asking for trouble the way they ran around. If this girl had got herself into trouble, she probably only had herself to blame. Mlle Givskov had been taken on by M. Jeantet a year or so after Manfred joined the branch. Her presence made Manfred uneasy and he kept his distance from her. Manfred bid the staff good morning and hurried past into his office. A few minutes later Carolyn brought in his coffee. She was a nice girl, nineteen years old, rather plain and slow, but with a cheerful disposition. Manfred liked her. She never seemed to be trying to impress him as some other new members of staff did.

‘Terrible, isn't it,' she said, ‘this business with the girl.'

‘I'm sure it'll turn out to be nothing,' said Manfred, a little brusquely. He had no wish to be drawn into a discussion of the matter.

Carolyn placed his coffee on the desk. Manfred looked up from the papers he had been studying. She looked a little crestfallen. He had no wish to snub her. She was sensitive to such things. Once, she had burst into tears when Manfred had pointed out a minor error in a transaction.

‘She's only been gone a couple of days,' he said. ‘She's probably just gone off with some boy.'

Carolyn appeared to take Manfred's theory very seriously. ‘There was no mention of any boyfriend in the paper,' she said.

‘People don't always advertise such things.' He immediately regretted the remark. It made him sound like someone who routinely engaged in deception or at least expected others to do so. Because Manfred did not socialise with his staff or talk about himself, he was aware that his personal life was the subject of conjecture. He had overheard some of the girls speculate that he was homosexual. Sometimes when he came out of his office, the room fell silent. At the annual Christmas lunch, people jockeyed to avoid sitting next to him. It was the same at the biannual gatherings of local branch managers. When the time came to mingle informally, Manfred found himself on the margins, unable to break into any of the groups that congregated around the room.

‘Did you know her?' Carolyn asked.

‘By sight,' said Manfred. ‘I have lunch in the restaurant where she worked.' It was about as revealing a statement as he had ever made to her. He realised he should not have used the past tense. It implied he had some knowledge that she would not be returning to work.

‘What is she like?' asked Carolyn, anxious to have some inside information to share with her workmates. ‘She looks very pretty in the picture in the paper.'

‘Are we going to be doing any work today or are the wheels of the banking industry going to grind to a halt because some girl has disappeared for five minutes.'

Carolyn looked hurt. ‘Sorry, Monsieur Baumann,' she said and left the room. Manfred had told her that she could call him by his first name when they were alone in his office, but she never did.

At lunch Manfred had the special, as he always did on Mondays. He was anxious to stick to his routine from now on. There would be no repeat of his erratic actions of the previous week – the second glass of wine, the changing of his order, his
ridiculous comment about Adèle's appearance. From now on he must avoid attracting attention to himself. He must not give people cause to think that he had been behaving oddly.

A new waitress was working the tables by the window. She was small and skinny and kept her short hair neatly secured in a clasp. She moved hurriedly between the tables and kitchen, and looked constantly as if she was about to drop the plates she was carrying or upset some glasses. Manfred did his best to avert his eyes from her.

Marie arrived at his table and took his order. She looked a little tired.

‘Terrible business,' she said.

‘I'm sure it'll turn out to be nothing,' said Manfred.

Marie frowned. ‘That cop doesn't seem to think so,' she said. ‘Seems that someone saw Adèle with a man on a motorbike the night she disappeared.'

Manfred pursed his lips and nodded slowly. He didn't know what to say. ‘Do they know who he is, this man?' he said eventually.

‘That cop has been in here asking questions,' she said. ‘He seemed to think it was significant.'

‘I daresay,' said Manfred.

He ate his soup in silence, absentmindedly turning the pages of his newspaper. He shouldn't have mentioned a boyfriend to Carolyn. It made it seem as if he had foreknowledge of the development, which of course he had. He should learn to keep his mouth shut. The atmosphere in the restaurant was subdued. Pasteur lurked behind his counter. Manfred wondered if he was surreptitiously watching him, keeping an eye on him to see if he was acting strangely. Gorski must have spoken to everyone at the restaurant. The thought made him uneasy.

