Becwethan (The Leopold Dix Thrillers Book 1) Read online

  “Leo”, I said putting my hand out.

  “Simone.... but don’t shake it too hard.”

  She was probably 30, slim, fair hair and had muscle definition on her legs, the like of which I’d never seen; unquestionably a serious biker.

  “I better give the bike a once over; make sure it’s serviceable” she said.

  She demonstrated her expertise; the speed and efficiency she employed in assessing the bike was surely professional.

  “Are you just passing through?” I asked. I sounded a little awkward.

  “I do this route a couple of times a week, otherwise I tend to work the road up to lake Moiry, to get some hill work. I’m in training for the Grand Raid.”

  I hadn’t got a clue what the Grand Raid was, I’d seen a couple of stickers on cars in the village, but that was as far as my knowledge went.

  “Good luck”.

  “What about you Leo; on holiday?”

  “No, I’m renovating a chalet, just up here” I pointed up and slightly across.

  “Ah, I know who you are. The butcher’s graveyard development” she said with a broad grin.

  “Yes, I can give you the ‘tour of terror’ if you like, only 20 Francs.”

  “Better be off she said”, rather abruptly, stretching her arm to remind me of the injuries I’d inflicted.

  “You’re not going to let me forget that are you?”

  “No” she said. As the bike moved off she shouted out “I’d better get the 20 Francs then.”

  Before I could think of anything to say she was gone from sight.

  I ran back ten years younger, my thoughts drifting back to Simone, she was pretty, in an athletic way, Lycra really can’t hide much; and cheeky, very cheeky.

  “Good run?” Rufus enquired. The wood pile had grown a foot.

  I gave him a thumbs up. The final ascent had brought me up from 1600m to over 1900m; a thousand feet in old money. My chest was heaving. ‘I felt strong today; especially coming back.’

  I kept myself busy over the next two weeks; training runs every morning and circuits every afternoon. On top of the preparations for the climb I had a funeral to organise. The formal identification of the first body had generated the necessary paperwork and once the approvals had been granted by the local church I set the date for 12th August.

  You don’t really invite people to funerals; I think the etiquette is to inform people that it is happening, and they can turn up if they want to. My father had been dead so long that there was no one to inform. If anyone in the village wanted to attend, then they would know of the date already. I’d tell Gustav, then the three of us could go over to the Moiry for a drink afterwards.

  Rufus had made a good friend in Pascoe and would ride most evenings between 5.00pm and 9.00pm, frequently stopping for a beer afterwards. His social life was just beginning to take off. He came back one evening with an invitation to Gustav and Dominique’s engagement party.

  “This could be the perfect opportunity for me to meet everyone” I said. “I was beginning to think I’d have to wait until the wedding. So when you say it’s in a week Rufus, do we have an actual date; a written invitation perhaps?”

  “Ah, slight technical problem” he replied. “There was a card, but I’ve left it at the Moiry. It’s the 1st August at the Scierie; no worries....I’ll confirm the time with Gustav.”

  I let Pascal know that finally the opportunity had arisen for me to meet the family on an informal basis. He let me know that the dates had been set for the police interviews. “It’ll have them scared. I suspect they’ll just clam up when they see you so don’t expect too much” he’d said.

  The 1st August was on us. I didn’t want to arrive early so we left Rothorn at 11.00am.

  “Anything you want me to look out for dad?” Rufus enquired. “Apart, that is, from the obviously reconstructed arm”.

  “It might be worth shaking everyone’s hand vigorously. Just in case I don’t recognise him. But they won’t be there; they won’t want to take the risk.” I thought for a minute, “I think you should just enjoy yourself, put on the charm, get around all the relatives and introduce yourself. Get them to like you; no threat. They’re more likely to be wary of me. But I don’t see that we can learn anything much today. It’s a chance to meet everyone and start to build a relationship. Next time we see them in the village we’ll know who they are and we can go over any have a chat; gently gently”.

  “I’ll get Pascoe to introduce me, everyone loves the best man,” he said.

