Where Secrets Reside

by Susan Finlay

  “Hmm,” Dave said, returning to the train of thought. “So Gabrielle could have followed Lamont here, or she could have come to see Paul or Jonas.”

  “No, René Lamont arrived after her murder. I checked that out. I have my men looking into the possibility that she knew Bertrand Martel, as well, but so far they haven’t turned up any connection.”

  “What if Lillian found out about the affair with Jonas? Might she have called Gabrielle and lured her here somehow?”

  “I’ve considered that possibility,” Goddard said.

  “Have you interviewed the Lamont fellow yet?”

  “Durand interviewed him after we found out he knew Gabrielle and her father. I interviewed him again today, after he found Genevieve’s body.”

  “Nothing seemed off, out-of-place or peculiar?”

  “No. I am, however, still concerned about the antique clock in Jeannette Devlin’s possession. It could be a reproduction. I didn’t get a good look at it. But what bothers me is if it’s the actual stolen antique, how did she get it? I hardly think she broke into a high security museum and stole it or would be displaying it if she knew it was stolen goods. I’m thinking it came from Bill Myers or René Lamont.”

  “Can you obtain financial records for Lamont? If you can look through those,” Edward said, “Dave and I can pay a visit to the chateau. I’d like to speak with Monsieur Lamont.”

  Dave said, “I’d also like to talk to the Wickliffs.”

  “I already have financial records for Bertrand Martel and was getting ready to look through them. I’ll have Durand order records for the Lamont fellow, as well. Let’s reconnect with each other at five P.M., shall we?”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Edward said.

  MAURELLE KNOCKED ON Jeannette’s door, noticing the drooping flowers in the large orange pot next to the door. That was odd. Jeannette was normally diligent about watering her babies, as she called them.

  No one answered, and Maurelle knocked again, louder this time.

  The door opened, and Jeannette peeked out.

  “Oh, it’s you, dear. Come on inside. You didn’t bring that gendarme with you, did you?”

  “No, I came alone. Should I have?”

  “Good. I don’t like that captain. How dare he come into my home and start talking to me like that?” She sat down and smoothed out her skirt, then patted her curly red hair. “What brings you here?”

  “I wanted to ask you something. Last week during your dinner party I noticed Charles’s hunting knife on your mantel. Do you still have it?”

  “You mean the old one his grandfather gave him?”

  “Yes, that’s the one. It was displayed next to your new clock. I remember seeing it when you went over and picked up the clock to show everyone.”

  “Why of course I still have it. I would never get rid of a family heirloom.”

  She stood up and went to the fireplace, then stopped abruptly.

  “It was here. Where did it go?” She bent down and looked into the fireplace and around it. “I must have knocked it off when I moved the clock. Oh dear, where did it go?”

  Maurelle walked over and helped Jeannette search for the missing knife.

  “Oh no. I’m not seeing it anywhere. What could have happened to it?”

  “Did it look like this?” Maurelle asked, holding the paper with a picture of the murder weapon on it.

  “That’s it! I’d know that knife anywhere. Where did you get this photo?”

  “I think you should sit down, Jeannette.”

  After Maurelle told her about the murder at the chateau, and that the gendarmes had found her knife there, Jeannette placed her hand over her heart, and her face blanched.

  “Are you all right?” Maurelle asked.

  Jeannette wiped her hand across her forehead, then patted her hand to her chest until she seemed to calm somewhat. “I’m fine now. You just gave me a start. Well, you know, it may not mean anything, but it seems like a pattern. One victim was killed with your flashlight, and it was left at the scene; another was killed with Dave’s bat, and it was left behind, too. Someone must have stolen the knife from my house when I wasn’t home and used it to make me look like a criminal.”

  While she was talking, she had snatched a piece of fabric from her skirt and was wadding it up in a ball and kneading it like dough.

  RENÉ LAMONT WASN’T at the chateau but Camille Wickliff was, so Dave and Edward sat down with her in the cozy sitting area at the back of the lobby. Six chairs were grouped around a circular walnut coffee table. Dave and his father sat across from Camille, giving them each an ample chance of watching her reactions to their questions. They’d already worked out that Edward would do the questioning since he was older and had a more authoritative presence. Dave would only jump in if something important came up.

