“Pardon, merci,” Anna said and hung up. She had looked at Tom’s hotel room key on the desk at least 50 times through the night. She knew he would have to knock to get back in.
“Coming Tom,” she said as she moved quickly to the door. “Coming.”
When Anna opened the door she was ready to first give Tom the biggest hug of his life, and then biggest lecture he ever had for being gone all night. She was also going to admit to, and apologize for, flirting with Phillipe.
Instead, she didn’t do a thing or say a word when she saw the person in the hallway in front of her.
“Anna, I am so sorry to bother you so early but I had no choice.”
“Phillipe, what’s wrong?”
Phillipe looked tired and shaken.
“It’s Tom, isn’t it?” Anna grabbed his arms and pulled him into the room. “What’s happened to Tom?”
“No,” Phillipe said softly. “I know nothing of your Tom.” He sat down on the bed and sighed.
“Then what’s wrong?”
“The woman you visited yesterday, you said her name was Madame Lapautre, oui?”
Anna nodded. “Yes.”
“She is dead. Murdered.”
“Oh no,” Anna sounded surprised, although she wasn’t, not at all.
“I heard a report on the radio this morning.”
“What did it say?”
Phillipe paused. He shook his head.
“Tell me.”
He took a deep breath before speaking. “The report said that an elderly woman named Isabelle Lapautre was found murdered in her apartment. The radio newscaster said she had been sexually assaulted and horribly mutilated.”
Anna sat down on the bed next to Phillipe. She took his hand in her own.
“The worst part of all,” Phillipe continued. “Was that the report on the radio said that she was de . . . how do you say it?” Phillipe tried to find the right word in English.
“Deccap . . . you know with the head.”
“Decapitated?”
“Oui, decapitated.”
Phillipe stopped talking but Anna knew he still had more to say. “Go on.”
“They also said that her head and fingers are still missing.”
Anna felt her stomach turn.
“There is one more thing,” Phillipe said. “A reporter at the apartment said that the name Ariene had been written on a wall in blood.”
As cold hearted as it made Anna feel, part of her had hoped that somehow Madame Lapautre had fallen victim to some random act of violence. Obviously that was not the case.
“It’s my fault,” Anna s started to cry. “It’s all my fault.”
“No, you must not say such a thing.” Phillipe put his arm around her shoulder. “It is not your fault. It simply is what happened.”
“Yeah, and if I had stayed home where I belong she would still be alive. If I hadn’t bought those damn boxes Duncan would be alive, and Jeffrey and I would be at work bitching about Tony’s back scratching or lunch orders.”
Anna broke down and started to sob. She put her head on Phillipe’s shoulder. He held her with both arms.
“Well isn’t this a pretty little picture,” Tom stood in the still open doorway. “I hope you two slept well.”
“Oh Tom,” Anna broke away from Phillipe who tried for a moment to hold her in place. She ran to Tom and pulled him close. “Where were you? Where did you go?”
She was crying uncontrollably.
“Phillipe just got here. He says Madam Lapautre was murdered last night. Hold me, Tom. Please, hold me.”
Tom’s arms had stayed at his side. Now he lifted them up and held Anna tightly to his body.
After several minutes Anna stopped trembling. “Where have you been, Tom? Why did you go?”
Anna pulled away and looked at him. His clothes were disheveled and wrinkled. He had dark circles under his eyes, his hair was uncombed and he looked exhausted. She saw that his clothing was stained with blood.
“What happened to your clothes?”
“That was from when I cut my hand on the mirror, remember?”
Anna looked at Tom’s knuckles. The cuts were deep, but still it was a lot of blood.
“I’m sorry to have been gone all night,” Tom said. He quickly glanced at Phillipe and then looked back at Anna. “I just got scared when I got so angry. I could feel it happening again, Anna. You know, like earlier.”
“What happened earlier?” Phillipe asked.
Tom kept his eyes on Anna and continued as if the question had not been asked and the person asking it did not exist. “I was so worried about you,” he said.
“You were so worried that you just left? Left me alone?”
“Anna, I felt I had too. I didn’t know what would have happened if I had stayed.”
“Where did you go?”
Tom shrugged his shoulders. “I just sort of walked around for a long time. I was by the river. Then I walked to that big white church way up on a hill.”
“Sacre-Coeur.” Phillipe said.
“Then I just ended up back here at the hotel somewhere around five. No one was around downstairs so I dozed off on a couch in the lobby. Then a few minutes ago the concierge woke me up and suggested that I find my room. I saw it was getting light out so I figured it was safe to come back up.”
“Did anything happen to you while you were walking?” Anna asked.
“No, not really.” Tom said. “I must have walked through half of Paris. It’s different in the night. I liked it.”
“Did you happen to walk by Madam Lapautre’s?” Phillipe asked.
“No. Why?”
“And you’re okay?” Anna was still worried.
“I have a couple of very sore feet, but that’s about it. Why all the questions, Anna? And, why is he here.” Tom gestured toward Phillipe without looking at him.