  “Excellent idea”.

  The sun was strong and the atmosphere still as we descended the path and set off across the old village. Between the old chalets metronomic arcs of water kept the vegetable patches green and vibrant despite the natural drainage of the mountain slopes and the Mediterranean heat. The Scierie was like a village hall. I’d often seen balloons outside signalling the location of a party. In a previous life it had been a saw mill. Water channelled towards the mill wheel now turned it for the tourists; there was always someone there taking a snap. The Scierie’s large wooden doors were flung open and people spilled out and onto the stone cobbles in front. Gustav raised his arm as we approached.

  “Thought you’d be along about now; let me take you around.” He smiled; he looked happy.

  Rufus had already jumped ship, gravitated to the wine, and was laughing with Pascoe and a group of twenty somethings.

  “I see Rufus is at home, you’re the only awkward one around here. Let’s get you a glass of the most excellent fendant” he said sarcastically. Gustav loathed fendant, ‘it’s for grandmothers and the blue rinse brigade’ he’d always maintained. But fendant is what the Swiss serve on these occasions, so fendant it was. Dominique waved from the other side of the room; I waved back. The inside of the Scierie was basic, utilitarian, a large space filled with tables and benches; places set for lunch.

  “There you go old dear” he said handing me a glass, a little too full. Dominique signalled vigorously for Gustav to come over; “duty calls” and he was gone. I looked around the sea of faces; people looked away as I made eye contact. ‘Where to begin’ I thought to myself. I could see an elderly man and woman sitting in the corner of the room; neither one spoke, or moved very much. I made my way over, ‘this could be Luke and Janine’ I thought to myself.

  I put out my hand “Leo Dix”. Luke shook my hand; Janine just nodded and said “I know, you look just like your father.” Luke just stared at me and sat motionless listening. Janine wanted to talk, she was frail in body, but her mind was sharp and her memory good. She asked a great deal about her niece, Emily, you could see the fondness in the stories she told about her. I kept the conversation light and positive, now was not the time to discuss my father’s death, but like all old people, she didn’t stand on ceremony, or perhaps she’d forgotten where she was.

  “The police are interviewing me at home next week. They’ve reopened the case on your father’s disappearance.” She said.

  “Probably because it’s not a disappearance anymore.”

  “No it’s definitely a murder enquiry” she said. “You found the body” she looked at me accusingly.

  “Now’s not the time to talk about this”. A strong and angered voice said from behind me. I turned to see who it was. A man, probably in his late 60’s, looked at Janine.

  I stood up from the crouching position I’d adopted, I was probably a foot taller than the man.

  “You’re right, but it’s never a good time to talk about murder,” I stressed the word murder, drawing it out and looking at him straight between the eyes.

  “I’m.......”

  “I know who you are” he said interrupting me. “Save your questions for another place another time,” he turned and left.

  As I turned back to talk to Janine I could see two women helping her to her feet and guiding her to the table for something to eat.

  I wandered over to Pascoe and Rufus, “who’s that?” I nodded towards the man
in the corner of the room.

  “Mattieau, my Grandfather’s brother, and your grandmother’s brother” he said turning to Rufus.

  ‘So that was Uncle Mattieau’ I thought, ‘I guess he’s entitled to be a bit pissed off, it is his granddaughter’s engagement party’. His hostility had been obvious, probably the same kind of animosity my father had experienced.

  Mattieau had blanked me; I’d already touched base with Janine and Luke, and felt a need to see Janine again; she had been the most forthcoming. I had a pleasant exchange with Catherine, who I promised to invite up to the chalet; after all she had helped a great deal with the planning. Remy, Dom’s father, said hello again, but as father of the bride was too busy entertaining to be pinned down. The only ones that I hadn’t met, or even seen were my uncle Marc, and my cousins Raphy and Pierre.

  I moved over to Pascoe, “I’ve never met your father, grandfather, and uncle. Can you point me in the right direction?”

