Research by Philip Kerr Read Free Book Online Page A

exactly what was known that he wanted me to know.
    ‘A week last Friday night, Mr and Mrs Houston had dinner at Joël Robuchon, where they were regulars.’
    ‘Somewhere else I can’t afford.’
    Amalric nodded. ‘While they were there they argued. It was a violent argument. Blows were exchanged. The maître d’ at the restaurant says that Mr Houston twisted his wife’s ear. The doorman says that Mrs Houston hit him with her bag. Soon after this they left, with Mrs Houston in tears. He drove them back to the Tour Odéon in her cream Ferrari. At around 10.30 Mrs Houston took a sleeping pill and they went to bed. Then, sometime between midnight and six o’clock that morning, she was shot at point-blank range in the forehead while she lay in bed. We think he probably got out of bed, fetched a gun and shot her while she was asleep. There’s a burn mark on the skin of her forehead.’
    ‘There’s no exit wound,’ I remarked. ‘On the news they said it was a nine-millimetre. Only that can’t be right. But for the fact that I know this woman I might say it almost looks like a neat job. There’s hardly a hair out of place on this body. A nine-mill bullet would certainly have blown off the back of her skull, not to mention the fact that the pillow would have been covered in blood.’ I shrugged. ‘By the way, that’s the writer in me talking, not the murder suspect. Just so you know.’
    ‘You’re right,’ said Amalric. ‘It wasn’t a nine-millimetre pistol that killed her.’
    Amalric glanced over the top of the iPad and, with a neatly manicured finger, moved the picture on to a shot ofa smallish pistol. ‘That’s a Walther 22-calibre automatic,’ he said. ‘The same kind of gun that probably shot Mrs Houston. Mr Houston bought just such a gun in Monaco six months ago. We think it was probably bought for and owned by her. It’s now the only gun missing from what was, after all, a substantial gun cabinet.’
    I glanced again at the dead dogs, where considerably more blood was in evidence. It looked like a photograph from a press ad for the RSPCA.
    ‘The Walther has a ten-shot magazine,’ said Amalric. ‘He used four more shots on the dogs, possibly to silence them, I don’t know.’
    ‘Four shots? Then I’d say whoever shot the dogs enjoyed it.’
    ‘Why do you say so, monsieur?’
    ‘They were small dogs. Two shots for each one. That’s a little excessive. Like he was making sure they were dead. But to be quite frank with you, I think he might have enjoyed it, because I know that I would have enjoyed it. Those two dogs were a bloody nuisance. Not just the noise they made. But the hair they left on your clothes. Nor were they properly house-trained. John was always stepping on the crap they left around the house. It used to drive him mad that they weren’t properly house-trained and so he did his best to have nothing to do with them.’
    ‘I thought all English people love dogs,’ said Amalric.
    ‘Whatever gave you that idea? Anyway, I’m Scottish. And I thought they were a bloody nuisance.’
    ‘Then perhaps the real motive behind her murder was to kill the dogs,’ said Savigny. ‘The husband shoots the wife because he really wants to shoot the dogs.’
    Amalric shot him an impatient sort of look.
    ‘Stranger things have happened,’ said the younger policeman.
    Amalric shrugged. ‘At about 8.30 on Saturday morning the concierge knocked on Houston’s door and gave him the English newspapers. According to him Houston seemed quite normal. Neither Mr nor Mrs Houston was seen all day, but that wasn’t unusual. At around 5.30 in the evening Houston left the building on foot. He was out until about 7.30. He remained in the Tower until about midnight, when he went away in his Range Rover. He hasn’t been seen since. Meanwhile the body of Mrs Houston was found on Tuesday morning by the maid.’
    ‘Why not suicide?’ I asked.
    ‘The dogs, monsieur. Why would she kill her own pet