Free Murder On The Rue Cassette (A Serafina Florio Mystery) by Susan Russo Anderson Page A

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 Hôtel 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