Almost Gone (The Au Pair—Book One)

by Blake Pierce

  Granger disconnected and continued driving.

  The previous interview, his first of the day, had told him a similar story. The relationship had begun with flowers, jewelry, seduction, and promises. Then it had deteriorated. Kinky sex had turned violent. Promises had become threats. Romance had soured, and ended with more threats.

  The only difference was that in the first case, Pierre had broken off the relationship, but the same silencing methods had been used.

  Granger noted that neither of these mistresses had high-profile jobs. As a well-known model, Margot’s decision to leave could have represented more of a threat to Pierre.

  Granger decided he pitied any woman who got herself involved with Pierre. Every relationship seemed to end in heartbreak or worse.

  Pierre’s wife, Diane, had been speeding when she’d lost control of the car and rolled it. She had been killed instantly and the car had caught fire in the horrific crash.

  Granger doubted that the car had been tampered with, even though it had been destroyed to an extent where this could not be sure. But he had discovered that just two minutes earlier, Pierre had received a speeding ticket along the same road.

  Diane had been following him, late at night, pursuing him along the main road that a few miles later, passed Coubert.

  It might be just coincidence that Margot had, at the time, been residing in Coubert.

  Granger sighed in frustration. Despite the amount of character evidence provided, they needed something more in order to make an arrest. What they had uncovered today was almost enough, but not quite.

  He was three-quarters of the way home, and heading into afternoon traffic, when Bisset’s next call came through.

  “Granger!” She sounded excited.

  “What is it? Talk quick; my phone’s about to die.”

  “I’ve just got back. There’s been a new development involving Pierre. You need to get here quickly. The woman working at the chateau—”

  He lost the rest of her words as a truck driver next to him, stuck in the same traffic, blasted his horn impatiently.

  “What is it?” he asked, feeling his pulse start racing, but he was speaking to a dead line. Which woman, and what had happened? Granger guessed this must somehow involve the au pair that he’d initially suspected. She had seemed to him to be emotionally unstable, on the point of snapping. Her extreme nervousness and her vague recall of recent events had got all his instincts prickling. He had no idea whether she always behaved this way, or whether the inner fragility he sensed had been exacerbated by severe stress.

  Stress that could, of course, have been caused by the fact she’d played a role in Margot Fabron’s murder.

  With an empty battery, it would take another thirty frustrating minutes for him to get back to his headquarters and find out the latest twist in this complex case.

  *

  Half an hour later, Granger pulled into the parking lot and raced to the front door of the police station. Calling out a quick greeting to the officer on duty, he headed upstairs at a run. Scenarios were spinning through his head. For all he knew, they might have been heading off in entirely the wrong direction by investigating Pierre, despite the weight of evidence in that direction.

  Bisset’s office door was open.

  “What’s she done?” Granger asked, rather breathlessly.

  “She came here earlier. She took the afternoon off work especially to come and see us.”

  Granger stepped inside and closed the door.

  “Who? The au pair? Cassie Vale?”

  He remembered again her frightened face, how her gaze had slid away from him when he’d tried to make eye contact and how she’d then hastily stared back at him, wide-eyed, as if realizing he’d noticed what she’d done. He recalled the nervous habit she had of digging her fingernails into her cuticles. The way she’d changed her story about whether she’d left her bedroom on the night of Margot’s death. She’d seemed genuinely shaken by her own inability to recall what she’d done, and that made Granger wonder what else she might—intentionally or otherwise—have forgotten.

  He expected Bisset to confirm his suspicions, but instead she shook her head.

  “No, no. Not her. The housekeeper who works at the Dubois residence came to see us. Her name is Marnie Serrurier and she’s waiting for you to interview her. She came to the station earlier and she brought us a piece of evidence she found.”

  “Important evidence?”

  He could hear the excitement in Bisset’s voice as she replied.

  “Most definitely yes. I’ve spoken to her already. This changes everything, Granger. With the evidence and her testimony, I believe we have sufficient grounds to make an immediate arrest.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Cassie grabbed hold of the insecticide spray.

  As Pierre’s grip on her shoulder tightened, her shaking finger pressed down on the nozzle. She was going to do it. She was going to spray him with poison like a roach, and she didn’t care if he choked on the fumes, or even if it blinded him.

  Then, from downstairs, the door knocker banged, loudly and repeatedly.

  For a moment, they both froze. Then Pierre’s grasp eased, and Cassie lifted her finger off the nozzle.

  Pierre stood up hurriedly, fastening his belt and swearing as he turned away from her. It was as if he’d forgotten her in an instant, thanks to this interruption. With no staff on duty tonight, there was nobody else to answer the door, and that meant she had been given a reprieve.

  “Probably another damned journalist,” he muttered.

  He strode out of the room and Cassie climbed off the bed. She was shaking all over from delayed shock. He’d so nearly trapped her, and she felt sick when she thought about what could have happened.

  She wasn’t going to linger in the bedroom. This was her chance to escape downstairs and rejoin the children, and she resolved not to leave them again, no matter what. Their presence was her only protection now.

