The Red Brick Cellars: A Tolosa Mystery (14 page)

She took her time studying him for several minutes, tilting her head back and forth.

Louis kept silent.

“You think the killer has access to one of those crypts?”

She
did
come to the same conclusion. Though he didn’t know her well enough to judge if she was also wont to produce horror-movies in her head based on articles she read instead of bedtime stories.

“He can’t have access to the actual crypts. None of them exist anymore. For example, the one in the Cordeliers church was destroyed or filled in sometime after the French Revolution, after most of the church burnt down.” He leaned closer again. This theory was too far-fetched to be voiced too loud in a public library. “But what if the soil in that area still has the attributes needed to preserve dead bodies?”

Catherine chewed her lip in thought. “That’s still a big area to cover, but it’s a lot smaller than the whole city of Toulouse. There has to be records of who lives in that part of the city center, right?”

Louis’s heart was racing. This was sure to bring them in the right direction, he could feel it! They had both come to the same conclusion. As a faint scent of lavender emanated from Catherine’s hair, he was reminded of their first meeting at the Capitole. He really had gotten into her personal space, but this time, she either hadn’t noticed or didn’t mind.

Louis brought his mind back to the task at hand. “I have contacts. I’ll get the records.”

Sixteen

Louis was shown into the mayor’s office by a grandmotherly secretary. New mayor Jean-Paul Bousquets got up from behind his desk to shake Louis’s hand. “I’m so happy you changed your mind, Louis,” he said. He waved to a red chair next to Louis. “Please, sit.”

Louis sat down and looked around the office. He’d been here hundreds of times before when it was his father’s office, but it didn’t feel the same without his father in it. He’d actually never noticed the decorations, or rather the lack thereof—the wall behind Jean-Paul was all red brick, but no pictures—nor the bars on the window. The bars were there because the office was on the ground floor, to keep people out, but it made Louis feel locked in. All his attention must have been on his father every time he’d been there in the past for him not to have noticed that detail.

“What made you change your mind about coming to visit?” Jean-Paul asked, hands spread out on his large desk. His voice was raspy, like a chain-smoker’s, though to Louis’s knowledge the man never touched a cigarette. It could have been an agreeable voice to listen to, but lacked force, as if his throat was an instrument he never bothered to tune. “I can understand, of course, the need for some time to grieve and accept the fact that Pierre is no longer with us. I shouldn’t have contacted your mother so early.” The smile on his face clashed with the words. Instead of a grandfatherly expression of compassion, he smiled like a kid going to his first soccer match.

Audrey had been right; this guy would never survive the next election unless he worked on his people skills. Still, his intentions were good.

Louis pasted on his best eager smile in return. “I figured I’d take you up on the offer to have a look around. I never really paid attention when this was my father’s office.”

“Yes,” Jean-Paul said with a laugh. “I imagine you were more interested in having fun back then. But now that you’re all grown up, you’ll want to do your part for Toulouse.”

Wincing, Louis shifted in his seat. Strange how he resented both the implication that he cared about nothing but his own amusement in the past and the assumption he now wanted to go into politics. “Yes, well. I’d at least like to have a look at the place and hear what your vision is for the next years in Toulouse since I’ll probably be living here now.” At least, he didn’t know where else he would go.

“Of course,” Jean-Paul said. “Is there anywhere particular you would like to visit?”

“No, a general tour will be fine. By the way,” he said, hoping he sounded offhanded, “do you know if it’s possible to get a list of all the inhabitants in a specific neighborhood of the city?”

Jean-Paul scratched his jaw as he cocked his head. “Which neighborhood would that be?”

“Everything between here and the Garonne.” Louis held his hands out to indicate the general area starting at place du Capitole outside the barred window.

The mayor’s eyebrows shot up toward his widow’s peak. “That much? What do you need the list for? You’re not planning on going door to door as an election technique, are you?”

Louis wasn’t even enrolled with a political party. Why on Earth would he want to gather votes for an election? Going door to door selling soccer calendars would be more in character. Louis offered an inoffensive smile. “I won’t bother any of them, promise. I’ve been working on something in relation to my father’s death, and it would be very helpful if I could see the names of everyone in the area.”

