“Yes, I’m sorry,” she said. “This won’t take long. So you found the body?”
He cleared his throat and adjusted the golden name tag absentmindedly, but then said, “Yes, Agent Sharp. It was an absolute shock, I can tell you that. I thought I’d found spilled juice.” He trembled at this, his face turning a bit pale. “But it wasn’t,” he said, shaking his head in quick, furtive gestures. His golden name tag flashed, reflecting sunlight through the large windows above the entrance.
“And the body was how you found it?” she said. “Hanging?”
She winced apologetically at the word. The docent also grimaced and looked away, muttering to himself in Italian, before glancing back at her. “Yes,” he said. “Hanging. I didn’t look long. I didn’t want to. I called the police right away.”
“I appreciate that,” said Adele. “What time did you arrive this morning?”
He shook his head. “Same time as always. On schedule. You can ask Timothe,” he said, nodding toward the custodian.
She looked over. “Do you get in at the same time?”
The custodian blinked and glanced between them. Agent Leoni stepped smoothly in, translating the question into Italian.
The custodian replied. Leoni said to Adele, “He says he gets in a little bit earlier. He was just finishing rounds. Says he didn’t see anything in the main chapel. They keep lights dim before tourists arrive to preserve the paintings.”
Adele nodded. “All right. Can you ask him if he saw anything strange? Anything out of place? Doors left open, security cameras turned off. Anything.”
She waited a moment as Leoni communicated the question.
After a moment, and following the custodian’s reply, Leoni returned, “Nothing like that. He did say he was a bit distracted, as it’s his wife’s birthday tomorrow, and he was trying to think of a gift.”
“That’s sweet,” said Adele. “But not helpful. All right, well, I’d like to see the scene. Do you mind recording a few more questions? Just to get out a timeline?”
“Certainly,” said Leoni.
Adele nodded in gratitude, then moved away from the table, toward the main doors. As she approached, she found her breathing began to come quick and unsteady. She winced, trying to focus as the familiar tendrils of fear rose in her chest. She breathed slowly, steadying herself—her eyes closed for a moment—and then, gritting her teeth, she stalked toward the crime scene to face the site of the murder.
CHAPTER FIVE
She didn’t need to ask to know where the body had been found. She could already see the caution tape stretched around the room, and the red splotch on the ground.
She moved into the main area of the chapel, her feet squeaking on ceramic mosaic tiles, and more memories returned. She winced as she remembered walking with her mother, remembered marveling at the sheer beauty and the artistic nature of the paintings covering the ceiling and the walls. Some of them scary, others hauntingly lovely. She had always loved pictures of the angels. She remembered the way her mother had held her hand, the same hand that had been sticky with ice cream. She remembered the sidelong glances from the tour guide, disapproving looks, especially toward the children in the crowd.
These memories came, and again, the swirling, gravitational pull of an even greater memory swallowed them.
Again, bleeding, bleeding, always bleeding. Severed fingers, a stitchwork of cuts and marks.
Adele nearly bit her lip. She pushed aside the thoughts, standing in the heart of the chapel, staring up now. In her mind’s eye, she replaced the images of her mother with the images she had seen on the plane. She pulled out her phone, cycling to the folder Robert had sent her. She found the pictures, scanning the crime scene photos, positioning herself so she was in the same angle as the photographer must’ve been.
By now, of course, the body had been taken. The rope that had been used to hang the victim had also been removed. She saw no marks in the ceiling, her eyes flitting from the arches to the sheer craftsmanship of the structure. A strange, eerie beauty to have housed a murder.
Droplets of blood still spattered the floor; she glanced toward them and looked away. Nothing to see there.
She circled the heart of the chapel, once, twice, moving around. But as she made her way past the small, arching box-frame, along the edge of the wall, and the glowing orange lights, she spotted nothing. What was she hoping to find? A cigarette butt? A thumbprint with arrows pointing to it, saying, killer here?
Perhaps, simply a distraction. Anything to keep her mind occupied from the images cycling again, and again, and again through her brain.
This time, she couldn’t run away. This time, she couldn’t run off to Germany, hiding in her father’s house to avoid confronting the inevitable. She thought of the copycat murderer, reemerging in Paris. The same MO as her mother’s death. Possibly even the same killer. She’d been kicking over the hornet’s nest and interviewing the owner of the shop, the factory where the chocolate bars were made. She should’ve known better. She should’ve known the killer wouldn’t take it sitting down.
She shivered at the thought. Now, though, she had a different case to focus on.
She exited the main area, moving back to where the men were seated.
She approached Leoni and said, “Did you get what you need?”
“Possibly. Did you want to question them further?”
“Did you ask them where they were at the time of the last murder? The one in Notre Dame.”
Agent Leoni nodded. “Working.” He held up an old-fashioned timecard, pointing it toward her. She took it and scanned it.
“They punched in and out. Supervisor signed off. Our docent was leading a tour, and our other friend here was waiting to clean up once they were finished. They weren’t in Notre Dame for the other one.”
Adele nodded, feeling a slight flicker of disappointment. Then again, when were cases ever that easy?
“All right. I think we have all we need. I’d like to go see the coroner.”
Leoni stepped away from the table, gave a little bow before bidding farewell to the docent and the custodian, and then moved away, allowing Adele to take the lead back to the vehicle.
These murders were strange enough, with the hanging, the posing, the locations, that perhaps if anyone could find an unnoticed clue, it would be the coroner.
***
The corpse on the table in the small, cold, gray room at first glance seemed like any other—Adele had seen her fair share of corpses before. Perhaps this was a testament to the desensitization of her job. Or, perhaps, simply a commentary on the other horrific images still trying to bob to the surface. But as she neared, staring at the body, she felt a chill creep along her spine.
“Cause of death?” she murmured, drawing even closer.
Adele now wore protective gloves and a face mask, which had been required on entry into the coroner’s lab. Next to her, Agent Leoni stood, not quite looking at the body, his eyes fixed on the coroner instead.
The woman wore a white coat, and she spoke with a cigarette-stained voice which reminded Adele of Foucault. In broken English, the dark-featured woman said, “You can see around the throat, ligature marks. Fractures in the cervical vertebrae. Death by strangulation.”