The Analysis

The supermarket on the main concourse of Antibes-les-Pins was filled with a bounty of attractive merchandise: plates of charcuterie, olive breads, pyramids of a new super-detergent, dory and gurnard fresh enough for the surf to twinkle on their scales.

But there were no customers. The residents of the high-security complex might have retreated so deeply into their defensible space that they had eliminated the need for food, bread and wine. The advertising displays in the estate office overlooking the roundabout on the RN7 had the look of museum tableaux, and the artist's impression of a concourse as crowded as the Champs-Elysées, lined with boutiques and thronged by high-spending customers, seemed to describe a forgotten twentieth-century world.

Only the cyber-café next door was serving any customers. The computer terminals facing the bar were out of use, but three bikers in metallized boots and Mad Max leathers sat at the outdoor tables.

They formed a feral presence in the hyper-modern complex, like carrion-birds on a skyscraper cornice, filling an unplanned niche in the ecology of the future.

The supermarket might have been empty, but the retinal impact of its deserted aisles still surprised me. In the week since putting away the hypodermic syringe my senses had sharpened, as if an anaesthetized world had woken up and seized me in its grip.

Reality had come into sudden focus, and for the first time in many months I was reaching into levels of my mind that had been closed like the floors of an empty telephone exchange. Each morning, after Jane left for the clinic, I drew a measure of painkiller from the phial that she prepared for me, then vented the pale liquid into the washbasin. Curiously, not only was my mind clearer, but the pain in my knee had eased. For once, Alice 's example had not been the best to follow…

I saw Isabel Duval as soon as she entered the supermarket.

Disguised in a headscarf and dark glasses, she hovered like an inexperienced shoplifter beside a display of gourmet cat food.

She was pale and self-possessed, but glanced warily over her shoulder as if sensing a pursuer, only to realize that she had seen herself in a display mirror.

I was glad to meet her again. After speaking on the phone, I mailed the small package to her from a post office in Le Cannet, and expected her to take a month or more to deal with it. But she contacted me within the week.

'Madame Duval… you look well.' I held her hand before she could draw it away from me. 'It's good of you to help me.'

'Not at all…' She peered at me over her sunglasses, unsettled by my restless and eager manner. 'I'm happy to do what I can. You were David's friend.'

'Exactly. I'm still concerned for him. That's why I thought of you. There's a café next door – we'll be less conspicuous.'

We passed a shallow tank filled with lobsters, sidling around each other like airliners looking for a runway. I took Madame Duval's arm and steered her towards the entrance. She frowned at the bikers lounging in the sun, irritated by their presence on her doorstep.

'Mr Sinclair, these young men… are they messengers?'

'Let's hope not. I hate to think what the message might be.'

We sat down at the empty tables, and I ordered mineral water from the waitress. 'Madame Duval, there's no reason why we shouldn't meet.'

'No?' She sounded doubtful.

'My wife was a colleague of David's, and you're one of the last people who knew him well. Now, you have the analysis with you?'

'As I promised.' She took off her glasses, her eyes turned inward as she thought about Greenwood. 'When we met, you were looking into the events around David's death. Can I ask if you found anything?'

'Nothing, to be honest. Everyone liked him.'

'That's good. He was an admirable doctor.' She ventured a sip of water. 'Time stands still at Antibes-les-Pins. But the dead go on opening doors in our minds.'

'Isabel, please – the analysis?'

'Forgive me.' She took an envelope from her handbag and drew out a sheet of typewritten paper. 'First, can I ask why you came to me?'

'I didn't want to involve the clinic. One never knows what complications might follow.'

'Any pharmacy would have arranged the analysis. There must be fifty in Cannes.'

'True. But I had no idea what was in the sample. An ordinary pharmacy might contact the police. It struck me that you would know of a suitable laboratory, one that would be…'

'Discreet?' Madame Duval shook her head, finding me a clumsy conspirator. 'What was the source of this phial?'

'I found it in the house.' Doing my best to lie fluently, I said: 'It was among David's old things. It might give a clue to his mood. If he suffered from diabetes…'

'He didn't. I contacted a small laboratory in Nice. David used them for special preparations before the clinic expanded. I may say that the chief pharmacist was surprised.'

'Why?'

'It's an unusual cocktail.' She put on her reading glasses and scanned the sheet. 'There were vitamins, B group and E, an anti-inflammatory preparation and a postoperative painkiller.'

'Good.' I thought of Jane putting together this potion, measuring the constituents like a mother preparing her baby's feed.

'Then it's in order?'

'Not exactly.' Madame Duval placed the sheet on the table, watching me warily as I fiddled with my mineral water. 'They were in very low concentrations, only fifteen per cent of the total. The remaining eighty-five per cent was made up of a powerful tranquillizer, amitryptiline. It's used as a long-term sedative in mental hospitals.'

I took the analysis from her and studied the French orthography with its vagrant decimal points. 'That sounds like a large dose.'

'Very. Assuming five ccs per day, the patient would find himself in a cloudy world like a steam bath. Nothing would bother him, either internally or from surrounding events.'

'It sounds useful.'

'For people under stress, or faced with a mental crisis they are unwilling to resolve.' Madame Duval provided a judicious pause. 'It's unusual to prescribe such a powerful tranquillizer for people in postoperative pain. Surgical patients are encouraged to move about, not sit in a chair all day.'

'There might be other reasons…' I took the analysis sheet and tucked it into my pocket. 'I'm grateful, Madame Duval. You've been a huge help.'

'I don't think so.' She steadied the table as my left knee bounced up and down. 'You're still happy at Eden-Olympia?'

'On the whole, yes.'

'It's a demanding place. Everything seems clear, but… at least pain sharpens the mind.'

I shook her hand warmly, glad that I did not have to spell everything out for this intelligent woman.

When we left the café the bikers were rearranging their legs around the open-air tables. Madame Duval stepped over an outstretched boot, but I waited for its owner to beat a loose heel plate against the pavement. As I leaned against the door I noticed a sandy-haired man with a straw hat in his hand, standing near a parked Renault.

Printed notices intended to pacify the police and traffic wardens were peeling from the inner surface of the windscreen, hinting that the driver was a doctor or vet on urgent call. He turned his back to the café, and perused a map of the Côte d'Azur.

'Meldrum…' I recognized the Australian manager of Riviera News. He was watching Isabel Duval's reflection in the car's passenger window, and I guessed that he already knew who would follow her from the cyber-café.

I paid my respects to Madame Duval, and waited until she reached the entrance to her apartment wing. Walking to the car-park lift I saw that Meldrum was now sitting in the Renault fifty yards from the garage exit.

I rode the lift down to the lower level, where the Jaguar was parked. When I opened the driver's door a card fell to the floor at my feet. Someone had unlocked the door and then carefully closed it, trapping the card against the sill. Only one person had a spare set of the Jaguar's keys. I read: Paul, leave the Jaguar here. My car is parked in the next aisle with the roof up. Keys under your seat. Try not to be seen as you drive out. We'll meet in the Church of La Garoupe by the lighthouse on Cap d'Antibes.

Дата добавления: 2015-09-07