She felt the tears spring up and bit her lip. She wouldn’t cry in front of the inspector. “That means more than I can say, but we’ve just arrived and I still feel the ties to my country. It’s so difficult to give up my home. Best now not to think too much of leaving, but to concentrate on solving crimes. Your streets are so clean, it’s hard to imagine crime has increased. How can it be worse now than during Commune?”
“Of course not. Peace is much better. But theft, rape, murder, they’re all on the rise.”
“Here’s my real reason for disturbing you.”
Valois shrugged and his smile was lopsided.
She told him of her concerns involving Elena’s confession. “I don’t see how she could have killed the woman on the Rue Cassette, and to tell you the truth, I almost goaded her into confession.”
“That’s so terrible? It was a proper confession. My men heard it. Everyone who witnessed it did, according to their statements.”
“Bad because I hadn’t thought it through. I hadn’t read the autopsy, studied its details, the entry wound, the angle that the bullet must have traveled, the height of the shooter and victim. Elena was a terrible shot you know, lucky for Loffredo.”
“And for you.”
She nodded. “With a short barrel, she’d have to have been very close to the woman to hit her target. And the angle was wrong. I’m not an expert, not by any means, but the coroner told me they found the bullet in the victim’s mouth. Could Elena have shot her, given her height? But it wasn’t until coming back here that I thought hard about it. I don’t think she shot the woman.”
He sighed, walked to the window, and stared out. She followed his gaze to a broken sky, to rays of sun streaming through fast-moving clouds. She loved the play of light and dark on the French tricolor, the limestone buildings and slate roofs, the bridges of the Seine. She gave him time to consider.
He turned to her. “I agree, but…” He shrugged. It was a Gallic gesture of futility, of humor, of hope.
“One of the reasons I love France is your pursuit of truth and liberty. It deserves a daily revolution in the mind.”
He shook his head and smiled. “So you think she didn’t kill the woman?”
“I didn’t say that. I think she had help.”
“One thing I’ll say about you, your French has improved, but you’re still as stubborn.”
She explained her plan.
Chapter 42: Rue d’Assas
The sky was ominous when Serafina knocked on the door to the small home at 23, Rue d’Assas. She waited. As she stood there, she felt sharp drops of water pelt her cape. The wind swirled leaves and small branches. They twirled in midair before descending once again and skidding down the street. She felt her matted hair, felt the water running down the side of her head and into her ear. She knocked again, louder this time.
Presently she heard footsteps. The door opened and Gaston’s butler appeared, just as fussy looking as the first time she’d seen him.
Serafina held out her card and he peered at it, pursed his lips, and pretended he did not recognize her.
“My name is Serafina Florio, but most people call me Donna Fina. I’m here on rather urgent business to see Monsieur Etienne Gaston. You remember me, I’m sure. I was here a few weeks ago, and this is a continuation of that meeting with him. If I may say so, you’re wearing a lovely shirt, the lace exquisitely crafted.
The butler simpered. “Won’t you come in, Madame? I’ll see if he’s in. This way, please,” and he led her into the receiving room. She remembered it from a few weeks ago, the stuffy atmosphere and the musty smell.
“You didn’t tell her I’m busy?” She heard Gaston’s irritation coming from the hall.
Looking harried, Gaston entered the room and gave her a curt nod. “Madame, I have very little time, very little time indeed. What is it? I’m about to give a lecture at the Academie des Sciences.”
“Again?” She doubted it. She looked at his face. It was wan, the skin yellowed, more wrinkled than she remembered. She stared at him until she saw the small compress on his face and everything fell into place.
“Sit please. I’m much in demand and can spare you only a brief moment or two.”
“You helped Elena, didn’t you?”
“Pardon?”
“You helped Elena kill the woman in the Rue Cassette, didn’t you?”
He looked at her, his eyes frozen. “How dare you!”
“She couldn’t have done it without you. She needed you. She loved you, then she despised you, but she was passion personified and you soared in her arms. Hers was sparkling conversation, a world of parties and salons, of artists and poets. She made a heaven of your hell, and she carried your child. And when she needed your help, needed you to find an expendable body, you had one at the ready, didn’t you? And it was perfect for you, wasn’t it, because you found the woman who’d given you that wretched disease-the disease you then passed on to Elena.”
“Enough!”
“And when she needed your help to pull the trigger, you pulled it, didn’t you? Elena was too short to reach the woman’s head, so you stood in back of the duped soul and fired into her brain, the bullet angling downward. What was the name of the woman you shot?”
“I… don’t know.”
“You slept with her then shot her and you don’t even know her name.”
He looked from left to right, backed away from Serafina and hit the arm of a chair, teetering off balance. “Fabrication!”
She moved in his direction. “Fabrication, indeed,” Serafina said. “You’re lying. Lied to me before and you’re lying to me now.”
She took a few more steps toward him.
He shook his head. “N-no, not true.” He backed away.
“You lied about how long Elena stayed with you on the night she disappeared and when I asked you if you had a gun, you told me it was a revolver and it was missing.”
“Yes, missing, I tell you!”
“But you keep a set of pistols in the wooden box right here, don’t you? Why did you go upstairs to check?”
“I needed to be sure…”
She walked over to the box and opened the lid. Lifting it, she showed him the green felt, the empty depressions made for a pair of pocket pistols.
His eyes darted around the room.
“Take the bandage from your face.”
“How rude!”
“Remove the bandage. Show me the lesion.”
“Enough.\!”
“You don’t have much time. Confess. Ease the burden. Grant yourself some peace.”
He darted left, right, and in a few steps bounded to the hall, opened the front door and stared into the faces of Valois and his assistant.
Chapter 43: Glace au Four
The Loffredo’s were settled in their apartment-at least for the most part-and with some exceptions, they began to enjoy Paris. The children spent time exploring the city, wandering the many parks, attending the expositions at the Palais de l’Industrie, treating themselves to pastry, switching from Sicilian to Italian to French without realizing it. They were always accompanied by Assunta who met friends in the many parks. She told Serafina that she must be in heaven. “Pinch me, please, Donna Fina.”
All the bedrooms were sorted. Loffredo had his study. Although she missed her mother’s sitting room, Serafina spent her thinking time in the ladies’ parlor or for particularly knotty problems, in the conservatory where she could look out over the city and let her mind wander.
Serafina and Loffredo were dressed and sitting in two of the parlor’s Louis XV chairs waiting for their guests to arrive.
“Where did Rosa get that fancy butler?” Loffredo asked.
Serafina smiled. “Jacques? He adds a certain je ne sais quois to her teas, don’t you think? He worked for Gaston. Last week she knocked on his door, looked the butler up and down, and offered him a job on the spot.”