by Elaine Macko
“Of course it is.” I wondered if Paul knew Martine and Doug had had an affair, and maybe even Martine and Bill. Now that might be something the man would kill over.
“I just wish,” Paul continued, “she hadn’t been so open about our problems with her parents.”
I wondered again if Martine had been forthright enough to tell her parents about her own affair and the fact it might have been partially responsible for the problems she and Paul were having. More than likely she just blamed Paul’s unwillingness to have children for their problems and let her family put the blame on him. I suddenly felt sorry for the man standing in front of me, but quickly remembered despite my beliefs, he very well could be a killer. One who was currently in my apartment.
I gestured for Paul to go into the living room. “You know, Paul, my husband and I just got married ourselves, and even though we’ve discussed children, we’ve by no means come to any sort of decision. Right now we’re content with things the way they are, but that may change. You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. Perhaps you just weren’t ready right now and, given some time, you may have changed your mind,” I offered, hoping this might give the man some peace.
“That may very well have happened but I’m afraid it was too late. And now I’ll never know.”
“Too late?” Sam asked.
Paul hesitated. “I’m sorry. I don’t know you, either of you.” He looked from Sam to me. “I shouldn’t be here and I shouldn’t be discussing my personal problems.”
I thought for a moment. Paul was half American and he had certainly piqued my interest with his comment about it being too late. Maybe with some quick maneuvering I could get him to talk more. Okay, so I felt pretty guilty about this. I mean, I was raised Catholic after all, which means I live with the guilt cloud over my head for my entire life, but I’m also nosy. Besides, the guys were off doing God knows what and Sam and I had to occupy our time somehow.
“Paul, yes, we have just met, and you certainly owe us no explanations, but sometimes it helps to talk—especially to people you don’t know very well, because, well, because we can be more objective.”
“True.” Paul sank into the coffee-colored leather sofa. “I haven’t discussed our problems with too many people. I really just wanted to talk things over with Martine, but she was so obstinate!” Paul’s voice rose with the last word. He sighed heavily and continued. “You see, I had a vasectomy several years ago, before we got married, before we even thought about it, and was part of the problem. Once Martine decided she just had to have children, she insisted I go to the doctor to see if the procedure could be reversed. I had no desire to have it reversed and I told her so, but she was adamant. So I did and he said there was no possibility. She seemed almost obsessed about this baby thing in the last few weeks.”
I tried to think back to the tape we had all listened to on Saturday night and I didn’t remember Paul telling Inspector Willix about having had a vasectomy. Maybe I just didn’t hear it.
“Did you mentioned this to the police?”
“About the vasectomy? No. I told them about not wanting children but I didn’t mention the operation. I didn’t think it relevant. Do you think it is?” He sounded like a little boy.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’d imagine as long as they know about the fact the children issue was a major factor in your relationship that should be enough. You haven’t tried to hide the fact all was not right between you. I could mention it to John, if you’d like and he could pass the information on to Inspector Willix.”
“Okay. I don’t see why not. I have nothing to hide.” Paul got up from the leather sofa and walked over to a rather large bay window looking out over the Avenue Franklin Roosevelt.
This apartment really had a spectacular view. I could get used to living here very quickly, but then I would miss my family too much and I couldn’t fathom not being close to my grandmother.
We watched Paul for a few moments and then Sam and I exchanged glances. I could tell she was thinking the same thing I was.
“Do you have something to hide, Paul?” I walked over to his side.
“Nothing that could be of any importance to this investigation, I’m certain.”
“Paul?”
Paul looked at me and for the first time since I had met him, he smiled. “I think you’ve missed your calling. Perhaps you could get your husband to give you a job with the police. There is indeed something, but I do not see how it could have any bearing on on her murder. A while back, while Martine and I were living together, we broke up for about eight months and I moved out. It was during this time I had an affair. It got pretty serious but she was married. After a while she decided to leave her husband and she was just about to ask him for a divorce when I decided to get back with Martine.”
“Okay, so you had an affair. You weren’t married and you weren’t with Martine at the time.” Sam came to stand next to the two of us at the window. “So, how would any of this have any relevance?”
“The person I had the affair with was Jane. Jane Tillingsworth.”
Sam and I stood there with our mouths open while I wondered if Jane had the ridiculous haircut and the scathing personality back then.
“Well, unless you were still seeing Jane,” I said, “I don’t see why this would be considered a motive for murder on your part.”
Paul pursed his lips and crossed his arms. “Maybe not on my part, but on Jane’s. She’s never liked Martine, has been downright hostile toward her, in fact. Jane and Malcolm aren’t happy together at all. Jane’s never forgiven me for going back to Martine. I shouldn’t be saying this, implicating Jane, but there was such hostility in her every time she saw Martine. The truth of the matter is, I did love my wife, not Jane, but Jane could never accept my decision to return to Martine.”
I nodded. “Well, that explains something. I saw the two of them talking on Saturday and it didn’t look like a pleasant exchange.”
