The Paris Librarian (25 page)

“I wouldn't know,” Hugo said with a smile.

“That's reassuring.” Lerens returned the smile. “I'll let Claudia know. But seriously, if it's him, how did he do it? Rogers was the one running searches on curare. We basically agree it was impossible for anyone to administer the poison to him, thanks to those security cameras.”

“There's another possibility, you know. What if Benoît and Sarah were having an affair, and Paul found out. Maybe he confronted Benoît, who refused to back off. Unable to end the affair, and unwilling to leave Sarah, Paul committed suicide in an unlikely way. Using curare. In other words, he killed himself figuring that we'd look into his death and maybe would blame Alain Benoît. A few days later, Sarah realizes what happened and kills herself out of remorse, or perhaps she rejects Benoît and he loses his mind and kills her, too. Not able to face what he's done, and knowing he's a suspect, Benoît takes a dive into the Seine.”

“Paul Rogers getting revenge from beyond the grave, eh?” Lerens said. “I don't know, maybe.”

“Seems a little far-fetched, I agree, but it makes some sense.”

“But it doesn't explain why Benoît would take Paul's keys, the keys to the library. If, in fact, he did. We still don't know for sure.”

“I'm pretty sure he did, but you're right, we still don't know why exactly he would take the keys,” Hugo said. “But I think he took them for a reason, and if he knew he was going to commit suicide, seems to me he'd likely execute whatever plan he had in mind before killing himself. He wouldn't care about the consequences at that point.”

“Everything takes us back to the library, doesn't it?” Lerens said. “I think it's time to find out once and for all whether there's more to this Severin collection than we know. Figure out if there really is a secret being protected by people there.”

“And being ferreted out by someone else. What's your plan?”

“You know the people down there better. Who do you think I should I talk to?”

Hugo thought for a moment. “If it were me, I'd bring in Michelle Juneau in for a few questions. She's pretty tough, but I'm betting she's a lot tougher behind her desk at the library than she is in a police interview room. Start with her.”

Hugo stood with Officer Paul Jameson, looking through the one-way glass at an irritated Michelle Juneau, who sat fidgeting with her purse and phone. Hugo didn't know whether she was irritated at being there or at being kept waiting.

“You brought her in?” Hugo asked Jameson. “Weren't you up all night?”

“Had a few hours' kip, I don't need much more than that. And this case fascinates me.”

“Me, too,” Hugo said.

Jameson gestured to Juneau. “And yes, I brought her here. She wasn't happy at first, but then I told her I'd be happy to come by her place of work tomorrow and be a little more persuasive. She preferred the idea of a Sunday-afternoon chat over a Monday-morning embarrassment.”

“Nice work. She say anything on the way over?”

“Just asked what it was all about, so I played dumb. Not hard, under the circumstances.”

“Yeah,” Hugo said. “It's not much more than a fishing expedition at this stage.” He fell silent as Camille Lerens let herself into the interrogation room. She glanced at the one-way glass, as if checking Hugo was in place. She spoke to Juneau in French, and her voice came through to the observation room as tinny and metallic, but loud enough and clear enough.

“Madame Juneau, I am Lieutenant Camille Lerens.” She didn't shake hands, just sat down opposite Juneau and put a file folder between them. “This is probably obvious, but I wanted to point out the cameras that will record everything, sound and sight, that goes on in this room. We do this to preserve our conversation and to ensure there are no questions about what was said today. Is that all right with you?”

“
Oui
, I understand.”

“Good.” She flipped open the folder and picked up a photo. Hugo leaned to one side, then saw that it was a picture of Alain Benoît. “Do you recognize this man?”

“No, I don't think so.”

“Look closely, please, it's important.”

Juneau reached out and took the photo, studying it. “Maybe I have seen him. At the library, I think. I don't remember names, though.” She passed the photograph back. “Who is he?”

“A friend of Paul Rogers and Sarah Gregory. You knew Sarah, yes?”

“A little. She'd come by the library sometimes, informally to see Paul and also when we had events. I didn't know her socially, though, if that's what you were wondering.”

“You told Hugo Marston about an incident at the library when you heard someone in the basement with Monsieur Rogers.”

“Yes.”

“Can you repeat that story for me, please?”

Juneau nodded. “Of course.” She seemed to gather herself, then started on the account of that night, repeating the story she'd told Hugo. He listened carefully for variations, omissions, or additions, but other than the occasional word choice, the story remained the same. When she'd finished, Lerens sat quietly for a moment.

“You know about the secret door, right?” she asked.

“In the basement?” Juneau smiled. “It's not so much secret as, well, we're not supposed to use it. It's totally off-limits.”

“The person you think you heard. Could he or she have used that door to get away?”

“I suppose so, yes. If they had a key.”

“Rogers could have given them one, right?”

“Yes, true.”

“If you go through the door and into the university library, where can you exit? Which street or streets?”

“I don't know. Honestly, I've never used the door and I don't know anything about the building it leads into.”

“
Bon.
” Lerens shifted gears seamlessly. “Tell me how you got your job.”

“I applied.” She shrugged. “How else do people get jobs?”

“I see.” Lerens kept her tone light.

“You think I was gifted the job because of the Severin collection?”

“I don't know, that's why I'm asking.”

“Look,” Juneau said. She leaned forward. “I applied for the job. When I interviewed, I told them it was possible I could talk to Isabelle about getting her papers housed there. I made no promises, nor did anyone else. So if you're asking whether there was a quid pro quo, there wasn't from my end, so you'd have to ask . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“Paul Rogers? Except we can't very well do that, can we?”

