She introduced herself.
“I know you,” he said, his gaze keen and penetrating. His eyes were disconcertingly blue and hard. “You’ve been in Three Pines before.”
He had a good memory for faces, Lacoste realized. Most people remembered Chief Inspector Gamache. Maybe Inspector Beauvoir. But few remembered her, or the other agents.
This man did.
He poured himself tea then sat down. He also seemed slightly out of place in this pristine modern room. And yet he was completely comfortable. He looked a man who’d be comfortable most places.
“You didn’t know about the body?”
Roar Parra took a bite of his cookie and shook his head. “I’ve been working all day in the woods.”
“In the rain?”
He snorted. “What? A little rain won’t kill you.”
“But a blow to the head would.”
“Is that how he died?” When Lacoste nodded Parra went on. “Who was he?”
“No one knows,” said Hanna.
“But perhaps you do,” said Lacoste. She brought a photograph out of her pocket and placed it face down on the hard, cold table.
“Me?” said Roar with a snort. “I didn’t even know there was a dead man.”
“But I hear you saw a stranger hanging around the village this summer.”
“Who told you that?”
“Doesn’t matter. You were heard talking about it. Was it a secret?”
Parra hesitated. “Not really. It was just the once. Maybe twice. Not important. It was stupid, just some guy I thought I saw.”
“Stupid?”
He gave a smile suddenly, the first one she’d seen from him, and it transformed his stern face. It was as though a crust had broken. Lines creased his cheeks and his eyes lit momentarily.
“Trust me, this is stupid. And I know stupid, having raised a teenage son. I’ll tell you, but it can’t mean anything. There’re new owners at the old Hadley house. A couple bought it a few months ago. They’re doing renovations and hired me to build a barn and clear some trails. They also wanted the garden cleaned up. Big job.”
The old Hadley house, she knew, was a rambling old Victorian wreck on the hill overlooking Three Pines.
“I think I saw someone in the woods. A man. I’d felt someone looking at me when I worked there, but I thought I was imagining things. It’s easy with that place. Sometimes I’d look around fast, to see if someone really was there, but there never was anyone. Except once.”
“What happened?”
“He disappeared. I called out and even ran into the woods a little way after him, but he’d gone.” Parra paused. “Maybe he was never there at all.”
“But you don’t believe that, do you? You believe there really was someone there.”
Parra looked at her and nodded.
“Would you recognize him?” Lacoste asked.
“I might.”
“I have a photograph of the dead man, taken this morning. It might be upsetting,” she warned. Parra nodded and she turned the photograph face up. All three looked at it, staring intently, then shook their heads. She left it on the table, beside the cookies.
“Everything was normal last night? Nothing unusual?” she asked Havoc.
What followed was the same description as the other waiters had provided. Busy, lots of tips, no time to think.
Strangers?
Havoc thought about it and shook his head. No. Some summer people, and weekenders, but he knew everyone.
“And what did you do after Olivier and Old Mundin left?”
“Put away the dishes, did a quick look round, turned off the lights and locked up.”
“Are you sure you locked up? The door was found unlocked this morning.”
“I’m sure. I always lock up.”
A note of fear had crept into the handsome young man’s voice. But Lacoste knew that was normal. Most people, even innocent ones, grew fearful when examined by homicide detectives. But she’d noticed something else.
His father had looked at him, then quickly looked away. And Lacoste wondered who Roar Parra really was. He worked in the woods now. He cut grass and planted gardens. But what had he done before that? Many men were drawn to the tranquility of a garden only after they’d known the brutality of life.
Had Roar Parra known horrors? Had he created some?