“I’m sure it was not. Jane made it her life’s mission to antagonize Martine at every chance. Fortunately, we did not run into her often, but the ex-pat community is a very small world and it was inevitable. Martine knew, of course, about Jane and me, but had forgiven me.”
Very big of her, I thought, considering Martine’s own indiscretions. I remembered something else I had heard on the tape about how Tom Mulberry had been counseling Martine. I wondered if Paul knew.
“Paul, had you and Martine ever considered marriage counseling? It may have helped resolve your differences about children.”
“I didn’t. I never put much stock in that kind of thing and I don’t think Martine would have either. Her sister and her husband had problems. They went to a marriage encounter group and it didn’t work. They ended up divorcing. Martine thought people should solve their own problems. Other than her family, I don’t think she discussed any of this with any one else.” There was silence in the room for a few minutes and then Paul added, “I did love my wife, very much. Whatever problems we had could have been worked out, sooner or later. And now I’ll never have the chance.” Paul’s eyes were moist.
He left shortly thereafter telling us he had better get back before his in-laws reported him missing and told the police he was trying to avoid prosecution for a crime they were sure he had committed.
Chapter 13
“So what do you think?” Sam asked the minute we heard the elevator start its decent.
“I believe him. Of course we don’t know if he knew about Martine’s affairs.”
“If he did, then he just might have had a reason to kill her,” Sam said.
“I’ll tell you one thing,” I said as I walked into the kitchen, “this ex-pat community is a regular little Scandal. You know, the TV show with Kerry Washington,” I said to my sister’s blank look.
Just then the whir of the elevator sounded again and I looked at Sam wondering if Paul had returned. Maybe he regretted talking to us and decided to come back and kill us off. Sam must have had the
same thought because she became frantic, and swirled around the room until her eyes rested on a mop leaning against the wall by the small washing machine. She picked it up and came to stand next to me. We stood there not saying anything, just listening to the elevator as it made its very slow climb up to our floor. It stopped and a few seconds later someone fiddled with the front door. Sam and I inched slowly across the kitchen, through the doorway and peeked around the corner into the foyer. The front door swung opened and Michael walked in. Sam dropped the mop and threw her arms around her husband.
“Well, this is certainly a nice way to be greeted. What’s gotten into you?”
Sam kissed him on the cheek. “Nothing. I guess with John and Alex on their honeymoon I’m feeling a bit more romantic.”
Michael kissed Sam back and then held her at arm’s length. “I’ve got some exciting news.”
Now, if my husband came home and told me he had exciting news and his eyes were all bright with anticipation like Michael’s I would tend to think we might be coming into some extra money, or maybe he was going to whisk me away to some exotic location. But this was Michael and I had a feeling his news had nothing to do with a surprise for Sam.
“Susan is removing a patient’s wisdom teeth on Wednesday and she’s asked me to observe.”
God love him. The man was euphoric over the prospect of watching someone have teeth yanked out of their head.
“Susan?” Sam glared at Michael with her hands firmly on her hips.
“Doctor Dilworth. From the party?” Michael didn’t have a clue.
“Haven’t you pulled a few wisdom teeth yourself over the years?” Sam asked her husband.
“Sure, but here the procedure is done in the hospital like any other operation. Should be fascinating.”
Sam turned to me, hands still on her slim hips, and shook her head in resignation. “I give up.”
A few minutes later John arrived, and concluding we were all famished, we decided to go down to an area we had seen on Sunday, to try one of the many restaurants.
The city of Brussels had three train stations. The main one, the Midi train station, transformed itself into the most wonderful farmers market each Sunday.
It was called the Arab Market. I found details about it in the literature the Smiths had left for us and it proved to be a wonderful experience. Belgium has a large immigrant population coming from the countries of North Africa—Morocco, Algeria, and Tunisia—and each week they all come together selling everything imaginable from food to plants, to fresh meat and fish, fabric for curtains, rugs of every conceivable size, and pots and pans galore. There were fresh herbs and spices, and from the moment we arrived we were assaulted with the smell of fresh coriander, mint, fennel, and ginger.
After the market we walked further along the main boulevard until we came to an antique market. Sam and I found several lace dollies for our mother, and four beautiful white linen and lace tablecloths—one for each of us, our mom, and Meme. We also found a couple of watercolors. The frames were old and cracking, but the small paintings were exquisite. I knew exactly where I was going to hang mine when we got home. With any luck, the weather would hold out. We vowed to come back next Sunday to both the Midi market and the antique market and hopefully John would be able to join us.
We discovered on Sunday the area had some ethnic restaurants and it was to this area we headed tonight. After walking around for a while, peeking into several cafés, we settled for an Indian restaurant near where the antique market was held. Once the guys had picked out their beers, I told John what Sam and I had been up to, leaving out a few bits of information.
“It seems even here in Belgium you insist on being Nancy Drew,” John said with a smile. He had his long legs stretched out under the table and rubbed my leg with his own.
“Maigret,” Sam said.
“Huh? Maigret? Is that some sort of local bird?” Michael asked.
