“I get it, Detective Chief Inspector. You do not like to dwell on things you cannot comprehend. You like to think that you are in control. You ignore or ridicule what you do not understand, rather than face up to the possibility that the world is a place filled with magic and wonder.”
“Aye. That’s a fairly accurate description, son. Well done. Very insightful. Sit down.”
“Ah, non. Apologies, Detective Chief Inspector Logan, but I have other appointments to attend to.”
“Other appointments? I don’t care what other appointments you’ve got. They’re cancelled.”
André laughed. “You are a funny man, monsieur. But I am not under arrest. This is not an official interview. This is just a conversation, oui? Two little motes of stardust briefly crossing paths, neither one bound to the other. I am free to leave at any time, I think.”
Logan felt his back teeth grinding together. He swallowed, forcing down a big wad of anger that was threatening to burst out of him. “I’d appreciate it if you stayed a little longer, Mr Douville.”
“Ah. Were it only possible. Alas, my other appointments are too pressing.” He turned away—turned his back on the DCI—without anything in any way resembling permission.
Fortunately, for his sake, he turned back just a second later.
“You may not believe that the dead can talk to us, Detective Chief Inspector. But Bernie did. And he was hoping to hear from someone. Someone who had been very close to him, I think.” He started to turn again, then stopped. “I think grief does funny things to people. It affects them in different ways. Some become cold. Angry. They bury themselves in their work, and distance themselves from others for fear of losing someone else, and feeling that pain again.”
His eyes flicked up and down, giving Logan a very pointed once over.
“Others, they do the opposite. They throw themselves into life with a new joie de vivre. They embrace those they love. They hold them tight, and they live every last moment.” André interlocked his fingers in a relaxed clasp, and let them fall to his waist. “Bernie lost someone, but he chose neither of these paths. He became something else, I think.”
“A nutter, you mean?”
“Lost, I think. Lost in a fantasy world of his own creation.”
The words ‘pot’ and ‘kettle’ had rarely been more appropriate, Logan thought, but he resisted the temptation to say so, and went for a more subtle approach.
“Was that what happened to you? Did you get ‘lost,’ Mr Douville?”
André’s smile widened. “Quite the opposite, Detective Chief Inspector. Moi? I was found.”
“Well, lucky you,” Logan remarked.
“Oui. Most fortunate,” André agreed. He inhaled through his nose, held it like he was wringing every last drop of oxygen from it, then blew whatever was left out through his mouth. “But I would like to help you, Detective Chief Inspector Logan. I may be able to talk to someone who can provide some information for your case.”
“And who would that be?”
“It is best that I do not make any promises. Let me come back later. Perhaps… around six? Then… we will see what happens.”
“How about you just give me their details, and I’ll talk to them myself?”
“Aha. Non. Non, Detective Chief Inspector,” André said, and his voice was a sing-song of barely contained amusement. “I’m afraid he will only talk to me.”
“Is it Bernie?”
“Pardon?”
“Is it Bernie?” Logan asked again. The look on his face suggested it had bloody well better not be, but André was apparently oblivious to the signals.
“Ah, well worked out! Oui. I am hoping to—”
Logan, who had already been towering above the man in the robes, grew taller. He positively swelled, in fact, until he appeared to fill the room.
“A word of advice, son,” he said. “If you come back here and try telling me some magic bloody woo-woo about ghosts talking to you, I’m going to arrest you for wasting police time. Is that clear?”
“I would have thought that you would appreciate all the help you could—”
“Is. That. Clear?”
André finally took the hint and conceded with a nod. “Very well, Detective Chief Inspector. Should Bernie contact me from beyond the veil, I shall keep his secrets to myself.”
“Good. I appreciate that,” Logan said. He waved a hand to dismiss the other man, before remembering a question that Ben had wanted him to ask. “Oh, one final thing. Bernie. Did he wear any jewellery?”