CHAPTER 25
GUNTHER’S VILLA, SAINT-CLOUD
Charlie and Detective Allard sped in the unmarked police car towards the villa on the outskirts of Saint-Cloud.
The receptionist had offered to come with the detective and give directions, but he assured the enthusiastic Mademoiselle Frances that his orders were for a routine inspection and he would be back in touch if he needed anything.
Charlie’s mind again went to Maisy Bell and her alleged visit to Saint-Cloud. Clementine thought Maisy was travelling with a Swiss national called Louis, however Maisy herself told Gigi Rockefeller that she was going for a visit with a German named Ludwig.
Mael Albu in Tours said the man with the dead Jouet was German. Mael was a traveller with an ear for languages.
Now they were closing in on Gunther—otherwise known as Hans Fischer—and Alain Schmidt too, with any luck.
German links. All tenuous.
Charlie was not superstitious; she believed in facts and evidence over gut feelings and intuition. Even so, the Maisy Bell case refused to diminish in her mind.
‘Did you give any more thought to the Maisy Bell case? The notes I sent you showed that Hans Fischer was convicted for stalking and battery of two young women.’
‘Of course I’ve considered it. We are investigating every angle.
I know you care about Maisy Bell’s disappearance, but there are also three pressing homicides I need to resolve.
They may or may not be connected. Current evidence suggests they are, but I need more.
An arrest would be even better. Fischer may be our man; Schmidt may be our man. They might both be.’
‘Neither might be.’
She glanced behind her and saw the unmarked police car with two plain-clothed local Saint-Cloud officers following them.
Detective Allard had stopped at the police station on the way to the villa and requested support.
Charlie was uncertain if she was reassured or intimidated at this request for extra police resources but she did not want to analyse it with Allard in case he decided to ditch the reporter and get on with solving the case.
Charlie sat silently as the car sped past chateaux, tall hedges and eventually open fields.
After ten minutes of intense silence, they pulled up and parked just past the villa’s front gates, as though they were any other pair of tourists perusing the tree-lined lanes and villas around Saint-Cloud.
The villa’s gates were impressive, tall and wrought iron, flanked with two pillars crowned by lion statues.
A little over-the-top for the villa sitting at the end of the driveway—it was more of a gatehouse, Charlie thought ungraciously.
The villa and its grounds were attractive but unkempt, much like the kind of hapless man who relied on his partner to do everything for him when his wife had left him alone for a week to visit her mother.
The front gate had a slight squeak as it swayed to and fro in the wind.
She craned her neck to see if there were more buildings and garden sprawling towards the dense forest that started mere steps from the back of the villa.
Detective Allard, Charlie and the two officers climbed out of their cars, quietly closed their doors and gathered behind a large oak tree near the footpath.
Allard instructed the officers to wait discreetly behind trees a little further down at each corner so as not to cause alarm or attract attention in the street.
‘You sit back in the car, please, Mademoiselle James.’
His voice sounded so formal as he gave orders.
Charlie opened her mouth to protest, before closing it again, remembering her deal with Allard to stay out of the way during investigations or any exploration.
Besides, now she was close to the grounds of the villa, she had to admit she was a little spooked.
It was all so routine, and there was the extra police car with two local officers, but she knew better than anyone how quickly a simple interrogation could go wrong.
From where Charlie sat in the passenger seat, pretending to flick through a map book, she watched Detective Allard walk down the gravel driveway and rap on the front door.
He waited for one minute before ringing the giant bell.
Charlie was confused about why he did not use the bell to begin with, as surely that could be heard throughout the house and grounds.
But perhaps he did not want to come across as aggressive?
After all, he was merely enquiring after the whereabouts of a young Alain Schmidt.
Detective Allard waited another minute. Nothing. He paced the mosaic terrace, pausing to put his hands up beside his face and peer through a large sash window. Eventually, after a further minute and more rapping on the front door, he walked down the front steps, shaking his head.
When Detective Allard got back to the car, he indicated Charlie should wind down her window.
‘We didn’t ask if this Gunther tenant was away or for his next-of-kin details.
There’s a phone box a few hundred metres from here.