“Really.” Jean-Paul studied Louis for several moments.

Louis hoped mentioning his father’s death might stop the mayor from probing further into the details. To make sure, he added, “You understand I can’t give any more details right now as we only have a few tenuous leads that need to be followed up.”

“I’m sure the police are doing everything they can to find your father’s murderer,” Jean-Paul said in all seriousness.

“Of course they are,” Louis replied. “But what I’m looking into really is a bit…out there…so I’d like to follow up on it myself before bringing it to the attention of the police.” He put on what he hoped came across as a vulnerable expression. “I need to help out with this. I can’t get any peace until the murderer is caught.”

Jean-Paul’s face was a mix of expressions. It looked like he wanted to smile, that being his favorite tool in most situations, but he must have understood this wasn’t the time and place. Open compassion apparently didn’t come naturally to him. So as Louis had hoped, he took the easy way out. “I’ll see what I can do for you, Louis. Give me some time and I’ll contact you if I can get the list.”

A sincere smile spreading across his face, Louis relaxed in his chair. “Thank you, Jean-Paul. You can’t know how much I appreciate it.”

“Well then,” Jean-Paul said with a relieved smile. “Why don’t we move on to a more agreeable subject? I seem to remember you’re a big soccer fan?”

Louis nodded.

“As you probably know, we’ll be part of hosting the
Coupe d’Europe
next year. It’s all very exciting.”

Smiling, Louis straightened up in his chair. The European Soccer Championship was a subject he was always willing to discuss. “It’s exciting for the entire country. I see they’ve been doing some renovations at the Stadium de Toulouse?”

“We had to upgrade to meet all the UEFA criteria.” A self-satisfied smile settled naturally on Jean-Paul’s face. “Toulouse has managed to have the country’s smallest budget for preparing for the Coupe d’Europe. We’re spending less than fifty million euros.”

“That’s excellent. So what’s being done?”

Jean-Paul started ticking off points on his fingers. “New synthetic grass, new and bigger seats, renovations of toilets and bars.”

“And you’re able to stay within the planned budget?” Louis never understood why, but these big projects always went over budget.

“Sort of,” Jean-Paul replied. “Originally, we had a budget of fifty million, but managed to get a proposition at just over forty. However, as you may imagine, there have been some setbacks, but they only brought us back to the original budget.” He knocked on his desk. “So far, so good.” Showing off a full set of yellowing teeth, Jean-Paul studied Louis. “You’d have loved to be involved in that project, wouldn’t you?”

Louis smiled back. “I definitely would. It’s soccer, and good for Toulouse’s image. What’s not to love?”

“Indeed. Come, let’s take that tour of the Capitole. I’m sure it won’t be long before you come join us here to work.”

As Louis got up to follow the mayor around his domain, he shook his head but didn’t bother to tell the man he wasn’t interested in politics. It wasn’t a completely true statement, anyway. When it came to subjects like this, Louis was most definitely interested. But he would probably be better off looking for a job with the UEFA than with the city council of Toulouse.

Seventeen

Louis woke to the doorbell ringing. He heard the front door open, then a high-pitched scream of “
Mamie
!” That would be Audrey and her kids, or at least Chloé. Rolling over to tip himself out of bed, Louis landed soft-footed on the hardwood floor and gave a quick salute to Zizou on the wall next to the door. It might be time to remove the soccer posters from his youth, but he didn’t know what to put up in their place and didn’t want empty walls. He rummaged through the pile of clean clothes his mother had brought up the day before and pulled out a white t-shirt. His pants, discarded on the floor when he went to bed, looked too warm, so he found a pair of long shorts instead. Barefoot, he padded down the stairs in search of breakfast and to see what his sister wanted.

Color rose high on Audrey’s cheeks and strands of hair slipped out of the clasp at the nape of her slender neck. She had a newspaper rolled up in her hand and waved it back and forth at their mother.

Louis didn’t get the chance to catch the subject before his niece came hurtling into him from the living room.

