Better late than never.
I hope so.
Does it help? Bottando asked.
She thought about that. It will confirm or refute my general idea. If theres anything there. I think, you know, its time to bring this case to an end of some sort. One way or another.
Can you do that?
I think so. Yes.
Isnt she clever? Argyll said admiringly. Whatever did you do before she worked for you, General?
Oh, I just had to struggle along, he replied.
Im so glad were getting married, he continued. Such a smart person to have as a wife.
Bottando thought this was getting irrelevant. Congratulations, he said drily. I hope youll be very happy. Not before time, in my opinion. Now, Flavia, dear. Are you sure you can wrap this up?
Let me put it like this. I can either find a solution, or make sure no solution will ever be found. Whatever, the case will come to an end. Do you want me to do that?
Bottando nodded. It would probably be best. Ideally, I would like to bring a murderer or two to book. But if thats not possible, I want it off our hands. How do you propose to go about it?
She smiled faintly. I think first of all we have to consult. That is, we go through tried and trusted channels. We will go back to Paris.
18
Whatever happened, this had better be over soon, Flavia thought to herself as she trooped wearily on to the plane. She couldnt keep this up much longer. Some businessmen, it seemed, could do this sort of thing perpetually. Three countries a day, airport-hopping. She couldnt. She could barely even remember what day it was. All she knew was that the moment she thought shed reached a place where she could lay her head and have a quiet, uninterrupted nights sleep, the opportunity was whisked away again. Shed had one decent nights sleep in the last week. She was haggard, confused, upset and thoroughly miserable. A short fuse. A little time bomb waiting to blow.
Argyll, who recognized the signs all too well, left her alone throughout the flight, lost in his own thoughts. He knew perfectly well that to try conversation, or even to attempt to brighten her life with his little jokes, would be counter-productive to say the least.
Besides, he wasnt feeling like little jokes either. He didnt know what was going on in Flavias mind, but he did know he was mightily sick of this business. People trotting around stealing pictures is one thing. Even murder wasnt so bad, once you got used to it. But this case involved too much long-term unhappiness for his taste. Argyll liked people to be content; however naïve it made him appear, he had always considered contentment to be the most basic of human rights. And this case was full of people who had missed it. Muller, living all his life with the desolation of being virtually parentless, of having to deal with his family heritage. At least he was spared the anguish of knowing his mother was still alive in such a condition. And his mother, leading a shady half-life, a sort of hobbling corpse for forty years or more. Even Ellmans son had been corrupted by it all, effectively blackmailing his own father and justifying himself by saying it was all in a good cause. Only Rouxel and his family were untouched. The distinguished man, the beautiful granddaughter, sailing serenely through life, unaware of the misery swirling all around them. Perhaps they were about to be enveloped as well. Something had reached out of the past; Rouxel was the only one it had left untouched. So far.
Dear old Byrnes had driven them to the airport, lent them money and even paid for their tickets, saying that he was certain that the Italian state would take care of it eventually. Even his frosty wife had recovered from the early-morning affront to make them sandwiches for the trip. As Argyll had tried to explain, she wasnt so bad really. English ladies are occasionally like this: hearts of marshmallow, heavily protected by a covering of solid titanium. They can be quite kind, as long as no one notices and points it out. Then they get brusque and insist that theyre nothing of the sort. An odd national characteristic, really.
Bottando had stayed behind, nattering to Elizabeth Byrnes. These two had hit it off quite nicely, and as Flavia and Argyll dragged their weary steps to the car, theyd left Bottando in the kitchen drinking wine and watching his hostess potter around doing the cooking. Of course the General would stay for dinner and stay the night. No trouble at all.
Hmmph. This was approximately the thought of both Flavia and Argyll as theyd driven off. Somehow the division of labour seemed a touch unfair. They ran around like beheaded chickens, Bottando settled down for a comfortable night. His mentioning the privileges of rank as theyd left hadnt helped either. Nor did his contribution ringing Janet to tell him they were on their way seem exactly like overworking himself. Argyll had protested about this, saying Janets track record for being helpful hadnt exactly been exemplary, but Flavia had insisted. That was the point, shed said; besides, this time she thought Janet would turn out to be useful.