  “Madame Wickliff, were you here when Genevieve Boyer’s body was discovered in your gardens earlier today?”

  “Yes, I was in the kitchen planning tonight’s dinner. It took extra effort to plan because we have more people than usual staying here at the moment. We normally only have to cook for a couple of guests, you see.”

  Edward nodded.

  “Did you hear or see anything unusual?”

  “Not until I heard a scream. Everyone must have heard it. I ran, but Monsieur Lamont was closer to the door. He found that poor woman.”

  “Did you know Mademoiselle Boyer?”

  “Not personally. I’ve seen her in Reynier before, though. She visited Lillian and her husband a couple of times a year. She always stayed at their house. This was the first time she’d stayed with us. Well, I guess she didn’t actually stay here, did she? I mean she had only checked in a few hours earlier. She hadn’t even unpacked her bag. That’s what the gendarme said when he went into her room to look around. I wasn’t actually in her room, you see.” She paused a moment to calm herself, but then remembering her husband, said, “Oh dear, Jean-Pierre is going to be quite shocked when he gets home and finds out what’s happened. Murder may be good for an Agatha Christie book, but believe me, it is not good for the chateau.”

  “No, I don’t imagine it would be, especially not on the heels of another murder nearby. Were you here when Monsieur Olivier’s body was discovered?”

  “I was. I had to help clean up the rooms. We have a girl who works part time for us, but again, with the extra business, she can’t handle it all on her own.”

  “Where is your husband, Madame Wickliff?”

  She looked away and didn’t answer.

  Dave followed the direction of her gaze. She was looking out at the large dark spot that was the cavern entrance.

  “Do you ever go into the cavern, Camille?” He gave an apologetic look to his father for butting in.

  “I—I don’t like the caves. I avoid them as much as possible.”

  “Why is that?”

  “They’re dangerous. We had to put up warning signs a few months ago in one spot because Jean-Pierre was scared half to death when he came within inches of falling into a pit. You’ve seen it, haven’t you, Dave?”

  Of course he’d seen it. The thing that struck him odd was that pit had always been there. Jean-Pierre knew perfectly well it was there. He and Dave and a bunch of local guys had gone into the caves together last autumn. And Jean-Pierre had been one of the most adventurous and adept of the group. He was the least likely person to have an accident of that sort.

  “Isn’t that somewhat near where the body was found?”

  “I wouldn’t know. As I said, I avoid the caves now.”

  Dave glanced at his father.

  Edward said, “Had you seen Luc Olivier in the area?”

  “No. I—I don’t think so. I don’t keep track of who goes in there, you know. We loan out flashlights to our guests if they want to risk their lives, but other people can go in behind the chateau and we don’t stop them.”

  “Have you had any problems with any of your current guests?” Edward asked.

/>   “Not really. Well, we had Bruno here for one night, and one of our guests, Madame Beringer, said he made her nervous. But he didn’t bother anyone. I think it was only because she’d seen him around here before he was cleaned up.”

  After leaving, Dave shared his concern with his father about Jean-Pierre almost falling into the pit, knowing the cave, knowing the pit was there, and being a rather adept spelunker. Edward said that while accidents happen even to professionals, it seemed odd to him as well.

  OFFICER DURAND KNOCKED on Goddard’s door and said, “Sir, I have René Lamont’s financial records for you.”

  “Thank you.” Goddard reached out and took the folder.

  “Should I bring Lamont in for questioning?”

  “Not yet. I’d like to go over these records first.”

  Officer Durand left, but then Dave and Edward appeared in the doorway. “Are we interrupting anything?” Edward asked.

  “Come in. Your text message said you’d interviewed Camille Wickliff. Did you find out anything helpful?”

  “Maybe,” Edward said as he sat down. “Dave and I have talked about it, and we both suspect the woman knows something about at least one of the murders. She’s hiding something. We think she’s protecting someone, or maybe she’s afraid that if she talks, she’ll hurt the chateau’s reputation.”

