‘Not at all.’ He batted her gratitude away, looking embarrassed. ‘I have images to show you. Off the record,oui?’
Charlie now understood why Inspecteur Bernard had booked the table perched on its own, far from prying eyes and ears. She nodded as her stomach tightened. She pushed the plate to one side, no longer hungry.
The inspecteur slipped a photograph of the late Maisy Bell out of an envelope he’d pulled from his satchel.
The inspecteur grimaced and said, ‘Très désolé.’
Maisy Bell presented just as her aunt, Clementine, had described her: the very sartorial picture of an American tourist in Paris. Charlie took in the brown sports visor, white gloves and matching handbag, red plaid top, sky-blue skirt, white frilled socks and her new, black patent leather Mary Janes straight from the shelves of Galeries Lafayette. Only in this photo she looked asleep. Charlie shivered.
‘So Maisywaskilled the day she went missing?’
‘Yes. In his interview, Fischer went into great detail. He showed her his villa, they talked Wagner over cigarettes and coffee—though Mademoiselle Bell didn’t drink hers, preferring a cold glass of milk. We telegrammed her parents, Dolly and Jimmy Bell, to let them know we exhumed her body from the villa.’
‘Poor Clementine,’ Charlie said softly. ‘She loved Maisy.’
‘As police, we are obligated to deal directly with the next of kin. However, given the exceptional circumstances, I also telegrammed Clementine Bell, as she was our first point of contact. I passed on the condolences of the Metro Police.’ He dropped his head and his shoulders sagged as he tipped his wineglass side to side, the golden liquid swirling in his glass. The rhythm was comforting and they both watched his wine dance with the light.
‘Understood. Where was Maisy found?’ Charlie asked softly.
The inspecteur took a sip of his wine and placed his glass neatly on the checked tablecloth as he replied, ‘Buried under the front steps of the villa.’
Charlie shivered. How could someone be so callous that they could step over a dead body for weeks without blinking?
Bluebeard.
‘Did he show remorse?’
‘He seems to show no remorse for killing four men. But he couldn’t bear to speak Bell’s name in court, remember?
‘It appears that when Fischer was young Alain Schmidt’s cellmate in Germany, they formed quite the friendship. Fischer concocted a plan to raise money to live his dream life in France via ransoms and used Schmidt to be his lackey. Schmidt had left school early and had never been much of a student. Not a young man with his wits about him, if you like.
‘It was Schmidt who botched the ransom drop in Luxembourg Gardens.’
‘That makes sense, if you think about the childlike handwriting.’
‘Oui. Fischer got angry with Schmidt on the day Maisy came to visit from Paris. He kept interrupting them when they were listening to Wagner, and again when they were walking in the garden. According to Fischer, it was Schmidt who took it out on Maisy, knocking her down the staircase.’
‘What?’
‘A likely story. By all accounts, Alain Schmidt was a peaceful young man whose only fault was falling in with the wrong crowd. It’s clear Fischer’s trying to pin the blame on his hapless accomplice who is, conveniently, no longer alive to deny it. But Maisy Bell did not die of a fall. She was shot. Fischer is a murderer and a liar.’
Charlie shook her head. ‘But when Maisy died, the hope of a ransom drop remained alive?’
‘Exactly. Schmidt tried to make it right. He wrote the note and nearly got himself caught.’
‘It was hardly the work of a man who listens to Wagner.’
‘Eventually, it seems Fischer decided he needed to take care of his sole witness, and he killed Schmidt too. Shot to the back of the head, like all the others.’
‘But what about those others—Jouet, Mael Albu and Auclair?’
‘Perhaps it was a bid for money? With Maisy the heiress dead, Fischer needed to lower his sights, find money wherever he could to make rent. He had already served time, and it appeared he had no consistent employment records.’
Charlie took a gulp of wine. ‘I’ve been trying to put the pieces together between the murderer and the victims.’
The inspecteur chuckled and sat back in his chair. ‘That doesn’t surprise me.’ He hesitated. ‘You came to me that day at the police station asking for my help on behalf of the family and I sent you away.’
‘Yes,’ Charlie said very softly. ‘You said you get so many cases like these.’