Marie brought his
Pôtée Marocaine
. He had finished his wine, but he resisted the desire to order another, instead pouring himself a glass of water from the carafe on the table. The
Pôtée Marocaine
consisted of a pile of couscous, a
merguez
sausage, a
chicken leg and piece of indeterminate meat, served with a dish of sharp sauce. Manfred saw Pasteur nod a greeting towards the door. He looked over his shoulder and saw that Gorski had come in. He walked over to the bar and shook hands with Pasteur over the counter. There seemed to be some kind of understanding between them. Marie hovered by the hatch as the two men engaged in a brief conversation. Gorski turned, Manfred thought, to leave, but instead threaded his way through the tables to where he was sitting. It was clear he had known that Manfred would be here.

He stood with his hands on the back of the chair opposite Manfred and smiled a humourless greeting.

‘Mind if I join you?' he said.

Manfred spread his palm towards the empty chair to indicate that he did not object. He could hardly refuse. Gorski took off his raincoat and folded it across his lap as he took his seat. This suggested, to Manfred's relief, that he did not intend to stay long, or at least that it was not his intention to order lunch. Manfred looked past Gorski's shoulder towards the counter. Marie had disappeared into the kitchen and Pasteur was conspicuously polishing glasses, even though for the previous fifteen minutes or so he had been standing around doing next to nothing.

‘Don't let me interrupt your lunch,' Gorski said.

Manfred had laid down his cutlery. He disliked dining in company. Gorski made no pretence of being surprised to find Manfred here, that it was somehow serendipitous.

‘Something was puzzling me,' he began, ‘I was hoping that you might be able to clear it up.'

Manfred nodded.

‘Something in connection with the disappearance of Adèle Bedeau.'

‘Yes?' said Manfred.

‘It seems that on the night of her disappearance, Mlle Bedeau was seen riding through town on the back of a scooter with a young man.'

Manfred looked at his food.

‘It's significant because this is the last time anyone saw her. It seems that she left the restaurant, met this young man and rode off with him. Obviously, it's important to ascertain exactly what her movements were on that night.'

‘I understand,' said Manfred. His lunch was getting cold.

‘Of course there's nothing unusual about a girl meeting a young man, but one detail puzzles me. She was spotted riding past the restaurant coming from the direction of Rue de Mulhouse. It struck me as odd that if she was going to meet this young man, why did he not wait for her outside the restaurant? Why would she have walked some distance in the opposite direction, meet the fellow and then ride off in the direction from which she had just come?'

Manfred did not say anything. It did not appear that Gorski was inviting him to speculate on the matter.

‘Coupled with the fact that this young man, who is the last person to be seen with Mlle Bedeau, has not come forward, it suggests to me that there must have been some reason for keeping their liaison secret.'

‘I can assure you, Inspector,' Manfred said, ‘that I do not own a scooter and do not even know how to ride one.'

Gorski gave a little snort through his nose, as if acknowledging the punchline of a weak joke.

‘That's not at all what I'm getting at.' He offered Manfred a thin smile. ‘I'm simply asking those people who were in the vicinity to cast their mind back to the night in question and think about whether they may have seen anything significant.'

‘I didn't see anything,' Manfred said a little too quickly.

Gorski raised a finger to silence him.

‘On the night in question, you were in here in the restaurant playing cards with Messrs Lemerre, Petit and Cloutier. At the end of the game, you left, at about half past ten, I believe.'

Manfred shrugged. ‘I couldn't say exactly.'

Gorski ignored his comment. ‘Did you go home directly?'

‘Yes,' said Manfred. He could see all too clearly where this was leading.

‘And your route home, took you along Rue de Mulhouse past the little park at the Protestant temple?'

‘Yes.'

