He held up his hand to silence me. “We have received cables from the police in Boston. Mr. Bryce has no family to speak of.”
“Second and third cousins, Inspector. Also he has a wife,” I said. “They were never divorced, so I presume she has a good claim on his estate.”
His eyes narrowed. “Madame, we are well aware of this wife. Our colleagues in Boston are checking on her with a great deal of interest. As you say, she stands to inherit a considerable fortune. And if you have been sent here by her, my supposition should be that she sent you here to arrange for his murder.”
“You know that can’t be true,” I said, trying not to sound flustered because I realized I had put my foot in my mouth royally this time. “I only arrived here the day after his murder. I have witnesses to attest to my being in Le Havre until that date.”
“So you were not sent here by his wife, then?”
“Of course not. I don’t know the woman. Never met her.”
“So why this unhealthy interest in the murder of Reynold Bryce? If a remote cousin wanted to see one of his paintings, I do not think you’d risk sneaking into a crime scene to catch a glimpse of it. Not even if this person was your dearest friend. I know I wouldn’t take such chances.”
“Maybe it is the detective in me that wants to see justice done?” I suggested.
“You wish to solve this case yourself and prove the police to be idiots?”
“Of course not. I’m just interested. For example, Inspector, it was not made clear that he had a young model in the room and that she left in anger that morning. She would have been the first person on my list of suspects. What do you know about her?”
“Naturally she was brought in for questioning instantly. She’s a young Russian immigrant. Came here with her brother about three years ago. Her real name is Hodel Klein. She calls herself Josette Petit to sound more French and less Jewish. She lives with other young refugee girls in a shack on Montmartre. Her French is extremely limited but I understood that much.”
This time I understood the pronunciation of her first name. Josette, not Shosette. The housekeeper’s accent had been strange.
“And is she a suspect in your mind?”
“No, madame, she is not.”
“Why not? The housekeeper said she walked out that morning, upset.”
The inspector was now giving me a patronizing smile that annoyed me. “She left because her employer sent her home. He said he didn’t feel like painting anymore that day and told her to go away and enjoy herself. She was upset because she was only going to be paid for a half day and she had counted on a full day’s pay. Other than that she said he paid well, she was glad to get the work, and she’d only been sitting for him for a few days so she knew very little about him.”
“And you don’t think she might have returned that afternoon when the housekeeper was out—to kill him?”
“For what reason?” he asked. “He was employing her. She was getting good money. And nothing was taken from the house.” He leaned toward me. “Furthermore there is one good reason that I believe she was not responsible for his murder.” He paused. “Her fingerprints are not on the knife.”
“You were able to take fingerprints from the knife?”
“Several sets. One of them smaller, probably from a woman. Of course if the knife was used in a restaurant kitchen it is possible that it was touched by several hands there. But the little Jewish girl. No. She was not among them. Neither were her fingerprints on the windowsill and we are sure the killer must have made his exit that way, because the housekeeper was never far from the front door and would have seen anyone trying to escape through the foyer.”
“So you have not yet managed to identify any of the fingerprints on the knife?” I asked.
“If I had, I should not share that information with you.”
“I just wondered whether the gossip is correct and it really was a young Jewish man who killed him. I expect you’ve collected fingerprints at various synagogues and Jewish meeting places?”
“We have rounded up several of the leading Dreyfusards. They all have perfect alibis and what’s more they know nothing of this murder. If it was committed by a young Jew then he was acting as a lone wolf and our chances of bagging him are small unless he is arrested again on another crime. If I were he, I would have fled to a Jewish community in another country—Austria, Hungary, Germany, even England.”
“So it sounds as if you’re giving up,” I said bluntly.
“Of course we are not giving up. Someone always knows. Someone will talk. You’ll see.”