Anna fought for her breath.
“It looked like someone had sliced open a ripe banana and pulled back the peel.”
“An accident?” Anna gasped and hoped.
“Don’t think so,” Detective Malmann said. “Unless someone accidentally pinned his skin to the bed with those pushpins you brought him. By the way, why did you. . .”
Anna saw the darkness closing in from all sides of a circle. It filled her field of vision until her sight was gone and she was floating and free.
* * *
Anna shook her head violently from side to side. She didn’t want to come back. Finally she opened her eyes and pushed away the smelling salts that Inspector Cerone held under her nose. They made her feel like she was going to throw up.
“Tom,” she called out. “Where’s Tom?”
“He was just taken to headquarters for further questioning. We will take you there as well.”
“Let’s go,” Anna got up too quickly from the chair on which she had been placed after blacking out. She started to stumble and was held upright thanks only the quick reflexes of two uniformed officers. After a moment, Anna pulled her arms free.
“Come on. I want to get this over with.”
“As do I,” Inspector Cerone agreed.
Anna held out her arms.
“What are you doing?” Inspector Cerone asked.
“Don’t you want to lock me up?” Anna sneered. “Don’t you think that I’m some Goddamn fucking mass murderer?”
“Just follow me, please.”
“Fuck you.” Anna followed.
Unbeknownst to Anna, Tom had been handcuffed before being taken from the apartment. In her case, Inspector Cerone didn’t think it was necessary. He thought her to be delusional, paranoid and somewhat insane. He thought Tom was the killer.
Anna walked behind the inspector and the two officers walked behind her. As they moved quickly toward the apartment door, Henri, Madam Lapautre’s assistant came running in.
When Henri saw the blood, he started to scream and then to cry.
“One moment,” Detective Cerone held up one finger to stop Anna. He walked directly to Henri.
The two spoke quickly and quietly in French. The inspector held Henri in his arms
When the man started to shake and sob. Anna heard the inspector ask him who he was and why he was there.
“I was Madam Lapautre’s assistant, ” Henri fought a losing battle for control. “Today was my day off. I was in the country when I heard the news. She was so wonderful, so kind. Who did this? Who could do this?”
Henri looked over the Inspector’s shoulder and saw Anna. He stared at her for a moment before pushing the Inspector out of the way and charging. “Meurtrier, murderer!” he screamed in French.
Inspector Cerone and the two officers were taken entirely by surprise. Henri reached Anna before they could react. He grabbed her around the throat with both hands and pushed her back until she slammed into a wall.
“Meurtrier! Meurtrier! Meurtrier!”
Anna felt her windpipe being crushed. At first she fought, but quickly she found herself hoping to return to the peace of the darkness.
To Anna, it seemed like minutes, but it was only a couple of seconds before the two officers were upon them, prying Henri’s fingers from her throat. Others joined them and knocked Anna’s assailant to the floor.
His face was red and contorted, much like a baby’s at birth. He continued to scream “Meurtrier! Murderer!”
He would not be silenced until the officers dragged him into the side room and slammed the door.
“Are you alright?” Inspector Cerone asked.
Anna felt her throat opening. She nodded. “I think so,” she choked out the words. “Let’s go.”
* * *
Anna told and retold various police inspectors her story. She didn’t vary in her details or conclusions. She told what she believed to be the truth. Each time the police official would end up rolling his eyes and shaking his head. Finally, after two hours of interrogation, Anna was released.
“What about Tom?” she asked Inspector Cerone.
“We are not quite done questioning him yet.”
“Can I wait?”
“If you like, but it might be some time before a decision is made.”
“I’ll wait.”
The inspector directed Anna to a long plain wooden bench at the far end of the hallway. It faced a front desk manned by two male officers and a female secretary.
“You’ll let me know if anything’s new?” Anna asked as she started walking toward the bench.
“Of course,” Inspector Cerone called after her. “And if you recall anything ‘new’ I trust you will let me know.”
“Of course.”
Anna walked quickly to the bench and sat down. She wasn’t there for five minutes before Phillipe walked in from a stairwell. Her thoughts had been on Jeffrey, so she didn’t notice him until he started to speak.
“So,” Phillipe said. “Was it difficult?’
“What?” Anna jumped. She felt her heart race and then slow. “Phillipe you startled me, I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“Was it very difficult talking to the police?”
“Not for me,” Anna said. “I just told them the truth.”
“Truth can be very hard to believe if it is not what one wants to hear.”
“They think Tom killed her,” Anna shook her head.
“And what do you think, Anna McAlister?” Phillipe asked.
Anna thought about the blood on Tom’s clothing and the fact that he had been gone all night. She thought about his attack on her and the fury in his eyes.
He also wasn’t with me the night Duncan died. Anna remembered waking up on the couch alone. She also remembered that Tom hated Duncan. She thought what a few days earlier would have been unthinkable. Maybe.
“No!” Anna said sharply. “Tom didn’t do it.” she pushed aside her thoughts. “I know him, and I know he didn’t do it.”
Phillipe shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps not.”
“Definitely not.”
“Come with me,” Phillipe whispered. “My friend has arranged for us to view the old files. He should have them ready by now.”
