The Red Brick Cellars: A Tolosa Mystery (12 page)

Louis nodded. “This conflict has been going on far longer than that. In fact, that was probably about the time the winds started to change on the subject.”

Catherine started tapping on her keyboard. “Are you telling me the taxis managed to hold on to a monopoly of transporting people to the airport? And got away with it?”

Shrugging, Louis replied, “That’s the way it was. And it wasn’t a secret. Whenever something was done that could take customers away from the taxis, they blocked the ring-road to express their discontent.” Louis’s thoughts were spinning. If he accepted that his father might have taken bribes, wasn’t it possible he’d been taking them from the taxis? If he had suddenly turned his coat and taken sides with the public transport company—or rather their money instead—the taxis wouldn’t have been happy about it. He couldn’t bring himself to voice the idea to Catherine, though. If his father took more than one bribe, how many more had he accepted over the years?

Louis drank his mint lemonade while Catherine worked on her laptop. He could have leaned over and looked at what she was typing, but didn’t want to see the mirror of his own thoughts in writing. Let her get the idea out there somewhere so the authorities could look into it. Surely taking bribes couldn’t be a sufficient motive to kill the mayor of Toulouse? The man re-elected time over time based on his charisma alone?

Catherine looked up from her screen. “You ready to discuss the crime scene now?”

Louis upended his glass, letting the last of the lemonade and two half-melted ice cubes flow into his mouth. “Sure,” he replied around the ice. He felt heat running up his neck at the lack of manners. His mother would have a fit if she saw him talking with his mouth full. To get the ordeal over with, he bit down hard and made short work of the ice before he turned his attention to Catherine.

The corner of her mouth lifted a fraction to one side.

Well, her finding it funny was better than her being insulted. “Where exactly was he found?” he asked, shuddering as the ice made its way toward his stomach.

Catherine waved a hand behind her. “Right back there in the Galerue.”

“Really?” Louis glanced beyond her in the direction of the arcades. Was that why she’d chosen this location to meet? Luckily, they weren’t planning to eat.

“They were apparently right beneath that painting of the two women.” She was staring intently at her laptop now. Louis leaned over and saw she was reading her own article.

“Two women?” Louis searched his memory. There were twenty-nine paintings on the ceiling of the covered arcades, all made by Raymond Moretti in 1997. Each represented something important to the history of Toulouse. There was only one with two women. “Oh, you mean La Belle Paule and Clémence Isaure?” He leaned back to have a look at the paintings closest to them. There they were. To make sure, he pointed at the mostly red-and-black painting. “That one?”

Catherine pushed her chair out to look. “Yes. Two women.” As she pulled her chair back, she gave Louis a look that said she questioned his sanity.

Louis smiled. “That’s Clémence Isaure in front, famous for starting the literary society called
Jeux Floreaux
back in the Middle Ages, which actually had little to do with flowers. The other one in the back is La Belle Paule, the beautiful Paule. So nicknamed by François The First when he came to visit in 1533. She was very beautiful, see?” Louis glanced at Catherine to admire her long blond hair—unfortunately still stuck into a tight braid—and beautiful lines. She actually looked a lot like La Belle Paule, but he wasn’t sure it would be a good idea to tell her. They weren’t
that
close. “After that, the Capitouls—the rulers of Toulouse at the time—required she come out on her balcony at least once every day so the populace could admire her beauty.”

Catherine stared at him. “And she went along with that?”

Louis grimaced. “She was only fifteen. And it was the sixteenth century.”

“Right.” Catherine started typing on her laptop, but looked up at Louis with some skepticism. “How do you know all this, anyway? You were also familiar with the paintings inside the Capitole, if I remember correctly. You some sort of art whiz?”

“Hardly,” Louis replied. He cocked his head in thought. “Only if the art is in Toulouse.”

“Ah,” Catherine said, flashing a big smile at him. “A Toulouse whiz. Well, that’s perfect for what we’re doing.”

