The Lying Down Room (Serge Morel 1) (18 page)

Once he began to take Olivia out, he noticed how the Russians stared, what a novelty she was, because of her black skin but also her beauty, which was nothing like the anaemic, wilting-flower
looks of the girls he saw here. Blonde and thin and forever pouting, as though surliness were somehow seductive. Olivia had a smile that was broad and unreservedly joyful, a panorama of dazzling
teeth that lit up her face and made her eyes gleam.

Then there was the boy. A quick-witted Moroccan adolescent, lithe and handsome, with dark hooded eyes and a way of snubbing the world with every gesture. When he had to address this student,
Armand could not look him in the eye, though he knew the boy shared no such qualm about him. He watched Armand in class through lowered lashes, as though trying to provoke some sort of
response.

Armand, Amir. The words formed a sing-song in Armand’s mind. Soon, the boy’s name accompanied his every waking thought.

Two syllables: that was all it took to undo him.

‘Le Bellec. Did you know the name is derived from
beleg
, a word that means priest in Celtic?’ Jean said.

‘Really? How the hell do you know that?’ Morel asked.

The team were assembled around Lila and Marco’s desk. Jean had brought coffees for everyone. They were all feeling more cheerful, including Morel. Now they had Le Bellec’s name, they
had something tangible to work with.

‘I knew a Le Bellec once,’ Jean said. ‘He was my brother-in-law for a while. My sister looked up the name and once she found out what the origin was she decided to keep her
maiden name. She is, shall we say, a devout atheist.’

‘Seems an appropriate name for our evangelist,’ Morel said. He was feeling better than he’d felt for weeks. That morning he’d bought himself a new office chair and also
invested in a heavy-duty upright fan for the office. Now it was blowing in their direction while Lila and Marco snatched at the papers on their desk before they were blown away.

Like Marie Latour, Irina Volkoff had grown tired of having a permanent police presence in her home and decided to stay with a friend for a few days. Morel was glad he no longer had to rely on
colleagues outside police headquarters to provide support.

‘Armand Le Bellec. Age thirty-four,’ Lila read from the folder before her. She was wearing a pair of black jeans and a tight red singlet. One of her bra straps, a bright orange, had
come off her shoulder and she absent-mindedly returned it to its rightful place while Marco looked at her. Morel wondered whether he needed to talk to the young officer. Let him know he
didn’t stand a chance with tall, spirited Lila and that, the way he mooned over his colleague, he was probably heading for a punch on the nose. But it wasn’t his business, after
all.

Before Lila could proceed, there was a knock at the door. Everyone turned to see who it was. The man with the cropped black hair and honey-coloured eyes was familiar to the team.

‘Akil Abdelkader, come and join us,’ Morel said. He turned to the others. ‘I’ve asked Akil to help us out. His boss has kindly agreed to spare him for a few days.’
He caught the look of dismay on Marco’s face. ‘With Vincent away and Jean still tied up with the warehouse killing, I think we could really use an extra pair of hands. I know
Patrick’s team is helping out but I reckon it’ll be good to have someone sit here with us who had some involvement with this early on.

‘Akil has been reading up on the recent developments in the case. I value his input because he’s already shown us what he’s capable of. Without him we might never have had
access to Dufour’s flat. Not until it was too late, at any rate.’

Lila stood up and shook Akil’s hand, and Marco followed suit, though he looked distinctly unhappy. Jean pulled a chair over but Akil shook his head.

‘I’m happy to stand.’ His voice was deep and his manner relaxed. Lila looked at him briefly so no one would notice her checking out the new guy.

‘Lila was just running us through what she knows about Armand Le Bellec. He is our number-one suspect at this stage, for the murders of Isabelle Dufour and Elisabeth Guillou. We
don’t have the boy’s name yet but hopefully now we have Le Bellec’s we’ll be able to move much faster.’

‘Sounds good,’ Akil said.

‘Carry on, Lila.’

‘Le Bellec is from Brittany. Not so much the picturesque part of the region, further inland. This is a tiny village about an hour’s drive from Rennes. The sort of place you
can’t wait to get out of, I imagine.’

‘Spare us the commentary,’ Morel said.

