good look at him. I’ve always liked tall, lanky guys.”
“What kind of guys don’t you like?” Sebastien joked.
Celine playfully punched him on the arm. “I’m pretty sure it was the same guy, Clémence.”
“So. This guy is connected to Charles. He came out of Charles’s car?”
“I think so. Charles has a driver, so this guy came out the back seat. He and Charles had an intense chat.”
Clémence jumped off her stool and paced as she thought about it. “I think he’s working for Charles. Charles hired him to kill his own brother.”
Sebastien and Celine looked at her and then at each other.
“So Charles was the one who wanted me dead,” Clémence said. “It all makes sense.”
Chapter 17
Inspector Cyril St. Clair was looking more dapper than usual. In a dark suit with a pale blue silk pocket square, he looked as if he was going to a wedding. He was dressed for victory. Clémence and Arthur followed him and a few members of his team into the Editions Laberg building in the 6th arrondissement.
“Can I help you?” the receptionist asked when they entered.
“We’re here to see Charles Laberg,” Cyril commanded. “ Now. ”
The woman narrowed his eyes at him, but not one to argue with the police, she said coldly, “Second floor, third door on your left.”
Cyril didn’t thank her and simply led the way upstairs.
Charles’s office door was already open, and he was talking on the phone when they entered. Clémence thought she saw his eyes widen in fear at the sight of them, but he simply held a finger up, signifying that he would be free in a minute.
When he hung up, he smiled at the inspector. “Gentlemen. Is there a problem?”
“Charles Laberg,” Cyril started. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Cesar Laberg.”
Two police officers handled the job of handcuffing him.
“Get my father,” Charles said coolly to the employees who had begun to gather outside the office to see what was going on. “I’m innocent. This is ridiculous. What is this farce?”
“You killed your brother and you tried to kill me,” Clémence said, stepping forward. “Your so-called employee, Guillaume Roussy, confessed to everything.”
“What?” There was a flash of fear in Charles’s eyes again—Clémence was sure of that now—as her eyes locked into his.
“What’s going on here?” Monsieur Laberg stormed in.
“Charles is being arrested for the murder of your late son,” Cyril said.
Monsieur Laberg looked to Charles, who was vehemently shaking his head. “I did not kill my brother.”
“That why did you employ Guillaume Roussy?” Clémence asked.
“Who is this Guillaume Roussy?” Charles said. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Maybe you know him by one of his many aliases,” Clémence said. “Jean? David Hortense? You hired him to do your dirty work, didn’t you? After all, he’s been living off the grid. When we identified Guillaume’s real identity, the police confirmed my suspicions and traced him to you. He’s on your payroll. What other jobs could possibly be worth a six-figure transaction other than murder? Guillaume has already been arrested, and he confessed.”
“He’s lying!” Charles’s face was stony, but a vein began to pulse at one temple.
“Why would he? Why else would he be on your payroll?”
“Son?” Monsieur Laberg looked at Charles with a mixture of confusion and horror.
“She’s lying,” Charles said to him. “This girl is nothing but a pathetic amateur detective.”
“You tried to kill me,” Clémence said. “Your father was at the dinner. He’d remember. Monsieur Laberg, remember when I said I was allergic to peanuts? Your son hired someone to poison my wine at a wine bar with ground peanuts. Charles feared I was getting to close to his cover-up. That was your mistake, Charles. I wouldn’t have suspected you if you hadn’t
“What kind of guys don’t you like?” Sebastien joked.
Celine playfully punched him on the arm. “I’m pretty sure it was the same guy, Clémence.”
“So. This guy is connected to Charles. He came out of Charles’s car?”
“I think so. Charles has a driver, so this guy came out the back seat. He and Charles had an intense chat.”
Clémence jumped off her stool and paced as she thought about it. “I think he’s working for Charles. Charles hired him to kill his own brother.”
Sebastien and Celine looked at her and then at each other.
“So Charles was the one who wanted me dead,” Clémence said. “It all makes sense.”
Chapter 17
Inspector Cyril St. Clair was looking more dapper than usual. In a dark suit with a pale blue silk pocket square, he looked as if he was going to a wedding. He was dressed for victory. Clémence and Arthur followed him and a few members of his team into the Editions Laberg building in the 6th arrondissement.
“Can I help you?” the receptionist asked when they entered.
“We’re here to see Charles Laberg,” Cyril commanded. “ Now. ”
The woman narrowed his eyes at him, but not one to argue with the police, she said coldly, “Second floor, third door on your left.”
Cyril didn’t thank her and simply led the way upstairs.
Charles’s office door was already open, and he was talking on the phone when they entered. Clémence thought she saw his eyes widen in fear at the sight of them, but he simply held a finger up, signifying that he would be free in a minute.
When he hung up, he smiled at the inspector. “Gentlemen. Is there a problem?”
“Charles Laberg,” Cyril started. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Cesar Laberg.”
Two police officers handled the job of handcuffing him.
“Get my father,” Charles said coolly to the employees who had begun to gather outside the office to see what was going on. “I’m innocent. This is ridiculous. What is this farce?”
“You killed your brother and you tried to kill me,” Clémence said, stepping forward. “Your so-called employee, Guillaume Roussy, confessed to everything.”
“What?” There was a flash of fear in Charles’s eyes again—Clémence was sure of that now—as her eyes locked into his.
“What’s going on here?” Monsieur Laberg stormed in.
“Charles is being arrested for the murder of your late son,” Cyril said.
Monsieur Laberg looked to Charles, who was vehemently shaking his head. “I did not kill my brother.”
“That why did you employ Guillaume Roussy?” Clémence asked.
“Who is this Guillaume Roussy?” Charles said. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Maybe you know him by one of his many aliases,” Clémence said. “Jean? David Hortense? You hired him to do your dirty work, didn’t you? After all, he’s been living off the grid. When we identified Guillaume’s real identity, the police confirmed my suspicions and traced him to you. He’s on your payroll. What other jobs could possibly be worth a six-figure transaction other than murder? Guillaume has already been arrested, and he confessed.”
“He’s lying!” Charles’s face was stony, but a vein began to pulse at one temple.
“Why would he? Why else would he be on your payroll?”
“Son?” Monsieur Laberg looked at Charles with a mixture of confusion and horror.
“She’s lying,” Charles said to him. “This girl is nothing but a pathetic amateur detective.”
“You tried to kill me,” Clémence said. “Your father was at the dinner. He’d remember. Monsieur Laberg, remember when I said I was allergic to peanuts? Your son hired someone to poison my wine at a wine bar with ground peanuts. Charles feared I was getting to close to his cover-up. That was your mistake, Charles. I wouldn’t have suspected you if you hadn’t
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