The Paris Librarian (18 page)

“Arrested? I don't—”

“Poor Madame Severin was quite upset this morning, she rarely likes to see people and never first thing in the morning. I mean, goodness, have you never had an elderly relative or friend? Mornings are
never
good. And after I told you to go through the proper channels, it's an outrage.”

“I'm still not understanding.”

“Perhaps you will when the police speak to you. I told you, I've called them and they don't take kindly to people trespassing here. We have any number of well-known residents and the local police are
very
good at keeping us safe and free from harassment.”

“I'm glad to hear that,” Hugo said. “But are you saying someone tried to visit Madame Severin this morning?”

“Don't act like it wasn't you—you're not fooling anyone.”

“I wasn't out there early this morning, Madame Cason. In fact, I'm spending my morning with a police lieutenant. She's sitting right next to me if you'd like to confirm that.”

Janelle Cason snorted with derision and then, without another word, cut the connection.

Hugo stared at his phone for a moment as Lerens glanced across at him. “What was that about?”

“I'm not entirely sure. Claudia and I took a trip out to visit Isabelle Severin yesterday.”

“The actress?”

“Yes, the one who gave her papers to the library.”

“What for? You think her collection has something to do with Paul's and Sarah's deaths?”

“I don't know. Honestly, Camille, partly it was out of curiosity. This was the most beautiful woman in the world, the most glamorous, the greatest actress. She worked with Alfred Hitchcock, my favorite director.”

“
Alors
, so partly the case and partly curiosity.”

“Pretty much.”

“And how did it go?”

“It was going fine until Madame Cason busted in. That's the lady who just called. When we showed up she insisted we make an appointment and not just drop by.”

“Ah, but you dropped by anyway, didn't you?”

“Yes, and Madame Severin seemed fine with that. Like I say, until Cason showed up and chased us off.”

“Well, to be fair, they need to be careful; they can't just let people wander around, knocking on doors over there.”

“I know—it was a spur-of-the-moment thing. Maybe not the best idea, but not entirely the worst.”

“And she called just to yell at you again?”

“No. She called to yell at me for going back there this morning.”

Lerens threw him a puzzled look. “You didn't have the embassy car this morning, that's why I'm driving. How would you have . . . ?”

“Quite apart from the fact that I fell out of bed about thirty minutes before you showed up. Which reminds me, if you see a
boulangerie
, pull over and I'll buy croissants.”

“I will. Why did she think it was you?”

“She didn't say. I guess she just assumed that it was after what happened yesterday.”

“How odd. Look up the number for the nearest police station to the retirement community. I'll call them and see if that woman really made a report.” Lerens signaled right and brought the police car to a halt in front of a row of shops, one of which was a bakery. She waited as Hugo found the number and handed her the phone. She clicked on the number to dial it and said, “I'll take a regular croissant and a chocolate one. And coffee, too, if they have it. Black, no sugar.”

Hugo smiled and climbed out of the car. He heard Lerens starting to talk just as he slammed the door, earning himself a dark look from the lieutenant. The warm, buttery smells enveloped him as soon as he stepped into the
pâtisserie
and he breathed it in, getting the same feeling of happiness as always at the sights and smells of the pastries and cakes all around him. He never minded waiting in line at places like this; it gave him time to tempt himself with which delicacy he might like for dessert that night.

Only about forty of them
, he thought.

Five minutes later, he climbed back into the car with their still-warm breakfast in paper bags, and handed Lerens her order.

“No coffee—if you want something in a paper cup, we'll have to find a Starbucks.”

“Over my dead body,” Lerens muttered.

Hugo smiled and pointed to her food. “Then just enjoy those. The place smelled amazing.”

“
Merci.
” She stuck her nose in the bag and inhaled. “
Vive la France.
”

“Amen,” said Hugo. “Any luck with the local
flics
?”

“Yes, actually. And I can see why Madame Cason is mad at you.”

“Because I'm a time traveler? Or because I have a magic carpet?”

“I spoke to a captain there, Mariel Bard. The officer who responded to the retirement community didn't file his report yet, but Captain Bard was able to pull up the call text, what the operator types into the system when the call comes in. It's the information that the first officer on scene has.”

“Sounds like the same system back home. Go on.”

“The call text said that two people had knocked on Madame ­Severin's door and basically forced their way in. Not hurting her, but just being a little too assertive.”

“Two people?”

“A man and a woman.”

Hugo immediately thought of Tom. Subtlety wasn't his greatest strength, but he also wasn't the type to bully ninety-year-old movie stars. “Was there a description?”

“Tall, good-looking man and an attractive woman. Severin was unsure of their ages, she'd just woken up and was very confused.”

“I bet.”
Tall and good-looking rules Tom out
, Hugo thought. “Anything else?”

“The captain said the couple was in the house for only a few minutes, asking questions and upsetting the old lady. A groundskeeper happened to drive by and see the front door open. He called security and they called the police. By the time the officer arrived, the couple was gone.”

“Sounds like me and Claudia, but it wasn't.”
Had Claudia gone back with someone else? But why?

“One more thing,” Lerens said. She pulled a croissant from the bag and made Hugo wait as she slowly chewed her first bite. “They stole from her.”

“Stole? Like, money?”

“That's the odd thing,” Lerens said. “No money or jewelry, just something of sentimental value, and Madame Severin is apparently very upset about it.”

Dread filled Hugo's chest as he pictured the old woman's desk. “What did they take?”

