murderer could have also been let in by a neighbor. It was unfortunate that none of those neighbors had heard anything.
âThe attacker could have got in the same way I did, or he might have known Suzanne and she buzzed him in,â Lapierre said. âI just thought of that.â
âRight,â Verlaque answered. âTell me about Suzanne. You seem to know her well, and respect her.â
âAs I said last night,â Lapierre said, looking in Paulikâs direction, âI was heading over there not so much to check on her healthâit was just a sore throatâas to ask her out for dinner. It seemed impossible to do it here, at work. Youâve seen a bit of the atmosphereâ¦with Mme Liotta babying us, and Sharon being the prima donna in her tacky short skirtsâ¦.â
Verlaque noted Lapierreâs disgust at Sharonâs short skirts.
Lapierre reached across the desk, took a tissue, and blew his nose. âThe more I worked with Suzanne, the more interested I became in her. She was mysterious in a way, not like other girls Iâve met. She was pretty and wore trendy clothes, but she talked about knitting and watching those costume dramas on television that my mom likes to watch. She was different. Do you get it?â
The two men nodded. They were both in partnerships with women whom Gustav Lapierre would have considered âdifferent,â even âmysterious.â Verlaque thought of Marine, curled up on the sofa, drinking single-malt whiskey and reading Jean-Paul Sartreâs memoirs. Paulik thought of Hélène, wearing the blue cotton overalls worn by agricultural workers around the world, kneeling on the rocky ground of Domaine Beauclaire, snipping leaf samples from the vines, then bringing them home and checking on them daily. âIâm watching them for parasites,â she told her husband. âWhen there are more of the black spiders, life is good. Too many red spiders, Iâll have to spray.â
âGo on,â Verlaque said, leaning back on Mme Liottaâs swivel chair.
âSoâ¦I walked over there to ask her out; thatâs all. But you may as well know now, before that policeman I spoke to last night tells you firstâ¦â
âProsecutor Roussel?â Paulik asked.
âYeah, thatâs him. He asked me how I knew where Suzanne lived. I could have looked up her address here, at the bank, but I followed her home one night last week. I was curious.â
Both men looked at each other. Verlaque raised his eyebrows; Paulik took notes.
âAnd when you found her last night?â Verlaque asked.
âI didnât touch anything,â Lapierre answered. âIâve seen enough crime dramas to know I shouldnât, plus I could see that Suzanne was badly hurt. I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and called an ambulance right away. She looked awful.â
Gustav Lapierre drew his arms in around his waist, leaned down, and began to sob. Paulik looked at Verlaque; the judge put his hands on his head, rubbed his thick black hair, and stayed silent.
Chapter Seven
Lemon Cake
K amel Iachella, although not sobbing, seemed as distressed as Gustav Lapierre had been. The bank managerâs eyes were puffy and watery, and he moved Mme Liottaâs box of tissues closer to him as he sat down opposite Verlaque.
âIâm sorry you have to meet me, and my small but very efficient staff, under these circumstances,â he said quietly.
âSo am I,â Verlaque answered. âMlle Montmory seems to be a quiet, reserved young woman.â
Iachella nodded. âShe is. She was so quiet during my first interview with her that I had to ask her to speak up. But I could see that she was bright.â
âDo you know anything about her personal life?â Verlaque asked.
âNot anything more than Gustav could have told you. I know that her parents and siblings live in Aix. I should know more about her; I
Sharon Kleve, Jennifer Conner, Danica Winters, Casey Dawes