  As she followed Pierre downstairs, keeping a wary distance from him, the knock sounded again. It was loud, authoritative, reverberating through the house.

  “Papa?” Antoinette called, running out of the dining room. “There’s someone at the door.”

  “I am on my way,” Pierre snapped. “Get back to your dinner.”

  Cassie guessed he didn’t want the children to overhear the tirade of abuse he was going to give whoever was waiting on the other side of the door. Even so, Antoinette was clearly curious. She headed back in the direction of the dining room but as soon as Pierre looked away, she stopped.

  “What is it?”

  Pierre flung open the front door, shouting the words angrily, and Cassie’s heart leaped into her mouth as she saw the two police detectives standing there.

  This was it. Pierre’s earlier words to her hadn’t just been threats. He must have told the detectives what she’d done, and how she’d searched his room, and now the evidence was pointing back to her.

  Cassie’s mouth felt so dry she wasn’t sure if she could speak, but she decided she had to be completely honest with the detectives now. She had to disclose that she genuinely had no memory of what she might have done on the night of Margot’s death, or whether her nightmare was rooted in reality, her imagination, or some place in between. She would promise to cooperate with them fully and tell them everything that had happened to her at this chateau, from the abuse to the attempted assault.

  Perhaps if she cooperated, they would allow her to take her cell phone with her and she could at least look up the number of somebody she knew and explain what had happened.

  Cassie stepped forward on quivering legs, wondering what they would tell her and how she would start her confession.

  Then she realized what the police officers were saying and she stood still, her head whirling, not daring to believe what was happening.

  “Monsieur Dubois, you are under arrest on suspicion of the murder of Margot Fabron. You have the right to remain silent, but it m
ay harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court.”

  “Wait! What the hell is this? What grounds do you have?” Pierre blustered.

  “Monsieur, we will explain to you at the police station. Please, come with us.” Detective Granger took his arm.

  “I want to call my lawyer. Now! I had nothing to do with this.”

  Pierre jabbed his finger accusingly at Cassie.

  “She is the guilty one; I’m telling you the truth. She was going into my bedroom while I was not at home. She was stealing from me. She was—”

  Cassie braced herself for the probability that the detectives might want to take her with them after all. But Pierre’s shouted words had no effect. Granger didn’t even glance at her.

  “You have the right to make a phone call as soon as we arrive at headquarters, and you may request legal representation. Now get into the car.”

  There was steel in the detective’s voice and his words left no room for further argument. Swearing and threatening, Pierre was marched to the car.

  How had this happened? Cassie wondered. What was the reason for Pierre’s surprise arrest, and how long would he be gone for?

  She heard a cry from behind her, and turning back, she saw that all three children were standing near the staircase and watching the scene in horror.

  “Papa!” Antoinette called in a shrill voice, running to join Cassie at the front door.

  “Where are you going? Why are the police taking you away?”

  Pierre glowered in her direction.

  “Get back inside!” he shouted.

  Antoinette pushed past Cassie and dashed toward the car, followed by Ella, who had started to wail at the top of her voice.

  “Come back,” Antoinette pleaded.

  Cassie got hold of Ella and picked her up, while Bisset caught Antoinette by her shoulders and turned her around, half-carrying her away from the waiting car.

  “Your papa is not going to be home tonight, but you will be safe here. Come inside now,” Bisset said.

  The two of them shepherded the screaming children back inside, where they joined Marc, who was sucking his thumb and watching the spectacle wide-eyed from the hallway.

  “We will call next of kin as soon as we arrive at headquarters,” Bisset said, somewhat breathlessly. “Will you be able to stay with the children until a family member arrives?”

  “Yes—yes, sure, of course,” Cassie said. She was longing to ask Bisset what had happened, but she couldn’t do so in front of the children and in any case, she didn’t know if Bisset was allowed to tell her.

  “You have access to the chateau’s landline?” Bisset asked.

  “Yes, I do.” Cassie assumed Pierre had unlocked his bedroom door already, but even if he hadn’t, he’d left his keys on the hall table.

  “Please be ready to answer our call in the next half hour. We will update you as soon as we know who will be arriving to care for the children, and when.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  Bisset ran back to the car. Cassie thought they were going to leave immediately, but instead Bisset took a manila envelope out of the car and jogged back to her.

  She handed the envelope to Cassie.

  “Your passport,” she said. “We are returning it to you because you are no longer a person of interest in this case. Thank you for your cooperation throughout.”

  “My passport?”

  Cassie took the envelope, pressing her fingers on the small, slim document inside, as relief flooded through her. It wasn’t just the official confirmation that she was off the suspect list, but the fact she had her freedom back. She was no longer a prisoner here and could choose to leave at any time. She felt an enormous weight of worry slip off her shoulders, only realizing when it was gone how badly that fear had been crushing her.

  Tears prickled her eyes and she blinked them away.

  “Thank you so, so much,” she whispered. “You don’t know what it means to have this back, or how afraid I’ve felt without it.”

