The Returned (28 page)

‘I won’t be long,’ he told her, and before he left he made a call to Father Jean-François. Maybe the priest could help her understand, or at least take his share of the
blame for the mess their good intentions had caused.

Thomas went straight to the hospital to see the pathologist, finding him in the harsh white examination room. The three carcasses that had been examined lay before them, cut open and partially
dissected. Underneath the odour of blood and chemicals, he was sure he could smell the same stench he’d caught by the lakeside earlier – stagnant water and decay.

‘This is the first time I’ve done an autopsy on an animal, Captain,’ said the pathologist with a wry smile.

‘I appreciate it, Luc. Someone could come down from Annecy in two days, but I wanted an idea of what it might be. Because, well . . .’

‘I know. They were in the town’s water supply, so the important thing is to rule out poisoning.’

Thomas nodded, making a mental note to get some bottled water on his way home. ‘So, can we rule it out?’

The pathologist opened up his report and showed Thomas. ‘It seems so. There are no toxins in the tissue. You said they didn’t know how long the animals had been in the
lake?’

‘Nobody saw anything.’

‘Well, it looks recent. It can’t have been more than twelve hours. There were no injuries, either. They weren’t shot, no other signs of wounds.’

Thomas gazed at the animals; the smell of decay must be in his mind, he thought. He looked back at the pathologist. ‘Then how did they die?’

‘The lungs are waterlogged, Captain. They were alive when they entered the lake, which means they drowned.’

‘How can that happen? Are we saying somebody intentionally drowned them?’ He could remember a case from early in his career when three sixteen-year-olds had caught and drowned half a
dozen cats in a garden pond.
For kicks
, one of the boys had admitted, and Thomas had found himself wanting to drown the boys in return. The thought of it still made him angry; the thought
of something similar being done to wild animals, especially on such a scale, made him feel sick.

But the pathologist was shaking his head, thoughtful. ‘I don’t think so. There’s no sign of a struggle. They were in the middle of the lake, yes?’

‘Yes.’

The pathologist shrugged his shoulders. ‘Then I’d suggest they panicked, went into the water, swam as far from shore as they could, then stayed there until they tired. At that point,
they stood no chance.’

Thomas was horrified. ‘Christ, all of them? Why the hell would they do that?’

‘All I can suggest, Captain, is that they were running from something.’

‘Running into the lake?’

‘Don’t underestimate panic. It’s a dangerous thing. One animal gets it, and it’s infectious. Perhaps by the time the deer realized they were in trouble, they were simply
too far from shore to make it back.’

Thomas tried to think of anything in the mountains that might cause such a catastrophic response. ‘But what might trigger that?’

‘I’ll ask around. Possibly fire, or predators. It’s probably just a freak event. Nothing to worry about, I would say.’

Thomas raised an eyebrow. ‘Nothing to worry about? You’re saying these animals were so terrified that they would rather drown than face whatever it was that scared them?’

The pathologist smiled. ‘Interesting, isn’t it? We can call it suicide, if you like.’

The captain shook his head seriously. ‘This isn’t something to joke about, Luc,’ he said, and the pathologist’s smile faded.

Thomas looked at the animal carcasses in the room, at the blank dead eyes staring back. He wondered what those eyes had seen.

Adèle was in the library, and she felt safe. She felt safe because Chloé was there with her, along with the rest of Chloé’s class, for their regular
library visit.

As always, once the class had settled she asked the children if any of them had interesting news to share. One boy, Mateo, had a simple question. ‘Is it true that we’re running out
of water?’

Adèle smiled. ‘Where did you hear that?’

‘I heard my dad say something about the dam.’

She nodded. ‘It’s an unusual time,’ she said. ‘But there’s nothing to worry about. Have any of you been to the lake recently?’ No hands went up. ‘Well,
maybe now’s the time to go. It was in the news today that the lake is being partially drained, something that happens maybe once a decade, to allow maintenance on the dam. This is the first
time since most of you were born. Do any of you know what’s beneath the lake? Johan?’

‘Fish?’ said the boy.

‘Yes, and what else? Caroline?’

‘Seaweed? Beavers?’

Adèle smiled gently. ‘Perhaps. Mateo?’

‘Goats?’

