The Mortality of Matias by Annette Moncheri

Author:Annette Moncheri [Moncheri, Annette]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-12-09T06:00:00+00:00

A few minutes later, Monsieur Gachet opened a drawer in his desk in his office and showed me a ring identical to the one in my possession: a silver signet ring with an intricate silver filigree design surrounding a black number thirteen. The connection with the murder was confirmed.

I would have been more dismayed, except of course that Monsieur Gachet was still in possession of his own ring.

I’d not brought Linnea to translate, as I knew it would only set her off again, so I spoke slowly and clearly to Monsieur Gachet. “Does everyone who attends a meeting receive a ring?”

He wrote on a scrap of paper for a few moments, then rubbed his chin and reconsidered, then scratched out what he had written and wrote something different: “The rings are new. The last two years only. I think thirty-nine have been given out.”

Thirty-nine rings! That was a large pool of suspects; then again, it was smaller than the pool we had previously—which was all the able-bodied population of Paris. I felt this was a clue worthy of passing on to Inspector Baudet; I decided I would write a letter and send it by a runner over to the commissariat central across the Seine.

I pondered how to carry on a full interrogation of a deaf person without the aid of a translator, and again wished I had learned how to sign. But I had no other way to proceed at the moment, so I forged ahead: “Matias Maquet was a member of the Thirteenth Club, was he not?”

He looked upon me for a long moment, then nodded.

“And so you knew him, yes?”

Another nod.

“His killer also had one of these rings. In fact, it is the killer’s ring I have in my possession.” I watched him closely as I spoke, hoping for some change in his expression that might tell me something, but his gaze was fixed on my lips as he made out my words. “Matias had made many enemies among married men. Do you know anyone in the Thirteenth Club who would have wanted him dead?”

He stared into the near distance for a moment, then shook his head with a slight shrug.

I held back a sigh. This was the least gratifying interrogation of my life. Without spoken words, I could read little else from his responses.

“I saw that you were at the party tonight. You saw nothing that was unusual or suspicious which might point to the killer?”

Again he only shook his head, and I sighed. “Very well. Thank you, Monsieur Gachet. Please do let me know if you think of anything that might be helpful.”

I patted him on the shoulder and went back into the main room.

I then recalled that I’d not yet spoken to Monsieur Gardil regarding the Friday the Thirteenth Club, and I wrote the letters to him and to the inspector and had them sent.

By then, the sun was beginning to creep near the horizon—I could feel it pressing down upon the atmosphere—and I retired to my secret sleeping compartment beneath my room, still fretting about all that had happened.

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