“Belle Helene?”
“The horse,” Rosa said.
He gestured to a spot underneath a row of chestnuts. “Can’t miss us. Just look for the most beautiful woman in all of Paris, that’s my Helene.”
Inside, they climbed the marble staircase, following an agent of police who led them up to the first floor of an ornate building, the new home of the prefecture of police. The honorable Leon Renault himself stood at the top of the stairs to greet them, accompanied by his assistant.
Serafina found herself staring at the man, struck by his bearing, the clarity of his voice, a certain humor about the eyes, and the transparency of his demeanor. Although he appeared to be in his mid-thirties, his mutton chops were already flecked with gray. He wore striped pants, a gray waistcoat and starched shirt, silk cravat, and a frock coat. They fitted his large frame to perfection. She’d read of his bravery during the Franco-Prussian War culminating in the Siege of Paris and afterward his role in quelling the Paris Commune.
“Your mayor, Notabartolo, telegraphed our office, Madame. Welcome. You have many admirers in your country.”
“And this is my friend, Madame Rosa Spicuzza, my assistant.”
Renault took Rosa’s hand and kissed it. The madam responded with a regal smile.
“You investigate the death of Elena Loffredo, countess of Oltramari. What may we do for you in that regard?” he asked. “And this is the inspector assigned to the case, Alphonse Valois.”
A slight man in frock coat and cravat, Valois inclined his head.
“First, on behalf of my country and the family of Elena Loffredo, thank you for your warm reception and for your handling of the case thus far,” Serafina began.
“You have my full cooperation. When it comes to the particulars, Inspector Valois is better able to assist.”
The inspector smiled.
Renault turned to him. “We have someone in custody you told me? But not charged as yet?”
Valois cleared his throat. “Not a French citizen, your honor. We were afraid he’d flee.”
Serafina found it difficult to breathe. “Excuse me? His name?”
Valois said nothing.
Renault frowned. “Madame Florio and her assistant are to be given every courtesy, as if she were one of our own detectives.” He looked at Serafina. “If you need anything, please call on me.”
She nodded slowly, her heart racing, convinced their suspect was Loffredo. She must free him. “I’ve just begun, of course, but I have some questions.” She felt rather than saw Valois stiffen, but she persisted. “A woman losing her eyesight identified the body.”
“The nearest living relative,” Valois said.
“Except for the woman’s husband who happened to be in Paris at the time of her death.”
Valois opened his mouth to speak but the prefect interrupted.
“You were saying, Madame?”
“Why wasn’t her husband shown her body and asked to identify it? And I’ve other questions about the case, such as-”
Rosa intruded herself, smiling. “Sometimes haste is our greatest enemy, but our country appreciates your adept handling of this gruesome murder. We believe we’ll learn a lot from mutual understanding and commitment.”
“Exactly.” Renault smiled. He brought out his watch and slapped his forehead. “Please excuse me. I have a meeting with the president in less than five minutes. Remember, you have an open door to my office. Take care of them, Valois. Don’t forget-extend every courtesy and share our knowledge.”
Serafina turned to Rosa. With her eyes, she begged the madam to make conversation.
“We must seem like foreigners bent on taking over the case, but I assure you that’s not our intent. What a lovely suit. English, no?”
Valois ran his hand down one lapel. Beads of water formed on his forehead. “Yes, from London. My wife does the shopping.”
“Then my compliments to her taste,” Rosa said.
“There’s a lift to my office,” Valois said. “This way.”
They walked on either side of the inspector, Serafina listening to their footsteps on the granite floor. He was moving faster than he needed to, forcing them to keep up with his pace.
“Until the Communards burned it down, we were all located in the Hotel de Ville.”
“I remember,” Serafina said, smiling. “Although the last time I was in Paris, I was a student and had no reason to visit you, but I daresay, you were a student then, too.”
The wretched man stared at her as if she were talking nonsense. She looked at Rosa.
As they waited for the lift, Serafina swallowed. Acid burned in her stomach, and she felt a lump forming in the back of her throat. Her nostrils flared but she held her tongue while Rosa stumbled on as best she could with pleasantries. The madam talked of Marseille, the administrative genius of France, the weather.
The three of them squeezed into the lift. Serafina could smell Valois’ cologne, vetiver, she thought. As the machine shuddered and began to move, she closed her eyes, sure that it could not hold their combined weight, but the ride was short and as they came to the floor, she dabbed her eyes and forehead with a linen. She looked at Rosa who shook her head. Both women were silent.
Valois’ office was impressive if small, and it fronted the building. Serafina walked to the window and looked out. She could see the Seine, hear the horses’ hooves on the cobbles, the bustle of traffic in the square below. Breathing in the energy of the city, she vowed she and the inspector would come to terms with each other.
When she and Rosa were seated, Serafina said, “You must forgive me,” she began, breathing hard. “I’ve heard bits and pieces, a disjointed tale of the events surrounding Elena’s death. Believe me, her father told me of his daughter’s death and asked me early Friday morning to find her killer and bring him to justice. After I accepted, he told me I must travel to Paris that very evening. We arrived last night. We’ve had a long journey, well over seventy-six hours, dropping everything to travel here, so I would appreciate hearing the details from you.” She drew out a notebook from her bag.
Valois looked at his watch. “Understand, Madame, I was unaware of your arrival until this morning when a messenger from an important Parisian milliner gave us the news of your arrival.”
Serafina doubted that, but said nothing.
The inspector continued. “Unfortunately I have but thirty minutes before I have a meeting which I am obligated to attend, so I will be thorough, but brief.” He sighed. “A patrolman on duty discovered a body on the Rue Cassette shortly before dawn on Thursday, April 16.” He consulted a large folder on his desk, flipped through the pages, and looked again at his watch.
“You’re uncomfortable, I can see,” Serafina said. “Would you rather I returned later this afternoon?”
“Impossible.” He slammed a palm on top of his desk. “You and I must come to an understanding, and the sooner we do, the better for all.”
“I’d like nothing more.”
“Then I’ll get to the point. Your presence here is a formality. Although he treated you with the deference due a foreign dignitary, the prefect knows it. I know it. The Busacca family knows it. Only you seem to be unaware of the perfunctory nature of your visit. You deal with La Surete Nationale, founded by the great Eugene Francois Vidocq, the father of modern detection. Our organization is the forerunner of all such agencies, so make no mistake as to my meaning, Madame, when I say, we have completed the case on the death of Elena Loffredo. We have done all your work for you. I cannot state it more plainly than that.”