Blond Baboon Read Online Free PDF Page A

his stomach. I took a sample and had it tested by the laboratory. It contained arsenic, a big dose. The particulars are in my report.”
    “Yes? And then?”
    “Miss Carnet said that the dog usually plays by himself in the garden when her mother and she are out. They had been out for lunch, and when she came back she found Paul, that’s his name, in the kitchen. He seemed very sick, retching and whining, and she called the vet, who came immediately and told her that Paul had been poisoned and that she should go to the police. She took her car and came to see us at once. When I had spoken to the vet I checked the houses that have gardens bordering the Carnet garden, five in all. Everybody seemed sympathetic and upset about the poor dog except the man who owns the house directly behind this one. A man called de Bree, an engineer, fat fellow, bald head, fifty years old, I think.”
    “And what did Mr. de Bree say?”
    “He didn’t say very much. sir. He slammed the door in my face after telling me not to bother him and that he had had nothing to do with the damn dog.”
    “Hmm.” The commissaris still looked fierce. “Ah, there we are. Nice fresh coffee, I can smell it. Just the thing on a horrible night like this.”
    Gabrielle smiled. Only one shaded light had been switched on and her small shape blended well with the exotic background of the fairly large room. An Arab princess entertaining important visitors. The commissaris smiled too, the thought had cheered him up. She had gone to great trouble to decorate the room; he wondered what her daydreams were like. She seemed to be living by herself, for there was no trace of a man’s presence. A very feminine room. He remembered de Gier’s remark about drugs, the sergeant could be right. The commissaris had been in the rooms of junkies often, far too often. Junkies like the Middle and Far East and imitate their, to them, bizarre environment. He had noticed the torn Persian carpets and dirty cushions bought at the flea market, but this room looked both expensive and clean. Junkies are messy, Gabrielle was not. Junkies also like a profusion of plants and any number of trinkets, small objects strewn about. No, this room was different. He saw the neat row of potted house plants on the windowsill and a bookcase filled with paperbacks arranged according to their color.
    Tell me about your mother, Miss Carnet, what was she liker
    Gabrielle didn’t respond. She ws trying to but no words came, her small hands gestured vaguely.
    “Your father?’
    The hands balled and then relaxed suddenly. “Mother was never married. I don’t know who my father is. I don’t think she knew either, the subject was never mentioned. If I brought it up she would evade my questions, so I gave up.”
    “I see. Your name is French, isn’t it? Carnet, I can’t recall ever having heard it before.”
    “Belgian. Mother was bom in Brussels but she lived in Paris for some time. Her father ran away and she had to support herself and her mother. We haven’t been very lucky with men in the family.”
    Her voice was light, conversational. There seemed to be no grudge in it.
    “And how did your mother support herself in Paris?”
    “She sang. There’s a stack of old records downstairs, she was famous once. She sang chansons in nightclubs, just after the war, for a few years. She did very well until she became pregnant.”
    The commissaris’s brain produced a small question but he didn’t ask it. There was no point in asking; Gabrielle wouldn’t know the answer. Pregnancy can be solved by abortion. An abortion in Paris wouldn’t have presented a large problem. Did Elaine Carnet have hopes of marrying the father of her child? There was a wedding ring on the floor of the porch below. Had the father bought the ring or had Elaine Camet got it herself, later, after she had given up all hope?
    “Yes,” he said. “And then your mother came to Holland?”
    “Yes, my grandmother had friends here but