“As I said, Phillipe just got here with the news about Madam Lapautre.” Anna felt tears welling up. She wasn’t sure exactly why she was crying. It seemed like more than a simple outpouring of emotion. Anna realized that along with feeling guilty and afraid, she was also deeply saddened by the death, as if she had lost a member of her own family.
“Tell me what happened?” Tom asked
“Phillipe, please tell him the rest,” Anna ran to the bathroom and turned on the sink to avoid again hearing the details. She washed her hands several times and brushed her teeth twice. When she finally left the bathroom she found both men sitting in absolute silence. Phillipe was still on the bed while Tom had taken the chair by the desk. Both were staring off in opposite directions until they both looked at her.
“I can’t believe it,” Tom said, the shock clearly evident in his voice. “I can’t believe someone could do that to that nice old woman. It’s such a coincidence that it happened last night, right after we were just there.”
“Tom,” Anna said sharply. “You can’t really believe that it was just some weird coincidence.
Tom thought about it for a moment before saying, “I’d like to. But, you’re right, I guess I can’t.”
“We have to go back to that apartment. . I have to see . . . I have to feel what happened.”
Phillipe rose to his feet. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”
“I think it’s a very bad idea,” Tom also stood up. “There are going to be police all over the place and . . .”
“I’m going,” Anna ended the discussion.
“I’ll go with you,” Phillipe moved toward the door.
Anna looked at Tom.
“What choice do I have?” he asked
“You have a choice, but I really need you to come with us. ” Anna said.
“Okay,” Tom said. “Then give me a couple of minutes to change and then let’s do it.”
Phillipe didn’t move.
“Ah, excuse me,” Tom stood up and walked toward the bed. He gestured toward the door. “Would you mind?”
Phillipe quickly got up, “Sorry,
I was just lost in thought. I’ll wait in the hallway.”
“Thank you.” Tom’s words were more filled with venom than gratitude.
* * *
Ten minutes later, when Anna led the way off of the elevator, she saw a commotion in the lobby. There were at least a dozen people watching as paramedics carried a stretcher out the door. The body on it was covered completely by a sheet.
Phillipe walked over and spoke to one of the hotel workers. When he returned he put his hand on the small of Anna’s back and directed her gently forward toward a side exit. He motioned with his hand for Tom to follow.
When they got to the street, Anna turned and asked, “What happened?”
“The bellhop told me that there had been an accident. He said a woman had fallen down a back stairway and broken her neck.”
“Who was it?”
“All he said was that it was the crazy lady from the fifth floor. He
said he was new to the hotel, but had heard rumors that she was insane. He said she must have stumbled.”
“Yeah right,” Anna whispered. “Stumbled.”
Phillipe didn’t hear Anna’s words, he was too busy hailing a cab. Anna looked at Tom, who looked away.
* * *
The cab pulled up as close to 15 Rue Desera as it could. Still, Anna Tom and Phillipe had to walk over half a block just to get near the apartment building. The street was jammed with police cars, television vans and gawkers from around the globe.
Anna pushed through the crowd, with Tom and Phillipe following in the path she cleared. Finally they made it close to the building entrance where they were stopped by two very large police officers carrying what looked like small machine guns.
“Halte!” The officer held up his hand.
“Please let us through,” Anna said.
“This is a crime scene. No one is permitted,” the other officer said in English.
“You don’t understand,” Anna said. “We visited Madam Lapautre yesterday. We might be able to help.”
“How could you help?”
Phillipe moved up next to Anna and said something in French to the officers. They both looked at Tom and then back at Anna.
“Fine,” one said as they stepped aside. “Report directly to Inspector Cerone. He is in charge of the investigation.”
“Merci,” Anna said.
The officers watched closely as the three walked quickly into the building. Once inside, they were stopped again.
“We were told to see Inspector Cerone,” Anna said.
“Very well,” the officer said. “He is in the apartment. However, you might not want to see what is inside.”
Anna didn’t hear the end of the officer’s warning. She walked quickly toward the open apartment door. As she approached, Anna could see police officers, some in uniform, some not, moving around inside. Most wore plastic gloves and surgical masks. They were all extremely busy and at first no one noticed when Anna and the men stepped inside.
The horror before them was so great that they couldn’t even scream. They saw the name Ariene smeared in two foot red letters across the wall they were facing. A large deep pool of blood was slowly drying on the fine Persian rug that Anna had admired and touched the day before. Where her hand had been she could see small islands of bone. Blood was splattered everywhere, as if it had been intentionally flung around the room. The droplets covered the couch, lamps, paintings and even the ceiling.
Tom touched Anna’s shoulder, “Look over there.” He pointed toward a small table across the room. It was the table that yesterday held the small silver box containing the photographs. Today, it held a single blood stained music box. A black music box with a red rose.
The box was open, but silent, as if its song had been allowed to play out. Anna could hear the melody in her mind. She knew it was the last thing Madam Lapautre had heard before she died.
Chapter 23
“What are you doing here?” The police inspector had to ask the question three times before Anna responded.
“I’m sorry,” Anna finally said, looking away from the blood. “We were told to see Inspector Cerone.”
“Tres bien,” the man said. “So now that you have seen him, what of it?”
