Speak Softly My Love (25 page)

“
Voila. We have arrived.”

“
I can see that for myself.”

All in
all, it hadn’t been too unbearable. He’d noticed that before, in
Lyon. Being in a strange town was oddly liberating. No one knew
your name, and so it was difficult to be embarrassed. You knew that
you would be leaving again, and very soon. The engine ticked in
cool-down mode, and poor old Hubert just wanted to sit there a
minute and catch his breath.

It was
like nobody cared—nobody.

When
Tailler pulled one particularly bone-headed move, Hubert had merely
laughed. It was just too outrageous to take it
seriously.

Going
head on into oncoming traffic on what had to be the only one-way
street in town.

Poor old
Tailler.

Realizing his error, and timing it magnificently, Tailler of
course did the unthinkable. Rather than stop, or pull over, and
thereby reduce the possible impact speed, he stomped the throttle
hard to the floor. He’d accelerated like a mad whore, even shifting
up when the revs got high, crossing in front of the oncoming
vehicles in a screeching, fish-tailing turn that had lost them a
hubcap. Tailler somehow made it into a cross-street a scant second
before a collision that would have had an impact velocity of about
a hundred and fifty kilometres an hour.

Would talking to Tailler help? Hubert rather doubted it. What
the boy needed was a lot of practice and some skills in reading the
road. Maybe even just road
signs.
In a quick mental review, Hubert conceded that
Emile only had fifty or a hundred hours in total behind the wheel.
From that perspective, they were doing pretty well.

In other
words, to hell with it.

“
Okay, let’s see if we can find a landlord, a neighbour, an
acquaintance…a friend.”

Hubert
got out and Tailler locked the doors.

Hubert
was at the street entrance, studying the names, the buttons and
their options.

“
Here we go. Ada Bellerose.” There was no time like the
present.

He
pushed the button. If there was no response, there were a
half-dozen other tenants listed.

They
would try almost anything.

No one
home, or the bell was broken.

He tried
the next one. No response. A unit up on the right side on the
second floor, had totally blank, black windows. There were no
curtains in sight. That one might be vacant although there were
names beside all the buttons. It appeared to be all private
individuals, rather than small businesses.

“
Merde.”

“
Try them all.” Hubert pushed and there was nothing
happening.

Perhaps
they were all at work. Deaf people, old people, paranoid
people…people had the right not to answer the bell.

Tailler,
standing off to one side, perhaps not being able to see the tags
and the apartment numbers, reached over and pushed the button for
Zoe Godeffroy.

Hubert
felt a bolt of tension or stress run through him when he saw
that—but what the hell were you going to do. It was harmless
enough, and Tailler was always going to be Tailler. Hubert’s knees
were still a little shaky after the ride. He had no idea of what to
expect at this point—it was either a let-down or an anti-climax,
when there was a long pause and exactly nothing
happened.

“
Here, let me try.”

Tailler
started with Ada Bellerose again, as Hubert began to have serious
doubts about either Tailler’s or his own sanity.

The
thought was instantly dismissed when some lady answered.

Chapter
Twenty

“
Hello?”

They
looked at each other. It was a soft, youthful and feminine
voice.

“
It’s probably the maid…”
Hubert’s
hoarse whisper shocked the stillness and even the birds.

Tailler
took it smoothly enough as the sparrows took up their chorus
again.

Hubert
was so tempted to kick him—but Tailler floored him
again.

“
Ah, yes, bonjour, Mademoiselle. We’re looking for a Zoe
Godeffroy. Ah, she doesn’t appear to be home. I was thinking we
might be pushing the wrong button—maybe it’s broken,
right?”

Here comes that kick, boyo—

Hubert
stopped himself just in time.

Why am I
so angry, he asked himself…sure, we agreed that I was going to do
the talking.

Sure, we
agreed he was going to take his time and drive
carefully.

But what did we seriously expect, anyways?

No sense crying over spilt milk—or worrying about what might
have been.

“
Are you a friend of hers? We’d like to speak to you if we
may.”

“
Well, I don’t know. Who is calling?”

They
stared at each other.

No!

But what
the hell.

“
Ah, well…yeah. I’m Detective-Sergeant Emile Tailler. My
partner is Detective Hubert. We’re from the police, Mademoiselle.
It’s strictly routine. Just a few minor questions. You might be
able to help us
and
Zoe. You’re not in any trouble. Neither is she, that’s what
we think, anyways. I can certainly assure you of that,
Mademoiselle.”

Fucking
Tailler had his hat off, crumpling it in sweaty hands. Hubert had
never witnessed such sickening sincerity.

Holy.

Hubert
could only watch and marvel.

The
window beside the doorway was open, and while curtains billowed
from within, Tailler heard a dry hacking cough in there so he shut
up.

Why didn’t the guy answer his bell, the stupid
bastard.

“
May I be permitted to know what this is about?”

“
Yes, ma’am. Ah, it’s just that we’re trying to locate, ah,
the next of kin of a Didier Godeffroy. He’s a wine
merchant—”
From Gaston e Cie.

She hit
the buzzer before he was done and then they were in the lobby,
which smelled heavily of carbolic soap and furniture polish. Chilly
as the north-facing lobby was, the temperature climbed markedly as
they went up the stairs.

