‘Let me know if anything else occurs to you,’ he says. And a moment later they’re gone.

Chapitre Seize

Chapitre seize

I’m hobbling back to my desk, the blister on the back of my foot stinging as my finger traces the edge of Commandant Luneau’s business card when I hear: ‘Harper?’

I turn my head. Hyacinth is standing in her doorway, hands on her hips. She’s wearing some sort of woollen kaftan. She must have come in while I was in the meeting room and pried the morning’s events, and the reason the meeting room door was closed, out of poor Judy. ‘Can we have a word?’

‘Of course,’ I say with a smile, heading into her office.

‘Take a seat,’ she says.

I sit down, hearing the click of the door behind me.

She goes to her side of the desk and sits down too. ‘Apparently we had a visit from the police this morning?’ she says.

I swallow hard, trying to think of the least inflammatory way to tell the story. ‘They had some questions,’ I start, sombre. ‘I was at a party on Friday night and a girl went missing. Sabine Roux. You might have seen her in the papers? There have been posts about her all over social media. They found her body yesterday.’

Hyacinth’s posture stiffens. Thoughts flicker behind her eyes.

‘Whose party was it?’ she asks.

‘Noah X,’ I say. ‘The artist I wrote about last week.’ She gives me this look and I know I’d better explain. Fast. ‘I went there to get more information for my story.’

She nods slowly, finishing my sentence for me. ‘And the police are questioning everyone who was there that night? Trying to find out more information?’

I nod. But I fear it’s a trap. They only found Sabine’s body yesterday, why seek me out at my place of employment over everyone else at that party? I need to elaborate.

‘Yes. Except they wanted to talk to me specifically,’ I say, shifting in my seat. How to tell the next bit truthfully without screwing myself over in the process? ‘I was talking to Noah just before Sabine Roux left. She came over, said something to him in French, and ran off. The police wanted to ask about that.’

‘Well, what did she say, before she left?’

C’est pour ta femme.

‘I’m not sure,’ I say. ‘It was in French. I think it was something about a painting.’

We sit there in silence for a few moments. I can hear her breathing. Her eyes are down. I brace myself to be told that going to that party was unprofessional. That having the police seek me out in my place of work is unacceptable.

But instead she just looks up, face blank, and says, ‘Okay, thanks, Harper.’

And I head back towards my desk. Everyone is watching me now. Claudia is whispering something. Wesley is staring.