Inspector Cerone held his arms out like a school crossing guard and moved the three back into the hallway. “Didn’t anyone stop you from coming in here?”
“Yes,” Anna said. “But you see, we were just here, yesterday. We met with Madam Lapautre in that very room.” Anna pointed back toward the apartment.
“Do you have information that might help?”
“Yes, I mean no, I mean I don’t know. Maybe.”
“If that is as definitive as you can get, I don’t think it will help very much.”
“Perhaps I could be of assistance,” Phillipe stepped forward. “If I could have a word with you in private, Inspector. I think I can explain.”
The inspector nodded. He and Phillipe started walking down the hall. Phillipe spoke in French as they walked.
“Now what’s he up to?” Tom whispered.
“Shh,” Anna said. “He’s only trying to help.”
“Help who?”
Phillipe and Inspector Cerone suddenly stopped and turned around. They quickly walked back to Anna and Tom.
“I believe we should talk, after all,” Inspector Cerone looked at the Americans and smiled. “You first, please.” He pointed at Tom.
“Me?”
“But I’m the one you should be talking to,” Anna said.
“In due course, Mademoiselle. In due course. Please Monsieur, this way. Follow me, and do not touch anything.”
The inspector led Tom into the apartment. They walked carefully along the edges of the room until they reached a doorway to an adjacent room.
“In here, please,” Inspector Cerone said.
Before following, the inspector snapped his fingers in the direction of two uniformed officers, who instantly jumped to attention. He pointed toward Anna and Phillipe. The officers nodded and walked immediately to the front entrance. Inspector Cerone followed Tom into the room.
A half hour later, Inspector Cerone walked back out and closed the door behind him.
“Where’s Tom,” Anna asked as he approached.
“He’s being detained.”
“On what charge?” Anna demanded.
“Stop acting so . . . American,” Inspector Cerone said. “We simply have additional questions that need to be asked. Now, I need to ask some of them to you.”
* * *
“So, you expect me to believe that a ghost killed Madam Lapautre and stole her head, oui?” Inspector Cerone paced the floor in front of the chair where Anna sat. He had taken her to a small room that had served as Madam Lapautre’s office. Anna had told him the entire story, a story he found to be pure nonsense.
“I know it sounds crazy,” Anna pleaded her case. “But please believe me. It’s all true.”
“I am sure that you believe that it is true,” Inspector Cerone said. “but in all my years on the force I have yet had an opportunity to handcuff a ghost.”
“Don’t patronize me,” Anna snapped. “I’m not psychotic and I’m not kidding.”
“Make no mistake, mademoiselle. Neither am I.”
The inspector walked to the door. “Please wait here. I want to speak to your French friend. Where did you say you met him?”
“At the library. He’s helping me.”
“I’m sure he is.” Inspector Cerone left the room. “This should not take long.”
Five minutes became ten, then twenty. Anna heard a lot of voices outside of the door and the footsteps of the officers at work. She looked at the photographs framed and placed neatly along the office shelves. None were of Ariene or Renee. Most held shots of a much younger Madam Lapautre and a man Anna assumed was her late husband. In the pictures, Madame Lapautre was smiling and happy, unaware of how horribly her life would end.
I wonder how he died? Anna thou
ght while looking closely at the man.
And, who killed you? Anna’s gaze fixed on Madame Lapautre. Tell me, Isabelle. Who did this to you?
Anna waited for an answer, but received none. An hour passed and then another before the door opened. Inspector Cerone walked in, followed by a familiar and unexpected face.
“I believe you know Detective Malmann from America,” Inspector Cerone said. “He just arrived in Paris this morning to see you.”
“Ms. McAlister,” Detective Malmann said her name in place of hello. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Detective Malmann. Same,” Anna returned the flat greeting and the sentiment.
“I was telling my new friend, Inspector Cerone, about what’s been going on with you back home. He was fascinated.”
“How did you know we were in Paris?”
“Your friend, Stacy, told me. She’s here too by the way. In fact we flew over on the same plane.”
“Stacey’s here? Why?”
The detective stare was penetrating. “We’ll get to that, okay? I have a few things I need to get off my chest first . . . if you don’t mind.”
“But . . .”
“Humor me, Ms. McAlister,” Detective Malmann interrupted and continued. “Now, the question, as I see it, is why would you come all the way to Paris when I specifically asked you to stick around? Why would you do that? Huh? Why?”
He didn’t wait for Anna to answer.
“Put yourself in my shoes Ms. McAlister. If you were me, wouldn’t you find it interesting if you had these two people, you and your boyfriend, who you know are connected somehow to two murders back home suddenly fly off to Paris. Then, you follow them to Paris to talk about it, and low and behold you find those same two people at the scene of another murder.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about?”
“Don’t you?”
“No, I don’t. What two murders back home?”
“Your buddy Jeffrey’s dead, Ms. McAlister. Someone killed him right in his hospital bed.” The detective spoke as if he were talking about the weather. But, his eyes never left Anna’s.
“No!”
“Ah huh. It was pretty bad too. You know how he cut his arms all the way down? Someone came in and split those wounds back open.”
The Haunting of Anna McAlister Page 17
