by Harper Lin
It looked as if a yard sale had exploded in there. Useless knickknacks and souvenirs from various vacations were everywhere. They cluttered her desk, along with pictures of her family members and mountains of paperwork. The office was the size of a closet, and Clémence felt a bit claustrophobic.
“First of all, here’s the check.” Clémence pulled out the envelope and gave it to her.
“Thanks, dear. Again, I’m so sorry that a guest passed away that night. But it happens, I suppose.”
“It’s very unfortunate. Thank you, and tell your staff I appreciated their professionalism.”
“It’s no problem. In my thirty plus years in the industry, I have to say, this is not the first time I have witnessed a death on the job. Seven years ago, the CEO of a large oil company simply clutched his heart when he was in the middle of eating a piece of filet mignon and fell headfirst onto his plate. Heart attack. I’ll never forget it.”
“That’s terrible.”
“Anyway, enough of this awful talk. Was there anything else I could do for you, dear?”
“Well, there is one thing. You see, I was wondering if I can talk to one of your employees that worked that night. I have some questions to ask him.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know his name. But he’s tall. He looks to be in his early thirties. Dark hair. Thin face. Here.” Clémence pulled out the surveillance picture of the man.
“David? Oh. Actually he’s a new hire. He had a lot of experience, and he did a great job that night. However, I’ve been calling him for other jobs, and his phone has been out of service. I even tried emailing, but the emails kept bouncing back. It’s a bit strange.”
“Strange indeed,” Clémence muttered. “Do you have any other information on him? How did you hire him?”
“He called out of the blue, asking if there were any openings. As a matter of fact, there were, and I asked him to email me a CV. He insisted on delivering the CV himself, so I figured, why not check him out and interview him? He came and sat where you sat. He seemed very knowledgeable about food and wine. He even offered to work for free as a trial basis for our next job, which was your birthday party. David seemed like a very eager go-getter, and I couldn’t refuse. Plus, we were short staffed anyway, since many of my waiters are on vacation. I told David that if he did a good job, I would give him the full wage, and I did.”
“Do you still have his CV?” Clémence asked.
“Yes, it’s here somewhere.”
Clémence looked on as Pierrette searched her files. Somehow Pierrette was able to retrieve the CV in no time, which surprised Clémence. There must’ve been an order to the chaos, Clémence figured, otherwise, Pierrette wouldn’t have been able to keep a reputable company running as smoothly as she did for so many years.
She handed the CV to Clémence.
David Hortense. His experience working for Parisian restaurants was a mile long. There was a picture of him. A clear headshot, where he was looking sternly into the camera. In France, it was legal to put a picture on a CV, unlike in the States, where Clémence had been surprised to learn from her American friends that it wasn’t allowed.
Now that she had a clear color photo of him, she knew without a shadow of a doubt that he had been the one who had served her the wine, and thus he had been responsible for poisoning her.
“What else do you know about him?” Clémence asked.
“Is he in trouble?” Pierrette frowned.
“Well, we have reason to believe David Hortense is trouble. That is, if David is his real name, which I seriously doubt. He is the police’s top suspect for the murder of Cesar Laberg.”
“Murder? I thought Cesar committed suicide. I read that in the paper this morning.”
“We have reason to believe that David was behind the death and tried to frame it as a suicide. I’m telling you because if you hear from David, please call me right away. I very much doubt he’ll be in touch again, but just in case he does, be on guard.”
“This is frightening. A murderer among my staff? I mean, I hardly knew him, but I just can’t imagine!”
“It happens. Some people in this world are cunning and psychotic. We don’t know what he wanted with Cesar, but we have to find out. Please think if you know anything else about him.”
“Well,” Pierrette said slowly. “I only saw him twice. The first time for the interview, and the second time for your birthday party. He brought his work clothes. Everybody had to wear white dress shirts and black pants. Usually it’s something I can provide our servers, or reimburse them for their purchase, but he insisted he had his own, so he showed up already dressed. Our conversations for the rest of the evening were work related. He was polite to the staff, and took to the tasks quickly. I mean, it’s not the most difficult job. Serve food and make the guests feel taken care of. I don’t recall having a personal conversation with him at all. I figured I’d get the chance to find out more about him as we continued to work together.”
“I see. Perhaps I can get the contacts of your other staff members? Maybe they have information on David.”
“Sure. I can do that. I doubt that they’ll have more to say, considering David seemed to be all business and I hardly saw him interacting with the other workers, even when they took breaks, but you can certainly try.”