The rest of the class burst into laughter; Adèle settled them down, but the look on Mateo’s face suggested laughter had been precisely the reaction he’d been looking for.
‘I don’t think so. Anything else?’ Most of them wouldn’t know about the lake, she knew; about what was beneath its still, icy surface. Some parents tended to think it too
frightening for younger ears, certainly, and the rest played it safe. But with the water level so low, the time was right to talk about it.

The past was something that shouldn’t be ignored.

The thought made her pause. She took a breath before continuing. ‘Do you think there might be houses?’ she said, smiling as the children whispered excitedly. ‘When the water
level goes down, you can see a church steeple. The village church, flooded years ago when the old dam broke.’

‘Are there people living under the water?’ asked one girl.

Adèle shook her head, the questions coming thick and fast as the children’s imaginations caught fire at the story.

‘Did anyone die because of the dam?’

‘Why did Simon kill himself?’

Adèle froze. ‘What? Who said that?’ It had been Chloé. She was sure it had been Chloé. Adèle looked at her daughter. ‘Did you ask a
question?’

The children watched Adèle, silenced by the intensity in her voice.

Chloé nodded, looking concerned. ‘I just asked, why did the dam break?’ Adèle said nothing; her face pale, the words caught in her throat. ‘Mum, are you
OK?’

The class started to whisper.
What’s wrong with her?

Adèle shook it off. She clapped her hands, and told the class to settle.

‘You should take a pill and get some sleep,’ Thomas told her at home. ‘You’ll feel better.’

‘No, I don’t think I will,’ she said. It was one of those rare occasions when she’d asked him to come home, and he had come. No emergencies. No complications. No excuses.
When he came through the door he’d started to tell her something about animals being drowned in the lake, but she’d hushed him. Talking this through was more important.

‘Why did you never tell me about Simon before?’ she asked.

Thomas was wary. ‘You know why. Because I didn’t want to hurt you.’

‘You didn’t reckon it was important?’

‘Adèle, please. Of course I did. It wasn’t as if I didn’t think about it. I thought about it often, but my decision was always the same. You were in pieces after his
death. I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to cope with the truth.’

‘It might have been simpler if I’d known, Thomas.’ More honest, she thought. Open. At least that.

‘Is it simpler now?’

Even though he’d finally told her last night, he hadn’t gone into the details. She wanted to know everything, every part of it. To read the police report. To
understand
. Why
Simon had looked at life with Adèle, at life with his child, and had chosen oblivion instead.

‘Do we really know he wanted to die?’ she said, grasping at straws.

Thomas sighed and shook his head. ‘There were several witnesses, Adèle. Please. If there had been any doubt, there would have been no need to hide things from you. You loved him.
What he did was a betrayal of that. None of us wanted you to have to face such a terrible truth. Father Jean-François didn’t think you would be able to cope with it. But you have to
face it now.’

Adèle looked up to see Chloé on the stairs, and wondered how long the girl had been listening. She went up to her and hugged her. Then she took a pill to seek a little oblivion of
her own.

Chloé was in her room, drawing, when Adèle opened the door to Father Jean-François. Chloé had told her that Thomas had gone again, having been
called away for work. Adèle hadn’t been sure how to feel: annoyed that he’d left or pleased that he trusted her not to do anything foolish.

She frowned when she saw the priest, and he frowned too, clearly uneasy.

‘Father,’ she said. ‘This is . . . unexpected.’
Unwelcome
was what she meant. Still, manners were called for. She asked him in, offered him coffee, went to make
it. He seemed oddly eager to delay their conversation.

‘Thomas asked me to come and see you,’ the priest said, as they finally sat. ‘He was very worried.’

‘Is it because of Simon?’

‘Simon?’ he said. He looked anxious, distracted. ‘Yes. Thomas came to me yesterday, very confused. Talking about resurrection . . . To be honest, I think it’s sheer
jealousy. Today, he called me and asked me to come and see you. He sounded desperate. I’m worried about him, Adèle. He’s jealous of a spirit, something that doesn’t
exist.’

Adèle plunged the coffee and poured. ‘It’s not quite as simple as that, Father. Simon is still very much with us, and Thomas wants to understand why. We both do. It’s me
that he’s worried about. He loves me. Much more than Simon ever did, I think.’