***

Ada’s apartment was up a second flight of stairs, number
five. It was the rear apartment. She flung the door open even
before they were properly there, looking out and down the hall for
them. The young lady took a good hard look before deciding not to
bolt back inside. That was one of the reasons why plainclothes cops
always
dressed
like plainclothes cops. They could hardly be mistaken for
anything else.

She
exhaled.

“
Please come in.”

The
detectives shuffled in through the door, removing their hats and
taking a quick peek around. It was fairly large, very clean and yet
it smelled of fish. Another good Catholic, apparently.

It was
after breakfast, she must be readying it for lunch or perhaps
dinner.

It was a
long ways from the sea, thought Emile, noting a big crucifix on one
end wall of the living room. There were a couple of very narrow
palm leaves stuck in behind it, faded and dry-looking. His mother
had the same thing, replacing them every year on Palm
Sunday.

The
young woman before them was tall, slender, with high, cone-shaped
breasts. Her hips swelled appreciably below the narrow waist,
nicely outlined by trim blue slacks and a beige cashmere sweater.
The long sleeves were pulled up to the elbows. She had brown eyes
and the most coppery thick tresses Tailler had ever seen. It was
difficult to tell if she was wearing any sort of makeup at all,
although the aroma of a healthy and normal woman’s home was really
something when you weren’t used to it. She was barefoot, which he
liked very much. It made a nice impression, one of cleanliness and
perhaps the kind of luxury a poor kid could only dream
about.

He
concluded that she was indeed another beauty. That didn’t
necessarily make her stupid, nor did it entirely assure her
innocence.

“
We’re terribly sorry to bother you, Ada, is it?”

“
Yes. What’s this about? What’s happened to Didier? Where’s
Zoe?”

“
Well. It’s not quite that simple. We’ll get to that in a
minute. What is your relationship with Mademoiselle
Godeffroy?”

“
She’s just a friend—a good friend.”

“
You’re not married then?”

“
Ah, no.”

The one was handsome, the other one a bit ungainly. Still,
they were
men.

“
It’s okay, we understand your feelings.”

She
coloured, then smiled in spite of her distaste for their intrusion,
and what often appeared as bad manners. There were two policemen in
her living room, prying into her life and plying her with questions
with absolutely no explanation.

Tailler
reached and drew out his wallet.

“
We really are from the police. We would like to speak to Zoe.
Or Didier, if we can find him. We basically just need your help,
that’s it. But it’s ticklish. People have the right to privacy,
after all—or maybe we could tell you more.”

Hubert
cut in using his most dulcet tones.

“
Can you tell us anything about Zoe? She’s not home now, is
she? And please, trust us. Just a little bit, just for a minute,
okay?”

The lady
turned and wobbled slowly in the direction of the couch, but then
turned and chose a stuffed chair with rolled arms and a deep,
curving back.

She
stared at them with fear in her eyes.

“
So. Why don’t you gentlemen tell me what’s going on—I
mean…what do you want to know?”

It
seemed they had stumbled on Zoe’s best friend. Her intuition, her
instincts were fully aroused.

One
could hardly blame her.

***

Zoe Godeffroy was no relation to Didier Godeffroy. They had
met, predictably enough, at a wine industry exhibition. It was the
autumn season. Something like that. He was there representing his
company, and at the time she had been personal assistant to a
gentleman who was the president of another little firm. He had been
attracted to her, and she to him, in spite of certain obligations
to her employer. Apparently they’d once had an
understanding.
Ada skipped lightly
over that part while Hubert took notes.

“
He asked Zoe out to dinner. They laughed about having the
same last name.” She gulped.

The
males exchanged an involuntary glance.

Her eyes
shifted, and she studied her hands.

“
She was lonely, looking for a husband, it seemed to me. They
soon became lovers.”

You
could almost hear in the background, the monotonous languor of the
violins, zinging away on the old heart-strings. Ada took it
seriously enough.

“
Would you know when she was last home?”

“
She went away for the weekend.” She sighed, looking them
right in the eye. “At least, that’s what she told me.”

“
When was she expected back?”

“
Certainly by Monday morning.”

“
Weren’t you worried about her?” Tailler’s voice was gruff. “I
mean, she’s not back, right?”

Her eyes
searched theirs.

“
Yes, of course. A little bit. Zoe’s a grown woman, what am I
supposed to do?” The girl wrung her hands gently.

“
Hmn.” Hubert took a chance. “You wouldn’t have a key to her
place, would you?”

Ada
stared at them wordlessly. Finally her eyes fell.

“
What is this about? Has something happened to
her?”

“
Honestly, we would just like to speak to her.”

“
Well, she isn’t home.”

“
And you’re sure about that.”

At some
point she’d had enough and was becoming restive. Her eyes strayed
once or twice to the phone. But the face always came back to
them.

“
What’s happened to her—what’s happened to Zoe?”

Tailler
ignored it.

Ada was
becoming upset. They kept going back to the same
questions.

“
Where’s Zoe?”

“
Please, young lady. Let us ask the questions.”

The girl
either didn’t know or could keep a secret.

“
How often does Didier come here?”

“
Every so often.”

“
For how long? A couple of days?”

Hubert
would have preferred if Tailler didn’t lead so much, but Ada
agreed.

“
Usually, yes.”

“
I see.”

Tailler
pulled out a picture. It was the one Monique had
provided.

“
Is this Didier Godeffroy?”