Sutton wasn’t about to be swayed from the topic at hand. “I didn’t have anything to do with the two murders. Those children, Lily and Rick, I don’t know who killed them. And I want a lawyer.”

The woman smiled kindly. “I didn’t tell you the victims’ names. So you are aware of the case, are you not, mademoiselle?”

Sutton shut her eyes briefly. Stop being stupid.

Badeau continued in that friendly, concerned tone. “You are not in America, Mademoiselle Holliday. You don’t have the same rights as you might be afforded at home.” She settled back more comfortably into the chair as if getting ready for a nice, long chat. “Now, tell me, what brought you to Paris?”

Sutton closed her mouth, her lips seamed together as if sewed shut, and shook her head. She wasn’t going to say another word. This was bad, very bad, and she couldn’t take the chance of screwing herself more. She knew she’d get a lawyer eventually, but shit, what was she going to do, call the embassy and ask for help? She had a fake passport, a fake identity. She was here under very false pretenses, and that was illegal. She couldn’t imagine the embassy staff was predisposed to helping foreign nationals who flouted the law.

She shook her head at the woman, who smiled as if she understood completely.

Badeau signaled her compatriot to leave, then, when the door shut, leaned close, and said, “You might as well start talking. We know what you’ve done. And we know who you are. We have video of you on the grounds of Sacré-Coeur, trying to admire your handiwork, and again, later, laying flowers to make it seem you were simply there as another grieving tourist. The murder weapon was found in your flat. We are searching it thoroughly as we speak for more evidence. It does not take a genius to pull the threads together. Now,” she said, smiling kindly, “it is time for you to tell me the truth about your involvement in the murders.”

Sutton fought back tears. Oh, God. She was well and truly screwed.

“I want a lawyer.”

“Pfft.” Badeau gave a Gallic shrug. “If you are not willing to talk to me about the murder, would you perhaps like to talk about the real reason you’re in Paris?”

“Lawyer.”

Badeau shook her head and sighed heavily. “You will do well to cooperate with me, Mademoiselle. I want only to get to the truth, to understand what is actually happening.”

Silence from Sutton. She was a sphinx. She would not break.

“Suit yourself. I was going to wait to talk to you about this. You’re possibly the most famous missing person on the planet right now. A missing person, and the number one suspect in a gruesome double murder. Yes, we know who you are, Sutton Montclair, from Franklin, Tennessee.”