‘I take your point, but in this case, I can assure you, she is an innocent bystander. It was Lady Ashworth who alerted me to this case when the police did not respond to Clementine Bell’s request for help. She would hardly ask me to chase a missing person she was responsible for disappearing!’
‘I would put nothing past that woman,’ sniffed Bernard as he looked again at the photos. ‘I see Maisy Bell is front and centre of these photographs, but in each of them there is a tall, dark man in an ill-fitting white tuxedo.’ He pursed his lips with obvious distaste.
‘That’s the mysterious Swiss Louis! The one your officers say she went to Saint-Cloud with voluntarily.’ Charlie’s voice was cold.
‘According to Clementine Bell, Maisy Bell did go voluntarily.’
‘Her choice to stay may not be!’
‘It’s certainly starting to appear so.’
‘Ransom notes? Demands of letters to the newspaper …’ Charlie couldn’t keep the frustration from her voice.
‘It’s odd. If this “Louis” was so cultivated and interested in history and Wagner, why are the ransom notes and letters to Clementine in a hasty, messy scrawl? It makes no sense. Maybe Maisy Bell left Louis to catch a train back to Paris and has been detained by someone else?
‘See here.’ The inspecteur tapped Louis’s head in every photo. ‘Maisy Bell is looking directly at the camera and smiling—and presumably expecting the man beside her to do the same. Yet in every photo, the man’s head is turned and his face obscured. You don’t recognise him from the fundraiser?’
‘No. If I did see him, I don’t recall. So frustrating. I spent the day yesterday double-checking the negatives over the lightbox. Nothing. Do you think he’s hiding his face deliberately?’
‘Who can say?’ The inspecteur shrugged as he gathered up the photos, slipped them into the envelope and tucked them into his briefcase by his feet to make room on the table.
‘We need to find the man in the photos. If he is the same one Maisy Bell went to Saint-Cloud with, he might know where she went. Either way, he ought to be our main suspect at this stage.’
‘Our?’ The inspecteur raised his eyebrow and took a sip of his wine. ‘In light of the documents you just showed me, I return to the most simple theory. The people closest to Maisy are responsible.’
‘Clementine?’
‘Or Clementine and Mason. They have the most to gain from Maisy’s and her father’s deaths.’
Charlie shivered and went quiet. Until now, she’d preferred to think of Maisy as only missing. She’d imagined seeing the smile that dazzled the Ritz ballroom just weeks ago light up many more rooms to come.
‘Can’t you at least look for this mysterious Louis in Saint-Cloud?’
‘Look for what? A tall, dark man in an ill-fitting tuxedo? I can’t send the Metro Police on a doorknock to a large municipal town we are not even certain Maisy Bell visited.’
‘A Swiss man.’ Charlie knew it was a ridiculous ask.
‘He could beallemandor evenfrançais. I doubt Clementine Bell is an expert in accents.’
Charlie let Bernard’s comment slide as a waiter brought their next plates. It was clear to Charlie that if she was to have a shotat finding Maisy, she needed to find the mysterious man in the white tuxedo.
Two plates ofmullet rougewith a leek sauce and a bowl of fries were put in front of them. As Charlie’s knife sliced through the soft flesh of the fish, she decided to change tack to keep the inspecteur onside.
‘I’m exploring all the options. Clementine Bell seems like she’s wasting away. Sometimes guilt and grief can appear the same.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Either way, there is a young woman who has now been missing for weeks. Weeks, Inspecteur Bernard! Other than that ransom note, a few cashed cheques, and a photo of some hair and a white suit, there’s been nothing. The trail is cold.’
‘Agreed,’ said the inspecteur as he took a mouthful of fish. ‘The cheques seem to have been cashed by different people. Goes to show how closely some cashiers examine the name and signature.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘They were all cashed in Paris. Somebody could have found Maisy’s discarded purse and just taken advantage. Maybe we are looking at this the wrong way. Perhaps Maisy Bell did not even make it to Saint-Cloud? Maybe this Swiss Louis fellow came to the Ritz for a drink, found his mark and disposed of her once he had her purse. Anyone can send a telegram.’
‘The note after the failed ransom drop and the letter to the papers were by the same hand. Rudimentary writing, but the same.’
‘Someone is looking for money and attention. That someone may or may not have Maisy Bell.’
‘I fear Maisy is not just missing, but …’ Charlie stopped herself from saying what they were both thinking.
‘It could well be the case,’ he said sadly. ‘We have no new information. In fact, Monsieur Bell came by my office this morning to ask about preparations for he and Clementine to return home and continue to follow the case from Texas while they attend to their company and family duties. It seems Maisy’s father has taken a turn for the worse. Mademoiselle Bell is reluctant to leave Paris in case young Maisy appears, but her brothers are insistent they return in the coming weeks. Who knows what goes on in wealthy families.’ He shrugged again. ‘But it does seem strange to make plans to leave when Maisy Bell is still missing.’
Charlie balanced her knife and fork on the edge of her plate. ‘So that’s it, everyone is giving up? Her own family is giving up? The Maisy Bell case is closed?’
‘You just said yourself that your editor is focused on other stories. You know we have other crimes to solve in Paris? Muggings, break-ins, homicides. Then there’s the endless paperwork for court cases and internments. Crime in Paris never sleeps.