Becwethan (The Leopold Dix Thrillers Book 1) Read online

  “I’ll tell Pascal tonight, he can arrange a search up there; if you think of anything else, anything at all.... well you know what to do.” I held up the mobile.

  We reached the division of our paths. I leant forward to kiss Simone she turned her head and kissed me on the lips.

  I smiled, I couldn’t help myself, “thanks for feeding Rufus; I’ll let you know how things go”. She waved as she moved away.

  The door to the creperie was open, two overhead lights shone down on the table in the far corner. Pascal was talking seriously on his mobile; a fresh coffee steamed on the table. He gestured for me to enter and sit down; I listened to the tail end of his conversation.

  He looked up, “Leo, you look like shit”.

  “Thanks.”

  He ordered up a coffee for me and recounted the salient points from the interviews.

  “Marc is one smooth bastard, not a hair out of place; he couldn’t help me enough. ‘Yes officer, no officer, three bags full officer’. It was like cross examining a limbo dancer. I posed a question and he performed a trick. It didn’t matter how low I set the bar, he kept coming up with a credible response; running his fingers through his infuriatingly perfect hair. He said things like ‘Pascoe was a different generation, he had no idea who his grandson’s friends were, but he could try to find out for me’. He was horrified to hear of the accusation that Pascoe had tried to kill you. He felt that the police needed to investigate those accusations more closely. He seemed completely detached from Pascoe’s death, oblivious. His stock answer was ‘I’m not sure about that, I’ll have to look into it for you officer and let you know, is next week alright?’ I’m telling you Leo he’s an oily creep.”

  “What did you actually get out of him?” I enquired.

  “Nothing, no new leads, I’ve just been through my notes to see if I perhaps missed something.” He paused. “I think he’s trying to be clever. Pascoe’s attempted murder of you makes Pascoe the favourite for murdering Klaus. If Marc can get us believing that, then the case is virtually closed. Your father’s death is too long ago, it’s easy for people to claim they’ve forgotten. But we know the link is too strong, the damage to the corpses virtually identical.”

  “What about Mattieau?” I waited.

  “He’s old school Swiss mountain man; barely a word to say. He wasn’t unhelpful just unimaginative, monosyllabic. I had an hour or so of ‘yes, no, don’t know’. He kept referring me to Marc, which tallies with what Dominique told you, Marc’s the king pin.”

  “He must have given you something.” I sounded desperate; exasperated.

  “Well I could see that he had been coached, and that tells me they’ve still got something to hide.”

  We sat in silence for a few minutes, thinking. The sound of Pascal’s phone brought me out of my trance.

  “Good, thanks Jurgen, no, Pascoe Von Arx’s body should be with you imminently, bye”. Pascal looked up, “positive ID on Klaus; Klaus De Kment. The Parents saw the picture we circulated, dentals emailed to Jurgen and we’ve got a match.”

  “Jesus, I might have something for you” I said pulling out the map. “Simone said she’d seen Marc and Pascoe’s cars up here a couple of times over the last few years.” I pointed at the spot. “The cars were tucked up this little path; she only spotted them because she needed a piss. It’s not an obvious place to park your car, perhaps there’s…”

  “A hiding place” Pascal finished the sentence. “And who’s Simone?” He asked.

  “Just someone in the village I’ve met, she’s a Grand Raid nut and trains hard on the Moiry road, perhaps she’s stumbled onto something.”

  Pascal reached over for the map; “no way” I said, “you’ve already got one of my maps, I need this one.” Pascal chuckled.

  “I know it’s late but I’m going to put some guys up there now; could be a torch light, fire, smoke, something to give the game away. We’ll bring the dogs first thing. This could be our first stroke of luck.” Pascal set to, organising his search party.

  “I’ll see you later” I shouted over the melee.

