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CHAPTER 23
“The inquiry is closed.”
“What?” Simon stands before his uncle, stunned. “I thought you wanted me to stop this madman.”
“He has been stopped, and well done to you,” says Comte de Montcuir without looking up from his seat behind a wide, polished desk. “The grain merchant confessed to killing all three women.”
“Because you tortured him!”
Juliane and I stand behind and to one side of him in the Chamber of Judgment. It’s been three days since the grain merchant’s arrest, and his trial was held yesterday. This morning came word that the investigation of Perrete’s and Ysabel’s murders were officially concluded, and Simon had marched straight to the Palace of Justice.
“You persuaded me the man was guilty.” The comte signs his name on the order of execution with a flourish. “Your testimony was quite compelling, and he admitted killing his wife once he heard the evidence against him. I don’t understand the problem.”
Simon squeezes his eyes shut as he exhales through clenched teeth. After a long, deep breath he opens his eyes and speaks. “That evidence was also meant to convince you that we knewhe’d killed his wife preciselybecausehis mindset and method were so different from that of the other cases.”
The provost sets the page and quill aside and meets Simon’s glare with his own. “I seem to recall you didn’t want to have anything to do with this investigation. Now you’re complaining that it’s finished.”
“I won’t deny I didn’t want to be involved,” replies Simon. “But since I am, it will be done right. This isn’t our man. This isn’t over.”
Comte de Montcuir leans back in his chair, lacing his fingers over his stomach. “People are scared, Simon. They need to see us act. They need resolution.”
“Hanging this man—justly—is action, Father,” says Juliane. “But saying this is resolved when it obviously isn’t will only damage your authority.”
The comte’s brown eyes switch to his daughter. “I tolerated your participation in this inquiry, but do not lecture me on how to perform my office, Child.”
He also glances at me, but I don’t dare say a word or attract his attention, lest his ire turn on me and the Sanctum by association.
“Besides”—the provost turns back to Simon—“if there is, indeed, a second killer out there, he’s likely to have brought himself under control. He hasn’t acted in over a week, according to you.”
Simon throws his hands in the air. “That we know of! He could be in another town or out in the countryside, letting his compulsion free where we can’t see it.”
“All the more reason not to worry,” says the comte placidly, though his jaw twitches. “He’s moved outside our jurisdiction.”
“That’sif,” snaps Simon. “He could easily be here in Collis, laughing as we congratulate ourselves.” When his uncle isunmoved, Simon shakes his head in disbelief. “This is about freeing Oudin from suspicion, isn’t it? That’s all this was ever about.”
“You said yourself you didn’t believe it was him.” The comte points out.
“I could be wrong!” Simon spits back. “But what disgusts me is how your first impulse isn’t justice, it’s to shield your own.”
My skin grows cold at Simon’s accusation. Remi had used different words but thrown the exact same sentiment at me. Not without cause, either.
Simon leans his knuckles on the table between him and his uncle. “It’s only a matter of time before this man slaughters some woman in the street again, and in worse ways. And her blood will be on your conscience!”
Comte de Montcuir surges forward, slamming a fist down on his desk, then raises it, pointing his index finger at Simon. “If you speak to anyone about your insane conjecture, I will have you arrested!” he shouts. “This inquiry is closed! That’s an order.”
Simon grips the edge of the table. For a heartbeat, I think he’s going to flip it over on his uncle. Instead, he wheels around and storms out the door. Juliane gestures for me to follow so she can be the last to leave. The two of us have to run to keep up with him, but Simon doesn’t slow down until we’re outside the Palace of Justice. Then his shoulders drop, and he shortens his stride—abruptly halting when he catches sight of the gallows being erected out front. I’m shading my eyes against the change of light and nearly run into him from behind.
Juliane stops beside me. “At least the grain merchant’s wife will get justice,” she tries to soothe.
Simon shakes his head. “I should’ve seen this coming,” he mutters. “I should’ve known how your father would be eager to blame everything on him. He wants to believe this is over.” Heturns to face us. “I was showing off. I wanted people to see I was competent, that they could trust me to find the killer. I was too proud to let him get away with it.”
I gape at him. “Are you saying you wish you’d let the grain merchant go free?”
“I am.” Simon’s voice is hollow with shame. “At least for a while. He wasn’t likely to do anything like this again, especially if I hinted that he was suspect. And now more people will die because of it.”
Simon doesn’t object as Juliane and I follow him upstairs to his room. Lambert is there, staring at the maps and sketches on the wall.
The final drawings of Ysabel make me glad I hadn’t seen her body in reality. I understand the expression Juliane’s brother wears as he studies them. I, too, can hardly bear to look at the pictures, but neither can I look away. What I can’t understand is how one human being could do that to another.