“Thank you, Pierrette.”
Clémence took a picture of the CV, then a close-up of David’s photo, and sent it to Inspector Cyril St. Clair.
Chapter 16
When Clémence returned to the Damour kitchen, she rewarded herself with a treat. She must’ve been more stressed than she would admit to herself, because she grabbed a fresh pistachio éclair, still warm from one of the cooling trays, and ate it in two bites. The murderer was still out there. She hoped Cyril and his team would find this guy soon, but she wasn’t exactly optimistic. She imagined herself shadowed by a bodyguard for the foreseeable future.
“Hey, Clémence,” Sebastien said. “Did you find out anything new?”
“Sort of,” she said. “This picture.” She showed Sebastien the CV. “Do you remember this guy at all?”
Sebastien examined the photo. “Hmm. He does look familiar. But I have to admit, I wasn’t really paying attention to the waitstaff that night.”
“It’s creepy. He’s in the background, yet he has eyes and ears everywhere. A chaotic party is the perfect place to slip something in someone’s food or drink to kill them. Who is this guy? I rewatched the surveillance footage again. He spoke to Cesar. What was he saying to him?”
“Was he talking to anyone else at the party?”
“No. Not from what I could tell from re-watching the surveillance footage anyway. It would make sense that this guy would go out of his way to charm Cesar. Maybe he was talking up the crème brûlée. I just hope the police will figure something out.”
“Yes,” Sebastien agreed, but he sounded doubtful, as well. The police didn’t have the best reputation. Crimes in the city often went unpunished. Pickpockets were all over the place, and so were robbers and thieves. Clémence couldn’t rely on the police to solve this murder.
Celine came in. “Hey. It was super busy up front, Clémence, so I couldn’t talk to you, but I’m on a break. Did you go somewhere? Your bodyguard is super hot, by the way. Is he single?”
“Oh, Celine. I thought you were stuck on Charles?”
“He never got back to me,” Celine said. “Too bad, because I was willing to be a shoulder for him to cry on. I texted him last night, and the night before. Even if he’s grieving, he’d at least text me back. I thought he liked me, but I guess I was wrong. I sure can pick them, right?”
Clémence recalled what Madame Laberg had said about Charles dating a hostess. For a guy who still lived at home and obeyed his parents when it came to his career, it wasn’t a surprise that Charles would obey his mother in terms of his love life too. “You’re too good for Charles.”
“Yeah. And the easiest way to get over one guy
is to get on top of someone else.”
“Sure, I can ask Guy whether he’s single.” Clémence smiled at her wryly. “Hey, do you recognize this guy?”
Clémence showed her David Hortense’s photograph on the CV.
Celine examined it. She frowned. “This guy does look familiar.”
“He was a cater waiter at my party,” Clémence said. “Nobody seems to know his real identity. Do you remember him at all from the party?”
“I don’t think the party’s where I recognized him. I’ve seen him somewhere else. I just don’t remember where at the moment.”
“I believe he’s responsible for Cesar’s death.”
“And he tried to kill you?”
Clémence nodded.
Celine closed her eyes to think. “I know I’ve seen that face before,” she muttered.
Sebastien and Clémence stared at Celine as she tried to think.
“Anything?” Sebastien asked after a long minute had passed.
Celine still didn’t answer. She closed her eyes to rack her brain. After another minute, her eyes sprang open. “I got it! Okay. You know how I went out for drinks with Cesar at the Buddha Bar?”
“Oui,” Clémence said.
“Well, at the end of the evening, he paid for the bill. Charles said he’d take me home, and we were about to leave when he got a call, and he excused himself to take it outside. At first I waited at the table, but I figured since we were ready to go, I’d go outside and have a cigarette. He was outside. His car had pulled up—I knew it was his car because he’d picked me up. A man got out of the car. I remember thinking that he was kind of cute, too, if a little tall. He was dressed well and had a tough look to him. Charles was talking to him, I presumed about business. I’d finished my cigarette when the car drove off. I didn’t want Charles to think I was spying on him, so I went back in and sat back at the table. He said that he had to get me a cab instead because he had some last-minute work to attend to. I was disappointed, but Charles was pretty gracious about it and paid for the cab in advance.”
“Are you sure this was the same guy that was talking to Charles?”
“I think it is. I mean, maybe I didn’t notice him when he was working at the party, but dressed in the suit, he was more striking, and I had a good look at him. I’ve always liked tall, lanky guys.”