  “Uncle Pierre is at the cow sheds, he’s not into things like this” he said gesturing with his hand. “But dad’s here somewhere, ah there’s Grandfather” he said pointing to a figure on the cobbles outside.

  I strode out “Uncle Marc. I’m Leo Dix.” His handshake was firm, he looked younger than his brother, perhaps mid 60’s, but I knew his age; two years less than my mother .....73. He was dressed in a dark grey jacket and grey trousers. A pale blue shirt and maroon tie. He wore a Swiss flag on his lapel, in recognition of the national holiday.

  “I was wondering when we would meet.” He said with warmth in his voice. ‘A better start than with Mattieau’ I thought. He was keen to talk, and questioned me extensively about his sister Emily.

  “After Lucian’s disappearance, she fell out of love with the mountains, with Switzerland and her family”, he said. “She seemed to hold us responsible”.

  I couldn’t resist asking “Why do you think that was?”

  He just raised his palms upwards “who knows?”

  Pierre I knew to be fixing the cow sheds, although this seemed to be taking an inordinate amount of time. Raphy seemed to have vanished from the party. It remained a possibility that these two had been a part of my welcoming committee; and this made me feel uncomfortable about Rufus’s buddy Pascoe.... I gave myself a reality check...‘Wake up and smell the coffee Leo; for Christ’s sake Raphy’s his father, Pascoe could be right up to his neck in this shit........... he might seem like a great bloke but keep a clear head.’

  We sat down to the bread, cheese and meat. Gustav needed moral support so invited me to sit next to him.

  “What do you think then?” He said.

  “I think you’re a very lucky man, she’s a star.”

  He looked pleased with himself. A little uncertain of his new extended family, but what did that matter.

  I said my farewells, and walked briskly through the village. I left Rufus to the delights of the fendant, and a very attentive girl.

  I patted my pockets to locate the mobile.

  “Pascal, Leo here; I think there’s a good chance that the two men who attacked me when I first arrived are Raphy and Pierre Von Arx, my cousins for fuck’s sake. They fit the age profile and seem to be avoiding me.”

  “They’re due with me on the 14th” he said. “There must be some photographs you can check; just to be sure.”

  “Perhaps Janine or Luke could show me something” I said.

  “I’m not sure that we could bring them in any sooner than that; they’ve agreed to cooperate. If you make a positive ID we’ll come straight up, make arrests, and see if we can scare something out of them.”

  “I’ll let you know;” I terminated the call.

  As I walked up through the village the chalets thinned out finally being replaced by a mix of pine and larch. A lone biker rode along the path towards me. The bike slowed and the rider dismounted.

  “I thought I might see you coming back from the party” she said.

  We chatted for five minutes or so; quite comfortable.

  “Simone.”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you like to come up and see the chalet? Say next weekend, perhaps lunch?”

  “I’d love to, but I can’t next weekend, group training session, how about the 14th?”

  We pushed one another’s numbers into the mobiles and she agreed to bring a cake.

  I felt certain that I would recognise Raphy and Pierre. I wasn’t going to wait for the best part of two weeks to formally ID them with Pascal. So early the next morning, before Rufus had surfaced and the village had awoke, I pulled on my running gear and headed down to look for Raphy. If it was him he’d be easy to recognise.

  The baker’s was open and the lady behind the counter pointed me in the direction of Raphy’s chalet. I jogged over, aware that my enquiry had almost certainly alerted him to my presence. The chalet stood alone, small and black with every available ledge or balcony covered in window boxes and baskets all full with red geraniums. The contrast of the red on black made them appear luxurious, ecclesiastical, deep red velvet came to mind. I braced myself as I knocked on the door. There was no reply. I knocked louder; a muffled sound; “just a minute, what’s happened?” He was in and probably asleep when the baker rang. The door opened. “Is there a problem? It’s a bit early.”

  “Sorry” I said, “Leo Dix” putting my hand out. “I didn’t get the chance to see you at the party yesterday; I didn’t want you to think I was being rude or anything. I just thought I should make my introductions. You are Raphy?”

