Speak Softly My Love (22 page)

Tailler
put an arm around her as Hubert, head down and seemingly intent,
blocked their view with his own backside. He took a quick look
before stuffing both passports into the envelope.

He
didn’t let her see that part and he slid the drawer closed
decisively. She looked puzzled but not frightened. He made her
watch as he licked and sealed the tab, and then he and Tailler
signed their names across the flap. They got her initials on there
too. It was all nice and voluntary.

“
Very good, Madame. This may be of very great help to us. May
we return to the salon? I’m sure we’ll all be much more comfortable
in there.”

They got
her seated on the couch again.

Tailler
stood over by the window, and Hubert, with that wonderful bedside
manner of his, sat again on an angle, his right knee touching her
left knee. He took her hands in his. Tailler came back and picked
up his envelope of pictures.

“
Okay, Lucinde. Please prepare yourself for a shock, and yet
we must not leap to any hasty conclusions. I want you to be totally
objective here. This is no time for raw emotion.
Comprene?”

She
nodded, almost too frightened to speak by this point. Whatever was
coming, she knew it had to be bad news.

Tailler
made his decision. Straight from the shoulder with this
one.

He
placed the first photo on the coffee table in front of her. Hubert
picked it up, helpfully holding it so the light fell on it
properly. Her hands were shaking as she took it from
him.

It was
one of the post-mortem pictures, one where the subject’s eyes had
been thoughtfully opened by a cooperative Doctor Auger for this
particular shot. Such photos had been known to be successful in
helping to identify victims and missing persons before.

Her
mouth opened. She stared, all colour gone from her face.

“
Is this your husband Didier, Madame Godeffroy?”

A single
tear issued from the one duct that he could see. Presumably there
were more on the other side to balance that, but the lady didn’t
answer. They needed to hear her say it.

“
Madame. I wonder if I could ask a very great favour of you. I
know this is really tough—” Detective Hubert chewed away and
finished the thought. “We have a body and we need to have you come
and identify it. The really big problem is that it’s in Paris—just
a little town on the outskirts, actually…kind of a
suburb.”

Tailler
showed her another picture, and then another. She fixated on first
one, and then the other.

It was
the same old problem, but this was the wife—or one of the wives. In
death, with water soaking into the body, and collisions with rocks,
pilings and underwater obstructions, well. It hadn’t done the body
any good. The face had become an amorphous blob of flesh,
discoloured but not badly cut and bruised.

“
It’s okay, Madame.” Hubert tried to take the pictures back
but she resisted.

He could
wait a minute longer, as she took another look.

“
It certainly looks like Didier, and yet not Didier—he was an
orphan, you know. But this could be a twin, perhaps older, a little
heavier. You know, an older, fatter version of Didier.”

Was it merely denial? An unwillingness to
accept.

She
looked at them in a kind of lucid wonder.

“
Oh, of course—you’ve never met him.”

“
Madame, I know this is short notice and this may be a tragic
time for you. If only we knew for sure. What I am suggesting is
that you accompany us, this afternoon. Right now, in fact—” This
with a quick glance at his watch. “…by train, to Paris, and we’ll
try and decide if this is your husband. Didier. And I know that it
is…really, a terrible thing to ask.”

But.

Tailler
cleared his throat.

Her
mouth hung open.

“
The thing is, Madame, that if we were to get a move on, we
could be there by early evening. We could view the body. I know, if
it’s not Didier, it really is a terrible inconvenience. Outrageous,
really. But if it is him—and I certainly hope it is not for your
sake, Madame, but if it
is
him, then really, wouldn’t you want to
know?”

She
stared at her feet for a moment. Lucinde lifted her
face.

“
For sure, I mean.”

“
Of course you’re right, but must we leave right
now?”

He
nodded soberly.

“
I thank you so much. It really is better if next of kin makes
any identification. Anyways, would you have a marriage certificate,
anything like that? You’re listed as Madame Lucinde Godeffroy on
the passport, right, that’s good, but if you had anything else that
would be wonderful. N’est pas?”

Her eyes
went to the clock on the wall. Her face was like stone as she rose
and headed for the desk again.

“
I don’t know—I think it might be here somewhere.”

Chapter Eighteen

In the
end, all she could find on short notice was a wedding picture, a
clipping from the Lyon daily newspaper. Her hands were shaking and
her lips quivered when she gave it to them. There was the date and
their names written in a tiny feminine hand on the right-hand
margin. She had no idea of what happened to their papers. They
might have been lost in a move or even during spring cleaning. She
certainly must have had a birth certificate when applying for the
passport. The lady was a bit rattled. Neither she nor Didier had
liked keeping a lot of dusty, mouldy old boxes around.

“
That’s us.”

“
Thank you, Madame.” Tailler put the clipping into his
precious envelope, jammed his hat back on and they headed for the
coat closet. “And don’t worry about expenses and accommodation.
There’s plenty of provision in the budget for what we call,
uh…special services.”

Lucinde
took a deep breath and steeled herself. Her hands were together,
clinging very tightly to her purse, and she stood very straight as
she fought for self-control.

“
Is there anyone you might want to call,
Madame…Lucinde?”

“
Oh, shit. I’d better leave a note for Celeste. The maid. She
might worry.”

“
Okay, let’s do that quickly now.”

Rather
than allow her back into the flat again, Tailler pulled out his
notebook and flipped it open to a clean page.

