We skidded to a halt in front of the gates to the Château de Loriac, narrowly missing the left-hand pillar, the rain-slicked tar making steering difficult. Felix jumped out to ask for the gates to be opened. As he touched his finger to the button on the intercom, a violent flash of lightning forked across the sky, blinding me. With the power of the storm threatening death from the sky above, the accompanying clap of thunder made me fear for Felix’s life.
The gates swung open silently while the downpour pelted the car without a sound, my hearing dulled by the thunder. I peered through the windscreen, my sight blurred by the bright light. Where was Felix? Had the lightning zapped him?
Not a good start to the day, but it wasn’t going to be an ordinary day.
We’d left the château only twelve hours before, after accepting a dinner invitation from the Count de Loriac. We hadn’t expected to see him again until he’d fulfilled our commission. As the following hours proved, we were never to meet again. Inspector Dubois had phoned me early that Sunday morning to ask for my help. He had a fresh murder on his hands. This time, it involved the killing of a prominent man in French society, the Count de Loriac. He had been the Chief Assessor and Valuer of the world-renowned Louvre Museum in Paris.
Felix scrambled back into the car, wet but unharmed. I leaned over and kissed his cheek.
“Whoa!” he said. “What was that for?“
“I thought you were dead.”
“It’d take more than a puny bolt of lightning to kill me, boss. Come on. Step on it. The sooner we deal with Dubois’s case, the sooner we can salvage the rest of our Sunday.”
I waited for my vision to return before driving slowly through the somber gray rain-filled morning, up the long chestnut lined avenue to the château. As we drew closer, a multitude of flashing blue lights lit up the surroundings. A fleet of police vehicles filled the graveled courtyard below the steps leading up to the front door of the château, steps guarded by stone lions rampant. The lions should have lost their jobs; they hadn’t been much good as body-guards to the count that night. Off to the side on the lawn stood a helicopter, navy blue, with Gendarmerie painted in white on its side.
“The whirly bird’s impressive,” said Felix as he opened my door for me. “I wonder what that’s for.”
“Probably to deliver the pathologist as fast as possible. It shows in what high esteem they held the count for them to use a helicopter and especially in this risky weather. Come along, let’s get inside and find out what happened to the poor man.”
We made our way up to the front door and explained our mission to the gendarme on duty. After checking with Inspector Dubois, he allowed us to enter the vast marble-tiled floor. We strode across the black and white squares to the wide stone stairs leading up to what we knew was the bedroom floor. The count had taken us on a tour of the château only the night before.
A throng of white-garbed forensic technicians waited on the landing for Inspector Dubois to allow them to enter. As we reached the count’s bedroom, a gendarme stopped us and gave us each a coverall and paper slippers to wear.
As we gowned up, she asked me, “Are you sure you want to go in? It’s gruesome in there, madame. It’s not a sight for a lady.”
“You’ve managed it,” I answered.
“It’s my job,” she said.
It wasn’t mine or Felix’s but that didn’t stop Inspector Dubois roping us in whenever he had a problem. He pushed through the door, waving the group of forensic technicians aside, and grabbed hold of my arm, pulling me towards the room. “Penzi, if you’re to help me on this case, you must inspect the scene as it is at the moment. Photos won’t do it justice.”
“Is it as bad as that?”
“Wait till you see what someone did to the poor count.”
Dubois still blocked my line of sight, so I nudged him aside. Before me lay the Count de Loriac, still dressed in his monogrammed silk pajamas, slumped on his right side on the floor beside his bed. It grieves me to say that this gentle man’s blood had sprayed out to spatter his bedding and the wall behind the bed-head. I stepped closer to peer around the pathologist, who nodded a bonjour before returning to her task. A neat hole above the count’s left ear showed he’d died from a gunshot wound.
I glanced at Dubois. “The left side, but he was right-handed. Pretty nigh impossible to shoot oneself successfully that way.”
Felix edged up beside me. “Difficult but not impossible. However, it is impossible to shoot oneself without a gun. There’s no gun here now.” He turned to Dubois. “Did you find a gun?”
Dubois shook his head. “That’s why this is obviously a murder.”
“It’s unlikely to have been an accident,” I agreed. “Let’s work on the assumption that we have a deliberate killing on our hands.”
