Floats the Dark Shadow

by Yves Fey

  “Don’t you think we asked that?” Dancier glared daggers at him. He was furious with himself for not having caught the kidnapper, Michel knew, and his temper was aggravated by the confined space. But it was pointless to suggest he leave and walk off some of the tension.

  “I must ask again. Perhaps she remembers more now that she is safe.” I don’t know might mean nothing more than the child was confused. It could mean that she had seen the man but not often enough to say where or to give him a name. It could mean she did recognize him but was afraid to say so.

  “Then ask,” Dancier snapped. Michel stared him down. Dancier knew better than to undermine his authority. Dancier glanced away, then said to Lalou and her daughter, “Do your best to answer. I’ve called in the smartest flic I know.”

  Michel accepted the oblique apology and turned his attention back to the child. “Mlle. Darline, you’ve been frightened but you are here with people who love you.” He could not say people who will keep you safe since she would no longer believe that. “I need you to be brave and help me to catch the man who tried to steal you away.”

  “Did his own little girl die?” she asked plaintively. “Does he need a new one?”

  A budding actress, Michel thought, used to hearing her mother recite. Or perhaps the Grand Guignol had a future playwright. “That is possible. Perhaps he is lonely. If we find him, there are lonely orphans who need parents. Then he won’t frighten any more little girls.” He made himself stop and take a breath. The story was absurd but might reassure the child. “Close your eyes and imagine yourself back in the lobby. Tell me what you were doing.”

  “Mama was rehearsing. I played with my doll.” She went over to the case he’d seen earlier and picked up the doll. “She’s beautiful, like mama.”

  “Yes, very beautiful,” he agreed.

  “I always play there unless there is going to be a matinee. There are no matinees today.”

  “I see,” Michel said.

  “She’s very good, very quiet. No one minds,” Lalou broke in. “They love her.”

  “Of course they do,” Michel replied, but he kept his attention on Darline. “Was the lobby empty until the man came?”

  She shook her head. “Someone brought paint, and a lady brought black netting.”

  “They are building a new set. People have been in and out all day.” It was Dancier this time, needing to say something.

  Michel spared him a quick warning glance then turned back to the girl. He wanted to keep the images vivid in her mind. “Some people came. Then it was quiet again. What game were you playing with your doll?”

  “I was making her into Salomé. Mama had beautiful costumes made for her…to commemorate her roles.” Darline spoke the last carefully, obviously quoting. It seemed vain on the mother’s part, but perhaps it was an amusing way for the little girl to share more in her life…or her dreams…for Lalou had not played the lead in Salomé. “I was making my doll a new cape. Monsieur Dancier gave me a pretty cravat.”

  Dancier must be truly smitten if he’d given Lalou’s child one of his precious cravats. Michel continued. “Where were you sitting, Darline?”

  “On the staircase. I’m not in the way there.”

  “Did you see the man come through the door?”

  “He had flowers.”

  “Did you see his face?”

  She shook her head and repeated, “He had flowers. White ones and pink ones.”

  Michel squelched his disappointment. He’d held out hope even though Méténier had already said no one had seen the man’s face. But the little girl did have an eye for detail. “Did you notice what was he wearing?”

  She scrunched her face. “A black coat.”

  “Shoes, boots? A hat?”

  She shook her head.

  “Did he have any smell?”

  “Just the rag,” she wailed again. “The horrid smelly rag.”

  “Ssshh…” Michel made it a soothing sound. He was pushing too hard. “You are doing very well.” He was afraid the mother would interrupt, but Darline calmed down quickly, so he asked, “Did he come right over to you?”

  “He went to the door. I thought he was going inside.”

  Michel nodded. “But he came back.”

  “I didn’t see—he sneaked up! But I smelled the funny smell. I looked up, and he covered my face with the rag.”

  “How did you get away?” Michel could not imagine her escaping.

  “Mama told me that if a man ever grabbed me, I should try to kick him or hit him in the place between his legs.”

