body, if that’s what you mean. But we do have this.’ He reached into his pocket and took out the button he’d found at the crash scene. It was wrapped in a fold of paper. Without showing the priest what it was, he asked, ‘Did Pantoufle have a full set of teeth?’
Father Maurice looked surprised by the question, butrecovered quickly. ‘Um … yes, he did. Well, nearly a full set. There were a few gaps here and there, now I come to think of it.’ He looked at Claude for support. Claude nodded but said nothing. ‘Men of his lifestyle don’t, always. Hygiene and self-care are not high on their agendas and Pantoufle … well, he was eccentric and disconnected, I think one might call it. But he was no different in that respect. Why?’
Rocco unwrapped the button and placed it on the table. It lay there, winking in the daylight. He had cleaned off the worst of the blood and mud.
‘Goodness.’ It was obvious by his expression that Father Maurice recognised the button instantly. He crossed himself with an economic flick of his thumb, an instinctive warding off of evil. ‘Where did you get this?’
‘You recognise it?’
‘Yes, I do. It was one of several on the old man’s jacket.’ He stared at Rocco. ‘I know what you’re going to ask, Inspector: why should I recognise a simple button?’
‘And I hope you’re going to tell me.’
‘It’s very easy. One of our helpers, a wonderful woman – she used to be a mission worker in Gabon – noticed one day that Pantoufle had lost all the buttons from his jacket. He had a habit of twisting them – a bit like a child does when anxious – until they fell off. Anyway, she came in one Friday, when we were giving out food, and persuaded him to take off his jacket so she could replace the buttons. He wasn’t keen to begin with, but she showed him these birthday buttons from a child’s coat that was too damaged to give away, and he agreed. She sewed them on using fishing line so he couldn’t twist them off.’ He stared downat the button and pushed it with the tip of his finger. ‘Where did you find it? Could it have fallen off and he’s out there wandering—’
‘I’m sorry, Father,’ Rocco interrupted him. This wasn’t a family matter and he saw no point in pretending there was any great chance of finding the missing vagrant alive. Besides, experience told him that most people preferred the truth rather than false hope. ‘We found it at the scene of a car crash. There was no sign of a body, but the indications are that he might have been hit by a car or a truck.’
‘Indications? Inspector, come on – I used to do work in Africa. I’m not going to faint with shock.’
‘There was a lot of blood.’
‘I see.’ A repeat flick of the hand as Father Maurice crossed himself. ‘I’ll say a prayer for him this evening.’
‘Do whatever you think is best.’ Rocco finished his coffee and scooped up the button. He would have to speak to Simeon again; the man might recall seeing Pantoufle in the area just before the crash. ‘Only I don’t think prayer’s done him a lot of good so far.’
CHAPTER TEN
‘Do you think that’s it?’ said Claude, once they were outside. ‘It’s just one button.’
‘You tell me.’ Rocco led the way back to the car. ‘What’s your instinct?’
Claude puffed and clambered into the passenger seat with a sigh. ‘Yes, you’re right. He was too much a man of habit to miss some free food.’ He stared out of the window towards the church. ‘I’d still like to find him, though. It doesn’t feel right, him being out there somewhere.’
‘Same here.’ Rocco started the car. ‘I’d also like to find out how he died.’
Claude said, ‘You don’t like the clergy much, do you?’
‘I’ve never found one I’d care to share a car with, no.’
Claude’s eyebrows shot up and down, and he smiled. ‘Thanks – I’ll take that as a compliment.’ He turned on the radio and began spinning the dial.
As they
Father Maurice looked surprised by the question, butrecovered quickly. ‘Um … yes, he did. Well, nearly a full set. There were a few gaps here and there, now I come to think of it.’ He looked at Claude for support. Claude nodded but said nothing. ‘Men of his lifestyle don’t, always. Hygiene and self-care are not high on their agendas and Pantoufle … well, he was eccentric and disconnected, I think one might call it. But he was no different in that respect. Why?’
Rocco unwrapped the button and placed it on the table. It lay there, winking in the daylight. He had cleaned off the worst of the blood and mud.
‘Goodness.’ It was obvious by his expression that Father Maurice recognised the button instantly. He crossed himself with an economic flick of his thumb, an instinctive warding off of evil. ‘Where did you get this?’
‘You recognise it?’
‘Yes, I do. It was one of several on the old man’s jacket.’ He stared at Rocco. ‘I know what you’re going to ask, Inspector: why should I recognise a simple button?’
‘And I hope you’re going to tell me.’
‘It’s very easy. One of our helpers, a wonderful woman – she used to be a mission worker in Gabon – noticed one day that Pantoufle had lost all the buttons from his jacket. He had a habit of twisting them – a bit like a child does when anxious – until they fell off. Anyway, she came in one Friday, when we were giving out food, and persuaded him to take off his jacket so she could replace the buttons. He wasn’t keen to begin with, but she showed him these birthday buttons from a child’s coat that was too damaged to give away, and he agreed. She sewed them on using fishing line so he couldn’t twist them off.’ He stared downat the button and pushed it with the tip of his finger. ‘Where did you find it? Could it have fallen off and he’s out there wandering—’
‘I’m sorry, Father,’ Rocco interrupted him. This wasn’t a family matter and he saw no point in pretending there was any great chance of finding the missing vagrant alive. Besides, experience told him that most people preferred the truth rather than false hope. ‘We found it at the scene of a car crash. There was no sign of a body, but the indications are that he might have been hit by a car or a truck.’
‘Indications? Inspector, come on – I used to do work in Africa. I’m not going to faint with shock.’
‘There was a lot of blood.’
‘I see.’ A repeat flick of the hand as Father Maurice crossed himself. ‘I’ll say a prayer for him this evening.’
‘Do whatever you think is best.’ Rocco finished his coffee and scooped up the button. He would have to speak to Simeon again; the man might recall seeing Pantoufle in the area just before the crash. ‘Only I don’t think prayer’s done him a lot of good so far.’
CHAPTER TEN
‘Do you think that’s it?’ said Claude, once they were outside. ‘It’s just one button.’
‘You tell me.’ Rocco led the way back to the car. ‘What’s your instinct?’
Claude puffed and clambered into the passenger seat with a sigh. ‘Yes, you’re right. He was too much a man of habit to miss some free food.’ He stared out of the window towards the church. ‘I’d still like to find him, though. It doesn’t feel right, him being out there somewhere.’
‘Same here.’ Rocco started the car. ‘I’d also like to find out how he died.’
Claude said, ‘You don’t like the clergy much, do you?’
‘I’ve never found one I’d care to share a car with, no.’
Claude’s eyebrows shot up and down, and he smiled. ‘Thanks – I’ll take that as a compliment.’ He turned on the radio and began spinning the dial.
As they
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