But, as Bottando had said, this was Flavias case. Shed started it, she should finish. See it as a mark of trust, hed said. Besides, she knew all the ins and outs; he didnt. And of course, she was the one who wanted to show Fabriano a thing or two.
Charles de Gaulle was relatively empty, and they got off the plane fast, making their way along the mechanized walkways quickly to the exit. Then to passport control, and the line for holders of EC passports. Generally this is simple: frequently the immigration officials dont even bother to examine passports. Especially in the evening, a gruff nod and a bored look at the cover is about as big a welcome as a traveller can expect.
But not in this case. Whether he was young and enthusiastic, or had just come on his shift or whatever, this one was insisting on doing his job properly. Each passport was opened, each face scrutinized, each person sent on his or her way with a courteous Thank you sir, enjoy your stay.
Whoever heard of a courteous immigration official at an airport? Everybody knew there was an international training-school somewhere which drilled them in basic offensiveness and advanced sneering.
Madame, msieur, he said in greeting as they handed over their documents, Flavia feeling ever more like a lamb being led to the slaughter.
The feeling was strengthened when he looked intently at the photographs, studied their faces with care, then referred to a book of computer printout on the desk.
Bugger, said Argyll under his breath.
Dont worry, she said.
Would you mind coming with me, please? said the official.
Not at all, she replied sweetly. But we are in an enormous rush. We have no time to waste at all.
Im so sorry. But it will only take a few seconds. Im sure you understand. Routine checks.
Like hell, she thought. But there was no chance of doing anything but march off dutifully as instructed. Shed noticed the four armed policemen earlier. Perhaps the guns werent loaded; she didnt know, and had no intention of finding out.
She had the feeling that the little cubicle they were ushered into had been deliberately designed to be depressing. Dingy white walls, no windows, uncomfortable seats and a metal and plastic table all combined to create an atmosphere that reduced you to being an administrative problem, best solved by ejection.
There were two doors, the one through which they entered, and the other which opened shortly after they had come in and sat down in uncomfortable and worried silence. So this is what it feels like to be an illegal immigrant, Flavia thought.
Surprise, surprise, Argyll said as he saw the person who came in.
Jonathan. Good to see you again, said the man who, in recent days, had been tackled, hit with bottles, thumped with handbags and tripped up. Despite the words, he didnt seem at all happy to see them. He had a large piece of sticking-plaster above his left eye. Flavia suppressed a slight snigger and decided not to mention their last meeting. No point in being provocative.
The feeling is not reciprocated, Argyll said.
I thought it might not be. No matter, he replied as he sat down. He then opened a bulky file of papers and studied some more for effect than anything else, Flavia suspected before looking up at them with a vaguely concerned air.
Well, what do we do with you two now? he went on, to take command of proceedings.
How about a proper introduction? Flavia asked.
He smiled thinly. Gérard Montaillou, he said. Ministry of the Interior.
And an explanation? Like whats going on?
Oh, thats simple, if you like. You are a member of a foreign police force and require permission to operate in France. That permission is being denied. So you will go home. As for Mr Argyll, he is lucky not to be charged with smuggling stolen pictures and he will go home as well.
Piffle, she said sharply. You never bothered to ask permission when you came to Italy.
I was a civil servant attached to an international delegation.
A spook.
If you like. But I did nothing so awful that anyone is likely to object.
Two people are dead, for Gods sake. Or is that all in a days work for you?
He shook his head. Too many spy stories, mademoiselle. I sit at desks and shunt paper around. A bit like you, really. This sort of thing is all quite exceptional for me.
Piffle, she said sharply. You never bothered to ask permission when you came to Italy.
I was a civil servant attached to an international delegation.
A spook.
If you like. But I did nothing so awful that anyone is likely to object.
Two people are dead, for Gods sake. Or is that all in a days work for you?
He shook his head. Too many spy stories, mademoiselle. I sit at desks and shunt paper around. A bit like you, really. This sort of thing is all quite exceptional for me.
Which is why youre not very good at it.
He didnt like that very much. If he had been on the verge of relaxing a little, it reversed the process.
Maybe, he said stiffly.
So we go home, I put in an extradition order for you so you can be charged with murder?