‘Well, I'm sure you can see what I'm going to ask you: Adèle left the restaurant only a few minutes after you and must have walked in the same direction to meet this young man. Just think carefully for a moment. Is it possible that you saw anyone, a young man, who might have been waiting for a rendezvous?'

Manfred took his time. He had known as soon as he had seen Gorski what his answer to such a question would be. He shook his head slowly. ‘No, I'm sorry,' he said, ‘I didn't see anyone.'

Gorski pursed his lips and nodded thoughtfully.

‘I'm sorry I can't be of more help,' said Manfred. ‘Perhaps they met in a café or at the boy's apartment.'

He assumed that the ordeal was over and Gorski would conclude proceedings with an apology for interrupting his lunch.

‘You know,' he said, his tone suddenly more conversational, ‘I've been a policeman for twenty-three years. In my experience, when people say that they wish they could be of more help, they very often can be.' He flashed Manfred his humourless smile. Manfred felt himself swallow. He told himself to hold Gorski's gaze. After a few seconds, he looked down at his food. If he had nothing to hide, he would interpret Gorski's remark as nothing more than a world-weary generalisation.

Gorski did not budge from his seat.

‘On the previous night,' he continued, ignoring Manfred's statement, ‘you were also here. You drank a bottle of wine at the counter and left around ten o'clock.'

‘I couldn't say what time it was, but yes, that's correct.'

‘You're quite a regular here, aren't you?' said Gorski.

Manfred shrugged. It wasn't a crime, was it? ‘I suppose you could say that.'

‘A creature of habit?'

Manfred stared at Gorski, not sure what expression to adopt. Was he going to bring up the fact that on the day Adèle had last been seen, Manfred had, in a complete reversal of his normal routine, ordered the
choucroute
instead of the
pot-au-feu
and had a second glass of wine? Perhaps he had been told of the little compliment he had paid Adèle during the card game. Taken together, these actions could easily form a picture of a character who, around the time of the waitress's disappearance, had been behaving strangely. Why else would the detective have mentioned that he had been described in this way? Manfred felt his cheeks begin to colour.

‘I don't know if I'd say that,' he said.

‘Well, everyone I've spoken to,' he made a vague gesture with his hand, ‘has described you in the same way, as a creature of habit.'

Manfred could not help glancing around the room. He intensely disliked the idea that Gorski had been asking about him, asking
everyone
about him. He wondered what else they had said.

‘Is there something wrong with that?' he said.

Gorski pursed his lips and shook his head slowly. ‘Not at all.' He leaned forward as if something had just occurred to him. ‘Let me ask you one question: did you notice anything unusual in the restaurant on Wednesday night?'

Manfred gave this some thought, or at least attempted to give the impression that he was giving it some thought. He decided that this would be a good time to take a mouthful of food and did so. When he had swallowed, he shook his head.

‘Nothing I can think of,' he said.

Gorski looked a little disappointed.

‘Really?' he said. ‘It seems to me that in a place like this,' he made a gesture with his hand to indicate that he meant the restaurant, ‘not a great deal happens. One night is pretty much like any other. Accordingly, when anything out of the ordinary does occur, no matter how banal it might seem to an outsider, it does not go unnoticed by the regulars of the establishment.'

Manfred found Gorski's manner of expressing himself quite irritating. He took the last sip of his wine. He would have liked to order a second glass, but after having done so the previous day, this would then be taken as a new habit and he would then be obliged to take two glasses of wine at lunch every day.

‘I've asked everyone the same question and received the same response. On the night in question Adèle had asked M. Pasteur if she could leave a little early. Before she left she changed her clothes and put on some make-up.'

‘You could hardly expect me to notice something as trivial as that,' said Manfred.

‘Lemerre, Petit and Cloutier, whom I questioned separately, all noticed it and mentioned it unprompted,' said Gorski.

‘Perhaps only one of them noticed and drew it to the attention of the others.' Manfred felt this was a rather clever remark. Gorski tipped his head as if to acknowledge that this was a possibility. Manfred felt that he had won a small victory.