Chapter Nine

Nine

J eannette was glad they were meeting at their house-headquarters—and not at the facility where Claude Chirac had been held. She didn't think their presence would be welcome now.

Things happened despite the best intentions. And she didn't want any member of their team to become reproachful to the Paris police—which she didn't think would happen—but she didn't want the Paris police to believe their foreign guests were blaming them.

Someone was most probably already taking the blame, and the interference of others would not be welcome. Even their being there could give officers the appearance they were casting blame, and that would not help them in any way.

Chirac was dead. It was obvious now he had been involved. Whether he was the killer still seemed unlikely to Jeannette.

She believed he had been a procurer, and he brought the victims they desired to someone else.

No, the man would field no more questions. It was impossible to bring Claude Chirac back to life, and she sincerely doubted his soul would remain—he had made his choice. Their best move now was to discover where he had been in the past days—and just whom he might have been working with and for.

They arrived more quickly than Jeannette had expected.

Daniel was a good driver. He mentally and easily switched to the right—or correct—side of the road to drive on.

The house was great. It was just an average house, really, but on the busy ?le de la Cité. It had a yard, a horseshoe-shaped drive behind the gate, parking for several cars and offered five bedrooms.

Mason, Della, Luke and Carly had already settled in when they arrived; they learned Gervais LaBlanc would be arriving soon.

He would be stopping to receive more details on the death of Claude Chirac.

The foursome greeted them as good friends, and Jeannette had to admit to being just a little jealous. The four of them had all worked together before. She did know Mason, though. He'd been on the Krewe investigation team on one of her first cases, which had involved a murder at a haunted house.

The haunted New England house was, indeed, haunted by a ghost killed during the War of 1812—but the ghost had done no evil. The ghost had, in fact, been instrumental in the investigation that proved a greedy wife had managed to murder her husband.

Jeannette had wondered if the murdered husband might have stayed on as well, but he had not. Nor, she had learned, had the killer wife who had passed away from a burst appendix just months later in prison.

Captain Nathaniel Winters, the spirit remaining in the house he had built, assured her that evil souls seldom stayed. He'd seen it once—just once. Evil souls were collected not by fire or pure darkness, but by a strange gray fog, or so it had been in his experience. He wondered if perhaps the man hadn't gone to a different plane, perhaps a place where the soul might be cleansed. But ghosts, he assured her, were almost never evil in any way. They were memories of the past, and the past was the roadway to the future. It was so important to be recalled.

"Jeannette!" Mason said, making a point of addressing her personally as if he knew she was feeling just a little on the outside. "Head on up. This place is big. You have your choice of bedrooms that are left. Since you took off for Reims right away, you haven't stayed here yet so you haven't seen the layout. But Gervais was amazing about procuring this for us. It's often used for anti-terrorist teams. Anyway, all the bedrooms have bathrooms, so settle in and we'll get working."

"We were here," she reminded him. "We just didn't stay long enough to settle in."

"Right. Sorry. But it is livable—and workable!"

Jeannette gave him a nod and a smile; then she hesitated, shaking her head with dismay. "So, Chirac really committed suicide?" she asked.

"Gervais doesn't believe anyone could have gotten to him, so, yes, we think so," Mason told her.

"That's so...strange. He just didn't seem like a man who would do such a thing," Jeannette said.

"I know Gervais implicitly trusts all the officers involved with holding the man. And none of us thought the man would kill himself," Mason said. "And in that interrogation room, it was no easy task for him. And to do what he did..."

Della joined Mason, adding, "We tried with the man, tried to get him to talk, to give us anything. Mason and I went in, Luke went in, Carly went in. And we believed that if we could have kept hammering at him, we would have eventually gotten something. And we were keeping him up, keeping him in the interrogation room. There was a guard on duty, but he was told to watch the door, make certain the man didn't attempt to escape. Nothing about the man suggested suicide—a man with an ego like his is not considered a danger to himself. But we should have all known that there are no guarantees on human behavior. Chirac used the sleeves from his shirt to strangle himself. Of course, we discovered him when we were finally able to go through hours and hours of video footage and found him on it with one of our victims. But whoever he was getting girls for...that person is far more terrifying to him than death itself."

"What else have we learned from the magician? Maybe he saw someone else? We received video from the box office, right?" Daniel asked her.

"The sketch hasn't given us much yet. And we researched his assistant, the disappearing Marni. Her full name is Marnette Magnon, no record, originally from Nice, moved to Paris when she was twelve. She has a degree in the performing arts, and only one parking ticket."

"On paper, she's a little angel," Mason said dryly.