  The village was dark, occasional light shone through the ubiquitous red gingham curtains. Televisions flashed and flickered; their blue white lights illuminating rooms and the alleyways below. I walked down through the village towards Marc’s chalet. As I approached I could see movement from the upstairs window. I wasn’t sure whether the window was being closed, or whether the movement of the geraniums in the breeze had caught my eye. The rest of the chalet stood still. Despite the lateness of the hour I banged on the door; there was no reply. I went around the back of the chalet and tried the door; it was open. This didn’t strike me as odd as no one seemed to lock their homes. I looked around, I was hardly going to find Gustav here, but if Marc had been rattled by the police he may have left a clue. I needed something to pin on him, something a little more concrete. There was a notepad by the phone with a mobile number; I took it. ‘Could be useful’ I thought. The ground floor was conventional in design; kitchen with dining table, sitting room, and a small TV room; the first floor consisted of a bathroom and three bedrooms. Marc’s bedroom faced south towards the mountains. I checked under the mattress, the wardrobe and chest of drawers; perhaps there was a diary or notes, I needed a clue. I stood hands on hips, disappointed, there was nothing out of the ordinary. There was a basement to check, so I started down the stairs. I glanced up the stairwell, more out of habit than for any other reason, and to my surprise I saw a second narrow staircase continued up to a third floor. ‘That must be where I saw the movement’ I thought. Carefully I climbed the narrow staircase; it was old, solid enough, but creaked with every step. ‘Shut the fuck up’ I thought, aggression building in my abdomen. The black wooden door stood ominously above me. I slowly tried the handle; solid.

  “Are you looking for this?” An elderly voice called up the stairs. My heart leapt as I turned.

  “Janine”.

  “Yes it’s me”.

  I came down the stairs to face her. She held a large key in her twisted hand.

  “I don’t know what he does up there, but this is the key.” She opened her hand and offered it to me.

  “What do you know Janine? Where is Gustav? What do you know of my father’s death, of the Austrian climber’s death?”

  “I keep to myself Leo; I don’t ask myself those questions. You need to speak to Robert he’s probably the only person you’ll get a straight answer from. He lives in St Luc now; he was a good friend of your father.”

  I had forgotten about Robert Epiney, I wondered if Pascal had as well.

  I shot back up the stairs and opened the door. A desk, chair, and two large wardrobes filled the room. It didn’t take me long to realise that this was the administrative centre of the Von Arx Catholics; one draw with mass sheets; another with rosaries and crucifixes; the bottom draw contained a diary of events, with locations and times. I moved over to the wardrobes and opened them both; robes, pendants, the paraphernalia of this alternative church. I closed the draws and locked the door, taking the diary with me. Janine was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs, I gave her the key.

  “Where is he?” I asked.

  “I never ask. He’s always out.” She replied.

  “Do you live in the basement Janine?”

  “Yes, it’s very comfortable; you must come and see me sometime.”

  “Yes” I said moving swiftly out of the house.

  FIFTEEN

  Janine had looked every year of ninety three. The mountains aren’t kind to the very old; the ice in winter, the power of the sun’s rays in summer and always that altitude reducing oxygen in every breath. It was11.00pm and I needed to see Robert Epiney fast. I was beginning to feel that we had some leads. Firstly, there was the possible location of a hideout off the Moiry road thanks to Simone. Secondly, Janine had wanted to help, giving me access to Marc’s private room and directing me to see Robert. Yes, the investigation had a direction of sorts.

&n
bsp; I withdrew to my car and opened the diary. I flicked back to 27th August. There were no entries, turning the page to the 28th there was just a cross. Not a noughts and crosses cross, but a crucifixion style cross. The 28th had been the day of the ascent to Tracuit, the day that Gustav had gone missing. ‘Don’t jump to any conclusions’ I thought, ‘this could mean absolutely anything’. There had been a mass on the 4th September and the next entry was just over 2 days away on the 9th, another cross. I couldn’t stop myself drawing the conclusion that the first one signified the capture and the second one the execution. There was no sense in drawing this conclusion, but it gave me hope that Gustav was still alive, that I had two days to find him. I set off to St Luc to find Robert. As I passed out of the village a police car pulled out behind me. I hit the hazard lights, slowed and hopped out of the car. The Police car stopped and Francois got out.

