The Molly Sutton Mystery Series, books 1-3

Chapter 25

Chapter 25Thérèse Perrault was first to the station on Monday morning. She went straight downstairs to the solitary cell to see Lapin, but he was lying on the cot with his face to the wall, the mildewed blanket pulled up to his neck. When she whispered to him he did not respond.

She could not believe this complete travesty of justice was taking place right here in Castillac. Lapin Broussard was no more capable of taking some girl and hurting her than flying to the moon. It was that i***t Maron’s fault, she thought darkly. Always trying to do anything to curry favor and get in Dufort’s good graces. Well, she didn’t think incarcerating Lapin with no evidence was going to help his career any.

She hoped the Chief would have something productive for her to do today. Some lead to follow that would get Lapin out of jail and the real perp in handcuffs. It was so hard for her to be patient, to wait for her orders, when what she wanted to do most of all was drive back over to L’Institut Degas and get the goods on that jerk of a professor. If anyone in the village was capable of doing something to Amy, it was him. And this ridiculous detour with Lapin was only going to slow down their progress in nailing him.

When Dufort came in with Maron on his heels, Thérèse had mastered her impatience more or less, or at least hidden it. The three said their bonjours and went into Dufort’s office and shut the door.

“I’m not going to talk right now about whether you did the right thing by bringing him in,” said Dufort. “Not at the moment. And—” he said, shooting a look to Perrault—“we don’t actually know yet whether it was a good move. Lapin may give us something or he may not.

“But one thing I want both of you to think about. Something like this, and I’m talking murder now, let’s be frank if only in here with the door closed—something like this doesn’t just happen out of nowhere. People don’t lead ordinary lives and then boom go out and kill somebody. There is a context in which the action makes sense. And it is our job to look under the surface of what is going on, to look back at what has historically taken place, so that we see that context. We are lucky enough to live in a village small enough that we are not without some measure of detail.

“Do you follow what I am saying?”

Perrault and Maron nodded. Dufort narrowed his eyes at them. “Don’t nod just because you think that’s what I want you to do. I’m asking if you really understand what I’m saying, what I’m asking you to do. You cannot look at Lapin Broussard and think: well, he was the last person seen with the girl, and he annoys women all the time, plus there was that peeping Tom incident a few years ago. And so all that adds up to guilty for doing away with Amy Bennett and we’ll spend our energy proving that because in our minds the case is closed.”

“But Lapin—” said Maron.

“I’m not saying it cannot be Lapin,” interrupted Dufort. “I’m saying: let’s look at his context. He grew up without a mother. His father was by all accounts, brutal with him. Physically, I believe, as well as emotionally. Belittling, pushing very hard, far beyond what a child could manage—that sort of thing. Does that make a murderer?”

“It could,” said Thérèse. “But I still don’t think—”

“Thérèse,” said Dufort softly, “you must learn to separate your childhood self from your detective self. That does not mean cutting off all you know, all your life experience—those things are valuable, especially in a village such as ours. But you must find some objectivity.”

Thérèse nodded. The Chief was right. It was as though having Lapin in the cell had sent her back to being eight years old, with all the blind outrage at unfairness that comes at that age. Lapin had spent many Sundays at her house, throughout her childhood—and she should be combing through those memories instead of childishly railing at Maron.

“Yes, Chief,” she said. “But may I ask, are we still looking at anyone else?”

“We are not at all considering this case closed,” said Dufort. “First, I’m going to talk to Lapin. Maron, I’d like you to be there as well. Perrault, stay in the office and deal with whatever else comes up. If I’m not mistaken, it’s getting to be about time for Monsieur Vargas to take off, am I right?”

Thérèse laughed though she did not think having to stay in the office was at all funny. If she had to go wrangle M. Vargas today instead of being in on the most important case of her career, she might just lose her mind.

Dufort stepped outside the station before going down to see Lapin. He ducked around to the alley and tipped a few drops of herbal tincture under his tongue. It had been helping lately more than usual and he made a note to go see his herbalist and thank her. The stress of a case like this could eat a person alive, and he was grateful for the support.

