Dark Summer in Bordeaux

Dark Summer in Bordeaux Read Free

Book: Dark Summer in Bordeaux Read Free
Author: Allan Massie
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almost at once by Dr Paulhan, Boyard cigarette in the corner of his mouth.
    ‘Well, Jean, I can’t examine him properly where he is,’ he said, ‘but the cause of death looks evident enough. No reason, is there, to think his nut was smashed in when he was already dead. No reason at all. I can tell you straightaway he’s been lying there for hours, but you’ll have come to that conclusion yourself, I’ve no doubt. Get him round to me and I’ll do my stuff. But I’ll be surprised if I can do much to help you. At least he is not one of our Occupying friends. That’s clear. A good Frenchman and a man of some position, I would say. Wouldn’t you? Spares you one complication at least.’
    ‘An old-fashioned pre-war murder then,’ Moncerre said. ‘A robbery gone wrong. Let’s hope so anyway. Then we’re dealing only with our usual sort of client.’
    Photographs were taken. Lannes set a couple of his men to look for the weapon, ‘Which I doubt if you’ll find.’
    ‘Not unless chummy’s a half-wit,’ Moncerre said. ‘Which of course he may well be.’
    ‘He’s had the sense at least to lift the chap’s wallet,’ René Martin said.
    Lannes said, ‘This suit’s from a good tailor, hand-made. Look in the inside breast pocket and you’ll find the tailor’s name. He should be able to help us identify him. Of course, we may find he’s been reported missing already. But I doubt it. Why, I don’t know.’
    ‘Léopold Kurtz, rue Xantrailles,’ René said. ‘The street Cortazar lived in.’
    ‘I doubt if there’s a connection with that murder,’ Lannes said. ‘The street’s just a coincidence. Anyway, Mériadeck, it’s where you’d expect to find a Jewish tailor. I’ll go round there with the jacket when the technical boys have finished with it. Meanwhile there’s nothing more we can do here for now.’
    It was ridiculous, even, he admitted to himself, shameful; he felt a lightening of the spirit. It’s only, he told himself, that I feel in need of work. And a crime such as this promised to be unconnected to the war and the Occupation.
    ‘At least I hope that’s the case,’ he said when they were settled in the Brasserie Fernand and had eaten the pigeons with red cabbage Fernand had recommended.
    ‘Could be sordid though,’ Moncerre removed the toothpick from his mouth. ‘The public garden, a head-bashing – if it’s not just a robbery, what sort of crime does that suggest to you? One that stinks, in my opinion. Never mind, if it is that, we may even be permitted to solve it and bring the killer to what passes for justice.’
    ‘Unless he’s got protection,’ René said.
    ‘You’re growing up, kid,’ Moncerre said, ‘getting wise to the ways of this wicked world. And suppose the old boy had made advances to one of our young Aryans who took exception to them and did for him. Would we be allowed to solve that? I think not, my friends.’
    ‘We’ve no reason to suppose anything of the sort,’ Lannes said.

    The tailor was old and his wrinkled face was dominated by a big nose. He wore gold-rimmed pince-nez spectacles attached to the buttonhole of his jacket by a black ribbon. He sat cross-legged on a low table in the traditional posture of his trade. The light in his shop was dim.
    ‘So,’ he said, ‘the police want help from an old Jew. We are not often approached so politely these days.’
    ‘No,’ Lannes said, ‘and I’m sorry that is the case.’
    ‘Nevertheless,’ the old tailor said, ‘I’m one of the lucky ones, am I not? Not one of those forbidden to practise my trade.’
    He felt the coat, running his fingers over it.
    ‘Nice piece of cloth, very nice.’
    ‘English flannel, I thought.’
    ‘Certainly, certainly. It’s been well cared for since it is at least ten years ago that I made this coat.’
    He took a pinch of snuff, reminding Lannes of Judge Rougerie’s habit which he had always thought a tiresome affectation. It didn’t seem so in the case of the old

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