Sutton talked for two hours. She explained everything that had led up to her fleeing from Tennessee in the first hour, and in the second, everything that had happened since she’d arrived in Paris. Badeau and the unseen others listened without interruption until she brought up Constantine.
“Constantine Raffalo. Did you ever see an identification for him? A passport, a license of some sort?”
“No. But you say you have me on video at Sacré-Coeur? I was supposed to meet him there. That’s why I went, to see the sunrise, work, and meet him for lunch. He encouraged me to go. Perhaps he will be on the video. And if there are cameras at my café on the corner, he was certainly there a few times. He is involved in this. I don’t know how, but he is. He must be. If I were a paranoid woman, I would say he is Colin Wilde, and he’s set me up. But that would be quite a leap.”
“He was in your apartment alone? He had access? Did you give him a key?”
“No, I didn’t give him a key, but that means nothing. He could have made a copy. He could have picked the lock. He could have watched to see when I left the flat for a walk or for food. He could very easily have gotten in when I was gone, any number of times. I’ve spent more time walking the streets than I have at home.” Sutton shrugged. “It’s Paris. Why stay inside if you don’t need to?”
“It is very convenient, this phantom man who you barely know.”
“But it’s the truth, Inspector. I’m not proud of my behavior, but it’s all true.”
Badeau stared at her a moment, then stood. “I will be back. Can I bring you coffee?”
“Do you have any tea?”
Badeau nodded and slipped out the door.
She believes me, Sutton thought, practically collapsing against the chair. Thank God, she believes me.
Twenty minutes later, Badeau returned. She had a mug of tea in one hand and a slip of paper in the other. She set both down on the table in front of Sutton.
The tea was milky, sweet, and hot. Sutton felt tears rise when she took a sip. Just like Ethan made for her, though this wasn’t as strong. Still, it was warm and sugary and comforting as a hug. She took another sip, then looked at the paper.
It was a grainy still photograph of Constantine.
“That’s him. That’s Constantine.”
“You are certain?”
“I am. Where was this taken?”
“Sacré-Coeur. You were correct. He was there the morning after the murder, as well. I would be interested in speaking with him. Do you have any way to contact him?”
“I don’t. I broke it off this morning. Yesterday morning?”
“You have been here for nearly twenty-four hours.”
No wonder she felt so awful. No sleep, no food, only the tea. “Then yesterday. I told him I came to Paris to be alone, that I didn’t want to see him anymore.”
“Was he upset by this? Angered? Threatening?”
“No. More...disappointed, but not hurt, or rejected. He seemed cold but not angry. He left without fuss. Can you find him?”
“Not without considerable help.”
“Why is that?”
She slapped down another photo, this one much clearer. Shot from above. Constantine, but not Constantine. The man in this picture had surfer blond hair and a grim smile on his face. His tall body was clothed in khakis and a blue button-down. He was midstride, carrying a black leather duffel bag.
“The man who told you he was called Constantine Raffalo took a flight from de Gaulle last night. Paris to JFK. We have made calls to the FBI to warn them. Hopefully, they can arrest him quickly. When they do, they will arrange for us to have a discussion with him.”
“I don’t understand. He bleached his hair and caught a flight to JFK?”
“He changed his name, as well. Or lied to you. The passport he flew under names him as Trent Duggan. American citizen, thirty-five years old, birthplace, Orlando, Florida. The passport’s issuing office is also in Florida. The problem is, the name, address, social security number, and passport number do not match anyone from the state of Florida. I will need to see the passport itself to make the determination, but, like yours, I believe his papers are false. Your issuing office is the same as his.”
Sutton tried to wrap her head around it. “But he said he was a military brat. That he grew up all over the world.”
“More lies, it would seem.” Badeau sat down. She seemed tired. Sutton supposed she must be; she’d been here the whole time.
“If am I to believe you, madame, that you are here because you are in trouble, this is the narrative you expect me to put forth to my superiors. You arrived, you found a flat, you explored the city, started writing your book, then went to bed with a man who gave you a false name, a false background, and, apparently from the photographs, a false look, as well. You are utterly innocent of any wrongdoing. Everything that has happened since your arrival is some sort of coincidence, which, as a police officer, I am reluctant to believe in. Yes?”
Sutton nodded. “It’s the truth. I didn’t hurt anyone. I swear it.”
“And yet we have two murdered students at Sacré-Coeur, a female victim in Tennessee, and you’ve admitted to traveling under false papers, which, as I’m sure you know, is a very serious crime, especially in light of our current security situation. You are a contradiction in terms, as they say.”
“I didn’t do any of it, except for getting the fake passport. I swear.”
Badeau nodded. Was the woman softening? Sutton felt a glimmer of hope.
“Tell me again how you came by the false papers?”
“My friend got them for me. She said she knew a man who could help me disappear. He does work with women’s shelters, getting abused women new identities so they can flee their situations and still be able to get a job. He creates a whole backstory, gives them a new passport, new license, new everything. It’s like witness protection, only run by real people, not by the government.”
“I will need this man’s name.”
“I don’t know it. My friend handled everything. Inspector Badeau, please. I know you don’t believe me, and we can hash through the details as long as you want, but I have to make a call. I need to warn my husband. If my friend is behind this, if she’s trying to hurt me instead of help me, I have to talk to him. I have to make sure he’s watching out. If he gets hurt because of my stupidity, I’ll never forgive myself.”
“I must alert the police in your home state about this situation. Once we have discussed things, you may make a phone call.”
“Are you arresting me? Formally?”
“Not yet.”
“Can I leave?”
“Most certainly not. As I said, there are many unanswered questions. You have broken a number of laws, and you must answer for those crimes. To start, I will need the name of your friend, the one who got you the papers.”
Sutton nodded. She hoped like hell she was wrong, but there was only one person who knew where she was. “Her name is Ivy Brookes.”
Badeau took down the name as if Sutton hadn’t just betrayed the past few months of her life by uttering those innocuous words. She stood. “I will have food brought to you. I will be back soon, madame.”
Sutton put her head in her hands on the table.
Oh, Ethan. What have I done?