"Anything else at all?" Daniel asked.

Della nodded. "We've worked with the magician, investigated Marni, worked with the sketch the magician did with the artist and police, and gathered information on all employees in the region at the various wineries. Also, this is what we're starting on now. We've got more video in. When everyone is settled in, we'll get into it. We have computers at the dining room table. We're connected with French tech, British tech and American tech. But here's one thing. The cause of this may be coming from the wine region, but it's likely that all the victims were taken from Paris. And since Chirac was seen at the venue where the magician has been launching his show, it's likely we may find something else."

Jeannette nodded. She turned. Daniel had grabbed her bag as well as his own and was looking at Della.

"Up the stairs?" he asked her.

"If you like. We've taken two of the rooms up there. There's one more up there and through that hallway, there are two more bedrooms down here," Della told him.

"Hmm. Maybe I'll opt for the downstairs," Daniel said. He laughed. "Easier to get to the dining room table, and the coffeepot! Oh, sorry. Jeannette, I can pop this up there for you if that's your preference."

"You had me at coffeepot ," she told him. She smiled as he nodded.

"I'll give you the closest!" he promised.

Carly and Luke joined Jeannette, Mason and Della where they stood, nodding to her and smiling, as if to make sure she knew that she was welcome in their company, that she was part of it. She had to admit, it gave her a good feeling.

"I was telling Daniel I knew it was important we get back here and have all the facts, but I want to go back to those fields again," Jeannette told them. "Strange feeling, I can't help but feel—fear, really—that there are more bodies and maybe..."

"Maybe someone most cops don't see to ask for any help they might give?" Luke suggested.

She smiled and shrugged. "Yeah. And that brings up something we need to do. Daniel and I met a revolutionary ghost—referring to the French Revolution, of course—and she was going to see if she could find out anything else."

Daniel had reappeared already and said, "Jeannette thought to see if we could find anyone, anyone at all, who might help us. She thought to walk by the church and cemetery near the theater where the magician is performing. We said we'd be back out there tonight, because she was going to see if she could discover anything else that might help us."

"Hmm, the gift or curse thing. It's continuing, huh?" Luke asked Daniel. "Are we talking about a lingering spirit?"

Jeannette knew, of course, because Daniel had told her his story. Luke was teasing him lightly. Good. A little levity helped sometimes.

Daniel nodded, indicating Jeannette with a smile. "She's still the expert, but..."

Jeannette laughed softly. "I'm not sure we can be experts. We can just seek to use what makes us different when it may work."

"Jeannette also has a theory on all this that we should explore," Daniel said.

"As in you think a vineyard owner may be involved?" Mason asked. "The major houses have CEOs, heads of different departments—"

"Not a major house," Jeannette told him. "There are three of the small family-owned businesses we're looking at." She glanced over at Daniel.

And he supported her theory. "Gervais took us out after our tour, and we met the owners of the three smaller vineyards near the fields where the bodies were found," he said. "Two of the couples apparently believe they are just about royalty. They like putting on a show when people are around them, but they behaved as if the mere thought that they might have so much as walked by someone who would do this was the most offensive thing in the world."

"Well," Carly said, speaking up. "Most people—unless they are killers—are offended when someone suggests they're bloodsuckers."

Daniel grinned at that. "Okay. These are not most people. Certainly not if you were to ask them! They are, I believe, in their own minds at least, akin to gods. They have horrible reputations for being rude and above all others, thinking the rest of the world is not on their social level and is unworthy of living so, and killing lesser human beings wouldn't be such a big thing."

"Gotcha," Carly assured him. "So, nasty enough to just be nasty, or nasty enough to be serial killers."

The door opened and closed; Gervais had arrived. It was growing late, close to ten o'clock, but he looked at them all and asked, "Food anywhere? Of course, there's food in the kitchen, but..."

"I'll see what we have. It will be fun to explore a good French restaurant! I want to grab a bottle of water if we have it for the ride," Daniel told Jeannette.

"Good idea."

"I'll get you one."

He walked on into the kitchen. Jeannette determined to follow him. But she made a face first and murmured, "As long as the food and drink are not..."

"Human in any way?" Mason asked dryly. "Sorry. When we're in this long enough, we deal with just about everything."

"Too true!" she agreed.

She winced and hurried after Daniel.

"Hey!" he called out. "Gervais! How about a microwavable sandwich or—"

"Delicious!" Gervais called to him.

Daniel grinned at Jeannette. "You know, I'm a capable lad, Jeannette. I do know how to use a microwave."

"I didn't come in here to help you, just to thank you," she told him.

"For?"