  “Yes” he looked confused, and I needed to get out of there.

  “See you at the wedding, if not before” I waved and jogged off. It had been a dead end but a necessary embarrassment.

  It was early and I needed the training, so I decided to run to the cow sheds on Point de Lona to find Pierre and eliminate him from my immediate thoughts. I could call Pascal on the way. I zig zagged up the ski slopes, past chair lifts abandoned for the summer, roaming cows and mobile milking sheds. After two and a half hours of constant uphill the ground levelled off. I could see the cow sheds that Gustav had pointed out to me, about 2km away. As I approached I could see that a considerable amount of new work was under way. The roof had been replaced. The stonework extended, and a small accommodation block on the side looked as though it had been refurbished. If one man had carried out all this work, then he must have been flat out all summer. There was no sound, no obvious sign of life. “Pierre” I called, “Pierre” loud this time; nothing. The cow shed was empty. There was fresh straw on the floor. I moved over to the living quarters. I knocked on the door, “Pierre”. I lifted the latch, the door opened inwards. I looked in. It was dark, cool, ‘I don’t think anyone stayed here last night’ I thought. I went in. It was a mountain bedsit. Kitchen and stove on one side, bed, chair, and table on the other. The stove was cold. I looked around, but there was nothing to see, no draws of papers, no computer, no diary; ‘another dead end’ I thought. A curled photograph propped up in the window was my only find. A hunting trip; a stag lay on the ground between two men. Raphy was on one side, a stocky farmer on the other. If this was Pierre, then I’d never met him.

  I rang Pascal and broke the disappointing news.

  ELEVEN

  Once the funeral had been booked and the undertakers appointed, there really wasn’t much else to organise. I sorted the flowers with a very helpful woman in Vissoie and agreed the order of service with the priest. I’d informed Gustav and told him he might need a pass for the afternoon because Rufus and I intended to have a skin full at The Moiry, ‘every man should at his father’s funeral’ I’d said.

  The village was quiet when we arrived at 8.30am for the 9.00am service. I didn’t even know if my father had been a believer, but I was familiar with the Catholic way so had chosen to press on without asking myself too many questions.

  Rufus and I stood at the front of the church; I’d lit two candles for my mother and father and said a couple of ‘our fathers’ to
occupy my mind. Gustav arrived with Dominique and a couple of old ladies shuffled into the middle benches. Their usual spots I suspected.

  The coffin was born down the aisle by four men. It was probably the lightest coffin they’d had to carry for a while. I thought about the skeleton, should it have been buried alongside my mother, or would it have scared her half to death in the afterlife. My mind jumped about, the murder, the climb, life, Rufus and Simone; then it was my cue to say a few words.

  I stood up and walked to the front.

  “It’s difficult for me to say much about Lucian Dix because I know very little. I do know that my mother loved him dearly and that it broke her heart when he disappeared.” I looked up; Rufus, Gustav, and Dominique were all listening. The old ladies were kneeling and running off a couple of rosaries. At the back of the church I could see Janine had made it, a representative of the family, I hadn’t expected that. There was one other person kneeling at the back, head bowed, I continued, drawing on the photographs I had seen in the police files; “they were happy, excited at the prospect of having a baby and unfortunately for all of us it ended abruptly.” As I looked up I saw that it was Simone kneeling at the back, head now raised. In that moment I felt vulnerable, I felt the weight of my mother’s death, the murder of my father, all because Simone was staring at me encouraging me. I swallowed hard and finished, “I believe that my mother will rest a little more easily now that we have been able to give Lucian a proper burial, and god willing we can find out who did this.” I’d put in the last line for Janine’s benefit. Just to let her know that at 93 god was still on her case.

  The service finished and I went out to thank everyone for coming. The old dears shook my hand and said ‘god bless you’, Janine was being loaded into a car for the 200 metre journey to her front door. Simone seemed to have disappeared.

  It was just me Rufus and Gustav standing by the hole in the graveyard, as they lowered the body. The earth was thrown back on top as we watched in silence.