I’m going to telephone the agent and see if I can get some contact details. Wait here.’
Charlie nodded, wondering if Detective Allard had just concocted a reason to be back in contact with the helpful and busty Mademoiselle Frances.
She clenched her fists, ridding herself of her churlish thoughts.
Detective Allard was the ultimate professional—just look at the way he’d brushed away any awkwardness between them to get to the heart of the case.
Hadn’t he told her on the terrace that first evening in Tours that he had no balance?
That his job was his life and his marriage had collapsed because of his work ethic?
His inability to let go of a missing person case?
At the time, Charlie had considered this sage warning. Her own life back in Sydney had been shredded by her relentless work hours and a husband who had looked elsewhere to fill the void.
‘Mademoiselle James, are you listening? Do you understand? Stay in the car, no matter what.’
Charlie looked into Allard’s hazel eyes and nodded.
‘If Monsieur Gunther returns to his house, do not approach. That is an order.’
Charlie sat back in her seat, chastised, map book on her lap.
As Detective Allard’s back disappeared down the street towards the phone box, she watched the shadows cast by the oak leaves dance across the windscreen.
It was soothing. Soporific. Her head lolled to one side as she relaxed and started to doze.
After a few minutes, maybe more, Charlie heard whistling and footsteps move past the car, along with the distant bark of a neighbour’s dog.
A tall, dark-haired man with a bushy moustache reached over the gate next door to pat a red setter with both hands, then opened the gate to let the dog weave between his legs.
Judging by the dog’s wagging tail and enthusiastic bounds, it was an indulgent greeting the man and dog regularly enjoyed.
The dog swayed side to side as its back was scratched, and the man gave two final pats to its head before opening the gate to Gunther’s villa.
Charlie sat up. Was this the neighbour paying a visit to Gunther’s house or was it Gunther returning home? She slumped low in her seat to avoid being seen.
Before the man stepped onto the driveway, he did a double take at the two men in dark suits approaching him. Clearly, Allard had given no such stay-put orders to the local officers.
‘Can I help you?’ the stranger asked the approaching plain-clothed police officers. He ignored the dog dancing around his feet, excited tail tapping against his shins. ‘Why are you watching my house?’
Gunther. Charlie’s chest tightened as she heard the German accent. How far away was Allard? Why was he taking so long to return from the phone box? It can’t have been more than five hundred metres away.
‘Apologies if we startled you, sir.’ The older officer held up his hands and gave a friendly smile. ‘Standard procedure for this district. We’re tax collectors.’
The younger officer winced. It was a clumsy lie and the German’s wide, surprised eyes and open mouth showed that he knew it.
‘Of course,’ he said with a cold smile after a beat. ‘May I see your identification?’
The game was up. If this Gunther knew anything about Alain Schmidt’s whereabouts, he was less likely to share it if he felt trapped.
The two men blustered and pulled out their police badges.
Detective Allard reappeared, stepping directly in front of Gunther. ‘I apologise. We did not mean to cause alarm. I wondered if we may have a quick word about a local matter?’
‘Do you work with these gentlemen?’ Gunther gestured with his head to the police officers.
‘I do. Is there a problem?’
Gunther narrowed his eyes. ‘I was just asking to see their identification. But why don’t you follow me inside and we can clear up … whatever this is.’
Charlie sighed and jiggled her legs. She was nervous and needed to pee. The man from the villa was cagey but polite. Detective Allard held his arms open in a conciliatory gesture. He was trying not to scare the suspect. Gunther’s frowning face gave her cause to stay low in the car, undetected.
Tiny raindrops splattered on the windscreen, making pretty shapes.
The German man smiled, held up his hands and said to the three officers, ‘Please, it’s starting to drizzle. Come inside and allow me to offer you tea—or coffee, if you prefer? I can answer any questions you have.’
The officers glanced at each other and nodded. ‘Very well, sir, if you don’t mind,’ said Allard. He gestured to the German to make his way down the driveway to the front door.
Charlie willed the men to wait outside. Surely they would not go inside?
She held her breath and peeked over the dashboard as she watched Gunther wave his hands and try to usher the plain-clothed officers inside in front of him.
The men hesitated.