Speak Softly My Love (14 page)

“
Likewise.”

The man
Leonard nodded, sweat rapidly cooling. The bartender still stood
there, still polishing that glass, still squinting at the smoke of
a bad cigarette. The guy stood there for a second.

Eyes
slid over.

He noted
Hubert’s hand inside the coat.

He
backed off, ignoring the knife on the floor, only turning at the
last minute. He found a seat by the back wall.

The rear
exit was right there and the washrooms. He nodded at Tailler,
catching Hubert’s eye for a second as a waitress scurried in that
direction. Emile finally looked for a seat beside the rather
ashen-faced Hubert. Slowly the room came to life again. They were
the centre of attention.

“
That was hardly necessary.”

Tailler
bent and retrieved the knife. He closed the blade and hit the
button. It clicked open with a flash of bright steel. Thoughtfully,
he closed the blade and put it in his right-hand jacket
pocket.

“
Oh, I don’t know. If it wasn’t him, it would be somebody
else.” He looked around the room, where more than one interesting
and hard-bitten face hastily looked to their own soup as opposed to
somebody else’s business.

People
had settled down again. It clearly didn’t pay anyways.

“
What will you gentlemen have?” The bartender had found the
courage.

“
Beer, the soup of the day, and a very large steak sandwich
for my friend here.”

Hubert
looked at Tailler.

“
My treat. It’s the least I could do.”

“
That’s very true.”

Ha,
thought Hubert.

On the other hand, he
was
kind of useful. Strong as hell and dumb as a
stick.

That was
a beautiful thing to see. The trouble was that he couldn’t tell
anyone or they’d both be in a heap of shit.

***

They
made it out into the sunlight again, with dark clouds on the
horizon, what they could see of it. They were still in the
warehouse district.

“
We might as well call this Barrault character.”

Hubert
nodded.

It was better than heading back to the office empty-handed
and with Gilles most likely not around. Sure as shooting someone
with a big
salad
on their hat would grab them and give them some real
work.

“
All right. Let’s find a phone. This guy’s another traveler,
so the odds of finding him in town would appear to be rather slim.”
An elementary deduction, in Emile’s humble opinion.

Beer
often brought out the best in him. That’s what he’d always
thought.

“
There was a phone in the bar back there.”

“
Yeah, well—let’s not push our luck.” Hubert was happy enough
to be out of there.

He’d just been polishing up some of Tailler’s unwanted
patates frites,
only to
look up and see that their new friend Leonard was no longer
there.

This had
led to certain thoughts, not the least of which was that only fools
stuck around the scene of the crime.

***

Edmond
Barrault was at home. Young, professional and a sophisticated man
of the world, the fellow was also touchingly overwhelmed by a
couple of rambunctious toddlers. There was a strange aroma in the
air, one which took a moment to identify.

“
Here. Sorry. You see—” Edmond handed off a baby to Hubert,
whose mouth opened in dismay, but nevertheless snuggled the thing
into his left shoulder.

“
Oh, Lordy.” Hubert felt the heat of the thing on his chest
and shoulders and marveled anew—he’d held a baby a few times in his
life, but they were also pretty God-damned heavy.

Shit.

Edmond
bolted for the rear of the house and presumably the kitchen. One
man ran in and two small boys almost immediately ran
out.

“
Oh, Lordy, ain’t the half of it.” Tailler still had a smoke
hanging out of his mouth.

He still
wasn’t properly addicted yet. He found you had to be attuned to it,
and so far he really wasn’t.

The baby
made small sucking noises, looking up at Tailler in friendly
wonder.

Cough, cough.

He looked around, but there was no place to put it
out.
Okay, this is in some small way who I
am—

Hubert
made soothing noises, looking a bit wide-eyed at Tailler as Edmond
ran after the two boys, looking about three and four years old.
They scampered in different directions as soon as they made it
through the next doorway. A kettle screamed in the kitchen and
there were heaps of dishes piled in the sink. It was right there
through an open archway. Monsieur Barrault certainly had his hands
full.

“
Do you want—”

“
No way.”

Hubert
sighed.

“
Dammit!” They could hear the gentleman scolding somewhere way
at the back.

He
returned shame-faced, palms up and shrugging in apology.

“
I locked them in their room—for the moment.” He blew a long
lock of fine blond hair out of his right eye. “Now, gentlemen. What
can I do for you?”

He
looked hopefully from one to the other. At last, some adults to
talk to, was the impression Tailler got. He seemed a
cheerful-enough sort.

Hubert
took the lead.

“
Yes. We’re interested in Didier Godeffroy.”

A ray of
understanding dawned on the gentleman’s intelligent
brow.

“
Ah, yes. Didier.”

There
was an oddly flat note to it, or was that just Tailler’s
imagination.

“
So, ah…what’s he done?” Barrault chuckled, it was an obvious
line and he wasn’t all that serious.

A sign
of nervousness.

“
Where is your wife, incidentally?” Damn.

There
was just something about the way a baby looked at you—all of your
soul was revealed to it. Hubert had always hated any feelings of
vulnerability, and there was just no way he wanted kids…ever. They
had way too much power. His Emmanuelle was a real sucker for
anything in jammies. The trouble was that Hubert couldn’t quite see
how to avoid it. In the end he would probably go down without much
of a struggle—as poor old Edmond must have done.

“
She’s in hospital. Influenza, bronchitis, asthma.” Monsieur
had the sniffles as well, and no doubt the kids. “Hopefully I’ll
get someone to look after the boys and I can get up there and visit
her tonight.”