  “Any idea whom she might be protecting?”

  “Afraid not. Unless it’s her husband. He conveniently wasn’t there. She didn’t offer up any details about his whereabouts. I did ask, but she avoided answering.”

  “I think we should find out where Monsieur Wickliff went,” Goddard said.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  MAURELLE LEFT JEANNETTE’S house, walking along the middle tier toward the café. She wanted to ask Simone about the knife. Jeannette was right. The killer appeared to be committing murders using weapons that would divert blame onto other people. Almost anyone could have gained access to her house since she didn’t lock her doors. But Maurelle and Dave’s house was always kept locked. No one else except Fabienne had a key.

  The Cardin twins zoomed past Maurelle on their new motorized scooters, and she shook her head. Those boys were enough of a nuisance on foot and on bicycles. She couldn’t imagine why their parents would let them drive something motorized. In the distance she saw Paul and René, their heads bent together, obviously discussing something.

  Seeing Paul reminded her of the day Fabienne had loaned him the key to their house. When was that? Her mind flashed through the recent events, and then she remembered: It was the day after the storm. He’d gone to gather up some clean clothes for her to wear to Jeannette’s dinner party.

  Something else struck her. She usually kept her key to the bookshop hanging on a hook in her house near the front door. Was it there while she was staying with Fabienne?

  She shook herself. She shouldn’t be thinking that way about a friend. Paul wouldn’t kill anyone. He wasn’t evil, just lascivious. But she remembered they hadn’t always been friends, especially not immediately following the dinner party at Jeannette’s almost a year ago.

  Minutes after they’d sat down for dinner, Simone had questioned why Dave was absent. Fabienne had tried not to tell her, but Simone wouldn’t let it go. She’d said, “I think he’s doing something for that woman. I’ve been thinking about what you told us last week, about her being in trouble with the law. He’s gotten himself involved, hasn’t he?”

  Not waiting for Fabienne to answer, Simone had then said, “Of course he would. That’s the detective in him.” She’d squinted her eyes, causing little wrinkles to gather around her nose. “So, what has Maurelle done to make Dave leave here without taking her along? Why would he need to keep her hidden?”

  Fabienne had gathered her napkin in her hands and twisted it.

  “Out with it,” Simone had demanded. “If you won’t tell me, maybe I’ll make a call to the Gendarmerie Nationale.”

  Simone hadn’t done it though. She’d calmed down later that evening. Paul was the one who actually made the call, telling Simone that he was the man of the family and had to look out for her.

  Maurelle had suspected Paul had done it more because he was angry that Maurelle had rejected his advances toward her. Later, they’d talked about it and worked out their issues with each other—or so she’d thought.

  Maurelle reached the café and pulled open the door. Simone was standing behind the counter wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. Simone looked tired. Maurelle took a deep breath, then approached her.

  “Can we talk?”

  Simone raised her eyebrows. “All right, I guess. Here?”

  Maurelle glanced around the dining room. Several customers were looking their way, and Alain was watching them as he wiped his hands on a dishtowel.

  “It would be better if we went outside.”

  Simone looked at Alain. He nodded. She stood up and followed Maurelle out the door.

  “I came here straight from your grandmother’s house. Your grandfather’s knife, the one she kept on her mantel, is missing. We’re both certain it was there last week.”

  The vestiges of tiredness suddenly disappeared and she asked, “Who would have taken it? Of all her belongings, that’s one of the last things I would imagine someone stealing.”

  “The gendarmes have a knife matching it now. They found it in front of the chateau and believe it was used to kill Genevieve Boyer.” Maurelle showed Simone the picture.

  Simone’s mouth gaped open.

  “I know this is awkward, but do you know if Paul ever dated Genevieve?”

  “You think he took the knife and killed her? You’re accusing Paul?” Simone suddenly looked very angry and threatening.

  “I guess, no, I don’t know. I’m sorry. I know that he dated Felicia for a while—before she dumped him for Jonas and I heard that he may be the father of the first victim’s daughter.”