Louis shook his head, but refrained from making a come-back. He failed to see how his knowledge of Toulouse history would be of any help to track a killer. “So they were found under the painting with the women. What else?”

Catherine folded her hands in her lap. “It turns out that what the prostitute said about the second body was true. As you can see in the picture I was sent, the woman’s body appeared to be in perfect shape. I guess if that part of her tale is true, we can also assume the other part of her story can be believed; that the skin turned to dust when she touched it.”

Louis frowned. Catherine was about to start talking again, but he stopped her with a raised hand. “Just a second. This reminds me of something.” He racked his brain. Why had his heart sped up at Catherine’s description? He covered his face in his hands to block out as much of his surroundings as possible. For a second, he was back in his room, reading a book. Something had fascinated him to the point that he’d read far into the night, despite the text being written in old French forcing him to read the text out loud for it to make sense.

What had he been reading? And why did he think of that now?

Dead bodies and La Belle Paule. He had found the travel journal of a poet nicknamed Le Bouffon Plaisant…the amusing buffoon. The man had visited Toulouse after losing his wife at a very early age and made some grossly inappropriate observations while touring one of the city’s crypts where the bodies of the dead were naturally mummified. This man claimed to have seen the body of La Belle Paule and found her most agreeable, not saying a word when he felt her up.

Louis put his hands down and looked at Catherine. “I’m afraid it won’t be of much help to you. But I remember reading a text about the body of La Belle Paule”—he waved in the direction of the painting—“which was also perfectly preserved in a crypt in the city. She was apparently less beautiful than when she was alive, though.”

Catherine took notes. “Where did you get this information?”

Louis leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath of the warm autumn air. Talk of bodies and crypts was giving him chills. “It’s not going to help you, but you can look up a guy nicknamed Le Bouffon Plaisant. I can’t remember his real name. He wrote about visiting Toulouse, probably in the middle of the seventeenth century.”

The Englishwoman didn’t seem daunted in the least at being sent off to read a centuries-old text written by an idiot. Though if she’d been working as a journalist in Toulouse for the last three years, she must have a good grasp of French. That article on his father’s death certainly was very eloquent.

They continued going over what they knew over the next hour, but didn’t have any eureka moments. Louis kept getting chills despite the warm air. Perhaps he shouldn’t have had that mint lemonade, or more specifically, swallowed so much ice to recover from his rudeness as quickly as he had. He touched his throat, longing for his scarf and feeling naked without it. Still, that didn’t account for him looking over his shoulder every two minutes.

He’d found the descriptions of the crypts’ inhabitants wonderfully thrilling at thirteen. Twenty years later, his father was dead under mysterious circumstances and the only lead he had was a dead beauty.

Louis signaled the waiter and ordered a cup of tea.

Fourteen

“The police claimed to have found proof of bribes from the manager of Toulouse Transports to Pierre Saint-Blancat. What is this proof? What is the goal of their investigation? At the press conference held yesterday, they did not say if their goal was to go after Monsieur Sanchez for bribing his way into contracts or if they suspect him of being in some way related to the murder of our beloved mayor. Surely that is their priority? The Toulousains do not wish for this crime to go unpunished and cannot feel safe until the subject is put to rest.

If the police do think the bribes are related to the murder, are they taking this to its logical next level? Are they involving the taxis in their investigation? It is common knowledge that the taxis are not happy about the tramway opening at the Toulouse-Blagnac airport.”

Catherine sat back in her chair to take a short break. She had finally mastered the skill of switching her brain to write in her adoptive French language so she didn’t need to do constant translations, but it was still very trying.

Her two hours before meeting with Louis Saint-Blancat were spent preparing an article on Louis’s taxi theory at one of the free access computers in the main library of Toulouse, the Médiatèque José Cabanis. She studied the people around her. Old ladies read articles on the internet, young men played computer games, and people of all ages read newspapers made available for free by the library. Catherine enjoyed working here as it offered fewer distractions than her own home, and easy access to a variety of research material.