They
were only going to let him get in so close. Hubert handed the baby
back and Edmond took it professionally enough. There was something
sticky under Hubert’s foot, but he tried not to let on and make a
big deal of it. The guy had enough problems already, wispy hair all
askew and no socks on his feet. The gentleman was in his pajama
bottoms and a housecoat. Tailler lurked there, off in the
background, trying to look big and friendly.

“
Ah. There you go.”

Hubert
surreptitiously checked his suit, but didn’t see any major stains
or up-chucks.

The two
men chuckled while Tailler seemed to be just looking around. This
place, while nice enough for a small family, was nothing like
either of the Godeffroy residences. It couldn’t have been half the
size of either one of them. It was nowhere near as clean, and
didn’t smell all that good inside either. Tailler sort of wondered
what the lady of the house might look like—he suspected nothing
much like either of their Madame Godeffroys. Not with three kids to
show for it.

Hubert
looked around. Small children will eavesdrop, and if those two
hadn’t figured out how to open the bedroom door lock with a bent
bobby-pin, then they would soon enough. They might even be working
on that right now.

His
childhood was gone, and yet he still referred to it.

“
Was Didier a bit of a rogue? I mean, to your
knowledge?”

Edmond
looked completely mystified.

“
Whatever do you mean?”

“
Well. His wife seems to think he has disappeared, and yet we
hear from your employer, that he’s off on a sales trip down south.
We’re wondering if this sort of thing was really in character for
him? Can you tell us anything about, ah, any extra-curricular
relationships, encounters maybe, that he might have indulged in.
You know, along the way?” Hubert took a deep breath. “Did Didier
and his wife ever, uh, feud about anything in
particular?”

“
Disappeared? Feud?” There was a half-gasp of
disbelief.

“
That’s what she thinks. We have a missing-person report and
we have no choice but to take them seriously, n’est
pas?”

Edmond’s
face cleared.

“
Yes, of course. Why didn’t you bloody well say so.” Now it
was his turn to check for splashes on the upper chest.

He
pulled a cloth out of a side pocket of his housecoat and wiped
around the baby’s face and mouth.

“
You guys know that secretary?”

Tailler’s jaw dropped.

“
Mademoiselle—”

Edmond
laughed.

“
Yeah, he had her too. But no, I mean the one in Gaudet’s
office.”

He sure
had their attention now.

“
What? You mean—you mean the Prideaux woman?” This was one of
those things that had always amazed Tailler. “So he told you about
all of this? Did you guys ever go drinking, stuff like
that?”

Edmond
nodded.

“
Yeah, sure. Once or twice, anyways.”

“
Did you ever try to, ah, you know—score, anything like that?”
Tailler was genuinely curious, but it was also relevant.

“
Oh.” Barrault took a hasty look at the far archway. “Ah, no.
Never. Not me, that’s for sure.”

“
His wife says you’re friends.”

“
I suppose we are, yes. But we, ah, me—no. I’m, ah, I’m always
home on time.” He smiled, albeit a little sadly.

What
some men actually got away with, for however long or short of a
time, really was a wonder sometimes. The Prideaux girl wasn’t
blonde either, come to think of it. Didier was capable of branching
out.

The
detectives were an attentive audience.

Edmond
beamed, it was like he just couldn’t wait to talk about it. This
almost made sense, when one wondered just who the average young
married fellow could call his friends. The scruffier ones from a
previous life were often quickly weeded out, as Hubert well knew.
He wasn’t even married yet. Talk got around. They didn’t dare open
their mouths or even tell a joke hardly, for fear of distorted
versions of those stories making the rounds. It always came back to
haunt them, didn’t it? With a certain type of woman, once you were
married, it was like you were Siamese twins, joined at the hip or
something. The worst thing you could do to your wife was to
embarrass her among her friends.

For a
frazzled Edmond Barrault, a couple of young male cops with those
open, sympathetic looks, might be a golden opportunity for a
gossip. The thing was to show an interest and take his mind off his
surroundings. With the wife sick, he wouldn’t be earning any money
either.

The only
problem was the baby had wet itself and it would take a minute to
change.

Was that
all? Hubert could have sworn it was much worse, but it might just
be coming from the hamper down the hall.

Assuming
they had the patience to wait him out, it appeared the gentleman
would be only too happy to tell it.

***

The baby
gurgled, chuckling quietly to itself in a small bed in the next
room. They sat expectantly in the front room as their host hastily
cleared a pile of clothes from one end of the couch.

Edmond
had taken a quick phone call in monosyllables in the kitchen. He’d
checked on the other two kids, and they were said to be playing
quietly in their room. Either that or he’d put them down with a
ball-peen hammer, or possibly sleeping-powder in the grape juice,
thought Tailler.

“
So Didier had some kind of relationship with this Prideaux
woman?”

Edmond
nodded happily.

“
I almost admired him at times. There were times when I hated
him, mostly at breakfast. You really have to admit. Most of us
don’t have the nerve—the sheer, unmitigated gall. But that guy took
the cake. He really did.”

“
And what about the other secretary. She’s quite a bit
older.”

“
Oh, yeah.” He rolled his eyes. “But a body like a hot tamale,
eh?”

It was
quite an expression, one neither man had ever heard. There was a
moment while they considered it. Neither one of them had ever seen
a tamale before, come to think of it.

The
analogy was stillborn.