“Here we go again,” Rosa said. “Tell him about the revolver.”
“Revolver?”
“Forgotten that part, have we? No matter, I remember.” And Rosa told Valois about the French revolver missing from Gaston’s apartment.
All this talk of murder and Serafina thought too late of Teo. He was red-faced and looking down, although he too was making notes. Serafina reached over and touched his hand, remembering the tragedy surrounding his parents.
“It was long ago.” He managed a smile, and took another forkful of cake. But Serafina knew better. Once it happened, sudden devastation never quit the soul, not for long.
The inspector took a bite of cake. “During our initial investigation, we found blood on a carpet in the ladies’ parlor, a few clothes in Elena’s bedroom closet, no sign that the apartment had been used recently, except for one bedroom, and you’ve explained about helping the maid give birth. Daily newspapers from April 16 to the present were found in the hall, unread. But so far, we haven’t been able to find the cartridge in Elena Busacca’s apartment. It would help us to identify the exact gun, should it be recovered.”
“Don’t forget the kitten,” Serafina said.
Rosa sent Serafina a look. “The presence of the kitten suggests she did not feign her death, as some would have us believe, but was murdered.”
Serafina looked at Rosa. “According to Mimette, she expected to be gone for a while.”
“Where is the kitten?” Arcangelo asked.
“In a good home,” Valois said. “For now.”
“And now to what we must do,” Serafina said. “If we put our heads together, we’ll discover who killed the woman in the Rue Cassette, who attacked me, who are the men who follow us and why, and I think we will discover who stole the photographs and the plates.”
Valois finished his cake and tea. He opened his mouth to speak, but Serafina broke in.
“First things first. I’m sorry, but considerable doubt has been raised about the identity of the dead woman, and I think it no longer necessary to hold Elena’s husband for questioning. Do you agree, inspector-especially in light of the new statement by the cafe owner?”
There was silence. Serafina could feel Rosa’s disapproval. She heard traffic outside, a spurt of laughter from the square below.
Valois narrowed his eyes. “We’ve charged him with murder. He denies it of course, but has no alibi on the night Elena was murdered. Of course he claims he was in his room alone, but there is no one, not even the concierge, who can verify his story.”
“What about Gaston, Elena’s lover? By admission, he was at the murder scene. Couldn’t he have been the one the cafe owner saw with Elena? He, too, fits the description of a tall and angular man, and he claims that his revolver is missing. Could it be similar to the one the killer used? And why haven’t you taken him in for questioning?” She knew about French questioning, brutal and cunning. They were at an impasse unless she could be more convincing. She looked at Rosa who was frowning at her.
“Valois and I discussed this,” Rosa said. “Leave it to us, please.”
“He’s a foreign national. I’m afraid if we release him, he will flee.”
“We know him personally,” Carmela said, staring pointedly at Serafina. “He would never murder his wife.”
Serafina could have hugged her daughter. She knew how much Carmela disliked Loffredo. Instead, she said, “In addition the count is a medical examiner, used to investigations. I’ve worked with him in Oltramari and can vouch for his expertise. And don’t forget,” why hadn’t she thought of this before, “he has intimate knowledge of his wife, Elena, and will be able to give us details about her person which only he can identify. If the body is exhumed, he must be present.”
Valois shook his head. “We’re not ready to request the order of exhumation.”
Rosa looked like an eagle about to swallow a canary. “I think the Italian ambassador might question why you don’t release one of his citizens. He is a gentleman in good standing, well respected in his community, and a count at that. Holding him for over a week on no evidence but the word of a barkeep who now claims he’s not sure that he saw him in his cafe seems flimsy at best. Help us to keep this investigation in this room, Inspector.”
The color washed from Valois’ cheeks. But to his credit, he smiled and it spread to the rest of his face, creasing his cheeks and the skin around his eyes. “You’ve given me a great deal to think about.”
“What would happen if you released him now? You’d have no suspect in custody. Are you afraid of looking foolish?”
The color which vanished from Valois’ face now returned in fury. “If I am to release our only suspect, I must have more information to feed to the press.”
Valois’ reluctance to act was maddening, although Serafina understood why. The inspector was caught between what he should do and what his superiors expected of him. If he released Loffredo without taking another person into custody, he would look weak, even more so if he were importuned by the Italian ambassador to release one of its citizens. And he was hesitant to question Gaston, even though he was a more likely suspect than Loffredo, because he was a prominent French citizen.
Valois got up and looked out the window, a sure sign that he was thinking about Serafina’s arguments.
“You make a valid point. I’ll talk to him. He is a respected scholar, you know.”
There, at least he’d admitted why they were treating Gaston with such deference.
“Let’s get back to what we must do, find the man who shot you and take him in for questioning.”
“You mean, find the men who attacked me. It sounded like there was more than one.”
“And we must find out as much about the other men, the ones who follow you.”
“You mean, take them in for questioning?”
He nodded. “Arcangelo and Teo can help us locate these men; Carmela and Tessa can help with Elena’s apartment. I’d like them to make a list of all articles of clothing and see if we cannot find more documents hidden somewhere in her apartment.”
“We still need to search for more of Elena’s friends, especially those in the art world,” Carmela said. “Tessa and I should go to Cafe Guerbois. We’ve been told that many painters gather there, especially on Sundays and Thursdays.”
“And I need to read the documents we’ve gotten from Elena’s apartment,” Serafina said.
“As for the men who follow you,” Valois said, “I have a plan, and disguises for my two friends here.”
“And Rosa and I would like to question Dr. Melange about his autopsy of the dead woman,” Serafina said. “I’ll need a letter of introduction.”
Carmela, Tessa, Rosa, and Serafina sat in Rosa’s room listening to Carmela as she read Elena’s address book. It contained more than addresses of her friends, but he book was a jumble. At best, it was an index into the character and mind of the woman that Serafina sought to understand. For example, an address would be partially written, punctuated by two or three quick words meant to indicate the character of the friend. But like a boomerang, the jots became indications not so much of the friend as they were of Elena herself and her disjointed mind.
“While Valois works with Arcangelo and Teo, we’ll split up and talk to as many of her friends as possible. Since Tessa speaks the language of artists-”
“What do you mean, speaks their language?” Rosa asked. “She is an artist. It’s the dream she was born with. Remember, she was born with a caul covering the tender spot on her head. She’ll see visions, isn’t that what artists do?”
“They capture the truth of what things really are so that others may see,” Carmela said.