  “Excellent advice.” He almost smiled, imagining Dancier sharing the same internal wince he did.

  “I was cutting up the pretty cravat to make a cape for my doll. I had scissors. I stabbed him there with the scissors. He yelled.”

  “They were very sharp scissors,” Lalou said, then added defensively, “She sews very well, very neatly.”

  “Seems she stabs neatly too.” This time, Dancier winced visibly.

  Michel allowed the smile now. “We are all very impressed with how clever you were.”

  “And brave,” Dancier added.

  “I screamed.” Darline did not believe him. “I screamed and I ran into the theatre. I tripped and fell.”

  “Now you know the secret that all brave men know,” Michel said. “You can be scared and still be brave. You did just the right things.”

  “I did?” Darline looked to Dancier for confirmation.

  “You were brave. They will call you Darline of the Scissors.” Dancier raised his hands and mimed snipping. Darline giggled.

  Michel tried a few more questions, but the girl could not remember anything more. The seamstress was summoned to take Darline to another room. Michel sat in the chair across from Lalou. “Mlle. Joliette, have you noticed anyone suspicious hanging about the theatre?”

  “There are always strange people, but not strange enough to make me worry.”

  “Or near your home?”

  “Home?” She gasped, but it was only fear, not recognition. Wide-eyed, she turned to Dancier and cried, “Oh, Blaise, we won’t be safe at home!”

  “I’ll put you up in a hotel,” Dancier said at once.

  “Thank you,” Lalou whispered, but Michel thought he caught a hint of disappointment. Her fear was real but she had also tried to play Dancier for more than she got. Her lover’s home would be even more secure than a hotel, but as far as Michel knew, Dancier had never had a mistress in residence.

  “The Élysées,” Dancier offered, as compensation. “Darline will be escorted to and from school, and you’ll be escorted to the theatre.

  “Will you take me to the Élysées?” Lalou asked.

  Dancier frowned and shook his head. “Jacques le Rouge will get you there safely. I’ve already put aside some important business.”

  Michel wondered if there really were business that couldn’t be put off, or if Dancier wanted to go hunting for the kidnapper. Either or both. Life and crime must go on.

  “There are some things I need at home. A change of clothes….” Lalou bit her lip nervously, worried now about seeming too demanding.

  “After we finish the interviews, we can conduct Mlle. Joliette to the hotel,” Michel offered. “We can stop at her current home for anything she needs to take with her. While she packs, Inspector Rambert and I can ask a few questions of the neighbors.”

  “That’s good,” Dancier said. “Jacques will go book a room at the Élysées, and stay with you until I come tonight.”

  “Merci, mon cheri.” Lalou gave him a grateful smile. Michel wondered how the desk clerk would react to Jacques le Rouge sauntering through the lobby of his plush hotel. Whatever his reaction, Dancier’s name would get a very nice little suite with no argument.

  Michel turned back to Lalou. “Mlle. Joliette, this man might be a stranger who seized an opportunity but he might also be someone you know—” She shook her head vehemently, but Michel went on, “—or someone who is as
sociated with the theatre.”

  Dancier shifted slightly, becoming more attentive.

  Michel continued, “I would like you to make a list of your admirers.”

  Lalou just looked at him for a moment. He wondered if she might not be able to write, but she drew out some paper and a pen. “I have many admirers,” she said, with a proud tilt of the chin. “Most are gentlemen. But there are also women who wish to emulate me. I cannot believe any of them would wish me harm. Or my daughter.”

  “Jealousy,” Dancier suggested. “Your beauty. Your talent….”

  It was a sop to her ego, but she smiled at him.

  “Perhaps, though no one has been spiteful to me.”

  “You may not remember everyone right away,” Michel said, handing her the pen. “I will copy what you write now. But you will keep the original in case you think of anyone else.”

  She picked up the pen then bit her lip. Michel knew she didn’t want to list her lovers for Dancier to read, and Michel didn’t want him to see an intriguing list of suspects. But there was no way to prevent it. If he took the original, Dancier would demand another. “There must be men whose vanity was injured by your refusal,” he suggested. “Or it could be someone who works for a past suitor, someone who has seen you with your little girl.”