Then, leaving an unhappy Perrault by the phone, he and Maron went down the short stairway to the cell in the basement of the station. The cell was used infrequently and it felt unusual to both of them to be undertaking an interrogation down in the damp stone room where they hardly ever went.

Lapin was still lying down with his face to the wall. For a frightening moment, Dufort thought he might be dead, but after repeated and increasingly louder bonjours, Lapin rolled over, clutching the blanket close.

“Can’t a fellow get a decent night’s sleep?” he said, with a little smirk.

“You’re not in any position to joke,” said Maron roughly.

“Come on, then,” said Dufort. “We’ve got a few questions, let’s see if we can get this thing straightened out. I’m hoping you can tell us something helpful.”

Lapin sat up and rubbed his eyes. “How about a coffee?”

“This isn’t a hotel,” snarled Maron.

Dufort took out his cell and texted Perrault, asking her to bring down a cup of coffee. Maron glared at him.

Dufort spoke. “As Maron has told you, you’re here because the video surveillance of Chez Papa shows you leaving with Amy Bennett on the night of the 22nd, and no one has seen or heard from her since. I’m sure there’s an explanation and that’s what I’d like to hear this morning. Anything you can tell us about where she might be, anything at all?”

Maron understood that the Chief was being so friendly partly as a tactic, but it grated anyway. He narrowed his eyes at Lapin.

Lapin scratched his armpit. “If I had anything to tell you, I’d have come in when I first heard she was missing,” said Lapin.

Maron rolled his eyes.

“All I know is that there was a big group celebrating at Chez Papa, something about an award or a prize or something the girl had won. She had too much to drink and so I helped her outside to get some fresh air. That’s it.”

“Some fresh air,” said Maron sarcastically.

“So you went outside with her, and then what?” asked Dufort.

“Then nothing. She said she was fine and I went home.” Lapin looked up at the corner of the ceiling and then down at his lap.

He might or might not be lying, thought Dufort, but for sure he was holding something back.

“You say she’d had too much to drink. If you were going to help her, why not get her home? Were you too drunk to drive?”

“No, I…I was not drunk, Maron. Look, she told me she was fine. Her exact words. I’m not one to push myself where I’m not wanted, you know?” Lapin winked at the policemen.

“Lapin,” said Dufort, “you know I’m on your side here. But you do not help yourself by making light.”

“I’m not making light,” protested Lapin. “And honest to God I would tell you if there was anything to tell. All I know is what I’ve said already—she was a little tipsy, I walked outside with her, she told me she was fine, I went home. End of story.”

Some people are terrible liars, and luckily for the gendarmerie of Castillac, Lapin Broussard was one of them.

“Did you drive yourself home?” asked Maron.

“Yes.”

They could hear Perrault coming downstairs with a cup of coffee. “Salut, Lapin,” she said to him, her tone perfectly professional, not friendly and not cold either. She handed him the coffee, nodded to the Chief, and went back upstairs.

“Perhaps you drove Amy home as well? Degas is right on the way to your house from Chez Papa.”

“No, I did not drive Amy. She said she was fine, and I went home.”

Dufort took a long, deep breath. He considered Lapin, wondering what it was that he knew that he did not want to say. “And did you happen to see, as you were leaving to go home alone—did anyone else stop to talk to Amy? Was anyone else on the street?”

Lapin paused. The answer was right there, in that pause, thought Dufort. The story of what happened to Amy, almost physically palpable.

“No,” said Lapin. “I went home, I didn’t see anything. End of story.”

Dufort stood up. He moved his chair back against the wall and gestured to Maron to leave the cell. “All right,” said Dufort. “You keep thinking, keep trying to remember. It could be the littlest detail that opens this up, so please, continue to try. We will be back.”

It was odd, thought both Dufort and Maron, that Lapin did not ask to be released. They had no justification for keeping him, and surely Lapin knew that.

“He’s lying,” said Maron, once they were upstairs.

“I know,” said Dufort.