sent him away.’
‘That was wise, André. I haven’t told you of the latest development. First, this was a story in the newspapers about a foreign tourist being robbed and killed. But today there’s a new story in Nice-Matin . Apparently, the Canadian authorities have checked the dead man’s driving licence and found it to be false. Yesterday, the police came back to ask me if I was expecting any visitor by another name. Of course, I said no. But André, I am like you. I have a bad feeling about this. As I told you before, the name on the licence was Tanenbaum. A Jewish name.’
‘Wait a minute. If the licence was false, the name on it could also be false.’
‘True. But Pierre wouldn’t know that, would he? If he thought the man was a Jew trying to murder him, what do you think an ex- milicien would do? Kill him. Take his money. Hide the papers. Make it look like murder for money.’
‘Oh my God. It’s possible, I suppose.’
‘It’s more than possible. André, I’ve changed my mind about this. I think we should tell the archbishopric that Brossard has been staying with me in St Cros, and that he came seeking asylum at your residence today.’
‘No. We can’t do that.’
‘Why not?’
‘What if the Cardinal contacts the police? The police will come to see us. The press will get hold of the story. We and our communities will be pilloried as his accomplices.’
There was a silence on the line to St Cros.
‘Vladimir?’
‘André, I don’t think the Cardinal will contact the police. He has said publicly that the role of his commission is to investigate the Church’s involvement, not to act as policemen in hunting down Brossard.’
‘But he may feel obliged to do it.’
‘That decision is his to make. Not ours.’
‘Vladimir, if the police find Pierre, we will be the ones who are responsible. Do we want to have it on our conscience that he’ll be locked up in prison for the rest of his life?’
Again, there was silence on the line to St Cros.
‘Vladimir?’
‘Do we want to have it on our conscience that a man was murdered, that we may have helped the murderer escape and that a week from now, he may kill again? André, I’ll leave you out of it, if you like. But I must speak to Delavigne.’
‘No. You’re right. It’s time to tell the truth.’
On the night of May the 5th, T, arriving from Paris, booked into a Novotel near the airport. Next morning he drove into the suburbs of Aix, well before the rush hour. Brossard was due in Aix on May the 6th. At 8.30 a.m. T parked his rented car at the corner of the Avenue Henri Martin and the Avenue Paul Valéry, one street away from the Lycée St Christophe and the priory that was on the opposite side of the street from the school. Boys with satchels were being let out of cars by their parents. At eight-forty-five when the school bell started ringing T got out of his rented car and walked up to the school entrance as the last stragglers ran past him, hurrying to get in before the bell stopped.
There were no cars parked in the school yard. He crossed the street and looked through the iron railings at the front of the priory. Three cars were parked at the main entrance. No white Peugeot. He walked down the street and saw that there were No Parking signs on both the Avenue Henri Martin and the Avenue Paul Valéry. Perhaps the monks had a garage in the rear of the priory? T went to look. The rear entrance to the priory was connected to the street by an alley, too narrow to accommodate a car. The alley was a cul-de-sac.
No white Peugeot anywhere. T went back to the Avenue Henri Martin. At the far end of the Avenue he found a small square. The name of the café on the corner of this square was Café La Mascotte. He looked at the name of the square. Place des Tanneurs. The names matched the note he had been given. So the old fart didn’t go into town in the afternoons. He hung out at this corner café. That could make things
‘That was wise, André. I haven’t told you of the latest development. First, this was a story in the newspapers about a foreign tourist being robbed and killed. But today there’s a new story in Nice-Matin . Apparently, the Canadian authorities have checked the dead man’s driving licence and found it to be false. Yesterday, the police came back to ask me if I was expecting any visitor by another name. Of course, I said no. But André, I am like you. I have a bad feeling about this. As I told you before, the name on the licence was Tanenbaum. A Jewish name.’
‘Wait a minute. If the licence was false, the name on it could also be false.’
‘True. But Pierre wouldn’t know that, would he? If he thought the man was a Jew trying to murder him, what do you think an ex- milicien would do? Kill him. Take his money. Hide the papers. Make it look like murder for money.’
‘Oh my God. It’s possible, I suppose.’
‘It’s more than possible. André, I’ve changed my mind about this. I think we should tell the archbishopric that Brossard has been staying with me in St Cros, and that he came seeking asylum at your residence today.’
‘No. We can’t do that.’
‘Why not?’
‘What if the Cardinal contacts the police? The police will come to see us. The press will get hold of the story. We and our communities will be pilloried as his accomplices.’
There was a silence on the line to St Cros.
‘Vladimir?’
‘André, I don’t think the Cardinal will contact the police. He has said publicly that the role of his commission is to investigate the Church’s involvement, not to act as policemen in hunting down Brossard.’
‘But he may feel obliged to do it.’
‘That decision is his to make. Not ours.’
‘Vladimir, if the police find Pierre, we will be the ones who are responsible. Do we want to have it on our conscience that he’ll be locked up in prison for the rest of his life?’
Again, there was silence on the line to St Cros.
‘Vladimir?’
‘Do we want to have it on our conscience that a man was murdered, that we may have helped the murderer escape and that a week from now, he may kill again? André, I’ll leave you out of it, if you like. But I must speak to Delavigne.’
‘No. You’re right. It’s time to tell the truth.’
On the night of May the 5th, T, arriving from Paris, booked into a Novotel near the airport. Next morning he drove into the suburbs of Aix, well before the rush hour. Brossard was due in Aix on May the 6th. At 8.30 a.m. T parked his rented car at the corner of the Avenue Henri Martin and the Avenue Paul Valéry, one street away from the Lycée St Christophe and the priory that was on the opposite side of the street from the school. Boys with satchels were being let out of cars by their parents. At eight-forty-five when the school bell started ringing T got out of his rented car and walked up to the school entrance as the last stragglers ran past him, hurrying to get in before the bell stopped.
There were no cars parked in the school yard. He crossed the street and looked through the iron railings at the front of the priory. Three cars were parked at the main entrance. No white Peugeot. He walked down the street and saw that there were No Parking signs on both the Avenue Henri Martin and the Avenue Paul Valéry. Perhaps the monks had a garage in the rear of the priory? T went to look. The rear entrance to the priory was connected to the street by an alley, too narrow to accommodate a car. The alley was a cul-de-sac.
No white Peugeot anywhere. T went back to the Avenue Henri Martin. At the far end of the Avenue he found a small square. The name of the café on the corner of this square was Café La Mascotte. He looked at the name of the square. Place des Tanneurs. The names matched the note he had been given. So the old fart didn’t go into town in the afternoons. He hung out at this corner café. That could make things
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