  “Yes, of course.” She began to write.

  “Include the men who have visited since le Grand Guignol opened, and before that anyone who caused you any difficulty.” When she finally paused, he added, “Mention also if any delivery people acted peculiarly.”

  Dancier made an exasperated sound. “Everyone gawks.”

  Michel turned to him, “Many would enjoy having a peek inside such a controversial theatre—or seeing a lovely actress. But it must be investigated.”

  She nibbled a nail and Michel prompted, “Has anyone shown your daughter a little too much attention?”

  “Oh no.” Lalou shook her head. He sighed inwardly, doubting she would have noticed anything but the most flagrant disregard of her own charms. But then she bent over the paper and scribbled another name at the bottom. She gave Dancier a last nervous glance and handed the list to Michel.

  Copying it gave him a chance to look for names he recognized without showing any response. First he went to the last scribble, and saw cabinet minister Williquette. Lilias believed he had engineered Vipèrine’s release and wanted to attend the Black Mass. This made him a new suspect in the abductions, one totally separate from the Revenants. But the minister’s penchant was for pubescent girls with budding curves. Michel copied Lalou’s list in the order of his own interest, then placed it beside her on the dressing table. He singled out a name he knew, a financier with a bad reputation but only for roughing up women. When he pointed to him, Lalou made a moue of distaste. “He came once. I was polite, no more.”

  He pointed to another name, trying to be casual.

  “The baron? He is always gracious,” she said. From the warmth in her voice, he gathered she had no complaints about Estarlian. Lalou went on, “We were closer when I played a handmaiden in Salomé last year. He wrote a little song for me, but I didn’t have the training to play it on the lute. We did use one piece he wrote. He came by perhaps a month ago with lovely roses. It was most kind of him, as I had not seen him or his friend in quite a while.”

  “His friend?”

  “Another poet. He has strange blue eyes and an unusual name.”

  “Averill Charron?” he asked, and she nodded. Two Revenants then. “Only the one friend?”

  She shrugged a little at that, gave a nervous little sideways glance at Dancier. Only one other that she’d slept with, Michel surmised. He asked her about the Revenants, and she shrugged again. “Last year they were working on publishing a literary magazine. Salomé inspired them. I had absinthe with them once or twice, but I do not remember all their names. One was quite rude and ill-tempered.”

  “Paul Noret?”

  “Perhaps. Yes.” Michel could sense Dancier’s attention growing ever more intent. He picked three more names at random and asked some questions. None of them seemed truly suspicious.

  “I can’t think of anyone else, and my daughter needs me,” she said to Michel. “She needs my comfort.”

  “Of course. Monsieur Dancier and I can talk outside so as not to distress you further.”

  As expected, she looked upset at being deprived of her protector, but Dancier was ready to burst out of the tiny room and jerked his head toward the door. “Let’s go.”

  “Lead the way.” Michel followed as Dancier sped through the theatre and back outside.

  In the courtyard, he whirled and confronted Michel. “Is this the same case I tipped you about?” he asked, watching Michel closely.

  Michel would not lie, but it would be dangerous to give Dancier much information. He was careful not even to look in the direction of the winged cross. “I believe it is the same case.”

  “Is someone targeting me? Taking kids I know?”

  “I do not think you are the target.” Before Dancier could start asking questions Michel said, “Tell me your version of what happened.”

  Dancier fumed a minute, then replied, “I was watching the rehearsal. There was a muffled yell, then Darline burst through the door screaming. She fell about halfway down the aisle, so I went to help her first.” He scowled at Michel.

  “Of course you did. That was most important.”

  “I asked what frightened her, and she said a man grabbed her. So I ran out into the lobby. Empty. And the courtyard. Empty. The alley. Empty.” He glowered at Michel again. “I got to the street and there was nothing suspicious—no one running, or trying to look like they weren’t. I started grabbing people and asking them who’d just come from the rue Chaptal, but he’d the sense to blend in as soon as he hit the street. Or he was already out of sight.”

