The Predator of Batignolles: 5th Victor Legris Mystery. Claude Izner

like the cursed hand my nanny used to tell me about: you throw it in the gutter and it comes back in the night to pull your toes.’

      ‘It’s your destiny,’ declared Kenji.

      ‘I’m no less tired of you, Monsieur Mori. However, enough of my misgivings! I shall see it through to the bitter end.’

      ‘I assume this speech is only a polite preamble?’

      ‘Quite right, Monsieur Legris, let’s get on with it,’ boomed the inspector, pointing to an assortment of fragments.

      Kenji seemed relatively composed as he examined the objects spread out on the inspector’s desk, but Victor noticed one of his eyelids twitching slightly.

      Inspector Lecacheur watched him.

      ‘Well?’

      ‘I can’t say with certainty.’

      ‘How about you, Monsieur Legris?’

      ‘I, too, am at a loss. I very rarely went to his shop. As for his clothes …’

      ‘Where is the body?’ Kenji asked.

      ‘At the morgue.’

      ‘Who is taking care of the funeral?’

      ‘His family, I suppose. We’re placing a notice in the newspapers.’

      ‘If nobody comes forward, may I see to the arrangements?’

      ‘Yes, once the investigation is over.’

      ‘What investigation?’

      ‘We’ve yet to determine the cause of the fire. We’ll know more in a few days.’

      ‘Were any of the books saved?’

      ‘The firemen arrived too late on account of those blasted students who had the nerve to try and attack police headquarters!’

      ‘It’s rumoured we’re to have a new chief of police,’ said Victor.

      ‘That’s right. Monsieur Lepine.25 He’ll soon restore order.’

      As Victor turned a half-melted fob watch over and over in his hands, the inspector stared at him so intently that it was all Kenji could do to stop himself from saying: ‘Beware the cobra that fixes you with its gaze.’

      ‘Yes, to the bitter end … Whenever a murder or serious accident occurs in Paris, who turns up like a bad penny? You, Monsieur Legris. It’s becoming tiresome. How do you explain that so many of the people you associate with come to a bad end? Is it simply bad luck on your part or can you see into the future?’

      ‘No doubt I have a sixth sense.’

      Inspector Lecacheur walked over to him, scarcely able to contain his exasperation.

      ‘Another of your evasive remarks! I won’t let you wriggle out of this one – I demand an explanation!’

      Kenji intervened politely.

      ‘Pierre Andrésy was my friend, Inspector. Monsieur Legris knew him on a strictly professional basis. Their paths crossed purely by chance.’

      ‘A timely coincidence, eh? And just now you were talking to me about destiny!’

      Aristide Lechacheur rummaged in a drawer and pulled out a cigar and a box of matches. He drew lustily on the cigar, exhaling a puff of bluish smoke.

      ‘All right, I’ve been a little blunt, but you must confess,’ he conceded gruffly, ‘that if something’s bothering me I speak my mind, especially with a fellow like him. Strange sort of bookseller who can’t even manage to find me a limited edition of Manon Lescaut! Did your friend use flammable substances in his work?’

      ‘Not as far as I know.’

      ‘Did he have gas or oil lamps?’

      ‘I think I saw oil lamps in his shop.’

      The inspector leafed through a file and continued his questioning without looking up.

      ‘Are you aware of any enemies he might have had?’

      ‘Good heavens, no! He was liked by everyone … Do you suppose it might have been arson?’

      ‘I’m not here to suppose, but to investigate. And I don’t need any help from you, so I suggest you let me get on with my job and you two get on with yours, which is selling books. You’re free to go now. If I need you again I’ll let you know. Have I made myself quite clear, Monsieur Legris?’

      ‘Clear as day, Inspector. Incidentally, am I right in thinking that you’ve given up cachous?’

      ‘When I heard you two were coming, I decided I needed a smoke to calm my nerves.’

      Kenji walked slowly across Pont Neuf with a stooping gait. Victor’s heart went out to him. He fell into step beside him.

      ‘You were fond of Pierre Andrésy, weren’t you?’

      ‘Yes. How absurd and pathetic,’ he murmured.

      ‘I beg your pardon?’

      ‘Ashes. They’re all that remain of a man, of his dreams and aspirations.’

      Victor resisted the urge to place his hand on Kenji’s arm; displays of affection played no part in their relationship. He leant over the parapet and watched a steamboat ferrying its passengers along the river Seine, from Charenton to Point du Jour. Inspector Lecacheur’s insinuations had aroused his curiosity. What if it hadn’t been an accident? What if …? Another case? It wouldn’t be easy. His thoughts returned to Tasha. He’d curbed his fondness for mysteries out of love for her, and it frustrated him. He lit a cigarette and remained pensive, mechanically clicking his lighter on and off. No! No more cases; a promise was a promise.

      ‘Inspector Lecacheur asked me if I knew of any enemies he might have had. That’s absurd! It can’t have been arson. Everybody held him in the highest esteem!’ said Kenji.

      ‘I suppose he’s just doing his job. He has to explore every avenue. But you’re right. In Monsieur Andrésy’s case it does seem absurd. Did he have any relatives?’

      ‘A distant cousin in the country.’