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“Where did you find it?” Armand asked, taking the letter in the plastic sleeve and putting on his reading glasses.
“In this.” Jean-Guy held up the book. “Extraordinary Popular Delusions—”
“—and the Madness of Crowds,” said Armand, grinning and shaking his head. He looked around at all the volumes he’d just spent an hour shaking out. Having ignored the most obvious one.
“It was at the beginning of a section on ‘The Drummer of Tedworth.’ About a ghost.”
Jean-Guy looked anything but pleased about the find, and as Armand read it, over by the window in the natural light, he knew why.
When he’d finished, he slowly removed his glasses, heaved a sigh, and turned to Jean-Guy.
“Where is she?”
“In the kitchen with her husband.”
They found the Roberges having a cup of tea, heads bowed over a jigsaw puzzle. It was, Armand saw, the one he’d assumed was for the children.
The image was a basket of puppies.
“Can we have a word, please?” he asked, and held the document in such a way that the Chancellor would see it.
She pressed her lips together, paused, then got up. Kissing her husband on the top of his head as he bent over the puzzle, engrossed, she said, “I’ll just be over by the woodstove.”
He didn’t answer.
Once they sat down, Armand handed her the letter in the plastic cover.
“So you found it.”
“Inspector Beauvoir did.”
She looked at him, and for some reason Jean-Guy felt he’d done something wrong.
“Evidence, Armand?” She sounded almost amused as she noted the tag.
“Would you like a lawyer?”
Now she did laugh. One humorless grunt. “No need.”
“Tell us about the letter.”
“Isn’t it self-explanatory?”
“Please, Colette.”
She looked at it, then carefully placed it on her lap and folded her hands over it.
“I haven’t seen this in years. Not since he died. Well, that’s not completely true.” She looked directly into Armand’s eyes. “I got this in Oxford, along with the book. It arrived the day after Paul died. The mail was much faster then, but not fast enough. Have you read it?”
Armand nodded, as did Jean-Guy.
“Then you know what it says. Paul admits to killing Maria. Smothering her with a pillow while Abigail and Debbie were out riding their bikes. Then he put a peanut butter sandwich down her th—” She stopped and took a series of short breaths, but seemed unable to catch it. She dropped her eyes, then slowly, deliberately, with trembling hands she moved the letter off her lap, to the sofa. Banished.
With what seemed a supreme effort, she raised her eyes. “He loved that child. Can you imagine?”
She managed to take a deep breath, while across from her the two men tried not to imagine.
Tried to remain police officers, while the father in them fought to get out.