The priest looked uncomfortable, perching on the edge of the sofa and gripping the coffee cup tightly. ‘There’s no use comparing them, Adèle.’

She stared at him – this fidgeting, awkward man of God, who had no idea what was really going on. ‘How would you know?’

‘After all the times we talked about Simon, I think I understand your feelings for him. In spite of all that you thought about the man. His moods. The rage that took him sometimes, which
you always forgave.’

Adèle caught a hint of blame in the priest’s eyes. She didn’t like it. He had no right. ‘You encouraged me to live with Simon’s memory, Father. All these years,
you pushed me to live with the dead. Yet you
knew
he killed himself.’ He looked away, the cup in his hands shaking slightly. ‘Without Thomas I’d already be dead,’
she said. ‘Like Simon. I thought he’d been stolen from me, and from our daughter. But all that time it wasn’t theft. It was
abandonment.
How dare he come back and expect
me to open my arms, and my legs –’ the priest squirmed, but she didn’t care – ‘when he’d given up? Whatever pain he suffered, he had everything he could want.
And he threw it away.’

‘Adèle, the way you talk, I just don’t understand. You act as if Simon . . .’ He stopped; gesturing, lost for words.

‘Simon came back, Father,’ she said, her voice cold. ‘He’s alive again. As young as he was, ten years ago. As arrogant as he was.’

She saw panic rise in the priest’s eyes. Panic, as if he’d already heard what she was saying a dozen times: heard it, and dismissed it as wishful thinking, as fantasy.

‘I have to . . .’ he said, and then he stood, looking pale and nauseous.

He ran from the house, without looking back.

The next time Adèle opened the front door it was to a young red-headed girl she thought she recognized, but she couldn’t put a name to the face.

‘Are you Adèle?’ said the girl.

‘Yes. Do I know you?’

‘I have a message. Meet Simon at the bus station tonight, in time for the last coach. Travel light. That’s it.’ The girl turned to leave.

‘Wait,’ said Adèle. ‘What did he tell you?’

‘That you were meant to get married, and you’re going to make up for lost time. He’s lucky you didn’t forget him.’

Adèle closed her eyes for a moment. This was it. This was the time for a final decision. She opened her eyes and shook her head. ‘Tell him I’m not coming.’

‘Are you sure?’ said the girl. She looked surprised. ‘I think he really loves you, and what he’s going through isn’t easy. Believe me, I know.’

Adèle saw the look in the girl’s eyes and understood. ‘You’re the same?’ she said, and then her hands came up to her mouth as she placed the girl. She looked like
Léna, but much younger. It was more than that, though. Hers was the face on the T-shirt that Chloé had been given to wear for the commemoration of the coach crash, the girl whose name
Chloé had to say. ‘Camille. Camille Séguret.’

Camille nodded her head. ‘The same. And the person I love doesn’t want me. It’s hard, but in the end it’s your decision. Just be sure to make the right choice.’

Once the girl had left, Adèle told herself again and again:
I’m not going.

Then she went to look up the time of the last coach.

Julie got the call from Laure in the afternoon. The woman who had disappeared from the Helping Hand with Victor had been spotted on CCTV, picked up and taken in for
questioning.

‘I’ll call you when there’s more news,’ Laure had said, but Julie had no intention of just sitting and waiting. In the few hours since she’d found out that Victor
had vanished, her mood had darkened considerably. Victor had been a lifeline – he had given her the hope that had been missing for seven years. Victor being taken from her had been bad
enough; Victor in danger was unbearable, so simply waiting in her apartment wasn’t something she could do. She took herself to the police station and waited there, on a hard bench in the cold
waiting room, her impatience growing as time ticked by. The patronizing looks from the reception staff weren’t helping her mood.

She finally caught sight of Laure, and hurried over to her.

‘Hi,’ said Laure. Wary, as ever. ‘There was no need to come down. I said I’d call.’

‘Indulge me. Well?’

‘Nothing so far. She says she and the boy left together, then split up. But she’s hardly reliable.’

‘Why not?’

Laure raised her eyebrow. ‘She says that she was born in 1943 and died thirty years ago, and that she’s Michel Costa’s dead wife Viviane.’ Laure looked around to check
the coast was clear, then gestured for Julie to follow. They reached a door with a small glass window, and Laure pointed inside.