“No, I'm sorry. I'm just trying to tell you that I got that job the same way anyone gets a job.”

“I've no doubt you're very qualified.” Lerens gave her a warm smile. “So the next thing I'm wondering about is the same thing everyone has asked you.”

“Ah, of course,” Juneau said. She leaned back in her chair, as if suddenly relaxed and in control. “The secret papers of Isabelle Severin.”

“And the dagger,” Lerens said playfully.

A smile spread over Juneau's face. “You're right, several people have asked me about her so-called secret papers and the dagger. Well, I can tell you one thing about that dagger. And one thing about the story that goes with it.”

“Please do.”

“First, the story, the legend. All I can say is that somewhere in the depths of her mind there is a true story, but it's one that has grown in the public, on the Internet, and I couldn't tell you what's true and what's not. No, I don't know what the truth of that is anymore. But the dagger itself, that's very real indeed.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The moment he heard those words, Hugo felt a need to be in the interview room, if not asking questions then able to look Michelle Juneau in the eyes as she answered those posed by Lieutenant Lerens. He pulled out his phone and texted her, willing his friend to notice the message. She did, and she seemed to study the words longer than necessary.

Say yes
, Hugo thought.

Lerens put the phone slowly back in her pocket, turned to the one-way window, and nodded. Hugo didn't hesitate, leaving being a startled Officer Jameson as he strode out and pushed his way into the interview room.

“
Bonjour
Michelle,” he said. Lerens announced his arrival for the record, and he jumped right in. “Two Americans are dead and the police aren't entirely sure what happened, so I'm just helping out where I can.”

“
Dites-donc.
I thought our talk at the library was . . . informal, if not private.”

“It was,” Hugo said. “But at this point we need a few things on the record. Like, for example, the dagger. Does Isabelle Severin use it as a letter opener, by any chance?”

“
Oui, mon dieu
, she does.” Juneau smiled. “How did you know that?”

“I paid her a visit,” Hugo said. “It was right there in plain sight. A little smaller than I'd imagined, but it sure looked like a dagger.”

“And what better place to hide it?” Juneau said. “When I first realized, I told her she was crazy. That she'd lose it or someone would recognize it and steal it. She wouldn't confirm any of the rumors about its meaning, but she did ask me how many times I'd seen it and not known, how many times I'd been in the same room and had no idea. So, like you said, hidden in plain sight.”

“Except someone else realized, and took it.”

The smile fell from her face. “What?”

“Someone went to her house and stole it,” Lerens chimed in. “Do you know who might have done that?”

Good cop, bad cop?
Hugo wondered.

“No,” Juneau protested. “I haven't seen her in weeks. Check the sign-in log, the appointments register where she lives, that'll tell you.”

Lerens threw Hugo a look. “Yeah, well, it seems that not everyone signs in when they pay her a visit.”

“They're supposed to, I always do. Check and see.”

“We will,” Lerens said. Her phone buzzed again and she took it out and looked at the display. “I need to step out for a moment. So as not to waste more of Mademoiselle Juneau's time, Hugo, feel free to ask her any questions you may have.”

Hugo nodded and watched as Lerens let herself out of the interview room. Then he turned to Juneau and spoke in English. “So the dagger is real—what about the secret stash of papers?”

Juneau looked at the recorder. “Should we speak in French?”

“Your English is better than my French, and I'm sure they can translate it if they need to. It's not like you're a suspect, as far as I know.”

She gave a tight smile. “That's a relief.”

“It's true. You were saying, about the secret papers not part of the main collection.”

“Ah. That's less straightforward,” Juneau said.

“Try.”

“In a word, yes.”

“What are they?”

“I don't know. Not exactly.”

“Explain what you mean by that.”

“When we were packing up her papers to send to the library,” Juneau began. “After I got hired, this is. Isabelle and I went through most of her stuff and I created kind of a list. A manifest, whatever you want to call it. That way, the library would know what they were getting and could plan for where they put it all.”

“Where's that manifest now?”

“I don't know. Paul had it, I suppose Michael does now. Maybe in the big safe?”

“OK, go on.”

“So we had all this stuff piled up in Isabelle's living room and the spare bedroom, trying to keep it in order. I used her desk to create the manifest, on my computer. But right when we were done she came out of her bedroom with a metal box. Say, twice the size of a shoe box. It was heavy, too. She put it with the other things but asked me to keep it locked away, preferably somewhere at the library or at my apartment. I didn't know the library had such a large safe, but that was perfect, and Paul let me put it in there behind some other stuff, books and papers that I didn't really look at.”

“What was in the box?”

“That's what I'm trying to tell you, I don't know. It was locked and she didn't give me the key.”

“Did you have any instructions? I mean, it doesn't make sense to give you a box and no key, and just say nothing.”

“I was getting to that. She told me to keep the box until she was gone, passed away. Then I could open it and add it to the rest of the collection. She made me promise not to sell it, to profit from it in any way, which I'd never do. She was so good to me, there's no way I'd betray her trust and do something like that. Just no way.”

“And the key?”

“She must have kept it.”

“So how are you supposed to open it when she dies?”

“I assumed she'd leave it to me in her will.”

Hugo shook his head. “I don't know. It just seems like, if she trusts you with this Pandora's box, she'd trust you with the key.”