“
Okay. Here we go, let’s keep this nice and simple. Only that
you’re going away to Paris for the evening and that you’ll be back
tomorrow afternoon at the latest. You’ll call them from your hotel.
Something like that.”

She
scribbled it out, putting the pad flat on the wall at face height
and writing it out pretty much as he said.

“
We’ll just leave that on the coffee table.” Hubert scurried
to the salon with the torn-off sheet as Tailler helped the lady on
with her coat. “Say, when does Celeste come in,
anyways?”

Lucinde
told them Thursdays and Fridays and the pair nodded.

Tailler’s mouth was terribly dry and this was going to be as
awkward as all hell. It had to be borne for all of their
sakes.

“
I must say. You’re really being a good sport about all of
this.”

There
was the most barren ghost of a grin from a somber and very
preoccupied Lucinde Godeffroy as he turned the knob to let them
out.

***

It was
probably the longest train ride of their lives.

The two
of them sweated it out, immersed in the heavenly aroma of a healthy
young female, immaculately prepared, painted, powdered and
polished. What she thought of all this could only be
imagined.

It
really was kind of ignorant, Tailler had to concede.

After
dealing with her children, who were away in school in Switzerland,
and Tailler’s mother, there wasn’t much left to talk about. She
seemed genuinely interested that Hubert was engaged, and smiled
sadly as she looked out the window after that little tidbit.
Silence fell over the three.

It was a
good thing the detectives had an agreed-upon plan. Other than that,
they would consult in the men’s room when circumstances
arose.

The lady sat in the middle. There was no way they were going
to talk about anything important with her there anyways. It was
times like this when they realized what
strangers,
people really were. To
speak of the weather was too boring and too predictable. To speak
of politics was to argue, Tailler was convinced, although he
doubted if the lady’s politics or his partner’s, were all that much
different than his.

It was
hardly an occasion for cheer.

Current
events, celebrity gossip and the latest films, who was playing at
the theatre or what was the latest best-selling book, would quickly
tend to pall over something like five hours on the train. There was
no way in hell they could just sleep.

She was
very quiet and not asking a lot of questions, which was a
relief.

The lady had more important things on her mind. In spite of
all, Tailler still wanted the lady to like him—there was this urge
not to offend, to appear…well, as
something
in her eyes. Anything,
rather than the incompetent and bumptious fool he knew himself to
be. Maybe, someday, the confidence would come more naturally. At
times the quiet was overwhelming. It was a kind of chivalry,
perhaps, tempered with strong physical attraction.

The
landscape under low cumulus held no comfort for her. For Tailler it
was losing interest, and Hubert was quite frankly close to dozing
off. Tailler had the impression that Hubert and Emmanuelle were
keeping some fairly late evening hours.

Nice work if you can get it—more power to them, in his
opinion. Emmanuelle was surprisingly plump in Tailler’s opinion.
He’d only seen a picture. They’d never actually met. Emmanuelle
was
filtered,
seen only through Hubert’s little anecdotes.

Finally
the train drew into the station. All three were famished. They
agreed to a quick snack in the station itself. Sandwiches and
coffee, which didn’t take very long at all. It did some good, but
not much.

After
viewing the body, no matter what happened, it seemed unlikely that
Lucinde would have much of an appetite. To provide her with a hotel
room was one thing. Yes, she would have to eat, and she should eat.
The notion that Lucinde would find any great comfort or pleasure in
the company of two bearers of bad news seemed terribly
unlikely.

What were they supposed to do, suggest dinner with the lady?
The option was to just leave her alone, although it was awkward.
Climbing into the cab, Hubert gave directions and they headed off
in the direction of the Maison Sant
é
.

“
Not much longer now.” Tailler, with her in the back seat,
resisted the urge to pat her on the back of the hand.

He’d
already done it about fifteen times and was aware of how it looked.
Hubert had been solicitous, which was fine. Hubert managed to keep
his hands to himself, when all poor old Emile Tailler wanted to do
was to take the lady into his arms and comfort her.

What
might happen after that didn’t really bear thinking about. It was
pure, childish fantasy. What really bothered Emile was the thought
of someone like her, winding up with a real skunker like
Didier.

She
might not even be a widow yet—but they would know within a half an
hour or so.

After
that, one way or the other, things could get awkward. At least then
they would know.

***

It was
the same process as before. Tailler introduced her to Doctor Auger.
After some small preliminary remarks, which were meant to be
reassuring, he opened the hatch and pulled out the sliding
slab.

Hubert
had found a seat in the corner by the door, wanting to study the
lady’s reaction.

“
All right. Madame, are you ready?”

She
stood there at the side of the table and Doctor Auger lifted the
cloth covering and exposed the face.

There
was no hesitation.

“
Oh, Didier! Oh, my God, poor, poor Didier.”

Bawling
her eyes out, Lucinde fell forwards onto the body, as Tailler’s
head whipped around to meet Hubert’s eyes with a stunned look.
Doctor Auger was patting her on the shoulder and the back, making
soothing noises as the pair of detectives stared into each other’s
eyes.

Hubert
stood, approaching Lucinde. There was only one way to play it in
his opinion, and that was strictly by the book.

Don’t give up
anything.

“
Please, Madame.” Hubert took her by the elbow, four of them
crowded around the upper end of the slab. “We understand that this
is a terrible tragedy.”

“
But we need to talk.” Tailler had little choice but to wrap a
long arm around the distraught, downright hysterical woman as she
kicked and cursed in terms that were not very lady-like.