Page 29 of The Midnight Carousel
The following day, Laurent sends a telegram to Constable Segal in Paris before departing for Silver Kingdom.
Arriving at the amusement park a few minutes after opening time, he struggles to make his way through the crowd.
There are so many more people here than he has ever seen in any French fairground, and with a vaster array of amusements.
Trust the Americans to want things bigger and better than anywhere else in the world.
Turning north-eastwards, he heads for the carousel to talk to Arnold and watch the ride on a normal working day.
The disturbed blankets unsettle Laurent.
If it is a relevant discovery, the chances that Beau Armitage is Victor’s accomplice are greatly diminished, since the man is in custody.
Before flagging the matter with Agent O’Connell, however, he must rule out other possibilities.
Perhaps Arnold had reason to rearrange the knot, or he saw someone else doing so.
Perhaps in the hurly-burly to get on and off the platform, the crowd accidentally loosened the covering.
Some might say that he is making too much of this matter, but in Laurent’s experience it is little details like this that often solve a crime.
Possibly the accomplice unwittingly left behind a crucial piece of evidence and returned to retrieve it.
Yesterday evening it was too dark to notice anything of value, but whatever it is could still be there.
He passes Wild Bill’s Rootin’ Tootin’ Shootin’ the Bad Guys , where metal cut-outs of famous bandits are taken down with rifles, then Quacks-a-Daisy , which appears to be an entertainment involving hooking wooden ducks on a long pole, run by a trio of Armenian sisters.
Approaching the coconut shy, he is taken back to the summer day more than thirty years ago with the sun glinting off the metal struts of the merry-go-round and the lapping water of the nearby Seine and the shiny bruises like purple bracelets on his mother’s wrists.
‘I’ll wager you two dollars that I can knock more coconuts off than you,’ Sir Malcolm barks.
He has appeared beside Laurent, his large eyebrows arched. Given the state of the man last night, Laurent is staggered to see him up and about with an almost normal visage. The only giveaway is the unmistakable pungent smell of liquor that surrounds him.
‘It is an irresistible bet,’ Laurent replies, rolling up his shirtsleeves.
Sir Malcolm grunts. ‘As all good bets should be.’
With a steady hand, Laurent aims and throws. The ball glances the middle coconut, which holds firm in its place. He tries and fails with the second ball, then the third. After the fourth, he gives up.
Fingers trembling, Sir Malcolm drops the first ball at his feet.
‘That doesn’t count as a throw,’ Laurent offers generously.
‘As you wish.’
Sir Malcolm picks up the ball, hurls it through the air and slices a coconut free with a loud crack. There is a cheer from onlookers as another two coconuts tumble to the ground with the next three balls.
‘Years of cricket, old chap,’ Sir Malcolm explains, patting Laurent on the back.
‘And there I thought I would have you with my pétanque skills,’ Laurent replies while he fishes in his jacket for his wallet.
‘No, no,’ Sir Malcolm insists. ‘It was an imaginary bet.’ He removes two cigars from his pocket and offers one to Laurent, who declines. ‘So what brings you to Silver Kingdom? Didn’t you get enough of us last night?’
Lighting up, Sir Malcolm puffs clouds of fragrant smoke into the air.
‘How could anyone tire of the beauty of this place?’ Laurent says, sweeping his hands in the general direction of the lake.
‘True, true,’ the older man agrees. ‘But really? Why are you here?’
He looks at Laurent, his gaze probing. Laurent keeps his own eyes cool and steady. Under normal circumstances, he would simply shrug and claim that this is private police business and there is nothing further that he is able to disclose. But this is not France.
‘I know for a fact that the blankets around the horse have been disturbed. The knot I used to secure it is unusual. It is something that needs looking into.’
Sir Malcolm pauses puffing. He motions for Laurent to follow him to a quiet nook at the rear of the popcorn stand.
‘And why is that?’
‘Because it might eliminate a suspect. As was discussed last night, the tailor was known by many people, not just Mr Armitage.’
Sir Malcolm’s eyebrows knit into a frown.
‘Look here, Laurent, you were invited to dinner in a friendly capacity, not to snoop. One of the agents at the Bureau has told me that you closed the case in France. Let me remind you that they are in charge in America.’ His jaw twitches in what Laurent takes to be a warning signal.
‘Wouldn’t you prefer to go back to your family, rather than bother yourself with a couple of children who have likely been abducted by some local lunatic? ’
Laurent feels heat rush to the back of his neck. Does the man really care more about his business than the fate of the missing persons?
‘If you are not concerned about the victims, you have only to say so.’
Sir Malcolm looks like he might explode.
‘Of course I’m damn well concerned,’ he bristles.
‘Of course.’ His mouth is drawn into a thin line.
Laurent can tell that the man is trying to rein in his emotions.
‘But if you’re going to be hanging around here, I must insist that you dress less like a detective; it’s off-putting to the customers.
’ He stabs his finger towards Laurent’s formal three-piece suit. ‘Immediately.’
Sir Malcolm stomps off. Rejoining the masses, Laurent is now acutely aware that he is conspicuous amongst the parade of light coloured, casual attire.
As he heads to the exit, his attention is caught by the sight of Maisie and James standing by the base of the helter-skelter.
It is easy to see that the pair are embroiled in a heated discussion of their own.
As Laurent watches Maisie attempt to get away from James, he feels an unexpected surge of annoyance that the man has been pestering her.