Folly Du Jour(66)
He reined in his thoughts. Nonsense! There were more loose fragments of tinsel swirling about in this kaleidoscope than he could pull into focus at the moment and he was not going to lose track of a single element. The face of Francine Raissac had stayed with him. He remembered clearly her terror. Her warnings. He’d take her seriously and he’d listen to Pollock’s parting words of advice and stay alert.
He performed his automatic checks for surveillance as he strolled along the rue du Faubourg St Honoré but with no sense of urgency. If anyone cared to follow him from the Embassy to his hotel, they were welcome to do so. He paused in front of the window display in one of the bookshops along the street, decided they probably didn’t have what he was looking for and moved off. Finding what he wanted a few yards further on, he went in and spent a few minutes examining the stock before he made his choice.
The receptionist at the Hotel Ambassador greeted him and told him a telephone message had just arrived for him. Joe took the note. A brief one from Bonnefoye.
We have Wilberforce. Has agreed to meet Fourier at 11.30. Be there!
Joe telephoned to congratulate Bonnefoye on his speed of performance.
‘Not difficult! He was at the third hotel on our list. Having breakfast. Confirms he was at the theatre that night and says he’ll be pleased to be of help. I’ll see you both at Staircase A?’
Joe, freshly bathed, shirted and suited, met Bonnefoye at the entrance to police headquarters and waited with him for Jennings’ taxi to drop him off. The man stepping out was easily identified by his English overcoat, bowler hat and rolled umbrella. Bonnefoye suppressed a snort of laughter at the image of propriety the man presented as Joe stepped forward to enquire: ‘Mr Wilberforce Jennings, I presume? How do you do, sir. Commander Sandilands of Scotland Yard liaising with the Police Judiciaire. May I introduce my colleague, Inspector Bonnefoye?’
Jennings relaxed on hearing Joe’s suave voice and shook hands with each man.
‘This is to do with the killing at the theatre, night before last, eh? What? Not sure I can be of much help. I know people always say they saw nothing but, in this case, it’s absolutely true! I saw nothing of the killing, that is!’
Joe allowed him to chatter on nervously as they crossed the courtyard. These forbidding surroundings would give anyone the jitters – even a man fortified by a bowler and a brolly. At the door to Staircase A, he turned to Jennings, reassurance in his voice. ‘Don’t be alarmed, sir. Just a few questions to be put to you by the French Chief Inspector in charge of the case. He’s obliged to cover all bases, you understand? Explore all avenues.’
Jennings nodded vigorously to indicate he understood this calming drivel.
‘Many people are being interviewed – one of them may have seen something he was not aware that he had seen. Just answer the questions carefully. I will be on hand to translate.’
Chairs, Joe noted, had been provided in Fourier’s office. The files and papers were aligned in rows. After introductions all round, he and Bonnefoye settled in a group with Jennings between them, facing Fourier and a sergeant who was taking notes at his elbow.
‘I say! However did you know I was there? Clever of you to find me! I shall have to hope my wife is less vigilant than the French police, eh? What? I read about this sorry affair in the papers. Fellow Englishman knifed to death, they’re saying. And that’s the extent of my knowledge, I’m afraid. I’ve never met the dead fellow. I was in the stalls. Thought you might like to see my ticket stub.’
Fourier looked carefully at the number on the ticket. He took a pencil and a sheet of paper and in a few quick strokes sketched out a floor plan of the theatre. He placed it on the desk in front of Jennings. ‘Can you confirm you were sitting where I have marked an X?’
‘Yes. You’ve got it exactly!’ said Jennings. ‘I say – you know your way about, Chief Inspector! A regular yourself at the Folies, are you then?’
Joe didn’t attempt a translation.
‘I now add two boxes,’ said Fourier, supplying them. ‘Take my pencil and mark in the box where you understand the murder to have taken place.’
Jennings obliged.
‘Well done! Quite correct! Box B.’ Fourier’s attempt at bonhomie was unconvincing. ‘Now, tell us who and what you observed in that box.’
Jennings’ account was disappointing. He was quite obviously doing his best but his best was not pleasing Fourier. An unknown man (dark-haired), an unknown girl (fair-haired), had been noted before the lights went out and again when the lights came on again in the interval. Between and after those times – nothing of interest.