  She wanted to hug Bisset but felt it might not be appropriate, so she shook her hand instead, and to her surprise, Bisset clasped her hand warmly in both of hers.

  “I’m glad we could give it back to you,” she agreed.

  Cassie remembered how the detective had stared curiously at her after she’d escaped from Pierre’s clutches on the day of the funeral, rushing out of the music room in a panic with her clothing in disarray. She wondered if Bisset might have guessed what had happened, and if that was why she was so sympathetic now.

  “We’ll be in touch very soon,” Bisset said in a reassuring tone. Then she turned away and hurried back to the waiting car.

  *

  After the police had left, Cassie found herself in charge of three hysterical children.

  Antoinette was in floods of tears. Cassie had never seen the elder girl lose control so completely. She guessed that with Margot gone, Antoinette had hoped to become her father’s favorite. Perhaps she had expected that at last, she would receive the love and attention she’d always craved from him but never received.

  Cassie knew Antoinette was wrong in that regard but there was no way of telling her that now.

  “Why?” she screamed, over and over.

  “I don’t know why,” was all Cassie could say in response.

  She was still in shock over what had taken place, unable to believe Pierre was really gone. She kept thinking that at any moment he might walk in again; that he would make an emergency call to his lawyer and force the police to turn around and bring him back. Or that the detectives might change their minds and arrest her after all. She found herself listening for the crunch of gravel on the driveway, and wished she knew what evidence had been used as grounds for Pierre’s arrest.

  “What will happen to us now?” Antoinette wailed.

  This was another question that Cassie couldn’t answer. What would happen to the children? Within a few short days, they had lost both of their parents and guardians. They must feel completely adrift in the world, and she couldn’t find any way of reassuring them.

  In fact, Cassie feared that if Pierre was released on bail, it would be back to business as usual in the chateau. She wondered whether Pierre’s bail conditions would change his behavior to her, but she doubted it. That meant for her own safety, she’d have to leave as soon as she could, and turn her back on three extremely traumatized children from a fragmented family, who needed her more than ever.

  She had no idea what the next few hours or days would bring, and felt so emotionally wrung out that she knew she wasn’t capable of offering the calm, reasoned comfort the children needed. With a desperate effort, she tried to collect her thoughts and become the strong, responsible person they needed.

  “We’ll know more when the police contact us,” she said, realizing as she spoke that this wasn’t reassuring at all.

  Ella was sobbing uncontrollably.

  “Where has Papa gone?” she kept repeating, and Cassie remembered with a pang how she had been told that her mother had “gone” when she’d in fact died.

  Marc was sullen and aggressive. Before Cassie could stop him, he grabbed one of Margot’s framed photos from the hall table and threw it to the ground, cracking the glass. She couldn’t find it in herself to chastise him, and decided just to say nothing about it at all.

  “Let’s go upstairs,” she said, hoping that the bedtime ritual would calm them, and herself, down.

  On the way upstairs, Marc kicked each stair hard and shouted in protest.

  When she was halfway up the stairs, Cassie remembered with a jolt that she’d left her passport on the hall table. She’d put it there while comforting the children and forgotten to pick it up. Her most important item in the world, and she hadn’t kept it with her. She felt like kicking the stairs too, out of sheer frustration at how fragmented and disorganized her thoughts were.

  Her shoulder was bruised from where Pierre had grasped h
er and pushed her onto the bed, and she suddenly remembered how she’d breathed in the overpowering sandalwood scent of his cologne. She couldn’t believe he was really gone. He’d been so furious at being arrested, and had tried so hard to force the police to take her instead.

  Let him not come back, she prayed.

  Eventually, the three children were congregated outside Antoinette’s bedroom, and the girls’ cries had quieted enough for Cassie to speak.

  “I’ll tell you what’s happening as soon as I know.”

  She paused, clasping her hands together tightly so the children wouldn’t see them shaking, wondering what the best way to console them would be, after their whole world had just fallen apart.

  “Can we sleep together tonight?” Antoinette asked, and Ella and Marc nodded vigorously.

  “That’s a good idea,” Cassie agreed.

  “And can we have some milk, and cake?” Marc asked.

  “I have to wait for the police to call. But after that, I’ll bring you a treat,” she promised.

  Relieved they had suggested something positive to help them feel better, Cassie moved Ella’s pillow, and a few of her stuffed animals, into Antoinette’s bedroom. Marc carried the contents of his toy box into the room, and Cassie brought his mattress and bedding along in case they needed more sleeping space.

  As she left their bedroom and closed the door gently behind her, Cassie remembered those muttered words Marc had spoken earlier, when she’d let him out of the closet and he had walked past her.

  They hadn’t made sense at the time, and she’d been too caught up in her own memories for her brain to decipher them. Now, as she walked down the passage to Pierre’s bedroom to wait for the police to call, Cassie found herself shivering as the reality of what he’d said hit home.

  The words Marc had spoken had been, “You are just like Papa.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  Back at headquarters, Granger completed the paperwork on the case while Bisset made the necessary phone calls. They were ensconced in his overly warm office, but on this chilly evening, Bisset did not complain about the heat.