The Returned (27 page)

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘There wasn’t much we could tell each other, but it helps to know I’m not the only one. I know Camille feels the same.’ Simon reached out to
the sandwiches. ‘May I?’

‘Of course. Are you always hungry, too?’

He smiled. ‘Yeah.’ He took a bite.

‘Pierre told me you were considering leaving town.’ She was thinking on her feet, but it might be an idea to let him stay for a day or so in case he and Camille could find more to
talk about. ‘If you like you can stay here while you decide?’

Simon hurried to swallow. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘But I don’t want to impose. Only one thing makes sense to me now. To start a new life somewhere else and take my wife and
daughter with me. Tonight, if I can.’

‘You have a daughter?’ said Claire. Simon nodded, smiling. She could see the pride in his eyes. Claire tried to smile back, but she couldn’t help thinking of what being a
parent had cost her. Thinking of all the loss, all the fear. The pain of it. ‘It’s the most wonderful thing in the world,’ she said.

While the dead man and the dead girl had talked, across town Victor sat at a table in the fifties-styled diner with the lady who’d also been staying at the Helping
Hand.

Viviane, she called herself. Viviane Costa. She’d picked a table away from the window. ‘See, I told you it wasn’t so far to walk here,’ she said. ‘But the food is
better than the healthy slop they dish up at the Helping Hand. They mean well, but sometimes only junk food will do. Worth sneaking out for.’ She’d told him about her husband, as
they’d walked; told him how he’d not been able to deal with her coming back, thirty years after her death. She’d talked a lot as they’d made their way, filling the silence
because Victor had said nothing.

When the waitress came over and handed them menus, Viviane Costa smiled at Victor. ‘I recommend the Big Burger. It’s filling.’ She put her hand in a pocket and pulled out a
fistful of change and a few notes, looking at them with a level of disdain. ‘Plus, it’s all I can stretch to. I had to leave my home in a bit of a hurry. I was lucky to grab
anything.’

‘Will I ever see my parents again?’ the boy asked.

She looked at him and smiled. ‘Finally, you talk to me. It’s about time. I’m sure you will. They were good people.’

‘You knew them?’

‘A little. I remember when it happened. When your family was killed. It was a terrible thing. The grief affected the whole town.’ She stopped, suddenly, and frowned, the memory
seeming to trouble her. ‘A terrible, shameful thing.’

‘Why haven’t they come back too?’ said the boy.

She shook her head. ‘I don’t know. Maybe they have. Maybe they’re looking for you right now.’ She raised a hand and called the waitress over, and put in their order.
‘It won’t be long,’ she told the boy, then laughed. ‘But it’ll feel like forever. Now, tell me. Pierre, at the Helping Hand. Did you know him before?’

The boy looked away, frightened.

‘I saw how you looked at him,’ she said. ‘You don’t have to be scared. No one can hurt us now.’

He looked at her, fearful yet determined. ‘But can we hurt other people?’

‘Oh, I don’t think they need
us
for that.’ She paused, leaned over the table a little, and whispered: ‘Why, is there someone you want to hurt?’

Victor said nothing.

Even though Julie had lived alone for most of her adult life, her apartment had never felt as empty as it had since Victor had been taken away. She had no patients to see that
day, but she knew that if she had she would have been entirely unable to concentrate on work. As it was, every few minutes she found herself coming up with excuses that would allow her entrance to
the Helping Hand, just in case she could see Victor. She wondered if he thought of her, and the look that must have been on her face as he’d left. Shock, fear; the realization that Victor had
been the cause of Nathalie Payet’s death. She knew he’d done it to protect them both.
How
he’d done it was another question. She thought about the similarity between her
neighbour’s death and the vision of her attacker that Victor had saved her from – his hands holding back her own, the scissors she held ready to inflict the same kind of damage that had
killed Mademoiselle Payet. What it meant about Victor, Julie didn’t want to dwell on.

Even so, when the doorbell rang she desperately hoped that it was him.

It was Laure. ‘Can I come in?’

‘No,’ said Julie, scowling. ‘Has there been any luck finding his parents?’

Laure ignored the question. ‘Is he here?’

‘What? Is who here?’

‘Victor.’

‘Why would he be here?’ The penny dropped. ‘Christ, have you lost him?’

