Folly Du Jour - Barbara Cleverly [126]
‘But why? I know men murder others for the satisfaction, even enjoyment it can bring them.’ She shuddered. ‘But his victims were not known to him in a personal way. Where was the satisfaction in that?’
‘I think he was a bit mad. Working in that place – it would send any man off the rails. And I believe he sensed this was happening to him. He made an effort to keep the stone walls, dripping with sorrow, at bay. It didn’t work. The corpses kept piling up and he kept on slicing and carving and witnessing the very worst man can do to man.’
‘He lost his sensitivity? Like a knife losing its edge?’
‘I think so. He had been a sensitive man. He enjoyed the theatre and the opera – he had posters and programmes all over his room and, Heather, the strangest thing – I’d noticed a photograph on his desk. A pretty dark girl. Her face was vaguely familiar. I checked his room yesterday – I went to return a book he lent me . . .’ Joe’s turn to shudder. ‘I thought it might be his girlfriend. I asked one of the assistants if they knew who she was. They looked a bit shifty, I thought, but one of them spoke up. “Don’t you know her, sir? That’s Gaby Laforêt. The music hall star. Nuts about her, he was! Went to every show. Used to joke that one day when he’d made his fortune he’d . . . Well, we all need our fantasies, working in a dump like this, don’t we?”’
‘But why would he want you dead, Joe? How did you figure in his fantasies?’
‘He overrated my insight, I think. Thought I was nearer to putting it all together than I actually was. After all – I’d confided in him, shown him my cards, in fact. One professional to another. And if you see your opponent is holding a Royal Flush, you assume he’s going to play it. He never suspected that I hadn’t recognized the significance of what I had. So – I had to be eliminated. And – possibly as his grande finale – he couldn’t resist stepping on stage himself for a change. I think no one paid him for that display on the bridge. He treated himself to a private performance. He fancied himself as Louis XIV perhaps, that ardent supporter of the theatre, the Sun King, strolling on in the final scene.’
‘Horrid notion! All the same, it’s doubly depressing to think that a man got his thrills by carrying out another fellow’s fantasies! I expect the money was the more important element, you know. But, there, you survived! And so did Jean-Philippe. That’s all that matters. Is he back at work again?’
‘Oh, no. He’s been given a week’s leave. But he’s back at home, firing on all cylinders, driving his mother to distraction. Claims he’s fully fit and she must stop fussing over him. She’s given up on him and decided to go and spend a few days with her sister in Burgundy. George went back to the Bristol to put up his feet for a bit, get his heart rate down and then start on his packing.’
‘Poor soul! Has he had enough of France then?’
‘Not a bit of it! He’s bought a first class ticket on Friday’s Blue Train to Nice. The overnight express. Paris seems to have lost its charm but he’s not quite in the mood for Surrey yet. I think his cousin has cause for concern there! George is showing every sign of going off the rails as soon as he can get up the right speed. He’s booked himself in at the Negresco! Best food in the world, he tells me. And I’m dug in again at the Ambassador for the next day or two. Lively scene! I say, Heather, they’ve got a dinner dance and jazz band on tonight if you’d be interested?’
‘Oh, Joe, I have to leave on Friday – that’s tomorrow! – for the Riviera myself. First game of the tournament