The way he addressed her informally, even though he hadn’t seen her for twenty-seven years. Talking about Orsu as if he were a rescue dog. Making himself out to be some kind of benevolent pope while Clotilde couldn’t rid herself of the image of the little sod who’d persecuted lizards, frogs, and any other poor animal unfortunate enough to fall into the spotty torturer’s clutches.

*

There were four of them, leaning over the tiny safe in the bungalow. Only Valou was sitting to one side on a chair, headphones in, painting her toenails. Cervone had no qualms about staring at her thighs.

Lecherous, obsequious, pretentious, Clotilde corrected herself mentally. She had picked the right three words, but the wrong way round. Orsu, his enormous bulk bent over the steel cube, tried the keys with his one working hand, studied the lock, checked the bolt, the striking plate, the cylinders. Cervone watched over his shoulder.

‘Sorry, Clotilde,’ the manager of the campsite said at last. ‘There’s no sign of it having been forced. Are you really sure that your wallet was inside?’

Clotilde’s brain was boiling. Had they spread the word? Franck and Cervone, her man and the man who disgusted her more than anyone else in the world. Clotilde merely nodded. Cervone thought for a moment.

‘Was there any money in it?’

‘A little.’

‘And your daughter knew the code?’

Cervone was very direct. Compared to him Franck was a diplomat.

‘Yes, but …’

Clotilde was about to protest, but behind them Valou had risen to her feet.

‘If I’d wanted to steal money from my parents, I’d have pinched Papa’s wallet.’

Cervone burst out laughing.

‘Good answer! That more or less gets you off the hook.’

More than anything else Clotilde hated the complicit smile that Valou exchanged with the owner of the campsite. Franck, behind them, simply seemed irritated.

‘So what are we going to do? Given that my wife tells you her wallet was inside this bloody safe?’

Thank you, Franck!

Cervone shrugged.

‘One way or another, if your documents are missing, then you’ll have to go to the police station anyway. And while you’re there, Clotilde, you can report the matter if you like.’

He smiled ambiguously, then added, ‘But don’t expect to see Cesareu at the station in Calvi. Your old friend retired a few years ago. I don’t know who’s there now. Officers only spend three years here before heading off to the mainland.’

Hagrid was still studying the safe. Checking every part of the mechanism in the lock. He didn’t seem to understand. Clotilde inwardly thanked him for not settling for appearances.

She was sure of one thing.

That wallet had been there yesterday, so someone had taken it.

But why?

Who?

Someone who knew the code or had the key to the safe.

9

Saturday, 12 August 1989, sixth day of the holidays
Midnight-blue sky

You know what?