Death Knocks Twice

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‘I understand. Of course. Well, since you’re asking, they are a happy family. It’s just…well, I’m not sure that Sylvie has ever been – what’s the word? – well, maternal, really.’

‘She’s not?’

‘Not that it matters. The children have always had me. But she thinks too much about herself if you ask me.’

‘Even though she does so much charity work?’ Richard asked.

‘Her charity work always seems to be about her more than it is about the people she’s trying to help,’ Rosie said.

‘Do you think she’s capable of murder?’ Richard asked, and Rosie was shocked.

‘No, of course not!’

‘Only, it’s possible that one of the Beaumont family is the person who did this.’

Rosie was shocked.

‘Is that a joke?’

‘I’m sorry, it isn’t. Which is why we’d like to know if you think any of the family might be capable of murder.’

‘Of course not. None of them could do anything so horrible. It’s simply impossible to imagine.’

Richard saw Rosie frown as a thought occurred to her.

‘What’s that?’ Richard asked.

‘What’s what?’ Rosie said, but Richard and Camille could see that Rosie was now flustered.

‘What were you thinking?’

‘Oh, it was nothing.’

‘It really would help us a lot,’ Camille said, ‘if you told us whatever is on your mind. Even if you think it’s got nothing to do with the case.’

Rosie took a moment to compose herself. Richard once again noticed the intelligence in the old woman’s eyes, and he got a sudden insight that Rosie was one of those older people who could remember everything from her life.

‘Well, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised it occurred to me. Considering what we’re talking about. Not that it has anything to do with the case. Just like you said.’

‘We’d still like to hear it,’ Richard said.

‘Well, it was just a memory that popped into my head. You know how that can happen? You just remember something suddenly?’

‘Of course,’ Camille said.

‘And it was from when the children were much younger. Matthew had just had his fifth birthday, so Tom must have been nine and Lucy was seventeen I think. Anyway. I came across Tom in the garden. As I say, he must have been about nine years old. He was crouching on the ground and looking at something on the grass. As I got nearer, he tried to hide what he was looking at.’

‘And what was it?’

‘Well, I’m sorry to say that it was a dead bird. I don’t know how it got there. Maybe it had died from natural causes. But Tom was holding a knife in his hand. A pocket knife, I think. But he’d used it to cut the bird open. And I know young boys can be a little wild, but he hadn’t just cut into the poor creature, he’d spread all its… organs… out to the bird’s side. It was like some kind of ritual thing.’ Rosie took a sip of water, and Richard could see that the memory still upset her. ‘Of course, he denied that he’d had anything to do with the dead bird. He said he’d found it on the grass like that. But I sent him to his room at once. I was so angry with what he’d done. It took me a long time to get over that. But then, perhaps the children were more damaged by their past than we gave them credit—’

Rosie stopped talking mid-sentence as she was struck by a sudden realisation.

‘What do you mean, “their past”?’ Richard asked.

‘My word, is it possible?’ Rosie said, more to herself than to anyone else, and Richard and Camille could see that her mind was awhirl as she tried to marshal her thoughts. After a moment longer of indecision, she looked at Richard.

‘You’re saying the man who was murdered this morning couldn’t be identified?’

‘That’s right,’ Richard said.

‘Then can you tell me, did he have any identifying features?’

Richard and Camille’s interest sharpened.

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Was there perhaps a scar on his left hand? On his first finger?’

‘There was.’

‘Then can I see those photos again? And a photo of the scar if you’ve got it?’

‘Fidel, bring over all the crime scene photos.’

Fidel had already scooped them up and was heading over.

‘Ms Lefèvre, you might not like what you see,’ he said, but Rosie had already grabbed the photos and started shuffling through them until she found the photo that Dwayne had taken of the long scar on the forefinger of the victim’s left hand.

‘Good heavens,’ she murmured to herself, ‘is it you?’

She then shuffled through the photos again until she was looking at the first photo she’d been shown of the victim’s face.

‘You know what, it could be,’ she said to herself.

‘It could be who?’ Richard asked, unable to hide the impatience in his voice.

‘Someone I’ve not seen in twenty years. That’s why I didn’t recognise him. I just haven’t thought about him for decades…’ Rosie trailed off as she seemed to look inside herself, and Richard saw that she was coming to a decision.