“
Tonton
Louis!” Chloé must have been scolded for her earlier scream as this one was enthusiastic, but with the volume kept exaggeratedly low.

“Hey, Chloé,” Louis said, hugging his niece back. He patted her silky black hair. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in school?”

“Nope,” she replied happily, then thought hard before adding, “there’s a strike.”

“Really? What for?” Louis picked her up, then cringed at how much heavier she was than the last time he’d tried it a year ago. “You’ve grown since I last met you.”

Chloé beamed at him and gave him a slobbery kiss on the cheek.

Louis moved over to the kitchen centerpiece, and did
la bise
with both his mother and sister. “Good morning,” he said. “So there’s a strike?”

Audrey huffed in frustration. “Don’t get me started on that. They’ve been going out on strike at least once a week since school started. It’s enough to make you put your kids in private schools.”

“What do they want?”

Waving a dismissive hand in the air, Audrey replied, “Same as always. More teachers, fewer kids in each class, better follow-up. All good ideals, but in the meantime, the parents need to find someone else to watch their kids.” She looked at their mother. “Chloé will be staying with Mamie today.”

Louis turned to his niece, who had entwined her arms around his neck and was staring at him from less than a hand’s width away. “Lucky you! So what are you going to do with Mamie?”

“Go to the park!”

Louis’s mother smiled at her granddaughter. Her bright red lipstick matched her skirt and shining blue eyeshadow went with her button-down shirt. “We will, Chloé, don’t worry. Why don’t you go play in the living room for a while? Maman wants to discuss something with me before she leaves.”

“Okay!” Chloé let go, slid down to the floor, and skipped off toward the living room.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Audrey turned to Louis. While her daughter was there, she had been able to damp down the anger she’d displayed when Louis came into the room, but now it returned full force. “Have you seen this?” She held up the newspaper.

Hands on hips, Louis glanced at the paper, then back at his sister. “It’s a newspaper. I assume there’s something in there you don’t like?”

“That woman needs to be put in her place,” she hissed. When Louis stretched out a hand, she slapped the newspaper into his palm.

“That woman,” Louis’s mother said as she poured herself a cup of coffee, “is just doing her job.”

Louis opened the paper and scanned the headlines.

“Page four,” Audrey snapped.

He opened page four where he found an article with the heading, “Bribes from Opposing Parties Reason for Discontent?” Though he knew what he’d see, Louis searched for the name of the author. Sure enough, it was Catherine Marty. Why was she still using her ex-husband’s name? If the divorce was final, shouldn’t she have taken back her maiden name? Focusing on the subject at hand, Louis skimmed the article. She had basically put into writing his musings on the taxis and the public transport being in competition for transporting passengers to the airport. She had even done her research, giving key dates and information from the last fifteen years. Reading thoroughly the last paragraph, he was relieved to see she hadn’t made any direct accusations of his father taking bribes from both sides. It was implied, of course, but she let the reader come to that conclusion.

Keeping his expression neutral, Louis asked Audrey, “Did she get anything wrong in the article? The facts all seem right to me. For the first years, anyway. I’m not really up to speed on what’s been going on since I left for the States.”

Audrey paced back and forth in front of the window. “It’s not the facts that are a problem and you know it. It’s the subtext. Anyone who reads that is going to conclude that Papa took bribes over a long period of time.”

Louis glanced at his mother, but she continued sipping her coffee while listening to their conversation. It didn’t seem as if the accusations bothered her.

“If they’re smart enough to get that,” Louis said to his sister, “they’ll also see that there’s a potential motive for murder in there.”

Audrey stopped pacing and turned to face Louis. “The population of Toulouse couldn’t care less about who killed Papa. If that woman has information about motives for the murder, she should have gone directly to the police. No need to make everyone believe the Saint-Blancat family got rich on bribes.”

“Well, if you look at the facts, that does seem like a possibility. But I don’t like the idea of Papa taking bribes any more than you do.”

“Oh, come on,” Audrey said, rolling her eyes at Louis. “Grow up! Of course he took the money. What do you think paid for that little house of yours up on the roof?”