  Simone bit her lip and then nodded, appearing to calm down a bit as she considered the connections Maurelle was making.

  “He wouldn’t kill anyone, would he?” Maurelle asked. “You know him better than anyone else does.”

  Simone didn’t answer for what seemed like an eternity, then looked around nervously. “Let’s go for a walk.”

  They walked behind the café, and then Simone stopped. “Do you see the window up there?” She was pointing to her apartment above the café. “On the night of the storm, before it started raining, I was getting ready for bed. I looked out the window at the sky, wondering if the weather forecast was right. Then I looked down and saw a white car. I didn’t recognize it and I wasn’t particularly worried or upset. The café was closed and I didn’t mind if someone wanted to park there when they wouldn’t be taking away customers’ spots. I went to bed and forgot about it. The next day, it was gone. I didn’t think of it again until Captain Goddard mentioned it.”

  “Did you tell him?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I was afraid.”

  Maurelle frowned. “Afraid of what?”

  “That he would think that woman had come to see us, Alain and me. He’d already questioned Alain and even made him take a DNA test.”

  “You don’t think Alain . . . .”

  “He was at home with me the whole evening and night. I’m a light sleeper. I think I would have known if he’d left.”

  Maurelle paused, thinking, unconsciously fiddling with her bracelet. Suddenly her eyes opened wide. Something had been niggling at her ever since the morning after the storm. Now, out of the blue, the reason was there in front of her.

  “Did the gendarmes find any hair or fibers on the little girl’s clothes?” Maurelle asked. “Have you heard anything?”

  “I—I don’t know. I took the baby to Marie’s house. She changed her clothes—you know, put her into dry clothes. She’d kept some of the clothes that her daughter had outgrown.”

  “Did she give the wet clothes to the gendarmes?”
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br />   “I have no idea.”

  “I think we should talk to Marie.”

  “Why, what are you thinking?”

  “I’m not sure yet and have already speculated too much. Just go with me.”

  Ten minutes later, Marie handed Maurelle a large zip lock baggie containing the little girl’s clothes.

  “I should have given it to the gendarmes,” Marie said. “They didn’t ask for the clothes, and to be honest, I forgot about them. I stuck them in the bag and placed it on top of the cabinet in my utility room and it’s been there ever since.”

  Maurelle opened the bag and dumped the contents on the coffee table in front of her. The clothes were still slightly damp from being sealed in the bag, and they smelled faintly of mildew. A short-sleeved pink and white striped shirt and pink corduroy pants landed with a soft thud, and then at the end, something clanked onto the table.

  Without saying a word, she rushed out the door and strode back along the trail into Reynier, with Simone trailing behind.

  “I’VE REVIEWED THE DNA records,” Goddard said to Edward and Dave. “Paul Lepage is the child’s father.”

  Dave said, “That doesn’t necessarily mean he’s the killer.”

  “I agree. The strange thing is that René Lamont is also a close match.”

  “How did you get his DNA?” Edward asked.

  “I got DNA samples from all the men in Reynier who had Paris connections. He was one of them, and he knew the first victim.”

  Dave nodded. “Does that mean what I think it means—that they’re related?”

  “That’s what the Medical Examiner is telling me.”

  “How could that be?” Edward asked.

  “This is between us,” Goddard said. “Is that clear?”

  Dave and Edward both nodded.

  “My research has shown that Madame Devlin and Madame Laurent lived near Place Pigalle when they were young women. I don’t know how familiar you are with the area. It is, and always has been, a—how shall I say this?—haven for prostitutes and exotic dancers. You know, it’s where the Moulin Rouge is located.”

  Dave’s mouth flew open, and Goddard suddenly remembered that Fabienne Laurent was his grandmother and Edward’s mother-in-law. Too late now, he thought. Pressing forward, he said, “Both women worked as prostitutes, I’m afraid, and Madame Devlin, or Gault, at the time, became pregnant. She delivered a son and gave him up for adoption. The adoption records are sealed, but after examining Monsieur Lamont’s birth records, I am convinced he is that son.”