Laure looked defensive and a little shamefaced. ‘He isn’t at the Helping Hand. I called them to see how he was doing, and . . . Well, I thought he might be here.’

Julie felt anger rising. For all the talk of having taken him away for his own good, that he’d be safe at the Helping Hand, that she had no right or business keeping him in her apartment
– now they’d let him disappear as easily as he’d turned up. ‘You let him out
alone
?’

‘I didn’t let him do anything, Julie. The staff at the Helping Hand didn’t notice him leave. And they don’t think he was alone. He’s with a woman.’

‘A woman?’

‘A homeless woman from the shelter. We have a good description of her.’

Julie felt almost faint at the thought. ‘You left him with a
homeless woman
? You told me he’d be safe. That he’d be taken care of. He could be
anywhere
!
Anything could have happened to him!’

Laure shuffled in the doorway, looking more and more uncomfortable. ‘Don’t worry. He can’t have gone far. I’ll . . . I’ll find him. It’s best if you stay
here.’

‘It’s
best
if you stop telling me what to do.’ Julie slammed the door shut and leaned back against it.

She thought of him out there; lost, alone. Needing her.

Needing her, the way she needed him.

‘I’ll call, Julie,’ said Laure from the hallway. ‘As soon as I hear anything, I’ll call.’

Julie listened to Laure’s steps as she walked away; then she slid down with her back to the door, unable to hold off the tears.

Thomas was tired that morning. He’d had a restless night and knew that Adèle had barely slept either, lying stiff and still beside him. Telling Adèle the
night before about Simon’s suicide had been painful, but necessary. He had often been tempted to let her know the truth and put an end to the way she remembered only the good about the man,
never the bad. He’d thought at the time that allowing her to believe the whole thing was pure tragedy was the kindest and easiest way for her to come to terms with his death, but in the years
since he’d never felt that she’d completely moved on.

Adèle’s heart had not really been hers to give. It still belonged to Simon; or at least, to the version of Simon that she chose to believe in. Thomas knew she didn’t
understand the real man, that she had no idea what he was capable of.

Out there in town somewhere, Adèle’s dead lover was waiting for her, and Thomas knew that Simon would never give her up without a fight. Whether Adèle wanted him or not. And
what could Thomas do against a dead man? Lock him away for the rest of his life, however long that was? He’d do it; he’d do
anything
to make sure that Adèle and
Chloé were kept safe.

The three of them ate breakfast in silence. He hated seeing Adèle suffer this way. But he could also see in her eyes the anger and disappointment she was feeling, and he knew that if
Simon had come to the house right now, Adèle would have rejected him outright.

It was a school day, and Adèle was insisting on working her shift at the library, with Chloé’s backing.

‘It’s my class’s turn to visit the library today,’ said Chloé. ‘I only like it when Mum does it.’

Thomas was uneasy, but Adèle assured him she was fine, dismissing his worries, insisting he could trust her. Thomas hugged her to him, and knew he had to show that he had faith in her.
However difficult it was.

The call from the dam came mid-morning.

He took Michael with him, driving up the steep forest roads to the dam, the shortest route. What waited for them was surely the strangest sight he’d come across in all his years on the
force.

Two men introduced themselves as technicians overseeing the current maintenance works. One was older and more cagey. He gave his name as Dreyfus. The younger man looked pale, and wary to the
point of fear. Anton Chabou, he called himself.

Something about their behaviour put Thomas on edge – their unease, and the way they constantly looked around themselves as if examining their surroundings for something that only they
could see. When he saw what they’d called him to look at, though, he wasn’t surprised at their nervousness.

The two technicians had met Thomas and Michael at the car park beside the dam control station, then had led them down the steep embankment towards the water’s edge. The surface of the lake
was preternaturally still, and Thomas sensed an unnatural silence as they moved closer to the dark water. No birdsong, no wind; he could barely hear the scuffle of his shoes against the rock. But
it was the sight of the church spire rising from the middle of the lake that made him stop in his tracks.

‘You’ve not seen the church before, Captain?’ asked Dreyfus.

‘Once, when it was last drained. That must have been nearly a decade ago. It doesn’t make it any less bizarre now. Tell me, how much lower will the maintenance process take the lake?
I don’t remember seeing anything like as much of the spire the last time.’

