Pradel walks through the door, Clothilde loses any semblance of cool.
She was mostly quiet while Evian updated her sister on everything that has been going on over the past couple of months. She stayed close to her sister—too close if she’d been alive and her sister could see her—and observed her every reaction.
She didn’t say anything, but I’m certain she was touched to discover that her sister cared so much, that information about her death could still put so many emotions into play.
I was saddened to see how surprised Clothilde was to discover that her sister loved her. What had made her think otherwise?
And then, Edouard Pradel.
I think Clothilde somehow momentarily forgot about her sister’s “treason” while they were discussing her death, but now it comes roaring back.
“Step away from him!” she screams at her sister, trying but failing to see Joséphine’s face when she burrows into her husband’s neck. Clothilde’s hair floats around her head, making me think of whichever god it was that had snakes for hair. It looks ready to attack Pradel as soon as Clothilde gives the word.
Her body flickers, like it did earlier, a younger version of Clothilde making an appearance every other second. It’s disconcerting to watch. “Don’t touch him! He’s evil! He made my life miserable! You’re not allowed to love him!”
All right. Time for an intervention.
I rush over to Clothilde’s side, not touching her but making sure I’m in her line of sight. “You’re scaring Evian,” I tell her sternly.
She darts a glance over at Evian, proving she at least hears me. But Evian sitting with her head down and rubbing her neck isn’t enough.
“She has to get away from him! He’s evil. He’s mean. She can’t be married to him!” At this last exclamation, she turns her miserable gaze on me, possibly hoping I can do something since her sister clearly doesn’t hear her.
“We won’t gain anything by yelling at them,” I tell her kindly. “You know that, Clothilde. We have to let Evian and Doubira do their jobs.” I pause and glance over at the officers in question. “And they can’t do that—Evian especially—if you’re yelling your head off.”
I recognize the signs of Clothilde squaring off for a fight—she gains in height, her eyes go darker, her hair lifts—so I cut her off. “You were screaming so loud you lost control of your physical form, Clothilde. That qualifies as screaming your head off.”
I use my no-nonsense tone of voice and gently pull her away from her sister. The fact that she allows herself to be dragged away despite neither of us having bodies gives me hope. “Now. We’re going to keep some distance, both from your sister and from Evian. And we’re going to let the living officers who can actually speak to those two do their jobs, all right?”
Clothilde makes no sign of wanting to follow this plan but she keeps quiet, and stares at me, knowing I’m not done.
“We’re going to listen, we’re going to observe—especially that man you dislike so much—and we’re going to keep in mind that everything we do goes toward helping Evian. Okay? Us discovering something is completely worthless if we’re not able to communicate the information to her. And she’s worthless if we keep distracting her.”
I think I made my point.
Clothilde whispers, “Fine,” in the most aggressive way possible, but as long as she behaves, I don’t care.
Evian has stopped rubbing her neck and is rising to greet the newcomer. She offers her hand and introduces herself and Doubira, rank included.
“What is this nonsense that Joséphine tells me,” Pradel says. His voice is powerful and echoes off the glass walls of the veranda. “Can you not find a better use for our taxpayers’ money than poking at the old wounds of a lady who has never hurt a fly?”
I know Evian well enough by now to see the resignation in her eyes. But her stance tells another story—that of someone getting ready to fight.
“He talked to me like that, too,” Clothilde whispers, following the rules I set so she won’t bother Evian. “Like you’re too stupid to breathe, like he knows better than you.” Her gaze flicks to mine and she rolls her eyes. “He only does it to women, oddly enough.”
I sigh. He’s one of those.
At least he doesn’t try the tactic of only talking to Doubira. He listened during the introductions and knows talking over a captain to address the lieutenant would be going too far.
Or it’s a skin color thing, my mind unhelpfully adds. My expectations of Monsieur Pradel aren’t high.
“I’d be happy to fill you in on the reason for our visit here today,” Evian says, her voice professional, polite even. “If you knew Clothilde, you might even be able to help us shed some light on what she was doing during the last months of her life.”
Pradel’s hesitation is slight, but it’s there.
“I did meet Clothilde one or two times,” he says. “But I’m afraid I don’t remember much from the encounters. I hadn’t yet met Joséphine back then, so Clothilde was simply one of many supplicants I met with in my role as member of the City Council.”
Clothilde’s hair starts to lift, only to calm back down almost immediately. “One or two times, my ass,” she whispers. “We met at least ten times, and unless he goes out of his way to thwart everyone like he did me, he most definitely remembers.”
I want to know more about this thwarting, but I’ll have to question her later.
Joséphine straightens. She’s still in Pradel’s embrace, with one hand on his chest, but she pulls away far enough to stare quizzically into her husband’s face. “You knew Clothilde? You never told me this.”