"Supporting my theory."

"Well, we haven't brought up your Elizabeth Báthory correlation yet—"

"We don't really need to."

"Maybe we do," he said quietly. "Because maybe, it has merit."

He popped the sandwich he was preparing for Gervais in the microwave. As he did so, Gervais came into the kitchen. "Food! Aren't you two hungry?" he asked.

Jeannette laughed. "Don't forget, we spent half the day eating. A major lunch, then wine, more wine and charcuterie trays!"

"Ah, true. I forgot to tell you," Gervais told them, nodding his head toward the dining room. "No one has stopped in any direction of this investigation. Your people here...they are already in there, busy studying traffic, bank and other camera footage. Everything has been made available to all your emails."

"Let's hope we're not hacked," Jeannette murmured.

"Won't matter if we are. None of our information is up there—just a lot of video footage. If someone wants to study it, well..." He shrugged, reaching for the sandwich Daniel handed him.

"Nice! Cold water in the refrigerator!" Daniel said, grabbing two bottles. "We're heading out again—we're going to watch for the man in the sketch outside the theater. Maybe we'll get lucky." He spoke to Gervais and turned to Jeannette.

"Let's take a quick look at the computers and some of the footage—just a quick look—and get going!" Daniel told Jeannette. He set his hand on her shoulder and lowered his voice so that Gervais wouldn't hear. "I don't know that much yet, but I don't think ghosts have bedtimes. Still, I don't want her to think we're not coming."

"Eat up, Gervais! Nothing like a microwavable sandwich," she teased.

"When you're as hungry as I am...it is pure ambrosia!" he assured them.

"Yep—been there!" she assured him, and they headed out to the dining room, greeting the others again, who were already busy at work. Seats across from one another were available.

"We'll take a quick look," Jeannette murmured, looking at Daniel and nodding to Mason.

Mason nodded in return.

"Get the lay of the computers and the footage the teams have put together?" Daniel asked Jeannette.

She nodded and they sat across from one another, turning on their computers to find the footage and start watching for just a minute.

The others, she knew, might be at it all night. She was suddenly somewhat relieved her most important duty for the night was to meet a ghost in the cemetery.

The traffic cams were good, darned good, she thought. They were set up to catch cars speeding and running lights, but the cameras by the magic show had caught most of the street as well. The bad thing was that they seemed endless. The good thing was that there were several of them to do the work.

She frowned, seeing a man leave the magic show. She thought she might have seen him that day at one of the vineyards. She wasn't sure which one. The servers had moved about swiftly. Most of the men she had seen dealing with the wine and tour guests had been brown-haired and around forty. But she thought that maybe she was looking at one of the men who had poured wine for them...

"Daniel," she said, hitting the pause button on her computer. "Sorry!" she murmured, looking around the table. "Daniel and I were on the wine tour today, and I think I'm seeing a man leaving the show who was working at one of the vineyards."

Daniel was already up and coming around the table. He stared at the image on her computer. The footage was of the crowd leaving the theater. People were close together, but there was a split second in the video in which the man's face was clear.

He had been leaning behind her to study the screen. Daniel stood straight and looked around the table, addressing them all. "This may mean nothing at all, but we did see this man today. We saw him at the House of Deauville."

Thankfully, Daniel remembers which house we were at when we saw the man!

The others were all up and behind Jeannette, looking over her shoulder at the man who had been captured so briefly on the video—including Gervais, who was just swallowing the last of his sandwich.

"Keep the pause on that—I'll get the image to the police departments in Paris and out to Reims and environs. We can also compare it to the lists of employees we've received from the various houses," Gervais said. "Of course, all our tech people in all countries are researching and looking for the man we learned about, Aristide Broussard," he added.

"Great," Jeannette murmured. She looked up at Daniel. He hadn't taken his seat again.

"We keep that appointment," he told her. He must have remembered Gervais LaBlanc did not know why the Krewe was called on in unusual and special circumstances.

They didn't want to make their French host worried he had brought in a "krewe" of crazies.

"Right, of course." The others backed away and she stood.

"House of Deauville, you said?" Mason asked.

"Aye," Daniel told him.

Mason looked at Gervais. "We also need to ask the owners about this man. And see their reactions. The man from the sketch."

"Interesting. Quickly, did you want to break down the rest of your theory, Jeannette?" Della asked.