Louis’s idea on the taxis was a good hunch and she was about to milk it for everything it was worth. Besides, she had the feeling the police
weren’t
looking into it, and really should. So far, it was their only reasonable clue. She couldn’t quite decide if Louis was in favor of her writing the article. It did imply his father had been taking even more bribes in the past, but he had given her the idea and watched her taking notes. If he hadn’t wanted the article in print, surely he would have told her.

Catherine finished her article, then proofread it twice—once on screen and once on paper—before sending it by email to her boss. He better not try to refuse her because of the underlying implications about the old mayor. She had kept the focus on the taxis and Transport Toulousain as much as possible. It was a good piece.

Fifteen minutes before Louis was scheduled to arrive, Catherine opened a new webpage and typed in the address to Leboncoin, the French equivalent of Craigslist. She made a quick search to check if Maxime had put their house up for sale like he promised.

Two minutes later, she found the right page, then stared at it for several minutes while her thoughts ran in all directions. The good news was that he’d put the advert up. The bad news was many-fold. He’d put up only one picture, which was of the living-room. It was taken with the curtains drawn, clothes and books spread around on every free surface, and only the sofa in focus. He could have taken a picture of the beautiful red brick exterior and high windows: a typical Toulousaine. He could have cleaned up first. He could have opened the curtains to show how much daylight that room entertained. He had done everything you’re
not
supposed to do to sell a house. Which, of course, was perfectly normal, since he didn’t want to sell. But he’d done as she asked: he’d put it up for sale.

The pathetic sales-effort only annoyed her. What really put her on edge was the price. Their house was in the very center of Toulouse, less than 200 meters from the Capitole, allowing for it to sell at a relatively high price despite the difficult market. The price they’d agreed on was already fifty thousand euros above what Catherine thought the house would sell for, but they needed to allow for negotiations. Everybody knew they could knock the price down a little from what the ad said. Maxime hadn’t used the price they agreed on; he’d added another hundred thousand euros. So now it was up for sale at a hundred and fifty thousand above the market value.

They were never going to find a buyer at that price.

With shaking hands, Catherine pulled her phone out of her purse. She started typing, hitting the screen so hard it made the same sound as her neighbor typing on the computer keyboard. Not able to keep her anger out of her message, she sent the first words that came to mind: “Change the price to what we agreed or I’ll come into your office screaming like a maniac and tell them we’re divorced.” Catherine was certain he hadn’t announced the news to his colleagues yet, in the hope that they would get back together.

Less than a minute later, a reply came. “Where are you?”

Catherine wanted to scream, but was in a public library, so she kept it internal. As she texted her location to her ex-husband, she saw Louis ambling toward her. She took several deep breaths to calm down. When he reached her, she felt almost normal.

“
Bonjour
,” she said as she stood up and craned her neck to do
la bise
. He wouldn’t catch her by surprise this time. At the café the other day, she had yet again forgotten about the way the French greet each other. Three years living here, and if her mind was occupied elsewhere, she didn’t understand why people got so close. It was especially unnerving with men. Her very first day in Toulouse, she had actually slapped one of her colleagues when she thought he was going to kiss her. They all laughed about it now, but it made Catherine cringe with embarrassment every time.

“
Bonjour
, Catherine,” Louis replied. “
Ça va?
” His voice was as agreeable to hear in French as it was in English, but his Toulouse accent was a little less sexy than the French lilt on his English. He must have been a great hit with American girls during his time overseas. She resisted the urge to switch to English, needing to practice her French and keep her brain in French gear for writing the next article.

“
Ça va
,” she replied. Like “How do you do?” back home, you weren’t actually supposed to answer. In fact, replying with the same question was the expected comeback.

They both sat down, Louis dragging over a chair from a nearby table. He nodded and smiled at the people who turned, annoyed by the noise.

Catherine opened one of the web-pages she prepared that morning. “I have looked at the subjects currently under discussion in the city council and made a quick selection based on what seems to have created the most controversy. Your input, as on the taxis yesterday, could be helpful.”