The French Widow by Mark Pryor

Author:Mark Pryor [Pryor, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781645060239
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Auguste Rabin was less welcoming. No one answered the door of his small duplex in a working-class suburb of the city, on its southeastern edge. Lerens rang the bell a third time, and Hugo wandered around the side of the building. He tried to peek through a window, but the dirty glass made it impossible to see inside, so he kept walking. Through the slats of an old wooden fence he saw a man working in the back garden. Hugo went back for Lerens, and together they let themselves through the unlocked gate. The man was on his knees with a trowel in his hand, and he turned at the sound of the gate opening.

“Bonjour,” Lieutenant Lerens said. She and Hugo had their credentials in their hands as they approached, but the man barely glanced at them. Which told Hugo plenty. “Auguste Rabin?”

“Oui.”

Lerens introduced herself and Hugo, but Rabin stayed where he was.

“Do you mind if we ask you a few questions, monsieur?” Lerens asked.

“You’ll ask them, whether I mind or not.” He was surly, Hugo assumed, thanks to too many encounters with the police that ended with him wearing handcuffs.

Lerens ignored the comment. “Where were you on Friday night?”

“Here.”

“From when to when?”

Rabin shrugged. “Six to about seven the next morning.”

“Anyone with you?”

“Look, I’ve been going straight for years. Whatever you’re trying to pin on me, forget it. The only car I drive these days is the one out front that I paid for.”

“Congratulations.”

“It’s always the same with you people. Someone commits a crime and you have no idea who, so you go bother people who fit your profile and find one who doesn’t have an alibi. And then bam, on go the handcuffs.”

“That’s not what we—”

“And hey, doesn’t matter if it’s the right criminal, does it, because once you’re guilty of one thing, no reason why you can’t be guilty of something else.” He stabbed the trowel into the earth in annoyance. “But I’m off that roulette wheel, like I said. I have a job, and if I want something, I don’t steal it. I save up and I buy it.”

“You’re working?”

“Yes. Construction, electrical, whatever I can get. It’s not easy with a criminal record, you know.”

“I’m sure it’s not,” Lerens said. “You have a side business that involves selling art or antiques?”

“Art . . . look if it’s about that painting, I don’t know anything about it.”

“Apparently you do.”

“Merde.” Rabin looked down and shook his head slowly, knowing he’d given himself away.

Hugo pressed him. “Just to be clear, what painting are you talking about?”

“I saw it in the news, that girl who got strangled and the paintings stolen. I assumed that’s what you were talking about, but I don’t know anything about it.”

“You said that painting though,” Hugo said. “Singular. Which painting were you referring to?”

“I meant paintings.”

“Monsieur Rabin,” Lerens began. “Your fingerprints were found on the wrapping when two of the paintings were recovered. You want to explain that to me?”

“Actually,” Hugo interrupted, “I think I can.

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