  “Can you get this to Pascal for analysis?” I said, passing him Marc’s diary. I explained what it was and that there could be some oblique reference to this whole saga in it.

  “Not a problem, he’s still at the creperie, I’ll take it to him now”.

  “Thanks” I said.

  “Where are you off to at this hour?” He asked.

  “I need to keep moving Francois, if we’re to find him; we’ve got to turn every stone.” I left it as obtuse as I could, I didn’t want a call from Pascal telling me not to speak to Robert, that I might be breaking his confidences. It was beyond that now.

  St Luc is 35 minutes from Grimentz. You have to snake down the road to Vissoie, and wind up the other side of the valley back up to 1600m. The moonlight was strong and the mountains arced magnificently before me at every other hairpin turn. The Matterhorn’s less known profile joining the party of 4000m peaks. I hadn’t a clue where I was going and it was nearly midnight. I pulled into the car park of the Bella Tolla Hotel, a chic Italian style hotel, ‘the best in the valley without question’ is how Simone had described it to me. The reception was deserted, but a group of men were sitting around a lounge area drinking brandy. A waiter was polishing glasses behind a small bar area.

  “Can I help you sir?” He said, looking amused by my rather dishevelled appearance.

  “Yes, I appreciate it’s late, but I’m looking for the home of Robert Epiney. Do you know where he lives?” I went for the direct approach.

  The waiter looked nonplussed; “I’m sorry, I’m not local”.

  The man nearest the bar had overheard me. “You’re Leo Dix, I guess” he said.

  I nodded.

  “Robert’s at the top end of the village, I’ll show you the way if you like”.

  “It would be a great help” I smiled with relief. “I’m at a slight disadvantage, you seem to know me, but I don’t know your name”.

  “I’m Stephan Epiney, Robert’s cousin, he’s been following your, I think he called it ‘one man war’ or ‘path of destruction’ in the papers with great interest. He’ll be pleased to see you.” We got into the car and five minutes later pulled onto a dirt track which ran through the forest for 500 metres or so to a small black chalet, not dissimilar to Rothorn. As we drew up closer to the building a light came on and the front door opened.

  “Rob, don’t shoot, it’s Stephan” he joked. “I’ve brought the ‘one man wrecking machine’.”

  We went inside; Robert threw a log into the stove and put on a kettle. He turned and faced me. “I’m pleased to meet you, really pleased; take a seat.”

  Stephan made the tea whilst Robert talked and talked. I directed his ramblings and brought him back onto course when he started to drift. He may have been late seventies, but his memory was ‘Marplesk’.”

  “My immediate worry is for the safety of Gustav, can we start with that and work backwards” I said.

  That didn’t seem to work it only confused him; his mind only seemed to work forwards, so I shut up and let him start at the beginning.

  “They didn’t like Lucian, he wasn’t local, and he wasn’t a catholic. Janine was the only one with any compassion in that family. Your grandfather and that horrible brother of his, Luke, I’m sure they killed him; of course I had no proof. Then when Remy started to waiver he died, very suspicious. Did you see the reports I sent in to the police?” he asked.

  “Yes, they thought it would help with the investigation if I saw everything”.

  “I never got any information on the church, just members, and there were lots of them. We always wondered what they got up to, but there were so many respectable people in that church that in the end I thought it probably had nothing to do with the disappearance.”

  “The police have established that the second body was Klaus” I said.

  “I could have told them that” he said.

  “Why would anyone want Klaus dead?”

  “He wasn’t from round here, he wasn’t catholic, and he was close to one of the Von Arx girls; ring any bells?” Robert said.

  “But that’s no reason to kill.”

  “Perhaps not to you or me, but others may think differently” he said.

  The tea was good, strong, black, and sweet. “Who do you think killed Klaus?” I asked.

  “Probably Pascoe, similar age, strong as an ox, and as you know a willingness to murder; but I’m sure he was told to do it. The question is; who told him to kill Klaus, who told him to kill you, and who told him to kill Gustav?”

