‘I have only these early shots.’
‘Mademoiselle James, this is a conversation for Allard. If you believe a witness is dead, you need to go directly to the detective in charge of the investigation. Metropolitan does not manage provincial investigations; as you know, there are plenty of crimes in Paris that keep our officers overworked.’
‘Understood. I’ll contact Allard. While I have you on the telephone, have you any updates or new evidence on the Maisy Bell missing person case?’
He sighed again with impatience. ‘Zero.’
‘Nothing? No new leads? Maisy’s name, her face, was all over the news for weeks.’
‘I’m sorry to say this case is closed. The American Embassy have requested it closed at the behest of the family. Clementine and Mason Bell sail for home tomorrow. With no news of Maisy Bell and the case closed, there is nothing they can do. They depart the hotel at 11 a.m.’
Charlie gasped and tugged at the curls in her phone line as her stomach sank. She’d been so busy chasing this Tours story she’d not had contact with the Bells recently. Clearly they were finished with Charlie and wanted no further contact. She mustn’t let them leave before saying goodbye.
Before saying sorry.
She took a deep breath and tried to steady her voice as she said, ‘Thank you for telling me this, Inspecteur. I shall go bid my farewell in the morning.’
‘I’m not sure that’s wise,’ he said gently. ‘The Bells want to leave quietly, no story.’
Charlie let that pass. She was hardly going to publish the story of her own failure.
‘Mademoiselle James, please let this Maisy Bell story go. As police, we have to focus on the evidence and the crimes in frontof us. Sometimes, no matter how hard we search, we never find what we are looking for. I hate this as much as you’—he sighed again—‘but I have been a detective for twenty years and not found justice for every story. I wish I had.’
Humans chased answers. It was only natural to seek explanations, to try to put words around events so people had somewhere to place their grief. Charlie thought of the hurt in Allard’s eyes as he’d told her about the missing child he never found. A search for a child that took him away from his own child … a case that lingered as a ghost.
She ended the call with Bernard and looked at Detective Allard’s card where it was pinned to the wall of her cubicle before dialling his direct line.
No answer. That would make sense, as he would be out at the latest homicide site. There was no time for her to get to Neuilly and file this story. She dialled his office and left her number with the secretary, asking for Allard to call Charlie James urgently.
She sat at her desk, rearranging the photos, trying to work out which one to run with tonight’s story and starting to put the bones of an article together, when the phone rang.
‘So you didn’t lose my number, Mademoiselle James,’ said a deep voice. ‘We have nothing new on Jouet at the moment, so I’m assuming you are contacting me about this latest case in Neuilly. News of misfortune travels fast.’
‘Misfortune, or murder?’
‘You don’t waste words, do you?’
‘Are you able to give me the facts, please?’
‘It’s early in the investigation. Too early to—’
‘If you don’t give them to me, someone else will run incorrect facts. Speculation. I already have some pics from my editor.’
‘Ah, yes, so it was your crowd that sent the stringer?’
‘My editor sent the freelance photographer,’ Charlie corrected him and cursed herself for sounding like a headmistress. ‘Let’s just start with what you do have and go from there.’
‘To the point. I like it, Mademoiselle James. What do you want to know?’
Charlie grabbed her pen, opened her notebook and asked the question that was on the tip of her tongue. ‘The suit, was it burgundy?’
‘Oui.’
‘It’s the same—I think—as the witness I spoke with in Tours …’
A pause. ‘Are you sure?’
‘It’s hard to tell with so little to go on,’ Charlie admitted. ‘I can’t see the face, but the boots are the same. And his stature. Did you ever find the witness, Mael?’