‘I checked to see whether he has any priors and came up empty-handed,’ she said, giving Morel a dark look. ‘But I did find out quite a bit about him. Apparently he studied
philosophy and theology at the University of Rennes and went on to obtain a PhD. Wrote his thesis titled “A new perspective on Kierkegaard’s relation to Hegel”. Whatever that
means. He taught philosophy to Year 11 students at the French Lycée in Moscow. As part of his military service.’

‘How old was he when he went over there?’ Morel asked.

‘Just twenty-four.’ Lila pulled her hair back and tied it into a ponytail. She caught Akil looking at her. She stood up and went to open the window. When she returned she picked up
her coffee cup and sat on the edge of her desk. Suddenly she felt self-conscious. The way she was sitting was completely unnatural.

‘Then?’

‘He was sacked.’ Lila returned to her seat. ‘He was never charged with anything,’ she continued. ‘But there was talk that he had got involved with a
fifteen-year-old schoolgirl, the daughter of the Senegalese ambassador. The parents claimed he took advantage. It was all kept quiet, but the school told him to leave.’ She took a sip from
her coffee and looked at Morel. ‘When he returned to France, he wasn’t alone. According to his passport, he had a Russian boy with him. At some point before he left the country, he
adopted this kid.’

‘Do we know what Le Bellec’s been up to since he got back?’ Morel asked.

‘He taught at a school in Rennes for a while. Then he moved up to Paris.’

‘Is he teaching here?’ Morel asked, startled.

‘Not sure. I haven’t been able to track him down yet. There is no listing for him that I can find. But I have a contact at the Ministry of Education and he’s looking into it
for me. Nice guy,’ Lila said. ‘I promised we could have dinner sometime.’

‘And the Senegalese girl? Have we got a name?’

‘She lives here in Paris,’ Lila said. ‘After her baccalaureate she moved here to take up medicine. She lives in Montmartre with her boyfriend. Also a medical
student.’

‘Both students? How do they manage?’

‘The parents aren’t exactly destitute,’ Lila said.

‘So the parents are supporting the young lovebirds?’

‘I’d say so.’

Morel looked at Lila and shook his head slowly. ‘How the hell did you find all this out?’

‘I have my ways,’ she said, clearly pleased with herself. ‘I spoke with someone who worked at the school in Moscow. And like I said, there’s my chum at the Ministry of
Education.’

Morel turned to the others. ‘The first thing we need to do is track down this Armand Le Bellec. The call from Amelia Berg tells us he was back in his village. It’s unlikely
he’s still hanging around. I think, though, that we need to get down there and talk to people who knew him. It might help us find out where he is now. Lila, you and I will drive up
there.’

‘What? How far is it?’

‘Three to four hours maybe? In the meantime we can’t wait for Lila’s friend to turn something up. Akil and Marco, I need you to run Le Bellec’s name past the schools. If
he is still teaching, he’ll be in or close to Paris. We’ll start with Paris then move outwards if we don’t come up with anything. Akil, why don’t you take Lila’s desk
while she and I are away. That way you and Marco will find it easier to share the workload and communicate what you find.’

Akil nodded. His face didn’t betray anything but Marco’s was long-suffering.

‘Make sure you don’t touch my things and don’t mess anything up,’ Lila told Akil.

He grinned. ‘I wouldn’t dare.’

‘We’re getting close to him,’ Morel said. ‘I don’t want him to find out we’re on his trail and have him disappear.’

‘In other words, let’s make sure Perrin’s happy and doesn’t feel the need to splash the story across the papers again, just so he can get another profile shot of himself
in
Le Figaro
,’ Lila said.

There was laughter all around. Everyone remembered the news story. A five-year-old girl had been kidnapped and Morel and his team had tracked down her abductors within thirty-six hours. The
article showed Perrin being interviewed in his office. They had taken a shot of him gazing out the window with a moody, introspective look on his face. The look of a man battling against the odds.
He’d kept a copy of the article on his desk for weeks.

‘Lila, why don’t you give the medical student a call, the girl who had Le Bellec as a teacher,’ Morel said. ‘Let’s talk to her. Just tell her we want a simple chat,
we can do it at her place or somewhere else if she prefers. I’d like to know a bit more about our friend Armand.’

‘Right.’

‘I want to see her today,’ Morel continued. ‘The more we know about Le Bellec before we talk to people in his village, the better.’

Morel clapped his hands.

