Page 29 of One Last Goodbye

Catherine, of course, reacts poorly to this. Her smile fades, and she sighs and tosses her hands into the air. Sophie and I stand in uncomfortable silence, unsure how to help or if we should even try.

Finally, Catherine stands. “I’ll take dinner in my bedroom, Sophie.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sophie says quietly.

Dinner is a sober affair. Ethan eats mechanically while Olivia angrily stuffs forkfuls of her food into her mouth. I allow her to express her anger, but I really must speak to Catherine. The children can’t be expected to bottle their emotions like this any longer. I can help somewhat, but they need their mother. They need to know that their surviving parent loves and cares about them.

So, after the children are put to bed, I risk going to the bedroom Catherine. I lift my hand to knock on the door, but I stop when I hear laughter. Male laughter. Hugo’s laughter.

My fist tightens. It seems Sean is mistaken about Catherine’s fidelity. Perhaps she waited until her husband was dead to leap into Hugo’s arms, but it’s clear she doesn’t miss Frederick much.

The door opens, startling me. Catherine stares at me in shock for a moment, then quickly closes the door. Not in time to hide a glimpse of Hugo in his underwear, though. “Mary. What on Earth are you doing here so late?”

I collect myself and reply, “I was simply wondering if you had any information on funeral arrangements for Frederick. I need to know so I can schedule the children accordingly.”

She blinks. “Oh. Oh yes. Um, I don’t have anything yet, but I’ll let you know.”

I nod stiffly. “Thank you, ma’am. By the way, I haven’t had the chance to tell you how sorry I am for your loss. You must be devastated.”

I don’t do much to hide the contempt in my voice. Catherine reddens, but I haven’t said anything she can chastise me for, so she only says. “Thank you. Good night.”

“Good night, ma’am.”

Catherine apparently doesn’t need whatever she left the room for very badly. As soon as I turn the corner, I hear the door open again, then close behind her.

She is clearly happy that Frederick is dead. So, it seems, is Hugo. Both of them have motive to want Frederick out of the way.

Could Catherine have killed the father of her children in cold blood? Of course, she could have. Cecilia did, and Cecilia loved her children. I don't think Catherine cares about them at all. I don't think she loves anyone but herself.

I decide to ignore Sean's advice and go to the police. Sean can do more investigating than I can, but he can only do so much from so far away. Dubois is here, and though he seems quick to dismiss the death as a suicide, he has every reason to base on the evidence he's been spoon-fed.

It’s time to give him some real evidence before the wheels of justice turn too far from the truth.

***

I head to town under the pretense of opening an account with Swiss Bank to address issues I’ve had with my American bank. Catherine nods distractedly and gives me permission to go. Thankfully, she doesn’t mention Franz or Pierre. Probably she assumes I’ll have one of them drive me, but since she doesn’t say, I have a perfectly reasonable excuse to take a car myself and drive to the police station in Genthod, the municipality where Detective Dubois’s precinct is located.

When I walk into his office, he lifts his eyebrow. “I assume this is about Frederick Jensen.”

“Yes. Have you determined his cause of death yet?”

He leans back in his chair and regards me with his half-lidded expression. He doesn't offer for me to sit, but I do so anyway and wait for him to reply. I've just about had it with being manipulated in conversation. If they want to play mind games, then I'll do the same.

So, I hold his gaze and say nothing. Finally, he looks down at his desk and shuffles some papers. “I thought I made that clear the night we interviewed. He committed suicide.” He opens one of his desk drawers and carefully places the papers inside. Then he folds his hands on his desk and leans forward, “Are you telling me I am wrong?”

“Yes. He was murdered.”

He shows no sign of shock. Whether that is professional calm or because he suspects as well that Frederick was murdered, I can’t tell. “You’re sure of this?” he asks.

“I am.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“It’s just not believable. He didn’t strike me as a suicidal person.”

“Suicidal people usually don’t seem suicidal.”

"Yes, but there's more than that. The behavior of people around him seems odd."

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