“Your husband was arrested earlier today.”

She couldn’t help herself. “Arrested? For what?”

“Murdering you.”

Sutton’s brows creased. What in the world? This was a trick, a trick to get her to talk. She said as much, then asked again for a lawyer.

When Badeau frowned, a small crease appeared on her forehead. Sutton had gotten used to this.

“Madame Montclair. Allow me a moment to speak frankly. I will admit, now that we have become aware of this information, something feels...off about this situation. According to the American police, your body was found, murdered and burned in a field outside the town in which you live. I was told the body was wearing your wedding rings. Your husband was arrested for murdering you.

“And yet, here you sit, very much alive, a murder suspect in your own right. There are two bodies here in the morgue, brutally murdered at Sacré-Coeur. We have video of you at the crime scene. We have the murder weapon that you were trying to dispose of. And there is this.”

She pushed a small gray-and-black box in a plastic bag toward Sutton.

“This was found in your apartment.”

It looked like a ring box. As she watched, Badeau unsealed the evidence bag, creaked open the box. Flakes of black fell onto the table. Inside was a small diamond engagement ring.

“The blood on this ring box also matches that on the knife. There is no more logical conclusion other than to assume it must have been taken from the Sacré-Coeur crime scene.”

“I’ve never seen that before in my life.”

Badeau’s brow furrowed. “I thought you would claim as much.” She leaned forward, almost as if she was going to touch Sutton’s hand. “Madame, you are in very serious trouble. I implore you, explain yourself.”

Sutton shook her head.

Badeau sat for a moment, unmoving, unspeaking, then shrugged. “My superior is at this moment making a call to the police in your town to tell them we have you in our custody. And that we will be charging you with double homicide. It would not surprise me at all if a third charge will not be pending.”

“A third?” Sutton blurted out.

“Mais oui, madame. It seems quite logical to me that you attempted to obscure your flight from the United States by murdering someone, putting your rings on the poor soul’s finger, and fleeing here to Paris. Your murderous rage took you to Sacré-Coeur, where you killed the two innocent students, hid the murder weapon, then casually returned to the scene of the crime to lay flowers in an effort to make yourself look sympathetic. You are quite the dangerous creature.”