‘What do you mean “about the money”?’ Charlie repeated.
‘Gunther didn’t pay his September rent at the beginning of the month. Monsieur Martin was furious and I had to telephone several times, but Gunther said there’d been some problem wiring the money from his bank in Munich.’
Charlie and Allard exchanged a look. German banks were among the most efficient in the world, so Gunther had told a lie to the estate agent.
‘Yes, anyway, here it is.’ The receptionist opened the ledger book to September and slid her finger along the dates. ‘Gunther paid the full rent on the ninth of September.’ She tapped it twice and slid it around for Allard to see. Charlie peered over his shoulder and wrote down the amount in her notebook.
Five thousand francs.
Something niggled at her and she flipped through the pages of notes on the Saint-Cloud cases until she came to 9 September. Two days before Gunther’s payment, Monsieur Auclair had been robbed of just over 5000 francs. And shot dead in the nape of his neck.
Charlie nudged Allard and pointed discreetly to the date in her notes.
The receptionist raised her eyebrows at this private exchange and asked, ‘Is there anything else I can help you with?’
‘Thank you,’ said Charlie. ‘Can we please trouble you for one more detail, Mademoiselle …?’
‘Mademoiselle Frances,’ she beamed. ‘What can I give you?’
‘Can we please have the address of Gunther’s villa?’
Chapter 25
GUNTHER’S VILLA, SAINT-CLOUD
Charlie and Detective Allard sped in the unmarked police car towards the villa on the outskirts of Saint-Cloud. The receptionist had offered to come with the detective and give directions, but he assured the enthusiastic Mademoiselle Frances that his orders were for a routine inspection and he would be back in touch if he needed anything.
Charlie’s mind again went to Maisy Bell and her alleged visit to Saint-Cloud. Clementine thought Maisy was travelling with a Swiss national called Louis, however Maisy herself told Gigi Rockefeller that she was going for a visit with a German named Ludwig.
Mael Albu in Tours said the man with the dead Jouet was German. Mael was a traveller with an ear for languages.
Now they were closing in on Gunther—otherwise known as Hans Fischer—and Alain Schmidt too, with any luck.
German links. All tenuous.
Charlie was not superstitious; she believed in facts and evidence over gut feelings and intuition. Even so, the Maisy Bell case refused to diminish in her mind.
‘Did you give any more thought to the Maisy Bell case? The notes I sent you showed that Hans Fischer was convicted for stalking and battery of two young women.’
‘Of course I’ve considered it. We are investigating every angle. I know you care about Maisy Bell’s disappearance, but there are also three pressing homicides I need to resolve. They may or may not be connected. Current evidence suggests they are, but I need more. An arrest would be even better. Fischer may be our man; Schmidt may be our man. They might both be.’
‘Neither might be.’
She glanced behind her and saw the unmarked police car with two plain-clothed local Saint-Cloud officers following them. Detective Allard had stopped at the police station on the way to the villa and requested support. Charlie was uncertain if she was reassured or intimidated at this request for extra police resources but she did not want to analyse it with Allard in case he decided to ditch the reporter and get on with solving the case.
Charlie sat silently as the car sped past châteaux, tall hedges and eventually open fields.
After ten minutes of intense silence, they pulled up and parked just past the villa’s front gates, as though they were any other pair of tourists perusing the tree-lined lanes and villas around Saint-Cloud.
The villa’s gates were impressive, tall and wrought iron, flanked with two pillars crowned by lion statues. A little over-the-top for the villa sitting at the end of the driveway—it was more of a gatehouse, Charlie thought ungraciously. The villa and its grounds were attractive but unkempt, much like the kind of hapless man who relied on his partner to do everything for him when his wife had left him alone for a week to visit her mother. The front gate had a slight squeak as it swayed to and fro in the wind.
She craned her neck to see if there were more buildings and garden sprawling towards the dense forest that started mere steps from the back of the villa.
Detective Allard, Charlie and the two officers climbed out of their cars, quietly closed their doors and gathered behind a large oak tree near the footpath. Allard instructed the officers to wait discreetly behind trees a little further down at each corner so as not to cause alarm or attract attention in the street.
‘You sit back in the car, please, Mademoiselle James.’
His voice sounded so formal as he gave orders. Charlie opened her mouth to protest, before closing it again, remembering her deal with Allard to stay out of the way during investigations or any exploration. Besides, now she was close to the grounds of the villa, she had to admit she was a little spooked. It was all so routine, and there was the extra police car with two local officers, but she knew better than anyone how quickly a simple interrogation could go wrong.