“No. It’s the name of a fictional Belgian detective created by some writer whose name begins with an S. Oh, I can’t remember, but anyway, that’s Alex’s new name, Madam Maigret.”
“I see. Well, here are a few things we’ve learned today that you can add to your own investigation, Madam, but I’m warning you, all of you,” John looked around the table, “this info is to go no further than this table, understood?” All heads nodded though as soon as we returned to the apartment, I was going to pull out the laptop and send Meme another email. Even my eighty-year-old grandmother was fiber optically wired and had become quite proficient on the Internet.
“From what the preliminary reports show,” John began, “Martine was strangled with a piece, well, several pieces, of dental floss. The green mint kind. Pieces of the green wax were found in her neck and under her fingernails. Actually, the floss pretty much slashed her throat.”
I shuddered. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Dental floss. Who the hell would use dental floss to kill someone? How terrible.”
“Inspector Willix went to Wanda and Bill’s this afternoon after he got the report and sure enough, in the medicine cabinet above the sink was a box of mint dental floss.”
“I can’t believe someone would use floss,” I said. “I mean, who would think except maybe a denti...” My words trailed off and all eyes turned toward Michael.
“Hey! Wait a damned minute. I didn’t know the woman and I’ve never considered dental floss to be anything other than what it is meant to be.”
“Calm down, honey.” Sam patted her husband’s hand. “No one suspects you of anything.”
“Maybe the killer was trying to make it look like Michael was the murderer,” I suggested.
“Why?” John asked. “Everyone at the party knew we had just arrived. There was no way Michael could have known Martine before, so why would he kill her?”
“Thanks for your support, John,” Michael smiled.
“You know Inspector Willix. Before he showed up, no one would have thought you knew anyone in Belgium but Bill,” I said.
“I didn’t know him. I knew of him,” John corrected.
“I’m just saying it’s a small world and, yes, we know Michael couldn’t possibly know Martine, but someone at the party might not have known that.”
“Okay. I can see your point.” John took a sip of beer before continuing. “It’s a possibility the murderer could have picked the floss with the hopes of throwing suspicion elsewhere. A very small possibility, I would imagine. More than likely it was just the first thing the killer found.”
I fiddled with the edge of my coaster and then set down my cup of tea. “How about fingerprints?”
“Wanda cleaned the bathroom before everyone came on Saturday but there were still fingerprints all over. I’m sure everyone there must have used the room at one time or another during the day,” John told us. I had used the bathroom at least three times, so I could understand the police probably wouldn’t have much luck there. “They also took fingerprints from inside the cabinet. That shouldn’t have been touched. Maybe the police can get…what are those faces for?” John asked looking first at me and then at Sam.
“I may have looked inside the medicine cabinet,” I said sheepishly.
“Me, too,” Sam said.
My husband hung his head and groaned. He looked up and said, “Why on earth were you two poking around in someone else’s medicine cabinet?”
“We’re in Belgium, for God sake.”
“And?”
“And nothing, John. I don’t know what Sam was looking for,” I gave my sister the evil eye, “but I was curious how foreigners live.”
“Bill and Wanda are not foreigners. They’re Americans, just like you.”
“But they live in a foreign country. I was curious. Like what does their toothpaste look like? If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t touch a thing in the cabinet, I just opened it and looked.”
John now turned to Sam with a questioning look.
“I may have touched something.”
Now it
was my turn to hang my head and moan.
“Hey. There was a box and I wanted to know what it was. That’s all I touched. I swear.”
“What was it?” I asked.
“Band-Aids. But I wouldn’t have known if I hadn’t checked,” Sam said, using her goofy logic.
Our orders arrived and the waitress told us something in French we assumed to be that the plates were hot. I glanced at John and saw he had a small smile on his face.
“I’m going to have to tell Inspector Willix you touched the cabinet and you’ll probably have to come down to the station and be printed.”
“Oh, fun!” Sam said.
We turned out attention to our meals. Everything looked and smelled divine. John took another sip of his beer and then continued telling us what he had learned. “Martine had a welt on her face. We’re assuming someone hit her first, maybe in an attempt to quiet her or knock her out. There were a few more bruises on her body, but they were old and their origin is unknown.”
“That poor woman,” Sam said. “What kind of an animal does something like that?”
It was a rhetorical question but John answered anyway. “One who wanted the job done. There was quite a bit of damage done to her throat.”
“Can we change the subject, at least until we’re done eating?” I asked, getting an approving nod from Sam.
“If you two men can drag yourselves away from your new jobs, Alex and I would like to go to Bruges tomorrow. Wanda can’t make it, but she gave us a map and good directions. It looks like a charming town. They call it the ‘Venice of the North,’ it says in the brochure. Lots of canals and we can even take a boat ride,” Sam said.
“Sounds good to me,” Michael said. “I’m not due at the hospital until Wednesday.”
“Not due at the hospital? You don’t actually work here, Michael. You do realize that, right?” Sam asked her husband.
“And you, John,” I turned to my husband, “are you free to spend a little time with your wife on her honeymoon?”
