It was late when Hare got to Breton’s apartment, and Jacqueline hushed him as he entered. She threw her arms around his neck and tipped her head back for a kiss, but he did not respond. Realizing he was preoccupied, she withdrew.
“Aube is asleep in the front room,” she told him. “She has school tomorrow. André is in the bedroom, working on a poem. Lam’s death was such a shock. He’s trying to use that feeling in a positive way, to turn it into something creative. He’s been wrestling with it ever since he woke up, except when the policeman came to question me.”
“I must see him, Jacqueline. I have to ask him something important. Please translate for me.”
“Of course,” she said, and led him to the bedroom door. Knocking gently, she opened it to reveal Breton seated at a small desk, his head in his hands, staring at a blank sheet of paper. Several pages covered in his small, precise handwriting were scattered on the floor.
“David is here, André,” she began. “He says it is urgent that he speak to you.”
“Bonsoir, André,” said Hare, exhausting his French.
Breton looked haggard. “What time is it?” he asked.
When Jacqueline told him the hour, he groaned. “I must be at the studio at five a.m. to broadcast live,” he said with a sigh. “I must rest. Perhaps I can sleep for a few hours.”
“I will only be a moment,” Hare promised, which Breton understood without the need of translation.
He sat on the bed with Jacqueline beside him—not too close, for propriety’s sake, though Breton was well aware of their relationship—and asked his question.
“Do you know what time Lam died?”
“I could not tell precisely. I found him at around half past ten, perhaps a bit later, and he had not been dead for long. There was no rigor mortis,” a term Hare recognized, “but when I returned with Duchamp at eleven, it was beginning to set in, so I would say that he died around eight in the evening. But that is only a guess.”
“Could it have been later, after nine?”
“I doubt it,” said Breton. “Under normal conditions, rigor begins about three hours after death. The body was quite cool, and the apartment was a comfortable temperature. It was not a hot night, so rigor would not have been accelerated.”
Hare absorbed this information in silence. Then he rose, thanked Breton, and turned to leave.
“Un moment, je t’en prie,” said Breton. “May I ask why you wish to know the time of death?”
Hare glanced at Jacqueline as she translated. He would not be able to confirm the time of the Princesa’s arrival until Monday morning.
“I spoke to Duchamp,” he lied. “He told me about the exquisite corpse costume on the body. It points to a Surrealist as the killer. I have a different idea, but I have to put the pieces together. The time of death is one piece. When I have the other, I will answer your question.”