  “Nothing struck you as odd?”

  “There was a fiacre standing by the curb. That made me suspicious, that maybe he was going to throw her inside and drive off. Then the driver stumbled out of a bistro and tried to climb up. I grabbed him, but he stank of beer.” Dancier shrugged, shook his head. “I went up and down the street for a few more minutes….”

  “…but nobody saw anything suspicious,” Michel finished for him.

  “Anyone ever tell you your job is merde?” Dancier inquired.

  “Frequently.”

  There was a pause, then Dancier said, “I like Lalou.”

  “She is very pretty.”

  “Those eyes.” Dancier rolled his own dramatically. “She’s got great legs. The Jeanne d’Arc role really shows them off.”

  “Jeanne d’Arc?” Michel felt a shadow fall across his memory but could not see its form.

  “Yes, she plays the Maid. And damned well too,” Dancier said with pride. “It’s one of the new plays. Lots of drama. Makes everyone feel patriotic, religious, and gives them thrills to polish it off. The fire is very convincing. Lalou gives one really stupendous scream.”

  “New, you say. How long have they been performing it?”

  “They just started last week.”

  Michel had not paid any attention to the billboard. “Is there a poster?”

  “Yes, of course. It’s important?” Dancier asked, but it wasn’t really a question.

  “I don’t know.” Michel’s shrug was honest. The shadow took on form, of sorts. Theo had said Denis’ mother told her son tales about her namesake, Jeanne d’Arc. The baron had seen the dog washer worshiping in front of a scribbled cross—a cross that may have been drawn by her child’s murderer. Religious mania had always been a possible motive. What about Alicia, who had almost burned to death in a fire? Had that evoked the death of the Maid of Orléans? “I do know that at least some of the disappearances are linked.”

  Dancier leaned forward intently. “And what links them?”

  Michel shook his head. “There is always a danger in trying to force pieces to fit.”

  “You have any
suspects yet?” Dancier asked. His voice was light but his body vibrated with new tension.

  “I have some suspects,” Michel admitted, but held up a hand as Dancier moved in on him. “There are more than I questioned Mlle. Joliette about. I have no real evidence against any of them—only curious coincidences.”

  Dancier’s eyes glittered dangerously. “I trust your instincts.”

  “My instincts told me to examine the coincidences, nothing more.”

  Dancier moved closer still, chest pressed to Michel’s warding hand. It felt scorched by his anger. “You forget I gave this to you.”

  “No. I don’t forget. It’s the only reason I’ve given you any information at all,” Michel said coldly. “Neither do I forget that you may be overzealous in your ferreting out of enemies.”

  “You want me to give you anything more, you’ll give me this,” Dancier snarled.

  “Then I will go without.” Michel thought for a minute Dancier would hit him, but he only turned and stalked off.

  Michel spent an hour helping Rambert question the various stagehands and players. By the time he was done, Dancier had come back and was listening on the sidelines. He still held himself tensely but had apparently decided to forget the refusal. When Michel approached, he said, “I’ve got them to change the playbill so Lalou won’t have to perform tonight.”

  A safe topic. “Good. Her daughter needs the security of her presence.”

  Dancier nodded. “I sent Jacques le Rouge off to wait in the hotel. You be sure and escort Lalou and Darline to their suite.”

  “Of course.”

  Mercurial as ever, Dancier relaxed, adjusted his cravat, and gave Michel a wink. “Guess what—Méténier’s going to give me a part in one of the shows.”

  “Playing yourself?” Michel asked.

  “Lacenaire,” Dancier replied, naming the infamous dandy criminal Baudelaire had called a modern hero. “Bit of a come down—he was never very successful. But he knew how to play to the crowd.”

  “You can give me a ticket for that performance,” Michel allowed.

  He laughed. “I’ll perform sublime atrocities and you’ll have no reason to arrest me.”