Fatale by Jean-Patrick Manchette Read Free Book Online Page A

quickly as they could, vociferating, falling over their feet, waving their arms, and shaking their heads. Cries for help went up: “Sinistrat!” “Doctor!” After a moment Sinistrat arrived from the direction of the barns and pushed his way through the people. Aimée noticed that he had misbuttoned his fly. He undid the clothing of the tiny corpse, sounded the chest, and attempted mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, but he could not revive the child.
    â€œHe’s dead,” declared Sinistrat.
    The mother’s cries redoubled. She had to be pacified. All the groups of guests had broken up. People were banging into one another. Between two shoulders Aimée caught a brief glimpse of the dead baby’s red face. She immediately experienced a violent stomach cramp and her teeth began to chatter.
    â€œI want—I want to leave,” she said to Lindquist.
    The realtor looked at her impatiently, not understanding and making no reply. Aimée walked around him and crossed the orchard on the diagonal. She ran into Sonia Lorque, who tried to take her arm. Aimée stamped her foot on the grass, pulled free of the blonde-haired woman, and hastened towards the end of the paddock. The cries of the mother had ceased after an injection from Sinistrat. Behind the tables with their tablecloths and unopened bottles, women in gaily colored clothes were all weeping. As she went through the open gate, Aimée was striding firmly, almost running.
    She covered a kilometer before fully collecting herself. She was still trembling a little. She looked out for a roadside distance marker. The sky was clouding over. After a while she found what she was seeking: a stone marked BLÉVILLE 3.5 KM. She kept on walking, rubbing her arms. She was wearing a flower-patterned silk dress that came down to just below the knee and a white wool jacket with her shoulder bag slung across her chest. It began to rain, just a little at first but then heavily. In a few minutes the young woman was soaked and her curls all gone. An ancient black Renault 4CV came along, its wings dented and dappled with dull orange paint. The car braked, and water sprayed across the crumbling roadway. At the wheel was Baron Jules. He opened the door and signaled to Aimée to come over. She did so without thinking about it. The man got out of the 4CV and went around to open the front passenger door. He held it open as Aimée stood immobile.
    â€œI won’t eat you,” said the baron.
    Aimée got into the car. In the confined interior she was obliged to pull her knees up high, exposing them. She pulled at her dress to cover them once more. Baron Jules was back behind the wheel. The 4CV set off again.
    â€œThe baby died,” said Aimée.
    â€œWhat’s that you say?”
    â€œA baby died. Not the one being baptized. Another baby. Belonging to a peasant woman. He vomited and then died.”
    â€œCalm yourself,” said Baron Jules. “Take deep breaths.”
    He speeded up while on the highway, then slowed and turned into a narrow, graveled minor road running straight across fields of stubble. The suspension of the 4CV was very poor and its wiper blades very worn. Through the rain clusters of trees and an oddly spiral church steeple could be vaguely discerned. They reached a hamlet. Baron Jules braked and drove the 4CV through a white double gate, which was open, and down a broad drive. The whitewash on the gate was flaking badly. Beyond lay a very large garden and a kind of manor, a tiny manor burdened down with Lilliputian pepper-pot and pinnacle turrets. The garden had once been in the French manner but had clearly not been kept up for many years. With a squealing of tires on gravel, the 4CV drew up before a double staircase flanked by a pebble-dash balustrade.
    â€œI want to go home,” said Aimée. She shook herself. “I don’t feel well. Take me back into town.”
    â€œYou’ve had a shock,” said