CHAPTER 19
THE TIMES OFFICE, PARIS
Charlie sat across from George at his old oak desk while he read the letter sent to Georgina Rockefeller.
On returning to the office, she’d knocked out a few paragraphs on the closure of the Bell case and another draft for the Neuilly death.
Tomorrow she would have details like the victim’s name, cause of death and other facts she could phone through to the subeditors, who would then finish the article and send it to press.
George said nothing while he read the letter, and his lined face remained expressionless.
Charlie filled the silence by tapping on her notebook, running her finger along the edge of Violet’s posh invitation.
She was nervous and thrilled at the thought of wearing Aleksandr’s dress for his guests and prospective clients; it was the least she could do after his kindness.
But would she give the spare invitation to Detective Allard?
Was it appropriate? Was she misreading signals?
When George finished reading Maisy Bell’s letter, he waved it in the air in frustration and said, ‘So Miss Bell wrote a letter to her roommate and it has a different name. So what? She wouldn’t be the first young woman to have a few drinks, write a missive home and forget or make up the name of someone she’d just met.
Kid was on holidays in Paris, loaded with champagne. ’
‘Woman,’ said Charlie like a petulant child.
‘Stand down. Those were our orders from the American Embassy and the Metro Police. The case is closed. The reward money has been reneged. The Bell ship has literally sailed. I order you to stop investigating this case. We simply cannot justify the resources and I’ll be scalped if you start snooping around. ’
‘George?’
‘Stop, James.’
Charlie sat back in her chair, glaring at her editor.
‘Now, what I do care about is the Neuilly stiff. Nothing on the Jouet case or Neuilly? Annoying for the police, working two separate homicides. Spreads everyone too thin. Keep at them.’
Charlie winced. ‘I’m meeting with Detective Allard tomorrow.’ She opened her notebook and it fell to the page where she had jammed the elm leaf. She ran her fingers down the yellowing veins for a minute. An idea pinged in her brain.
‘Wait here,’ she said as she dashed from the office and retrieved the three Neuilly photos from her desk, along with her magnifying glass. ‘What if the Tours case and the Neuilly case are related?’ she said as she barged back into the office and spread the photos across the desk.
‘Long shot, but I’m listening,’ said George with a blank face.
‘First, Allard told me both the Tours victim and the Neuilly victim were shot in the back of the head at the bottom of the skull.’
‘Coincidence.’
‘I met a traveller in the park at Tours. Mael was the name he gave me. He claimed to have seen the Tours victim asleep in the park the day before the body was found. He gave a description of the man he was with, and at first I thought he might be misleading me. That this Mael could be the killer.’
‘Makes sense. Wouldn’t be the first crackpot to hang around the scene as it was discovered. Did the police interview him?’
‘They never found him. But he was wearing a distinctive burgundy velvet suit.’ Charlie laid the photographs George had given her of the Neuilly victim across the table. ‘The same as this one.’
‘So the stiff has a red suit. Can’t see his face though, so how do you know it’s the same person? Seems circumstantial.’
Charlie pointed to a boot poking out from the shroud of the Neuilly body. ‘See this leaf? It’s an elm.’
George rolled his eyes. ‘I really don’t have time for a botany lesson, James.’
‘My point is that I collected this elm leaf’—she opened her notebook to show George—‘from the bottom of my shoe after walking through the forest in Tours. And see the shoes of the Neuilly victim where the corner is open on the shroud?’
‘Yes, so?’
‘What if the victim in Tours, Jouet, also had leaves on the soles of his shoes?’
‘Jouet was found in a forest, there’s every chance he would have leaves on his shoes.’
‘Sure, but Jouet was not killed where he was dumped. If there was a leaf on his sole, it can’t have come from the forest where his body was found.’ It could be a lead, even if it was a tenuous one.
George looked at the leaf in her notebook. ‘Elm trees are all over Europe,’ he said, scrunching his face. ‘But I’ll buy they were both shot in the nape of the neck. Maybe there’s something.
‘Finish that piece on autumn hats then get your expenses from Violet for the Versailles trip. Might be time to take a break from these homicide stories if you don’t find anything concrete. Won’t solve a case if a random bloody leaf and a red suit is all you’ve got.’