Night Watch Read Free Page A

cadences—probably occasioned by our unexpected presence in this natural sanctuary.
    “Not my forte, Luc. I haven’t seen a body since I left military service.”
    “And the slow-motion ferry?”
    “Nothing works in the pond but a flat-bottom boat. These pods put down roots that tangle oars or anything else that tries to move through. The boat’ll reach us in a few minutes.”
    “That old guy steering the platform looks familiar.”
    Belgarde called out to Claude and asked who was poling the pontoon, carrying the other officer back to this side.
    “Sorry, I don’t know his name. He’s how you say? The
veilleur de nuit
. He’s the one who found the lady.”
    “The night watchman,” Luc said. “Of course I know him. Emil. He used to be the caretaker for Pablo Picasso’s home, just across from the pond. When I was a teenager, I used to make runs on my motorcycle with food my father sent to Picasso when he didn’t feel like coming to town for dinner.”
    The great artist had spent the last twelve years of his life in Mougins and was one of Andre Rouget’s regular customers.
    “Pretty swell takeout,” Jacques said. “There you go. Three years in town and I’ve never met this Emil, didn’t even know his name. I’ve heard about him though—that he’s a real loner. Works the midnight shift for the park service just so he doesn’t have to deal with people.”
    “How would anyone see a body in this pond, especially before daylight?” I asked. Some of the leaves were three feet in diameter, overlapping one another and appearing so thick that it looked as if I could walk across on them to the other side.
    “That brings us back to you, Luc,” the captain said. “The deceased is dressed entirely in white. It’s the clothes that stood out so obviously against the dark water and leaves, even in the dead of night. Sweater, lace camisole, long cotton skirt—and it’s not even summer yet. My officers tell me you hosted a party last evening. A dinner in white.”
    “Guilty, Jacques, but all my guests were accounted for,” Luc said, shading his eyes with his hand. “Why didn’t they load the body on the boat and bring her to the dock?”
    We were watching the pontoon’s slow progress through the lotus leaves.
    “I’ve been instructed not to move the woman. We’ll go across to her.”
    “Fine. Perhaps Alex should wait here.”
    “I’m more useful with the dead than you are, Luc. Does this mean, Captain, that there’s a
medecin legiste
on the way?”
    “A medical examiner? I wouldn’t know where to find the closest one. I’ve never had the need. But there’s a local coroner. We’re trying to get our hands on him now.”
    “Surely you’re not going to leave this woman outside for hours, exposed to the elements?” It wasn’t just the insects and eels above and below the water, but foxes and wild boar that gave the forest its unique character.
    “We’ll move her as soon as we’re ready.” Belgarde spoke sharply to me. “Tell me about the event, Luc. Your idea, this
Diner en Blanc
?”
    “No, not mine. It’s been going on in Paris for a quarter of a century, and more recently in New York, Montreal. Who knows where else? I thought I’d bring the concept to Mougins. A touch of civility before tourist season overwhelms us.”
    “You and I have shirts on our backs because of the tourists,” Jacques said, cupping his hand over a match as he lighted his next Gitanes. Judging by the pile of butts, he had smoked enough cigarettes in the last couple of hours to blacken the lungs of the purple herons observing us from the middle of the pond. “You feed them, and I’m the uniformed lost and found for their cameras and car keys and iPads. What are these dinners,
mon ami
?”
    The pontoon snagged on a stand of lotus fronds, and the old man used his pole with great deliberation to free the slow-moving vessel. I watched while Luc talked.
    “One of my father’s friends returned to Paris in the