CHAPTER 9 #2
‘We need to find the man in the photos. If he is the same one Maisy Bell went to Saint-Cloud with, he might know where she went. Either way, he ought to be our main suspect at this stage.’
‘Our?’ The inspecteur raised his eyebrow and took a sip of his wine. ‘In light of the documents you just showed me, I return to the most simple theory. The people closest to Maisy are responsible.’
‘Clementine?’
‘Or Clementine and Mason. They have the most to gain from Maisy’s and her father’s deaths.’
Charlie shivered and went quiet. Until now, she’d preferred to think of Maisy as only missing. She’d imagined seeing the smile that dazzled the Ritz ballroom just weeks ago light up many more rooms to come.
‘Can’t you at least look for this mysterious Louis in Saint-Cloud?’
‘Look for what? A tall, dark man in an ill-fitting tuxedo? I can’t send the Metro Police on a doorknock to a large municipal town we are not even certain Maisy Bell visited.’
‘A Swiss man.’ Charlie knew it was a ridiculous ask.
‘He could be allemand or even francais. I doubt Clementine Bell is an expert in accents.’
Charlie let Bernard’s comment slide as a waiter brought their next plates. It was clear to Charlie that if she was to have a shot at finding Maisy, she needed to find the mysterious man in the white tuxedo.
Two plates of mullet rouge with a leek sauce and a bowl of fries were put in front of them. As Charlie’s knife sliced through the soft flesh of the fish, she decided to change tack to keep the inspecteur onside.
‘I’m exploring all the options. Clementine Bell seems like she’s wasting away.
Sometimes guilt and grief can appear the same.
’ She lowered her voice. ‘Either way, there is a young woman who has now been missing for weeks. Weeks, Inspecteur Bernard! Other than that ransom note, a few cashed cheques, and a photo of some hair and a white suit, there’s been nothing. The trail is cold.’
‘Agreed,’ said the inspecteur as he took a mouthful of fish.
‘The cheques seem to have been cashed by different people. Goes to show how closely some cashiers examine the name and signature.’ He rolled his eyes.
‘They were all cashed in Paris. Somebody could have found Maisy’s discarded purse and just taken advantage.
Maybe we are looking at this the wrong way.
Perhaps Maisy Bell did not even make it to Saint-Cloud?
Maybe this Swiss Louis fellow came to the Ritz for a drink, found his mark and disposed of her once he had her purse. Anyone can send a telegram.’
‘The note after the failed ransom drop and the letter to the papers were by the same hand. Rudimentary writing, but the same.’
‘Someone is looking for money and attention. That someone may or may not have Maisy Bell.’
‘I fear Maisy is not just missing, but …’ Charlie stopped herself from saying what they were both thinking.
‘It could well be the case,’ he said sadly.
‘We have no new information. In fact, Monsieur Bell came by my office this morning to ask about preparations for he and Clementine to return home and continue to follow the case from Texas while they attend to their company and family duties. It seems Maisy’s father has taken a turn for the worse.
Mademoiselle Bell is reluctant to leave Paris in case young Maisy appears, but her brothers are insistent they return in the coming weeks.
Who knows what goes on in wealthy families.
’ He shrugged again. ‘But it does seem strange to make plans to leave when Maisy Bell is still missing.’
Charlie balanced her knife and fork on the edge of her plate. ‘So that’s it, everyone is giving up? Her own family is giving up? The Maisy Bell case is closed?’
‘You just said yourself that your editor is focused on other stories. You know we have other crimes to solve in Paris? Muggings, break-ins, homicides. Then there’s the endless paperwork for court cases and internments. Crime in Paris never sleeps.
‘In the case of Maisy Bell, there is no real evidence of a crime. No substantial evidence.’
‘You still think Maisy was having a raging love affair with a Saint-Cloud local called Louis?’
The inspecteur looked sheepish. ‘I never said that. It was a theory put forward by my officers. But sometimes these theories turn out to be true.’
‘Even so. Two weeks, Inspecteur! I can’t help thinking, if it was a twenty-two-year-old man who was missing, the case would have been treated with more gravity from the outset. The disappearance would not have been dismissed as a lover’s folly.’
‘Perhaps,’ he replied as he rested a finger on his fork. ‘It troubles me that a young woman with her whole life ahead of her has gone missing. It troubles me that we do not have any answers, just that ridiculous ransom note.’
He frowned and Charlie noticed fatigue in the feathered wrinkles at the edge of his eyes and between his brows. When he met her gaze, Charlie saw his dark eyes were filled with sorrow.
‘I understand if you want to pursue this case, I really do. But I’m afraid there is not much more I can do.’ He topped up their wineglasses, emptying the carafe.
Charlie slumped back in her chair, frustration coursing through her veins. She took a gulp of her wine and studied the inspecteur—drinking in his sadness.
‘How many cases go unsolved every year? Missing women in particular?’ she asked.
‘Too many. One is too many. I’m so sorry, Charlie.
You know how I feel about reporters, but if I could resolve this and give you the conclusion you need, I would.
’ He put his hand over hers. They sat there for a minute, each consumed in their own thoughts about Maisy Bell.
If she was kidnapped, or worse, the uncertainty, the fear she must now feel.
The confusion at being kept against her will.
Charlie studied Inspecteur Bernard’s warm hand sitting atop hers, his fingers fine and elegant.
The inspecteur also looked at their hands, then removed his and wiped them with a serviette. ‘Why are you so obsessed with this story when there is nothing to go on?’
‘I keep thinking about my mother and father at home. Dad in his wood-lined office, poring over cases he’s prosecuting, Mum in the living room reading French literature—she’s French!’
‘That explains your excellent accent.’
‘For an Australian.’
‘I did not say that.’ He smiled and the edges of his eyes creased pleasantly.
‘Imagine their hurt if I went missing and nobody helped them find me. Their grief. I can see why it has eaten away at Clementine. She stepped in to parent when Dolly was consumed with looking after her husband.’
‘So you don’t really think Clementine is trying to usurp the family business?’
‘You and I both know, sometimes, people aren’t everything they seem.’ Charlie stared at the inspecteur and finished the last of her wine. ‘I’m just trying to keep an open mind and do my job properly.’
‘I know,’ replied Bernard as he signalled to the waiter for the bill. ‘It’s one of the many things I admire about you, Mademoiselle James.’
As Inspecteur Bernard signed the cheque, Charlie leaned forward to allow her hair to fall across her face so he could not see the heat that had crept to her cheeks.