AL01 - Murder in the Marais

'Florence, your housekeeper, did, am I correct?'

Albertine Clouzot nodded absently. She'd lost interest and was pulling open the little doll chest's drawers.

'What time did Florence leave your house on Wednesday evening?'

'Is this an inquisition? I won't tell you any more until you tell me what this is about.'

I'm losing her, Aimee thought. 'Madame, please bear with me.' Aimee smiled broadly again. She stuck the pencil behind her ear and shook her head. 'Detecting isn't like the movies. Tedious checking of details makes up most of it. All we know is that a pink Chanel button was found near the body of a murdered woman, not two blocks from your apartment.'

'It must have come off. . .my God, you're not trying to suggest that I killed that woman! That woman with the. . .'

Out of the corner of her eye, Aimee saw Florence's arm jerk. Either this housekeeper was the nervous type or Aimee had struck a nerve.

'Madame,' she spoke reassuringly, 'I'm checking out pieces of evidence and constructing a timetable of the murder.'

She looked straight at Florence. 'What time did you pick up Madame's suit?'

Florence covered her mouth with her hands. Little feathery spots of white flour were left on her cheeks. 'Just before the shop closed,' she stammered.

I've hit it, Aimee thought excitedly.

She remembered Sinta commenting on the pair of shoes in Lili Stein's closet, looking at the repair tag and saying Lili had just picked them up. If Lili had picked up her shoes at Javel's, been trailed by an LBN member, and Florence had followed. . .But that didn't explain why Florence would trail her.

Aimee stifled her eagerness and kept her tone businesslike. 'What time was that?'

If Florence had seen a neo-Nazi trailing an old Jewish woman on crutches she might have been alerted and followed her. Maybe she'd witnessed something.

Florence hesitated and looked down at the floor.

'Speak up, Florence.' Albertine clicked her long maroon nails irritably on the dollhouse roof.

Florence shrugged, 'Close to 6:15 or 6:30. Madame Tallard was about to lock her door and so I just got in to grab the suit.'

But when Aimee found the body rigor mortis hadn't set fully in. She knew that the cold could retard the onset of rigor mortis but the intense muscular activity, due to Lili's struggle, could have released lactic acids hastening the process. Puzzled, she realized that wouldn't fit with Florence's timetable. But she had to check with Morbier for the inquest findings.

Florence turned to her employer. 'Madame, I'm so sorry. We must check your suit to be sure but. . .'

'Am I being implicated in a murder?' Indignant, Albertine strode up to Aimee, towering over her in the leopard platform heels.

'Of course not, that just explains one piece of evidence that can be ruled out. The button, unnoticed by Florence in the darkness, fell off,' Aimee said, keeping her voice matter-of-fact. 'Of course, now I understand. It's perfectly plausible.'

'But the police haven't questioned me,' Albertine said. 'Why you?'

'I can't speak for the police,' Aimee said, tucking her almost empty pad back into her bag.

'This is absurd.' Albertine turned coldly to her. 'If you have any more questions, go through my lawyer.'

As Aimee turned to leave, she saw Albertine Clouzot glare at her housekeeper. 'I'll speak with you later,' Albertine said.

Florence walked behind Aimee, their footsteps echoing off the marble walls. 'I've just recently joined Madame Clouzot's employ,' she said hesitantly. 'Two weeks ago.'

Pain or fear, Aimee wasn't sure which, was etched across the older woman's face. Aimee felt sorry for her.

'Florence, my intention is not to get you in trouble,' she said. 'I'm investigating a murder. I had to be sure who picked up the suit from the dry cleaner's and if indeed a button was missing. Tell me what you remember hearing and seeing after you walked out of the shop.'

'Nothing.' She shook her head. 'I hurried back. Madame was waiting.'

But Aimee saw fear in Florence's eyes.

'You might have crossed the killer's path.' Aimee's eyes narrowed. 'Are you sure about the time?'

Florence nodded, looking away.

'As you walked from the dry cleaner's did you see an old woman on crutches?'

'No.'

Was she lying?

'Did you notice any skinheads hanging around?'

'I just walked quickly.'

'Or a radio blaring?'

Florence stiffened. 'I mind my own business, that's all,' she said. She smoothed her floured hands on her apron, sending white powdery mist onto the floor. 'I told you I don't mind anything but my own business.'

'The Temple E'manuel hired me. Here's my card,' Aimee said.

Hesitating, Florence slowly took the card. Her hand shook as she thanked Aimee.

'The Marais is small. Phone me if you recall anything. This reaches me directly, day or night, no answering machine,' Aimee said. She felt eyes on her back as she walked down the short passage.

Aimee didn't think Albertine Clouzot or Florence had killed Lili Stein. Neither had a motive that she could discern. But why was Florence afraid?

Saturday Afternoon

'GO EAT SOMETHING,' LEAH said.

As Aimee nibbled on cul de lapin au basilic, she read the headline NEO-NAZI MOBS OVERRUN DEMONSTRATION AT JEWISH DEPORTATION MONUMENT in Le Figaro. The terse report mentioned several right-wing groups, Les Blancs Nationaux among them.

Leah's kitchen, toasty and warm from the hot button presses, helped her forget the cold. So did the vin rouge she poured from the bottle into a smudged wineglass. The dense, oak-flavored taste trickled down her throat.

She rooted around for Thierry Rambuteau's card in her bag. Since Morbier wouldn't help her, she knew it was up to her to identify who Thierry spoke with on the telephone. Otherwise, when she went to the LBN meeting, she could be walking into a trap.

She hooked up a code enabler to Leah's phone Minitel, then spliced the cable and ran it to the small television off the eating area.

She phoned the main branch of Post and Telecommunications. 'Operations, please,' she said.

'Yes,' a man's voice said.

Aimee clicked on the TV screen and fiddled with adjustments. 'My ex-husband is threatening me. He's calling day and night, threatening the children but I can't prove it.' Aimee's pitch went higher and higher. 'The judge won't do anything unless I can document it. Can you check my number at work? At least your records would verify that he calls there.'

'I can verify that incoming calls occur,' the man said, not unkindly. 'I'm only allowed to check your office number to see calls received.'

Perfect, she thought. This would reveal who called Thierry while she was in the LBN office. And it would be even more perfect if this enabler worked.

'Merci, Monsieur.' She switched it on. 'That's a huge help!' she said. 'My office number is 43.43.25.45.'