She glanced quickly at Daniel and lifted her shoulders and shrugged. "I couldn't help thinking about what the truth might be—since what has been passed down might well have been a setup and a lie, or even a rumor enhanced by legendary status that has become accepted truth—regarding Madame Báthory. Historical record clearly indicates that as a warrior in battle, her husband was a fierce and brutal man when it came to his enemies, not just executing them but torturing them first. He died in battle before she was accused of murder, and that was only when girls sent to learn their manners and probably their places in life at Elizabeth's gynaeceum, or the area of the home exclusively for women. When the poor, untitled and unlanded disappeared, no one said anything, but—" she paused, shrugging, looking at Daniel "—we've talked about the fact that what was real may not matter. What people believe to be real is what is important. I was wondering if...if one of our elite vineyard owners considers themselves not to be Elizabeth Báthory, but perhaps thinks in the same vein—of that which she was accused of. There is documentation that she was harsh with her servants, quick to hand out physical punishments. In her defense, most people of her social strata were hard on their servants. But this killer... really thinks that they're above all else and that they are due the entertainment of watching others suffer. Back then and perhaps now—there are people not among a high social sphere who just don't matter, who are just not worthy of anything—including life. We all know that to some, watching another human being tortured is pure entertainment. Think back to the days when executions were a public spectacle. Let's face it, we've all seen some sick stuff!"

"Aye, agreed!" Daniel murmured.

Mason was nodding. "Gervais," he said, "Jeannette and Daniel wanted to get back out to the wine region, anyway. Perhaps we should do all the work we can do here discovering the identity of this person while they head—with you—out to see the vineyard owners in person. It's late now and by the time you got there tonight, it wouldn't be great. Oh, and the two of you wanted to go, um, watch the theater exit at the magician's show," he finished.

Gervais nodded. "It's too late now, and we can't go banging on their doors without due cause at this time. I think you're right—that we need to see their reactions in person. We'll start with the House of Deauville. Whether this man is a full-time employee or not, the two of you saw him there today. There is a connection."

"Decided," Della murmured, already back at her computer. "Enhancing image!" she said.

"Go!" Gervais told Daniel and Jeannette.

As the door closed behind them, Daniel murmured, "Seems like we just got here."

"We did," she said dryly. "But I do hope Henriette is still there. We should have hurried. We had told her that we'd find her—"

"She's been hanging around more than two hundred years. I think she'll wait for us," Daniel said. "I think it's going to prove to be important that we did look at those little bits of video—and that you caught that man's image. We don't have Chirac anymore—"

"Daniel, you don't think there's any way the Paris police are involved, do you?" Jeannette asked.

"I doubt it. Let's face it. We all know a few bad eggs slip in with the fresh ones now and then. It's far more likely that a weary man was seated by a door, maybe even drifting off, but not neglecting his duty to make sure a door didn't open or close. They were worried about him trying to walk out somehow—not leave in the way that he did."

"You don't think that—"

"That the guard—instead of guarding him—tied the knots himself? No, I really don't. For one, it would have been far too risky. And a superior officer might have walked by at any time—it's a busy place. You don't think—"

"No, I don't. But one must look at every possibility."

"And we'll keep that one on the back burner!"

"Agreed."

It was late, but Paris nightlife was alive and well. And still, they had no difficulty finding parking by the cemetery.

But as they walked toward the statue of St. Michael, Jeannette paused. Down the street, she could see the theater where the magician was performing.

The street was quiet. But the show wouldn't let out for another twenty minutes or so.

"We'll go back to the show as soon as possible, maybe tomorrow night," Daniel said. "Watch it again, have another lovely chat with our magician."

"He seemed so real to me," Jeannette murmured. "I believe he cared about the girls. And Shelley. I think he was truly concerned about her."

"He did give that appearance."

"But you don't believe he's innocent in all this?" Jeannette asked.

"No, I didn't say that. I'm just saying anyone can give a certain appearance—and not what they appear to be at all."

"He gave his information to everyone and promised to contact us if he saw anything weird at all," Jeannette murmured. "Ah, but! We still have the disappearing magician's assistant."

"Disappearing," Daniel said, "part of the game."

"But just what game?" Jeannette murmured.

"She has a clean record," Daniel murmured. "Gervais is no fool, not to mention he's working with our people in the States. And I believe he's even including my old British agency. France is just a hop, skip and a jump—"

"Or ferry or Chunnel ," Jeannette offered.

"Close enough that the British authorities would like this killer stopped before they decide to hop across a bit of water and seize hold like ye olde William the Conqueror," Daniel said dryly.

"And that still doesn't mean—"

"Right. Anyone connected in any way remains a suspect," Daniel agreed.

"Okay, so the show isn't out yet. After we meet with Henriette, we could hang around a while longer and watch when the show empties out. Oh! Maybe we could even pretend that we had those backstage tickets that we had last time—"

"Give me a second to call Gervais. He can set it up."

