[Fen Churche 02] - Night Train to Paris Fliss Chester (essential reading .TXT) 📖

then softened his look as he received an equally ugly look from James. Antoine licked his lips as he worked out what to say.

‘A burglar, you say?’ Antoine asked and Fen wondered if he was stalling for time, or if he was purposefully avoiding answering her question.

‘I’m only repeating what the gendarmes have said,’ Fen told him. ‘Personally, I think she was murdered for some other reason. Do you have an inkling who it might be?’

Antoine couldn’t avoid answering the question a second time, so once back in his seat, he leaned forward and said, ‘I don’t know, I really don’t know. But it sounds like something The Chameleon would have done in the war. Catching someone in their own home, unawares…’ he mimicked stabbing someone and then leaned back, gently rocking on his chair.

‘And I don’t suppose you know who The Chameleon is, by any chance?’ James asked, seeing that Fen was deep in thought.

‘Lazard… lizard…’ Fen tripped the words off the end of her tongue. Then she looked up at Antoine. ‘Do you know Michel Lazard at all?’

‘Of course, he’s a colleague here in the warehouse. An art dealer of sorts. He had a certain niche, shall we say, in the art market. For the more, how would you put it, duplicated paintings.’

‘He sells forgeries,’ Fen said matter-of-factly, explaining it to James as much as answering Antoine.

‘Ye…es.’ Antoine hesitated. ‘How did you know?’

‘Rose told me.’

‘Did she now?’

‘And Henri Renaud knew about it too.’

‘Ah, well, they say Monsieur Renaud has eyes and ears everywhere…’

‘Can you introduce us to Lazard?’ Fen asked outright, feeling emboldened by having James next to her.

‘Sure, sure,’ Antoine moved forward and shuffled some papers on his desk. ‘I think he’s away now down in the south, but I’ll get a message to him.’

‘Thank you, Antoine,’ Fen said, wondering if perhaps he was being just a little too helpful. ‘Henri Renaud also said that you and Rose had fallen out recently. About some sort of gang Gervais has got himself muddled up in.’

Antoine laughed. ‘A gang! Gervais? Can you believe this?’ He gestured towards Fen, looking at James.

James just shrugged one shoulder and the laughter left Antoine’s face.

He continued, ‘Look, if Henri Renaud has anything he wants to say to me or my brother, he should come here and say it to my face. I spend my life in this dump looking after his second-best paintings, and risked my life in the war to help him and Rose with their little scheme, not that I ever saw anything come my way because of it.’ He rubbed his fingers together to indicate money changing hands.

‘I should hope not,’ Fen interjected. ‘They weren’t exactly making any money out of it either!’

‘Ha, you say that, but…’ He sat back again with his hands crossed over his chest.

‘What do you mean?’ Fen was genuinely puzzled.

Antoine merely drew his fingers across his lips, as if zippering. This made Fen shudder with frustration, but, luckily, James fulfilled his brief and took over the questioning.

‘Antoine, my friend, we’ll be out of your hair in two ticks. And hopefully see you at the Deux Magots tonight? A drink on me, at least.’

Antoine nodded and sat forward slightly.

Fen took the opportunity to question him again. ‘Just one more question before we head back to the city. Were you and Gervais at the races a couple of days ago? Out in the Bois de Boulogne? I heard there was a fine filly who’s worth keeping an eye on?’

Antoine looked at James and then laughed at Fen. ‘Miss Churche, I’m glad that you were not in the Resistance with us. You are a terrible liar. If you want to know where I was at the time of Rose Coillard’s murder, just ask me outright.’

‘Well?’

‘I was here. At work.’ He got up from the chair, leaving it to spin again, and crossed the floor towards the office door, which he opened and called out into the warehouse, ‘Guillaume! Guillaume!’

‘What?’ a disembodied voice called back.

‘You know two days ago we had that shipment in, and you dropped that crate on my foot? What did I call you?’

There was a pause and then Guillaume, whoever he was, shouted back, ‘You called me a stupid ass only fit for donkey’s work, sir.’

‘Quite right!’ Antoine came back into the office, looking pleased with himself. ‘There you go, instant corroboration that I was here that afternoon, being sentimental and caring to my underlings.’

Fen frowned. ‘It’s not exactly an alibi, is it. I mean, I didn’t tell you what time in the afternoon she was killed and poor Guillaume out there might have been confused about dates or—’

‘If you don’t trust Guillaume, then you’ll trust the manifests. I can show you the time-stamped delivery papers signed by me.’ He went towards the filing cabinet. ‘What time do you think she was killed?’

‘Around two o’clock.’

Antoine pulled open a drawer and pulled out some carbon paper documents. ‘Here,’ he pointed at the bottom of the sheet. ‘My signature and the time of delivery, 1.45 p.m.’

‘Definitely not enough time to get from St Denis to St Germain, thank you, Antoine.’ James pushed himself up from this chair. ‘Come on, Fen, let’s leave this poor man in peace. Drinks later, yes. On me?’

Antoine snorted but nodded and bid them goodbye.

‘He’s not wrong, you know…’ James said to Fen with a wry smile as they closed the metal door of the warehouse behind them. ‘You would have made a terrible spy.’

Twenty-Six

Fen and James spoke quietly to each other as they sat on the bus, the government posters stating that ‘Careless Talk Costs Lives’ still drilled into them. Who knew who was listening in, and just like the war, lives were possibly at stake here too.

‘Do you think this Lazard chap is The Chameleon?’ Fen whispered to James, following it up before he could answer with another theory. ‘And do you think he might have killed Rose if she refused to paint more forgeries for him to sell?’

‘Perhaps. You’re leaping