Folly Du Jour

‘This is to do with the killing at the theatre, night before last, eh? What? Not sure I can be of much help. I know people always say they saw nothing but, in this case, it’s absolutely true! I saw nothing of the killing, that is!’

Joe allowed him to chatter on nervously as they crossed the courtyard. These forbidding surroundings would give anyone the jitters – even a man fortified by a bowler and a brolly. At the door to Staircase A, he turned to Je

Je

‘Many people are being interviewed – one of them may have seen something he was not aware that he had seen. Just answer the questions carefully. I will be on hand to translate.’

Chairs, Joe noted, had been provided in Fourier’s office. The files and papers were aligned in rows. After introductions all round, he and Bo

‘I say! However did you know I was there? Clever of you to find me! I shall have to hope my wife is less vigilant than the French police, eh? What? I read about this sorry affair in the papers. Fellow Englishman knifed to death, they’re saying. And that’s the extent of my knowledge, I’m afraid. I’ve never met the dead fellow. I was in the stalls. Thought you might like to see my ticket stub.’

Fourier looked carefully at the number on the ticket. He took a pencil and a sheet of paper and in a few quick strokes sketched out a floor plan of the theatre. He placed it on the desk in front of Je

‘Yes. You’ve got it exactly!’ said Je

Joe didn’t attempt a translation.

‘I now add two boxes,’ said Fourier, supplying them. ‘Take my pencil and mark in the box where you understand the murder to have taken place.’

Je

‘Well done! Quite correct! Box B.’ Fourier’s attempt at bonhomie was unconvincing. ‘Now, tell us who and what you observed in that box.’

Je

‘Of course, had one only known, one would have . . .’ Je

‘And I understand the witness in Box A was known to you also?’ said Fourier with mild interest.

‘I say! This is impressive! Yes, he is known to me. Only seen him once or twice since we were at school together – reunions and so on – but there’s no mistaking that nose. Jardine. It was George Jardine. I’ll bet my boots. Something important in India, I believe. Showing off as usual. In the Royal Box. But where else? Wouldn’t find him rubbing shoulders with hoi polloi in the stalls.’

‘And you think he was acquainted with the man opposite?’

‘Oh, yes. Undoubtedly. They were talking to each other.’

Fourier stirred uneasily. ‘Across the width of the theatre, sir? Talking?’ His strong witness was showing signs of cracking. He looked to Joe to correct his interpretation but Joe shook his head.

‘“Communicating”, I ought perhaps to have said. Exchanging messages. Just the sort of showy-off Boy Scout stuff Jardine would have indulged in. He always enjoyed an audience, you know. Incapable of fastening his shoelaces without turning round to acknowledge the plaudits of the crowd.’

Joe summarized this and added, ‘Fourier, may I?’

Fourier spread his hands, amused to delegate.

‘Would you mind, Je

‘Certainly. As the lights were being lowered . . .’ Je

On went the gloves.

‘And then he did this sort of tick-tack nonsense with his hands.’

The hands flashed rhythmically, fingers stabbed, thumbs were extended.

‘You’d have thought he was leading the Black and White Minstrels in the show at the end of the pier. People were begi

‘And did the man opposite take any notice? Did he reply?’

‘Yes. Same sort of thing but a shorter response and he wasn’t wearing gloves so it wasn’t so obvious. I thought, at that moment, it was a game. Yes, I was sure it was a game. He was laughing, joining in the fun.’

‘You thought?’ asked Joe, picking up the tense.

‘Yes. Changed my mind when I saw the last gesture though!’

‘Describe it,’ said Fourier.

‘He did this,’ said Je

Face twisted into a threatening mask, he gave a flourish of the hand and trailed the forefinger slowly across his throat.

No one spoke. The sergeant stopped writing. Fourier turned to him and advised: ‘Sergeant, why don’t you put down – “The suspect was observed at this point to make a life-threatening gesture a

The sergeant noted it down.

Je

‘Did you not?’ drawled Joe. ‘Well, you’ve made a very good fist of it. But before we ask you to check and sign your statement, just tell us, will you – what was the reaction of the second man playing this game? Did he appear alarmed? Did he seem menaced by Jardine’s gesture?’

‘Well, no. Not at all. Most odd. He laughed. Damn near slapped his thigh, he thought it was so fu

* * *

When Je

He gestured to his sketch of the theatre layout. ‘Forget the audience. What no one else seems to have observed is that there were a hundred or so other potential witnesses and all much closer to the scene of the murder at the moment of the murder. The cast! Lined up for the finale, their eyes would have been on their audience. They say that Miss Baker herself is always acutely aware of the reactions of the crowd before her and responds to their mood. Dark, of course, out there, I should imagine. Up to you to see how much you can make out. How close the boxes are to the stage. Which performer was standing underneath.

‘I’ve arranged with the man in charge – Derval’s his name, Paul Derval – for you to be given an hour to scrounge around before the matinée performance this afternoon. I guaranteed you wouldn’t get in anyone’s way. He’ll send someone to open up for you if you present yourselves at the stage door. That’s about it . . . Jardine behaving himself, is he?’