could be his second wife.”
“Do we know her maiden name?” Watkins asked.
“She put something like Hétreau on the form she filled in for us.”
“Yvette Hétreau.” Watkins repeated the words. “We’ll see if that rings a bell with anyone at the orphanage, but let’s start with the hospital first. We know where to find that.”
The Hôpital St. Bernard was a square brick building at the edge of the town. It was surrounded by neat, leafless plane trees and wide sandy paths, newly raked. They went inside and were met by a nun in full habit, who understood a little English and listened politely.
“Philippe du Bois? We have had other inquiries about him.”
“Yes, that was us. North Wales Police. Somebody rented a car using Philippe du Bois’s name. We’re still trying to find out who might have done that.”
“You had better talk to Mozzer,” she said and swept down a wide corridor to an office at the far end. The elderly mother superior welcomed them graciously. Yes, she had received their inquiries but she regretted she could tell them nothing. “Poor Monsieur du Bois. He was in his own world. Such a shame. A clever man once—a mathematics teacher. But then the illness struck, and now he doesn’t know where he is or who he is.” She shrugged. “And to see him—he still looks healthy—handsome, big, lots of dark curls . . .”
“Does he ever get letters or visitors from the outside?” Watkins asked.
“Not anymore. What point would there be?” She smiled sadly. “And now his family is all gone, I believe. His sister used to come, but she died years ago now.”
“So who would his guardian be?”
“The state is his guardian, monsieur.”
“And he never goes out, ever?” Evan asked. “Would he be able to get out if he wanted to?”
The mother superior looked surprised. “He does not wish to leave, monsieur . . . but to answer your question, it would be possible to get out, if he desired. Of course, we would soon notice he was missing and bring him back, but he has never wanted to wander. Some of our patients—we have to keep a very close eye on them, but not Philippe. He is happy in his room.”
“Would it be possible to visit him?” Evan asked suddenly.
Watkins looked surprised. So did the mother superior.
“I suppose, yes. But I do not think he will speak with you, monsieur.”
“All the same, I’d appreciate it,” Evan insisted.
“Very well.” She put her hands together, then rose from her seat. “Zis way, please. Follow me. And I must warn you that you may hear sounds zat are not very pleasant. Not all of our patients are docile.”
She swept ahead of them down the hallway and unlocked a door at the far end. The odor was the first thing that assailed them—a strong smell of disinfectant that didn’t entirely mask other, more unpleasant, smells. Someone screamed. There were distant moans. The nun kept walking until she came to a door at the far end of the hall. She took out a large key and put it in the lock.
“We may go in. He is of no danger.”
She opened the door and went into the room ahead of them. “Bonjour Monsieur Philippe. How are you today? I bring you some visitors.”
The man was sitting on a chair, staring out the window. He turned around briefly at the sound of her voice but his eyes registered no interest in the two men and he turned back to the window.
“He does that all day, messieurs,” the nun said. “He likes to watch the birds. It is the only thing that gives him pleasure now.”
Evan watched the man carefully. The nun was right. He did still look strong and healthy with his black curly hair and his dark complexion.
“Ask him if he remembers Jean Bouchard, his nephew,” Evan suggested.
She put the question but this time he didn’t even turn around. After a few minutes they left again.
“Just what were you getting at?” Watkins asked as they left the mother superior and made their way back to the front door. “And why did you want to see him so much?”
“It was just a thought,” Evan said. “There’s a young kid in Llanfair, young Terry. He’s a proper tearaway, always in trouble, out on his bike until all hours. He claims a foreigner asked for directions to the restaurant right before it burned down. He said the man had dark curly hair and looked sinister. I assumed he’d seen the