“It's strange. All they took was an old letter opener.” She took another bite and nudged Hugo with an elbow. “Dig in before they go cold. Delicious.” She looked up. “Why the hell would someone steal a letter opener?”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

They parked outside Alain Benoît's apartment building, which sat on a quiet street in Vincennes, a clean and tree-lined pocket of eastern Paris. They stayed in the car for a moment, just to see who was coming and going. Hugo watched as a sanitation worker in green overalls and a yellow reflective jacket wielded a brush that had green, plastic bristles. The man swept at the gutter in a gentle but constant rhythm, pushing along the stream of water that flowed past his feet from a hydrant fifty yards away, ushering discarded cigarette butts toward a grill in the curb with the measured patience and precision of a painter.

“You don't think we should have called before coming out?” Lieutenant Lerens asked. “At least had someone come by and see if he's here?”

“You have other plans for today?” Hugo asked.

“You do. Your friends from England are in town.”

“I'll see them tonight. You should come out with us.”

“I have plans.”

Hugo glanced at her face but he couldn't tell whether she was making fun of him or was serious. “Look,” he said, “it's not a surprise if we let the guy know we're coming.”

“Surprises are overrated. In my experience, the badge and uniform are more persuasive.”

“Well, today we have all three.”

“Assuming he's in.”

“Let's go find out.” Hugo checked his watch, 10:00 a.m., then pointed to a woman who was pushing a stroller laden with shopping bags and was headed toward the main doors to the building. Hugo and Lerens climbed out of the car quickly and hurried in that direction, timing their arrival so that Hugo could hold the door for the harried woman once she'd punched in the code. The woman was surprised at first but seemed reassured by the police uniform, flashing them a smile as they followed her inside. She headed for the elevator as they angled off to the right, toward Alain Benoît's ground-floor apartment.

Lerens raised her fist to knock, but they both turned when the building's door buzzed and opened, and Benoît walked in. He didn't see them at first, his head down as he scanned the headlines of the newspaper in his left hand, which also held a to-go cup of coffee. A set of keys jangled in his right hand.

He was ten feet from his front door when he looked up and stopped in his tracks. His eyes darted between Hugo and Lerens, and he shifted his body back, either an unconscious response to their presence or the first step of flight.

“Monsieur Benoît,” Lerens said. Her voice was low, forceful, letting him know they were there for a good reason and not about to let him run away.

“
Oui
,” he said. “
Je suis Alain Benoît.
”

We know who you are
, Hugo thought,
the only question right now is whether we have to chase you.

Benoît stared for a moment longer, then his shoulders relaxed, as if he recognized Hugo or realized that they knew who he was and where he lived, so running would be pointless. “What do you want?” he asked in French.

“I'd prefer to talk in private, would you mind?” Lerens stepped away from his front door, giving him a path to it. Benoît moved forward, sliding his key into the lock and opening the door.

“What's this about?” he asked.

They followed him down a short hallway into a small apartment furnished with gray and white pieces, and too much stainless steel.
Clean lines but not very homey
, Hugo thought.

Benoît gestured for them to sit on the couch, and he perched on the edge of a low, white chair. “Well?” he asked.

Lerens pulled a digital recorder from her pocket and set it on the table between them. “Policy, I have to record this, do you mind?”

“
Non, pas du tout,
” he said.
Not at all.
“But please, tell me why you're here.”

She switched on the recorder and spoke in French. “This is Lieutenant Camille Lerens along with Hugo Marston of the United States Embassy at the home of, and speaking to, Alain Benoît.” She looked at the display of her phone and read out the date and time, then paused and looked at Benoît. “We're here about Sarah Gregory and Paul Rogers.”

“Sarah!” Benoît leapt up. “Where is she?”

Hugo and Lerens exchanged glances.

“When did you last see her?” Lerens asked.

“Last Tuesday. Where is she? I've been over there and tried calling, but she won't return my calls. Is she OK?”

Lerens took a breath. “Sit down,
monsieur
. Please.”

Benoît lowered himself into the chair but leaned forward, elbows on his knees, a worried look on his face. “What is it?”

Lerens said, “I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but Sarah Gregory is dead.”

Hugo leaned forward, too, knowing this moment was coming, his eyes glued to Alain Benoît. It took a moment for the words to sink in, but when they did, the blood drained from the Frenchman's face and his mouth opened as if to speak, but no words came out. “She was found on Wednesday,” Lerens continued, “at her apartment.”

Benoît shook his head, refusing to believe it.

“Right now it looks like suicide,” Hugo said gently, still studying Benoît.

“There's no way,” Benoît said, his voice cracking. “She loved Paul, of course, but there's no way she'd . . . she'd do
that
.”

“How can you be so sure?” Lerens asked.

“No, she was too full of life, she was . . . it's just not her personality.”

“You realize what the alternative is,
monsieur
?” Lerens asked.

It took a few seconds, but Benoît eventually did. “But who . . . ?”

“That would be up to us to find out,” Lerens said.

“Everyone loved her, there's no way she had any enemies,” Benoît said emphatically. “Absolutely no way. How did . . . how was she found?”

“In the bath, her wrists cut.”

“
Non, ce n'est pas possible.
” His eyes were wild again, his tone adamant. “She was terrified of anything to do with blood. Or needles. Paul made fun of her for being so scared, asked how'd they'd ever have kids if she couldn't even get a flu shot.”

Interesting that you'd know that
, Hugo thought. He sat back and let Lerens continue to question Benoît, saving his questions for the end.

“That's good to know,” Lerens said. “You said it wouldn't be her personality to commit suicide. How well did you know her?”

“Well enough to know that.”

“How long had you been friends?”

“A few months, maybe three.”

“And how did you meet?”

“I met them at the library. When they had an event related to the Severin collection.”

“That was three months ago?”

“They've had it for longer, of course, but the event was, yes. Something like that,” Benoît said. “It took a while for them to actually get everything. I think the old lady moving slowed things down.”