The two technicians shared a look before Dreyfus answered. ‘You’re right, this is a more . . .
thorough
examination. But it won’t fall much more.’

‘The divers were here to inspect the lake floor, you said.’

‘That’s correct,’ said Dreyfus. ‘An occasional inspection is required to look for fissures or significant subsidence, much easier to do it when the water is so shallow.
But then they saw this . . .’

Both officers had been distracted by the church spire; they followed the technician’s gesture as he pointed to the lakeside. Where the water met the sandy incline of the bank, divers were
dragging heavy corpses up onto the shore to lay among those bodies already laid out.

Dead animals.

‘Jesus,’ said Thomas. He thought he caught a stench on the air, the smell of cold rank water and death. ‘How many?’

‘Thirty-six, in all,’ said Dreyfus. ‘A cross-section of the forest wildlife, but mainly deer.’

‘How the hell did they all get in there?’ said Michael.

‘All we know is that the divers found them floating in the water. Drowned.’

‘But nobody had seen them enter the lake?’ said Thomas. ‘Nobody heard anything?’

Dreyfus shook his head and Thomas could sense a little impatience.

They reached the waterside. Divers and others were just finishing dragging the last few carcasses out, deer with their black staring eyes and jaws locked in grimaces. They had not had easy
deaths, thought Thomas. ‘Tell me,’ he said. ‘Were the animals mostly near the shore?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Dreyfus, impatient. The man clearly wanted them out of there, presumably so the work could recommence.

Thomas walked over to where three of the divers were sitting, waiting to get back to work. He asked them the same question.

‘No,’ said one, glancing at the others. ‘They were all in the middle of the lake. Clustered around the remains of the old village. Just floating there . . .’ The diver
shook his head. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’

Thomas frowned.

‘So, Captain,’ said Dreyfus, looking at his watch. ‘What’s the procedure?’

‘We need to have the carcasses examined, make sure there’s no contamination. We’ll let you know.’ He started to walk away when something occurred to him. ‘Oh, and
Monsieur Dreyfus?’

‘Yes, Captain?’

‘Nobody goes back in the water until I say so, understand?’

Dreyfus glared at him for a moment, and Thomas knew he was the type who was used to having things his own way.
Not today
, Thomas thought. ‘Yes, Captain,’ Dreyfus said at
last.

It was early afternoon by the time arrangements had been made to collect the carcasses for examination. On his way to the station Thomas got a call from Adèle;
she’d left the library early, taking Chloé with her. She asked him to come home.

He went straight there, to find Adèle distraught. They talked of Simon’s death, and he convinced her to take a pill to help her get some sleep. Once she’d gone upstairs,
Chloé came to him, upset.

‘What’s wrong with Mum?’ she asked.

Thomas stuck to the bare truth. ‘She’s tired, Chloé. She didn’t sleep well.’

Chloé looked at him with such pure
trust
that it made his heart ache. ‘Because of the angel?’

Thomas felt his blood go cold. ‘What angel?’

‘Simon.’

He tried not to show his anger. He’d assumed that Adèle had kept Simon’s presence from Chloé. ‘You saw him?’

‘He was here yesterday.’

What had she been thinking? But that was precisely the problem: she hadn’t been thinking, not clearly.
Simon walks back into her life and sense walks out
, he thought. ‘Did
he touch you?’

‘No,’ said Chloé. She looked nervous, and Thomas knew she didn’t want to get her mum into trouble. ‘He just spoke to me. Mum said he was my real dad, come back to
life. Is that true?’

Thomas looked at her, wanting to lie. But he nodded.

Chloé looked at him seriously. ‘Has he hurt Mum?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘And if he comes back he’ll hurt her again. Mum doesn’t think so, but he would. Listen, Chloé. This is very important. If he does come again,
tell me right away. If I’m not here, call me. Understand?’

‘OK,’ said Chloé.

Thomas hugged her and felt some of his fear subside, because now he had something that was invaluable to any police officer. He had an informant.

The pathologist he’d asked to examine some of the animals called him two hours later to discuss the results. Adèle was still sleeping, and he was wary of leaving
her and Chloé alone, but Chloé was his anchor now, his guarantee of their safety; Adèle would not leave her daughter, and Chloé would contact him if anything
happened.