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He was standing on a street corner, his hat in front of him, playing the clarinet with a fair amount of skill, reflected in the pile of money in his instrument case.
Lucien moved forward.
"Police," he said in brisk, sharp French, showing his badge. “Monsieur, are you Giorgio Patron?"
The man stopped playing. He stared at Lucien, horrified. He had a bushy head of curly hair, a round face, and wide blue eyes. He looked like a larger, darker, less innocent version of a cherub.
"No, no," he gabbled. "Please! No, my license is coming through. I have paid for it already. The application is done."
"It is?" Sidetracked by the compulsion to make sure this man really was legal, Lucien veered briefly off course. "Show me the proof."
He remained alert, watching the man carefully in case he tried to make a break for it. One high speed chase on foot through the streets of Paris had been more than enough for him recently.
But the man didn't run. He put his clarinet away, and he rummaged in his backpack, and then he handed over a piece of paper that Lucien recognized. It was, indeed, the proof of application to become a licensed street entertainer.
Even so, Lucien knew this man could be applying for a license while also killing young women on the side.
"I am investigating the recent murders in the area," he said. "You know there have been murders near here?" He looked at him closely to gauge his reaction.
"I - er - yes, I do know. You surely can't suspect me though?" Giorgio stared anxiously at Lucien.
"We are suspecting everyone until they are cleared. So, I need to know your movements yesterday, monsieur. In particular, last night." Lucien stared at him challengingly.
"Last night?" The man's face was contorted in concentration. "Yes, of course. I was playing, I remember, on the next street. But at about six p.m. I packed up and I went home."
"And who can confirm that?"
"My mother. I live with her. I am looking after her, as she has a broken leg."
Lucien couldn't help but feel a flash of sympathy. He knew what it was like, to be caring for your mother.
"I need proof, monsieur."
"Proof that she broke her leg?" The man stared at him wide-eyed.
"Proof that you were home,” Lucien said impatiently. “What did you do at home? Make any phone calls? Anyone knocked on your door?"
"Ah. Well, I stopped on the way to buy groceries. And then, we watched a movie which I downloaded. And I also downloaded some music to practice, some clarinet tunes. I don't know if any of this will help?"
"It is something. I need more. Did you take any phone calls?"
Giorgio’s face went slack with relief. "Yes. Yes, I remember now that the doctor called at about eight, to check how my mother was doing. I spoke to him for a while and then he spoke to my mother as well. So that, I can show you. I can give you his number. It's here, on my phone."
As Lucien had suspected, the phone had been turned off. Giorgio took it out of his pocket, turned it on, and then scrolled through. Looking very nervous, he showed all this proof to Lucien.
Lucien considered it, writing down the details, and then made a quick call to the police station to confirm that the incoming number belonged to an orthopedic surgeon. In just a minute, he got the answer – it did.
That was going to allow him to cross Giorgio off the list.
"All right. Thank you for showing me this. We need nothing more. Just get your papers organized and keep them with you."
He turned and strode away, back to the square where he knew the Americans were working.
But, as he rounded the corner, he heard a commotion, shouts, and angry cries. Something was happening in that square.
Lucien, feeling anxious, broke into a run.
CHAPTER TWENTY