"You're not going to say we'd like to go in again right after we talk to our ghost, are you?" she asked him.

"I'll say we wanted to watch who came and went ourselves...and then I'll tell him you had the brilliant idea we should talk to the magician again!"

"You think Gervais can manage to get us passes now? The show is almost over."

"I think Gervais can do just about anything."

He pulled out his cell phone and Jeannette listened, grinning, as he spoke with Gervais. He had barely hung up, so it seemed, when he looked at his phone again.

"We're in," he told her politely.

"Now, that's great. Although—"

"You think he's everything he seems to be."

"He is a magician, so it's hard to say," Jeannette told him. "Then again, we do need to find this other man."

"Other man?"

"The man in the sketch."

"Right."

"And it makes me curious and worries me. Claude Chirac tried to break in on us, apparently knowing why we are here. But there is another man, a different man in the sketch. Maybe he's the man who has disappeared from two wineries."

"So...whoever is calling the shots has people working for them. People who are so afraid of their power that they'd rather kill themselves than face the idea of this person getting to them," Daniel said.

Jeannette shook her head sadly. "Well, this happens in the States and around the world. People do wind up shanked or otherwise killed while serving prison sentences. But worse is trying—and succeeding—at suicide by strangling yourself with your shirtsleeves."

"The bones," Daniel said. "Medical examiners are still studying the decomposed bodies that were there before the newest victims were found. It's quite possible those victims were tortured."

"But can you torture a man if you're trying to shank him and get away with it when you're in prison?" Jeannette wondered dryly.

"No. You can't torture him. But you can torture and kill his wife, his children...someone he loves," Daniel said. "We need to see if we can find Henriette and quickly. The show is going to let out soon."

"You're right! The statue!" Jeannette said.

She hurried ahead of him.

Like many things in Paris—yards, streets, houses—the cemetery was beautiful with fine funerary art.

The statue stood near a corner and was clearly visible. St. Michael stood high over the dragon, ready to do battle for good. He was larger than life and on a pedestal.

Leaning against the foundation, Henriette waited for them.

"My friends!" she called softly. "Just step over the brick wall, it is so small. The police will not be angry, many people slip in at night. So long as you don't seek to vandalize what we see as sacred, you will be fine."

Jeannette smiled as they slipped over the wall and joined her. "No vandalism, I promise," Jeannette told her.

"Je promets!" Daniel said, speaking French very seriously.

Henriette smiled in return. "I have spoken with friends. They told me about people, women, young, they saw on the streets, so sad and homeless. Then, suddenly, they would be gone. And the police... Well, most of the time, there was no outcry. People come and go. But my friend, Piers, he said that too many seemed to come and go in the last months."

"Maybe victims we haven't discovered yet, and possibly a few that we have," Jeannette murmured.

"And they were not among the elite," Daniel murmured, and she knew he was referring to her theory regarding a would-be Elizabeth Báthory.

"The elite?" Henriette said curiously. "But we are not that society anymore. Oh! You mean the world hasn't changed as far as people existing who think they are elite."

Daniel smiled sadly and nodded.

"Ah! That I could carry a sword! Whoever does this thing—"

"Deserves to rot in prison for the rest of their life," Daniel told her. "Remember, they abolished the death penalty in France in 1981."

"Ah, yes, lest an innocent man—or woman—die. And that is good. Still, for some...a guillotine blade would be too merciful! But! None of my friends saw anyone young and lovely taken from the theater by a suspicious person. So... I have watched since you came and last night, I saw the magician himself. Leaving with a woman."

Jeannette glanced quickly at Daniel.

Dear lord, is there to be another victim already?

Henriette didn't notice her expression and kept talking. "No young girls, none alone, no one taking a young woman anywhere. But! I did see the magician, Jules Bastien, leaving with a woman, an older woman. She had a very nice car. Silver. I'm not familiar with makes or models, but it was an expensive car, I know that."

"Who was the woman?" Jeannette asked. "He was dating an older woman?"

"No, no, I don't think so," Henriette told her. She appeared to be perplexed. "It was quite strange. I thought I knew who the woman might be. I have seen her picture on flyers in the city, on a billboard. And the magician, he called her Maman ."

"The magician's mother is rich, then," Jeannette murmured. "But do you know who she is? You said you saw her face on billboards, flyers, advertisements? Do you know who she is?"

" Mais oui! She is known all through the region!" Henriette said.

"But why, and what is her name?" Daniel asked.

"Oh, of course! She is Madame Delphine, the great lady of the House of Matisse!"