“What kind of guys don’t you like?” Sebastien joked.
Celine playfully punched him on the arm. “I’m pretty sure it was the same guy, Clémence.”
“So. This guy is connected to Charles. He came out of Charles’s car?”
“I think so. Charles has a driver, so this guy came out the back seat. He and Charles had an intense chat.”
Clémence jumped off her stool and paced as she thought about it. “I think he’s working for Charles. Charles hired him to kill his own brother.”
Sebastien and Celine looked at her and then at each other.
“So Charles was the one who wanted me dead,” Clémence said. “It all makes sense.”
Chapter 17
Inspector Cyril St. Clair was looking more dapper than usual. In a dark suit with a pale blue silk pocket square, he looked as if he was going to a wedding. He was dressed for victory. Clémence and Arthur followed him and a few members of his team into the Editions Laberg building in the 6th arrondissement.
“Can I help you?” the receptionist asked when they entered.
“We’re here to see Charles Laberg,” Cyril commanded. “Now.”
The woman narrowed his eyes at him, but not one to argue with the police, she said coldly, “Second floor, third door on your left.”
Cyril didn’t thank her and simply led the way upstairs.
Charles’s office door was already open, and he was talking on the phone when they entered. Clémence thought she saw his eyes widen in fear at the sight of them, but he simply held a finger up, signifying that he would be free in a minute.
When he hung up, he smiled at the inspector. “Gentlemen. Is there a problem?”
“Charles Laberg,” Cyril started. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Cesar Laberg.”
Two police officers handled the job of handcuffing him.
“Get my father,” Charles said coolly to the employees who had begun to gather outside the office to see what was going on. “I’m innocent. This is ridiculous. What is this farce?”
“You killed your brother and you tried to kill me,” Clémence said, stepping forward. “Your so-called employee, Guillaume Roussy, confessed to everything.”
“What?” There was a flash of fear in Charles’s eyes again—Clémence was sure of that now—as her eyes locked into his.
“What’s going on here?” Monsieur Laberg stormed in.
“Charles is being arrested for the murder of your late son,” Cyril said.
Monsieur Laberg looked to Charles, who was vehemently shaking his head. “I did not kill my brother.”
“That why did you employ Guillaume Roussy?” Clémence asked.
“Who is this Guillaume Roussy?” Charles said. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Maybe you know him by one of his many aliases,” Clémence said. “Jean? David Hortense? You hired him to do your dirty work, didn’t you? After all, he’s been living off the grid. When we identified Guillaume’s real identity, the police confirmed my suspicions and traced him to you. He’s on your payroll. What other jobs could possibly be worth a six-figure transaction other than murder? Guillaume has already been arrested, and he confessed.”
“He’s lying!” Charles’s face was stony, but a vein began to pulse at one temple.
“Why would he? Why else would he be on your payroll?”
“Son?” Monsieur Laberg looked at Charles with a mixture of confusion and horror.
“She’s lying,” Charles said to him. “This girl is nothing but a pathetic amateur detective.”
“You tried to kill me,” Clémence said. “Your father was at the dinner. He’d remember. Monsieur Laberg, remember when I said I was allergic to peanuts? Your son hired someone to poison my wine at a wine bar with ground peanuts. Charles feared I was getting to close to his cover-up. That was your mistake, Charles. I wouldn’t have suspected you if you hadn’t blatantly tried to kill me. You almost succeeded too, if there hadn’t been an accident with the wineglass.”
“Really,” Charles persisted, even though his face was flushed red. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You wanted your brother dead. He was the heir to Editions Laberg, and you couldn’t stand it. You enrolled yourself in law school in an attempt at a respectable career, but you hated it, and your marks were average at best. Your other choice was to work at your father’s company and work your way from the bottom up, which you didn’t want to do. Your brother, on the other hand, had been primed from birth to take over the company.” Clémence walked closer to Charles. “You hated him for that. He was superior to you in every way. More handsome. More confident. Always got your parents’ attention. Always got the girl. And you got the short end of the stick every time.”
“Father didn’t even give me a chance at the company,” Charles spewed out. “It was always Cesar who got everything. Cesar was pathetic. He was always going on about his lost love. It got so boring. I figured I was doing him a favor by killing him.”
“You got what you wanted for a while,” Clémence said. “You got his office, his position. But it’s all over now. You’re going to rot in jail for the rest of your life.”