City of Darkness and Light(47)

“Sorry to keep you, Mrs. Sullivan.” I spun around as the inspector returned. “Admiring the paintings, are you? These are more my kind of style. Not like that modern rubbish they’re turning out now. Fauves, this latest lot call themselves. Wild ones. I think it’s just an excuse for not being able to paint properly.” He went over to the Monet. “Now take this, for example. Here’s someone who knew how to paint. Old Monet. They were good friends, you know. He and Bryce. He’ll be upset to learn of Bryce’s death. Almost all the old Impressionists have died off now. Only that Renoir man and Degas…”

“May one ask how Mr. Bryce was killed?” I interrupted him. “Did his death indicate a violent struggle? Did it appear that he knew his attacker and was caught by surprise?”

He came closer to me, staring hard at my face. “You ask a lot of questions for someone who apparently has no interest in this case,” he said. “Are you sure you’re not a lady journalist, hoping to get a scoop?”

“I am not. But before my marriage I used to be a private investigator in New York City. I’m afraid I can’t stop being fascinated by crime.”

“Mon dieu. A lady investigator. What is the world coming to?” He shook his head.

“Perhaps you could satisfy my curiosity on just one thing then,” I went on cautiously. “Was Mr. Bryce all alone when he was killed? There were no other bodies or signs of other people being killed at the same time?”

“What are you suggesting?”

I decided to take the plunge. Surely I had nothing to lose at this stage and the worst that could happen was that the inspector would think I was a crackpot. “I’m afraid I haven’t been quite honest with you, Inspector,” I said.

“Ah, so now we’re getting to it.” He gave me a triumphant smile as if he’d suspected me all along. “Come on, then. Out with it. What was the real message?”

“No, this has nothing to do with any message. You see I came to visit Mr. Bryce because two friends of mine are missing. At least they may just have gone away, and nothing might have happened to them, but they are not at their address in Paris and Reynold Bryce may have been one of the last people with whom they communicated.”

“How long have they been missing?”

“At least two days, maybe longer. The concierge was not sure.”

“And these friends of yours are Americans?”

“Two American ladies. One is a painter. That was why they had been communicating with Mr. Bryce.”

“Age?”

“Late twenties.”

“And these two ladies were good friends of Mr. Bryce, were they?”

“No. They had only just been introduced to him.”

“Then what makes you think their disappearance had anything to do with Mr. Bryce’s death?”

“He sent a postcard to one of them two days before he died.”

“And this postcard had some kind of warning written on it? Something that made you uneasy?”

I considered this. “Well, no. Not exactly.”

He took my hand and patted it. “Then I think you have no cause for concern, chère madame. There were no extra bodies found. No signs of a struggle elsewhere in the apartment. And American ladies are known for flitting across the Continent on a whim. They’ll turn up again, I’m quite sure.”

“Thank you.”

The inspector opened the front door for me. “I wish you a pleasant stay in Paris, madame. However, if you can think of anything to do with Bryce’s family in America that might have a bearing on this case, you can always leave a message for me at the Sûreté.”

The policeman at the door nodded to me as I passed him and walked down the steps, out to the street. I gave a sigh of relief. Sid and Gus’s disappearance seemed to have nothing to do with the death of Reynold Bryce. Perhaps they had already returned home and be waiting for me. I hurried to the nearest Métro station.





Sixteen



When I reached the bakery I found Liam had already been fed and was sleeping peacefully. I apologized but Madeleine laughed. “I am here at home with one baby, madame. What difference does another one make? And your son, he is delightful. He has so much joie de vivre.”

“Yes,” I said. “He is a lot like his father.” And a great longing for Daniel came over me. When could I hope for a letter? Was he still safe? I wanted nothing more than to feel his arms around me.

When I entered the front hallway of Sid and Gus’s building the concierge popped out like a spider springing from its lair on passing prey. “So you’re still here. And no, your friends have not returned. Me, I think they have found a place they like better. In a more chic neightborhood.”