Cezanne's Quarry Read Online Free Page B

benches outside the courtrooms, waiting to be defended, prosecuted, and judged.
    Martin barely had time to shake off these dreary thoughts before duty confronted him in the hunched, thin person of his law clerk. Old Joseph was waiting at the top of the stairs to warn him that he had visitors. “A Mr. Charles Westerbury, sir,” Joseph whispered in his ear. “M. Franc brought him in earlier this morning.” When Martin straightened up, he saw Franc standing over a man seated on a bench, holding his head in his hands. Martin’s first suspect.
    The inspector left his charge and hurried over to meet Martin at the head of the stairs. “I picked him up, sir, about eight this morning, having coffee just as calm as you please, with the dead woman’s maid. He’s seen the body. Showed some shock, but I can’t tell if it was fake or not. I tried questioning, but couldn’t get anything out of him. I am sure you can handle his type better than me, sir, being an educated man yourself.”
    While Franc spoke, Martin gazed down the hall at the hapless suspect, who returned his stare. He was trying to remember if he had ever seen Westerbury with Solange Vernet.
    “Would you like me to observe the interrogation, in case there are contradictions?”
    “No,” Martin responded quickly. “That won’t be necessary.” He did not need the inspector’s help to do his job. Even if he did, he was not about to show it. “Have you sent the men to the quarry? Do you have the medical report?”
    “The men went out this morning, and the report is on your desk. Riquel thinks that she has been dead no more than a day.”
    Martin nodded. That seemed right. The maggots had not yet taken over the swollen corpse of Solange Vernet. “And the material evidence?” Martin asked without taking his eyes off the man who might be her murderer.
    “I’ll bring those up later. I didn’t want to carry them along while I was bringing—” The inspector jerked his head in the direction of Westerbury.
    “Yes, right. Good idea.” Franc was full of good ideas. Martin was going to have to work hard to stay a step ahead of him. Martin took a deep breath. It was his turn. “Very well,” he said, “we will talk later.”
    Even the bullheaded Franc should have recognized this as a dismissal, but he still had to offer one last piece of advice. He lowered his voice. “Don’t forget, sir, to ask him about the money. They were living like kings.” Then, with a little military tip of his cap, he headed toward the stairs.
    Their conversation had given Old Joseph time to reach Westerbury. Martin saw the clerk’s head of sparse, wispy white hair bob up and down as he explained something to the suspect. When Martin reached the door of his chambers, the Englishman stood up to meet him. They stared at each other for just an instant. Could this be the man who strangled and stabbed the beautiful Solange Vernet? Martin thought, before he dropped his gaze in order to conceal the excitement and disgust that had suddenly overtaken him.
    He invited Westerbury into his chambers and asked him to sit in one of the two wooden chairs that faced his large mahogany desk. Martin passed a wall lined with law books on the way to the chair behind his desk, while Old Joseph took a seat at a small table in an alcove. The clerk sat with his back to the suspect and was ready almost at once to take notes. Martin, on the other hand, took his time settling in; getting out his pen, then ink, then paper, and thumbing through the documents on his desk. Of course, it was all an act. Even if he wanted to absorb what Dr. Riquel had written, he could not. The words on the medical report were swimming before his eyes. His performance was calculated to show Westerbury who was in charge, as well to give himself time to figure out where to begin.
    He glanced up to find Westerbury staring blankly past him through the large window that opened onto the Palais square. From where the Englishman sat, there