‘All right, back to work everyone. Let’s see whether we can locate our guy. The sooner the better, for everyone. And Marco,’ Morel said, turning to him. ‘Make sure Akil
feels welcome.’

‘Sure,’ Marco replied without a smile.

Morel and Lila recognized Olivia straight away. It was hard not to. In this predominantly white, middle-class neighbourhood you did not see many blacks. She was alone. Morel
had thought she might bring the boyfriend and was glad she hadn’t. It would be easier to talk to her this way. Though she was sitting, Morel could see she was tall, possibly taller than him.
Her dress was short and emphasized the length and shapeliness of her legs. He noted how people walking past looked her way. It was hard not to.

‘I wonder why she chose such a public place?’ Lila said.

‘Sometimes it’s easier to talk about difficult things in an open, public space like this one. If the story is true then she can’t be too happy about having to talk about it
again.’

Morel noticed that Lila had taken her hair down and put lipstick on since the team meeting. She was in a good mood, and Morel wondered whether maybe she had a date later on. It wasn’t the
sort of question he’d think to ask her. But there was a definite glow about his young colleague.

‘Olivia?’ he said when they got close to the girl. She looked at them and nodded but didn’t get up. ‘Thanks for meeting us,’ Morel offered his hand. She extended
hers but didn’t smile.

‘I didn’t want you in my house. I don’t want Diallo to know about all this. It’s in the past. My boyfriend is a jealous guy, the last thing I need is for him to hear
about other men.’ Her voice was deep and measured, her gaze direct.

‘Yes, of course,’ Morel said. It wasn’t the opening he’d expected.

‘There is no reason at all why he should know,’ Lila said, sitting next to Olivia.

Olivia looked at Lila as if she hadn’t seen her there, which was possible, given how intently she’d been looking at Morel. She looked uneasy and Morel wondered about this Diallo
character and his jealous nature.

‘We won’t keep you long at all but there is something we need to ask about.’

‘Armand.’

‘That’s right,’ Morel said. ‘About your relationship, I—’

‘What has he done?’

Lila started to say something but Morel shot her a warning look. ‘We don’t know yet that he has done anything particularly bad.’

Olivia looked at him with a puzzled air. ‘Then why are you bugging me with your questions?’

‘Because we think he may be linked to something bad and that it might get worse. And I want to stop it if I can.’

Olivia shook her head. ‘I wish I’d never met him,’ she said.

She looked at Lila, as though seeking another woman’s understanding. Her next sentence surprised them both.

‘Though it’s long ago now, Armand broke my heart.’ She touched her chest, below her left breast. ‘It still hurts, right here.’

‘Can you please explain that? You were in a relationship with Armand and he left you? Is that it?’

She surprised them by throwing her head back and laughing. They waited till she stopped. She looked at them both with eyes wet from laughter.

‘You don’t know the first thing about Armand, do you?’ She wiped her eyes and looked at Morel intensely again. He felt she was making her mind up about him and wondering how
much to say.

She stood up. Morel had been right. She was taller than him.

‘If you want to understand Armand, then it’s Amir you should be looking for,’ she said.

‘Amir?’ Morel said.

He always thought of Amir as a boy.

Armand liked to get to school before his colleagues and often he arrived when it was still dark, to prepare for the morning classes. There’d be no one about but then he’d see the kid
Amir slouching between the two sets of doors that led from the street into the school’s entrance hall, smoking filtered Camels and kicking the snow from his boots. In the overheated space the
snow quickly formed dirty puddles beneath his feet.

In the courtyard at recess Amir was always in motion, running or chasing one of his class mates, loud and boisterous. When it was his turn to supervise, Armand stood among them all and pretended
not to see the flakes of snow melting on the boy’s black hair and how bright his eyes became out in the cold, the colour in his cheeks. The long eyelashes and full lips gave him an almost
feminine allure and a false air of pliancy.

The classes were usually a real mix but that year Amir was the only Arab in a predominantly white community. Where Olivia was easy-going and relaxed, Amir was proud and susceptible, quick to
take offence. Maybe it had something to do with the colour of their skin and the fact that they were in a minority, both from the same continent. Maybe not. Either way, Amir and Olivia became
friends. Armand never knew if they were anything more. The thought that they might be made him unhappy, was physically unendurable, and so he closed his mind to it. Instead he pretended not to care
when Olivia suggested that Amir join their little outings.