Wearily he swallowed what remained of the Calvados, got up and went into the kitchen to rinse out his glass. Domestic chores, he reflected, were going to add a new responsibility to his daily routine and one which required discipline. By an illogical association of ideas, the thought brought to his mind a picture of Claudine, wiping her paint-brushes on an old rag and with the thought came a sharp stab of longing, partly desire, partly a longing for company and sympathy.
He was cursing himself mildly when he heard knocking on the door. It must be Suzanne, he decided, or her father with apologies and offers of reconciliation. The prospect filled him with despondency. Resignedly he opened the door. Outside stood a policeman, the same man from the fifteenth arrondissement who had been sent months ago to summon him to Impasse Louvain.
‘What is it?’ Gautier asked.
‘A message from the Sûreté, Monsieur l’Inspecteur. The body of a young woman has been found in the house of the Minister of the Interior. The director has instructed that you are to go and take charge of the investigations.’
The Murders at Impasse Louvain Page 17
