Red Light in the Pyrenees

Chapter 3

Chapter 3As I drive towards Ceret the sun shines brightly through the car windows and I blink at the brilliant colours surrounding me. The sky is a vivid blue and the trees on the mountains are a dozen, improbable shades of green. As I pass by the orchards, the fruit trees are laden with golden peaches and apricots which make the air smell sweet and I feel very fortunate to live in this place. The grandeur and beauty of the mountains always humbles me and I wish I was going to the market with Patricia, instead of to the bloodbath that awaits me in town.

Although it is still rather early in the day the car park is already full when I arrive in Ceret, but I manage to squeeze my car onto a footpath where I abandon it. I place a sign on the windscreen to inform everyone there is a police emergency, and this is an official car, just in case an over zealous officer has me towed away. Then I make my way to the house of Madame Henriette.

Raymond has cordoned off the entire street with tape to stop vehicles from driving along it, not that it makes much difference, as few cars travel this way. People who need access to their homes are ducking under the tape, but they don't stop outside the house of Madame Henriette. Respectable people never stopped outside this house because everyone knew what went on inside and feared being found guilty by association. When I enter the front door, I am handed a white suit by a junior police officer.

“Is this so I don't contaminate the crime scene?” I ask.

“No, Madame,” he replies. “Raymond thought it would stop you getting blood on your uniform. These overalls were left over after the office was painted.”

“I see you had a large budget,” I say sarcastically, as I tear the sleeve of the flimsy suit while trying to pull it over my uniform, but my humour is lost on him.

I ascend the stairs and enter the small kitchen where Raymond and a rather grumpy Doctor Poullet are waiting.

“I hope you enjoyed your breakfast Danielle. I haven't even had a cup of coffee yet,” Doctor Poullet grumbles. “Some of us believed this to be an emergency and we have been waiting for you for forty minutes.”

“Bonjour to you too, Doctor Poullet,” I reply.

“Hmph,” is his response.

“Parking is impossible,” I offer by way of an excuse.

“It was not impossible forty minutes ago, I had no problem,” he replies gruffly.

I send the junior officer to fetch coffees and Poullet cheers up when I point out that he can charge double his fee for working at the weekend. The crime scene is indeed quite gruesome and Raymond and I stand well back as the doctor runs through his observations for me.

“It is most probably an accident,” he says. “I think it likely she tripped over the chair which is overturned, then put out her hand to try and stop herself from falling. I assume that's the reason her body is partly inside and partly outside the broken window and why she is suspended on the window frame. Rather undignified, but so was her life,” he observes. “She made no attempt to move, so she probably lost consciousness very quickly through shock and blood loss.”

“Is there any chance her death could have been caused by something other than an accident?” Raymond asks.

“Why do you ask?” I question. “Is there something I should know?”

“I'm not sure,” he replies. “I have my suspicions that Madame Henriette was making money from more than just her girls. There have been mutterings about blackmail.”

“Then perhaps you should investigate further,” Doctor Poullet says. “It doesn't change the cause of death. She died from blood loss and shock. I cannot completely rule out foul play, but I'm reasonably sure her death is simply the result of a ghastly accident.”

I'm sorry Raymond has opened his mouth and voiced his opinions, because now I'll have to look for further information. It would have been so much easier to accept Doctor Poullet's explanation. Now I'll have to go through the motions of trying to find Madame Henriette's clients and neither they, nor their families, will be happy about that. Besides, who will care that some old w***e is dead? Most people in this town will rejoice at the news.

I give Raymond instructions on arranging for the body to be removed and the house cleaned up. I inform him that I'll search for Madame Henriette's client book before I leave, then I make my way upstairs to her bedroom. I expect her room to be all satin and silk and I'm quite disappointed to find it very ordinary and indeed, rather shabby. I don't find a client book, but I do remove her diary in case there are any clues amongst her jottings. When I make my way back downstairs I meet Doctor Poullet at the front door.

“I'm claiming for the whole weekend because I'll have to do my report tomorrow,” he says. “I trust you have no objections.”

“None at all,” I reply.

He holds his chin in his hand and narrows his eyes as if deep in thought, “Perhaps it might take me until Monday morning,” he speculates, raising his bushy eyebrows.

“Maybe it will take you most of the day on Monday,” I reply and I smile and nod at him.

“I would like to order some jam and pickles from Patricia,” he says. “Perhaps an assortment of your choice, say six jars?”

“I think you should make it ten,” I reply. “You won't be disappointed, they're superb.”

He offers me his hand and I shake it. “You will have my report by close of business on Monday. You will also have my bill.”

“You will have the jam and pickles by close of business on Monday. You will also have Patricia's bill,” I reply with a smile. “It's a pleasure to do business with you,” I add.

With the deal struck, we step out of the door and each of us goes our separate way. I think we're both relieved to be out of that house and back into the land of the living.