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CHAPTER 30
Perrete. Ysabel. Nichole. Emeline.
I don’t think Simon is aware of the coincidence as he nails a piece of paper to the wall, but he feels the same responsibility as the architect does for his own list, the same determination not to add any more names. The sketches are back up, too, surrounding the maps, and new drawings from last night have been added.
The inquiry has officially been reopened and Simon’s position reinstated. At first the comte had tried blaming him for ending it in the first place, but Simon had given the high altum a sealed letter before he left, detailing his objections to ending the investigation. Between that and a signed recommendation from the altum of Mesanus, Collis’s holy man had publicly sided with Simon, and the provost backed down.
Simon’s hunch that the woman, Beatrez, had a history of prostitution before her marriage was the only topic he’d been able to discuss with Emeline. After leaving me at the architect’s home, he’d spent the first couple hours visiting several taverns in an effort to make his return known. He’d only just sat down with Emeline when I came pounding on the door. When I asked whythe woman at the door said he wasn’t there, Simon shrugged and said that was probably what they told any woman searching for a man.
Unsurprisingly, Oudin was able to provide a few other details about Beatrez, such as her hair color being similar to the braid found with Perrete. Everyone assumed her husband had killed her, but he’d vanished. When it came to more personal knowledge of her, for once Oudin was more circumspect.
Juliane dutifully transcribes the night’s interviews from her memory as Oudin paces back and forth in front of the wall. I suspect his presence is only tolerated because he was the one to identify the woman from last night as Nichole. That he’s known every victim intimately has Oudin convinced someone is out to get him.
“Emeline’s death doesn’t match the others,” he says. The last few hours have apparently made him an expert. He points to the drawing of her body as it was found in the kitchen of her home—the very room Juliane and I had sat in with her only days ago. “Her throat was cut and she was bludgeoned, but her tongue was removed rather than her eyes.”
She also wasn’t violated in the same way as the others, but only Simon and I know about that.
“Are you sure she was killed by the same man?” Oudin asks.
A blood-soaked coil of hair as thick as my little finger and as long as my forearm rests on a linen cloth in front of Simon. He draws a thin finger along the edge of it. “I’m sure,” he says quietly. “He left it in Emeline’s mouth as a message. He’s telling me he’s silenced the only one who could have given us answers.”
Lambert shakes his head. “You’re giving this madman too much credit for rational thought.”
“On the contrary,” replies Simon. “I haven’t given him enough credit, which is why he’s two steps ahead of me.”
“Maybe that’s because you’re sitting here doing nothing,” says Oudin.
Simon narrows his eyes. “I don’t recall asking for your assistance.”
“You plainly need it,” snarls Oudin. “Half of your information has come from me. You wouldn’t even know Nichole’s name if I hadn’t told you.”
Rather than address that ridiculous claim, Simon pulls a stack of parchments covered in writing from his satchel and begins flipping through them. “Do you know why I went to Mesanus, Cousin?” he asks casually.
Oudin folds his arms. “You’re assuming I noticed you were even gone.”
Simon pulls a page from the bunch and studies it. “I wanted to consult with a man who has led many inquiries like this one.” He pauses, but Oudin doesn’t interject. “I shared the details of Perrete’s and Ysabel’s murders and asked for his opinions. He agreed with all of my theories.”
“Am I supposed to be impressed?”
“He added a few things I should look for,” continues Simon, as though Oudin hadn’t spoken. “Namely that I should pay special attention to anyone who either involves himself in the investigation or watches it closely.” He raises his eyes to his cousin. “So where exactly were you this evening?”
Oudin’s ruddy cheeks go pale. “You saw me at the tavern yourself.”
Simon doesn’t blink. “I saw you an hour before the murder. Can anyone account for your whereabouts after I left?”
“Remi la Fontaine can.”
“Then I’ll be sure to ask him,” says Simon calmly. “In the meantime, your assistance is not required.”
Oudin glares at him and then Lambert before stomping out of the room, slamming the door behind him. When the sound of his heavy footsteps fades, the only noise in the room is the scratching of Juliane’s pen and the buzzing flies now circling over the braid of hair. Simon brushes them away. “I suppose we ought to rinse this off before it fully dries.”
Gruesome as that task is, I worry Simon may still be angry with me, so I offer to perform it. He gestures for me to go ahead. I pick it up by the linen cloth and carry it downstairs to the kitchen. Madame Denise provides a bowl of warm water as I peel the braid from the cloth where it’s stuck.
I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.
The husky voice makes me jump and look around. Madame Denise continues stirring a pot over the fire like she’s heard nothing. I’ve dropped the hair into the bowl, splashing water on the table, which I hastily wipe away with a corner of the cloth. Then I prod the rest of the braid under the water with a finger.
… didn’t expect… you… soon… see you… didn’t expect…