“We only met after she passed away, chérie. It was never important. It was work-related, so saying I knew her is a vast overstatement.” His tone is warmer than when he spoke to Evian but that I-know-better-than-you attitude is the same.
Is this really the way he always talks to his wife?
Clothilde pretends to gag.
“Oh,” Joséphine says. “I guess you’re right.” Yet her brows pull together as her eyes fall to her hand on his chest, and she pulls away from him and goes back to her seat.
“Come sit down, Edouard,” she tells him, her voice faint but firm. “Don’t force our guests to stand.” Receiving guests is her realm.
Evian and Doubira both follow her example and Pradel finds himself without any other option than sitting down in the chair next to his wife.
“Do you have a warrant?” he says to Evian.
“Edouard!” Joséphine exclaims.
Doubira straightens in his seat as if getting ready to throw hands, but Evian remains calm. “We are not here to search your home, Monsieur Pradel. We simply wish to ask your wife some questions about her late sister.”
“She doesn’t have to answer any of your questions.” There’s a definite sneer to his voice now.
“She doesn’t,” Evian agrees. “Yet I fail to see why she should refuse. Our goal is to find justice for Clothilde, after all.”
“Justice for me!” Clothilde fake-cheers while whispering. She leans down so she’s millimeters from Pradel’s ear. “You won’t thwart me this time, jackass.”
I’m pretty sure a very slight tremor went through Pradel. Interesting.
“I invited them in,” Joséphine says. Her eyes dart back and forth between Evian and her husband, her confusion clear. “If I can help, I want to do that. They told me Clothilde was murdered, Edouard.”
Pradel lets out an exasperated sigh. “Murdered? Really? And what are you basing these accusations on, pray? You paid a psychic to communicate with Clothilde’s ghost? You walked the cemetery one night and thought this girl was surely murdered? Or do you simply get off on disturbing the lives of people trying to live their lives in peace?”
On the mention of ghosts, both Clothilde and I jerk in surprise, and although to a lesser degree, so do Evian and Doubira. Luckily, Pradel seems too caught up in his own tirade to notice.
Evian keeps her cool, but I can tell she’s had it with this idiot. “Are you familiar with the case against Gérard de Villenouvelle, Monsieur Pradel? He is on trial for the rape and murder of six young girls in the past decade.”
She pauses, waiting for a reply, and after at least twenty seconds, Pradel replies with a curt, “I have seen the articles in the press.”
Evian nods. “His DNA was found on the bodies of all six women, making the case against him very strong. As I’m certain you’re aware, Monsieur, six murders, all done in a similar manner, means we have a serial killer on our hands.”
Pradel listens to Evian, his face stoic and closed off, while his wife looks more stricken by the second.
Evian only has eyes for the husband right now, though. “Those six girls were not the only cases that were reopened in the search for that particular serial killer. We exhumed no less than forty bodies, all belonging to young women who fit the victim profile.”
Joséphine’s hand flies to her mouth. “Clothilde.”
Evian nods in reply but her eyes don’t leave Pradel. “Clothilde fits the profile, so we had her exhumed.”
Silence.
Both Pradel and Joséphine’s eyes are glued to Evian. Joséphine’s hand seems to be the only thing holding in her sobs and Pradel has turned into a statue.
He’s the one to break first. “And what did you find? Thirty-year-old DNA? You’re jumping at shadows, officer Evian.”
I expect Evian to answer in the affirmative, but she stays silent. I’d have been downright scared if that blue-eyed stare was directed at me.
“Tell me, Madame Pradel,” she finally says, turning her attention to Joséphine. “You appear upset to have lost your sister. I can only assume you were even more so thirty years ago, when it was all fresh.”
Joséphine nods, her hand still pressed to her mouth.
“You met your husband not long after?”
Another nod.
Evian’s voice doesn’t really change but the coldness from when she addressed Pradel is gone, and compassion has taken its place. “I assume this means you talked to him quite a bit about the issue? That you expressed your sadness, the impossibility of saying goodbye?”
Oh, I see where she’s going with this. I place myself right in front of Pradel’s face so I won’t miss a single reaction.
Joséphine lowers her hand to her lap and her lips wobble as she fights her tears. “Of course,” she says. “He was so sweet and understanding. Let me talk it all out. I don’t know what I would have done without him.” She sends a shaky smile at her husband.
Pradel doesn’t even see it—he only has eyes for Evian.
Evian offers a perfunctory smile to Joséphine before turning back to Pradel. “How do you suppose we go about having a body exhumed, Monsieur?”
A muscle pops in Pradel’s jaw. “I do hope you’re not taking me for an imbecile, Madame, expecting me to tell you about digging up graves.”
“Indeed, I’m not,” Evian says. She cocks her head to the side. “I’m wondering at what point you’ll realize that in order to exhume the body, we’d need to know where it was.”