“But what if Tom comes out?”
“I’m sure that won’t happen for awhile yet.”
Anna looked at the people behind the desk. “Would you tell them where they can find us just in case?” Anna asked.
“I don’t think that will be necessary.” Phillipe started to walk toward the door, but Anna stepped in his path.
“Please,” Anna’s plea came out in the form of a demand.
Phillipe sighed in disgust.
“What’s the problem with telling them where we’re going to be? I don’t understand.”
Phillipe turned toward the desk and said a few short words in French. He then walked through the door to the stairwell.
Before following Phillipe, Anna looked at the officer, she pointed to herself and whispered. “Records room?”
“Oui, Mademoiselle,” the officer never looked up from the paperwork in front of him. “That is what he said.”
Anna was relieved and reassured. She must have misinterpreted Phillipe’s reluctance to tell the officer where they were going. Maybe I am being paranoid. A memory flashed through Anna’s mind. It was of a poster she’d seen in one of her psychology classes. It read, “Remember . . . even paranoids have enemies.” At the bottom, her professor had written, “P.S. We mean you! Yeah, you mother fucker! We’re coming for you! You! You! YOU!”
Anna followed Phillipe down the stairs.
* * *
“In here,” Phillipe said, opening the door to a small basement room near the records division. “My friend put everything in here.”
Anna entered an eight by eight foot room. Its gray concrete walls and ceiling were completely bare except for several small cracks that spidered across their surfaces. There was a metal table and
two wooden stools in the middle of the room. The only light came from a single reading lamp at one corner of the table. It illuminated a small stack of folders in the middle.
“Nice room,” Anna noticed what appeared to be water stains along some of the cracks. “And nicely decorated.”
“My friend didn’t want us to be noticed,” Phillipe said. “He promised that no one would disturb us here.”
“I can see why.” Anna sat down on one of the stools, feeling it wobble on its uneven legs.
“Many years ago this was a holding cell and interrogation room for those accused of crimes. It has not been used in a very long time.”
“It’s nice that they kept it in its original condition. I know I wouldn’t have changed a thing,” Anna forced a laugh and let it die quickly.
Phillipe closed the door. At the sound of the lock clicking, Anna shivered. “Is that really necessary?”
“I do not. . .I mean I am sure that you do not want us to be discovered and have to stop, oui?”
“Ah, yeah but . . .”
“Also, if we are caught my friend could lose his job.”
Job, Anna thought. The word sounded like it was from a different world. She remembered back to when her job was the most important thing she had to worry about. When Jeffrey was alive. She thought about how upset they would become with Tony over an account or having to answer the eternal questions, “What-cha-workin-on?” It all seemed so simple, so clean. I miss Tony, she thought and started to laugh. Girl you are losing it now.
“Why are you laughing?” Phillipe asked.
“Never mind, honey.” Why did I call him honey? “Let’s get to work.”
Chapter 24
Even translated, the language in the police report was terse, direct and graphic.
It detailed the murder of Ariene LaMoreau in language void of emotion or concern. Somehow, to Anna, that made it all sound even more frightening.
The reports described how Ariene had been found with her arms and legs tied to the four corners of the bed with leather straps.
Like Belts? Anna thought.
She had many puncture wounds and cuts, as well as “several dozen” deeper stabs and lacerations. The report said several of her fingers had been “hacked” away, and that her head had been removed and was missing.
Phillipe stopped reading. “That is exactly what happened to Madam Lapautre.”
Anna just nodded. She got up from the stool and started pacing the room. She wanted to run, vomit or cry. Instead, she just listened as Phillipe continued to read through the files. He read that from the amount of semen present it appeared that the victim had been repeatedly raped and sodomized. It was difficult to determine the number of sexual assaults because her vagina and anus had also been penetrated and pierced, presumably by the same knives that killed her.
“Enough, Phillipe.” Anna slid down on to the floor in the corner of the room.
“But there’s more,” Phillipe said.
“Go past. Go to the next report, please. Pick it up after they talk about the body.”
Phillipe closed one file. To Anna he seemed strangely disappointed.
The next report contained a long list of possible suspects. All of the names had been crossed out, except for the last one. The final name Phillipe read was “Renee Desan.” It had been circled . . . twice.
“I saw him,” Anna whispered.
“I know,” Phillipe opened the next folder. He read about the arrest of Mademoiselle LaMoreau’s lover and long time family employee, Renee Desan. Several of the hotel workers said they had seen him with Ariene after her birthday party that night. Others reported that he removed several knives from the kitchen that evening to, as he put it, “cut sausage.”
Two male servants testified that they saw him leaving the hotel in an agitated state early the next morning, and that it appeared that his clothing was stained with blood. Two others said they had heard him threaten Ariene at the party after she danced with a man whom Renee considered to be his rival.
Upon searching Renee’s home, the police first found hairs “the color of the victims, on his clothing. Then, they found several female fingers in the pocket of his coat.