  “I see the pattern you’re suggesting, Gustav is not from around here, he’s not Catholic and he’s marrying a local, another Von Arx. Robert,” I paused, “Why haven’t you spoken to the police about this? I know it sounds faintly ludicrous, but it’s a theory and right now we’re very short on those.”

  “I have; they took a statement a few days ago.”

  “Who came?”

  “The top man was too busy” he said.

  “Pascal Vianni?”

  “Yes, he sent one of the valley guys, probably thought I’d open up to him more, Francois from Pinsec.”

  Robert was unquestionably sharp, everyone was treating him like a regular 75 year old mountain man, but he wasn’t. “Did you tell him everything you’re telling me?”

  “Yes, then he asked me to sign it”.

  ‘Odd’ I thought, ‘very odd’; “so getting back to the point you were making Robert, who do you think directed Pascoe to commit these acts?”

  “I don’t know, but if I was a betting man I’d say Marc. It could be either of his sons, Raphy or Pierre, I doubt Mattieau has the where with all to come up with a scheme of this nature. But, they must all know about it and be covering for one another. Leo, I think it has to be Marc he’s the right age to have killed your father, to have started this terrible chain.”

  “His cover...... that ‘butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth’” Stephan added.

  I turned, I’d almost forgotten he was in the room, “but this behaviour is delusional, psychotic.” Again I paused for thought, “and what’s more, it’s probably group behaviour.”

  “More tea?” Stephan offered me the pot.

  “Robert, I don’t think your statement has been received by Pascal” I said.

  “What!” he seemed winded.

  “I’ll call Pascal now and check, but first I need you to help me find Gustav’s whereabouts. You can help too Stephan.” I spread the map over the table and gave each man a pencil. “Whilst I’m speaking to Pascal I need you to think. Think right back to your childhood, to the best hiding spots in the mountains, to caves, or huts, rock overhangs anywhere where you could hide a man. Then think about the Von Arxs; where you might have seen their cars parked, unusual, or unexpected places where you bumped into them.”

  Francois and Stephan set about with great enthusiasm, bouncing ideas off one another. Every time they came up with a new location they placed a coin on it. I left them to it, closing the door and wandering into the garden as I pressed the call button on my phone. It rang three times before Pascal answered.

  “I don’t need much s
leep Leo, but I usually function better with more than 15 minutes.”

  “I think we’ve got a couple of breaks.” I filled him in on the conversations, speculations, and accusations of the last hour. “I guess Francois didn’t tell you any of this?”

  “No, I’ll deal with him; he’ll be tied up on an internal investigation for the rest of his fucking life.” Pascal had gone stratospheric in the space of a second. I could hear him getting dressed, phone doubtless pinned under his yellow chin. “Leo, if those old bastards come up with something let me know.”

  “Are you still in Grimentz?” I asked.

  “Yes, but I’m off to lean on Francois, he clearly knows something.”

  “You might like to ask him about the diary I found in Marc’s chalet, it needs someone to comb through it. I asked him to pass it on to you a couple of hours ago.”

  “Fuck the bastard” Pascal terminated the conversation.

  I entered the chalet unnoticed, the cousins were reminiscing about locations and hideaways.

  “Got anything?”

  Robert answered, “not much to go on, there was a cave here.” He pointed East of the Lac de Moiry. “It was perhaps 20 metres deep, narrow entrance, the ground is permanently frozen, so very cold. It’s on Von Arx land. We used to play in it maybe sixty years ago, and then they fitted a door, so we went somewhere else.”

  “And here” Stephan began, pointing about half a kilometre North of the first site. “This was where I lost the end of my finger.” He held up his hand for me to see. The tip of his little finger was missing. The skin stretched tightly over the top knuckle joint, white, against the tan colour of his hand. “It’s still Von Arx land, good for grazing. There was another cave, twice the size, but the entrance was terrible. You had to slide on your stomach, under a rock. We used to light candles in there, it was terrifying.”

  “Would you be able to find these easily?”

  “Not easily” Robert replied, “but yes, given time in the area I’d find them.”

  Robert marked the map precisely.

  “I’m going to leave you my mobile number. If you think of anything you must call me. I need to get these locations to Pascal.”