Felix, who’d been looking around the room, pointed to the wall safe. The door was ajar with the picture that usually covered it hanging from a single hinge. Someone had wrenched the other one off the wall. “Looks like a burglary to me.”
I glanced around the room. Nothing else appeared to be disturbed. A targeted theft and the count got in the way? “Perhaps the thief didn’t expect the count to be here. And had to silence him when he found out the count was at home.”
“But why the execution style killing?” asked Felix. “It smacks of emotion—revenge or hatred. Maybe a personal punishment. The thief had to force the count to kneel at the side of his bed. That’s cold-blooded for sure.”
Dubois nodded towards the connecting door to the countess’s room. “It was lucky the countess wasn’t sleeping with her husband last night.”
My hand flew to my mouth. “Oh, my! I’d forgotten about her. Is she all right?”
“She’s shaken up. You’d better check for yourself, Penzi.”
Felix moved ahead of me and opened the door into the wide corridor, which linked the two bedrooms, and waved me to lead the way. Elvira, the Countess de Loriac, was sitting in an armchair wrapped in a blanket while the housekeeper, Madame Dassin, tucked her up. Elvira knocked her hands away when she caught sight of us.
“Oh, I’m so glad you’re here, Penzi,” she said and sniffled.
The housekeeper offered her a paper tissue, only to have her hand knocked away again.
“I can manage,” said Elvira. “I managed all right last night when that villain burst into my room.” And she wiped her nose on the blanket.
She looked a fright. Her hair, usually neatly coiffed in a chignon, hung loose and uncombed down her back. She’d made no attempt to freshen up and wore no make-up. I whispered to Madame Dassin, “The countess needs you to help her get dressed.”
The housekeeper replied the countess had refused any offers of help. She wanted to stay as she was so that the police could witness her suffering.
“Have the forensic technicians finished with this room?” I asked Madame Dassin.
She nodded. “The countess and I had to wait outside on the landing while they carried out their work. If you want my opinion, that was no way to treat a lady.”
Elvira sniffed loudly in agreement.
Judging it safe for me to sit on the edge of the bed to bring me to eye level with Elvira, I lowered myself to do so.
“Be careful where you sit,” Elvira warned. “He bound my hands and then tied me to the bedposts. Look at my wrists.” She drew her arms out from the blanket and thrust her hands towards me, turning them palms up to display deep red welts. She’d even lost some skin in patches. “Yes,” she said. “I tried everything to get free. I stayed tied up like that for hours. Until Madame Dassin came to give me my morning tisane at ten o’clock. I stopped you from sitting on my bed because I had an accident. I couldn’t help it.”
Sure enough, the sheets were wet. Fortunately, I’d landed on a dry spot at the foot of the bed.
Before I could say anything, Madame Dassin told me she’d wanted to change the bed linen, but the countess had forbidden her to touch anything. I raised my eyebrows at Elvira.
She shrugged. “I thought it best for the police to find everything as it was. Fingerprints and all that stuff. But it’s a faint hope. The villain was wearing black with a balaclava and gloves.” She shuddered. “I’ll never forget those dead eyes of his as he threatened me with his gun.”
“What did he say to you?” I asked, reaching forwards to take her chilled hands in mine.
She shook her head and said, “Nothing. He didn’t speak at all. That made him even more frightening. He just pointed with his gun to tell me what to do.”
I glanced around the room and at Madame Dassin. “Is anything missing?”
“Not from here, but the inspector said someone had opened the safe in the count’s bedroom.”
Elvira burst in. “And that officious inspector stopped me from using my bathroom.” She pointed to the corridor through which Felix and I had entered her room. “Made me use the bathroom in one of the guest bedrooms. And—” she huffed, “all those wooden boxes had gone. You remember your friend and the gardener stacked them against the wall in there last night. Now—whoosh—nothing.”
I checked. The corridor was empty. Still chilled with the shock of it all, that had escaped me. And Felix?
Intuitive as ever, he said, “No, I didn’t notice the crates had gone either. That puts a completely different interpretation on this event, doesn’t it, boss?”
I had to agree. No casual thief would have known about the possible value of those wooden boxes. Furthermore, what thief would have come prepared to carry off twelve heavy wooden packing crates?
An icy cold wave of guilt swept over me. Were Felix and I indirectly responsible for the murder of the count? Had our aggressive investigation into the mysteries of our brocante, our antiques shop, put him in harm’s way?