The last file detailed Renee’s suicide much more vividly than the newspaper report. The cause of death was said to be self-inflicted head wounds. The police report stated that he had rammed his head against his cell bars with such force that his skull fractured in several places. Despite this, according to the document, the suspect kept slamming into the bars until his skull actually split open, allowing his head to squeeze between them. There he dangled and finally died.
Phillipe then read the last line in the report. It was the first time that the writer had deviated from objectively stating the facts. He wrote a simple prayer for the victims.
May they rest in peace and in the merciful light of God’s love, Amen. Case closed.” The page was signed, Paul Martan, Inspector, Paris Police.
Phillipe closed the folder and tapped its cover with his right index finger. “As the good inspector said, case closed.”
“I don’t think so,” Anna said.
Phillipe looked at Anna who remained huddled on the floor in the corner. Her arms were wrapped around her knees and she was rocking back and forth. She stared off as if either deep in thought, or viewing a reality visible only to her.
“Anna?” Phillipe got up from his chair. “Are you all right?”
Phillipe walked quickly over to Anna and squatted down in front of her. He was directly in her line of sight, but she was looking elsewhere. “Anna?”
Suddenly, Anna’s eyes focused on Phillipe’s face. “I’m sorry,” she said slowly. “I was just thinking about whether Renee was ever questioned in this room.”
“It’s possible,” Phillipe said. “He certainly was in this building for questioning.”
“Yeah,” Anna reached out and put her hand on Phillipe’s knee. “I’m sorry I went into the twilight zone. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
Phillipe placed his hand over Anna’s. “Did you see anything when you where in this place, the twilight zone?”
“You mean now, in here?” Anna didn’t pull her hand away.
“Oui,” Phillipe squeezed ever so gently.
“No,” Anna looked around the room. “Nothing.”
Phillipe moved to her side and sat next to her on the floor. Their arms and hips touched . . . neither moved. Then, Phillipe looked at Anna. He took her head in his hands and turned it until they were face to face, lips to lips. Phillipe leaned in and kissed her, first lightly, then deeply.
Anna responded and returned his kiss. She moaned as a gentle fire raced through her body. This is wrong. This is wonderful.
As they kissed, Anna felt Phillipe’s hands move from her hair slowly down to her neck. There, they paused just a moment before continuing on, one to her back, the other to her breasts.
Phillipe unhooked her bra through he blouse with one hand, while exploring under it with the other. Anna felt her nipples harden against the palm of his hand. She was drifting through time. She was in this room, on this floor. She also saw herself on a canopy bed looking up at a brightly colored ceiling.
Phillipe’s hand left Anna’s shirt and moved down. She felt him open her jeans and lower her zipper. He ran his hand over her belly before moving it under her panties and between her legs.
Anna wasn’t sure where she was. She wasn’t sure who she was. She felt herself melting into Phillipe . . . and that is what finally scared her.
“No, Phillipe, no.” Anna pulled away and scrambled to her feet. “We can’t do this. We can’t.”
Phillipe was on his feet almost as fast she was. He moved toward her. “We can and we will.”
He reached for Anna but she ducked away. “No!”
As Anna ran by the door, it opened and Inspector Cerone walked in. He twirled a key chain from his fingers and smiled. “I trust I am not interrupting anything? It was somewhat difficult to find
you.”
Anna turned around, and quickly adjusted her open bra and rezipped her pants.
As soon as the door had opened, Phillipe moved quickly between Inspector Cerone and the table, blocking his view of the files. Anna assumed he wanted to protect his friend.
Inspector Cerone waited until Anna once again faced him. “Monsieur Howard is being released for now. You can meet him upstairs.”
“Great,” Anna said a bit too loudly. She walked around the inspector and out the door.
“Coming?” The inspector looked at Phillipe.
“Un moment, s’il vous plait,” Phillipe motioned down toward the front of his pants and winked. “I will need just a moment to become, ah, less, shall we say, obvious? You understand.”
Inspector Cerone followed Anna out.
* * *
Within minutes, Phillipe joined Anna at the front desk. “I had to return the files,” he whispered.
Anna didn’t say a word. Her face was red with embarrassment.
“Anna,” he continued to whisper. “I apologize for what just happened. I behaved very badly. Forgive me, please.”
“I was wrong too,” Anna said and meant. “I don’t know why I let that happen.”
“I feel the same way. It is probably best that we forget it ever occurred, agreed?’
“Yes, very agreed.” Anna smiled.
“Friends again?” Phillipe held out his hand.
“Friends,” Anna smiled and shook his hand. They saw Tom coming toward them from the other end of the hall. “Just friends.”
Anna got up and ran to Tom. Phillipe walked away.
“You know they think I did it,” Tom said when he and Anna hugged. “I told them the truth, and they think I’m a murderer.”
“And they think I’m a lunatic.”
“What a perfect couple.”
As they started walking, Tom said. “You know I didn’t do it?”
When Anna didn’t respond immediately he held her head in his hands and looked directly into her eyes. “Don’t you?”
“I know it wasn’t you.” She shook her head and looked down. “Not you.”
“Just one moment please,” Inspector Cerone came walking up to Anna and Tom from around the corner.
“You have more questions?” Tom sighed.
The Haunting of Anna McAlister Page 18
