The Haunting of Anna McAlister (25 page)

* * *

“So, you expect me to believe that a ghost killed Madam Lapautre and stole her head,
oui
?” Inspector Cerone paced the floor in front of the chair where Anna sat. He had taken her to a small room that had served as Madam Lapautre’s office. Anna had told him the entire story, a story he found to be pure nonsense.

“I know it sounds crazy,” Anna pleaded her case. “But please believe me. It’s all true.”

“I am sure that you believe that it is true,” Inspector Cerone said. “but in all my years on the force I have yet had an opportunity to handcuff a ghost.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Anna snapped. “I’m not psychotic and I’m not kidding.”

“Make no mistake, mademoiselle. Neither am I.”

The inspector walked to the door. “Please wait here. I want to speak to your French friend. Where did you say you met him?”

“At the library. He’s helping me.”

“I’m sure he is.” Inspector Cerone left the room. “This should not take long.”
 

Five minutes became ten, then twenty. Anna heard a lot of voices outside of the door and the footsteps of the officers at work. She looked at the photographs framed and placed neatly along the office shelves. None were of Ariene or Renee. Most held shots of a much younger Madam Lapautre and a man Anna assumed was her late husband. In the pictures, Madame Lapautre was smiling and happy, unaware of how horribly her life would end.

I wonder how he died?
Anna thought while looking closely at the man.
 

And, who killed you?
Anna’s gaze fixed on Madame Lapautre.
Tell me, Isabelle.
Who did this to you?

Anna waited for an answer, but received none. An hour passed and then another before the door opened. Inspector Cerone walked in, followed by a familiar and unexpected face.

“I believe you know Detective Malmann from America,” Inspector Cerone said. “He just arrived in Paris this morning to see you.”

“Ms. McAlister,” Detective Malmann said her name in place of hello. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Detective Malmann. Same,” Anna returned the flat greeting and the sentiment.

“I was telling my new friend, Inspector Cerone, about what’s been going on with you back home. He was fascinated.”

“How did you know we were in Paris?”

“Your friend, Stacy, told me. She’s here too by the way. In fact we flew over on the same plane.”

“Stacey’s here? Why?”

The detective stare was penetrating. “We’ll get to that, okay? I have a few things I need to get off my chest first . . . if you don’t mind.”
 

“But . . .”

“Humor me, Ms. McAlister,” Detective Malmann interrupted and continued. “Now, the question, as I see it, is why would you come all the way to Paris when I specifically asked you to stick around? Why would you do that? Huh? Why?”

He didn’t wait for Anna to answer.

“Put yourself in my shoes Ms. McAlister. If you were me, wouldn’t you find it interesting if you had these two people, you and your boyfriend, who you know are connected somehow to two murders back home suddenly fly off to Paris. Then, you follow them to Paris to talk about it, and low and behold you find those same two people at the scene of another murder.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about?”

“Don’t you?”

“No, I don’t. What
two
murders back home?”

“Your buddy Jeffrey’s dead, Ms. McAlister. Someone killed him right in his hospital bed.” The detective spoke as if he were talking about the weather. But, his eyes never left Anna’s.

“No!”

“Ah huh. It was pretty bad too. You know how he cut his arms all the way down? Someone came in and split those wounds back open.”

Anna fought for her breath.

“It looked like someone had sliced open a ripe banana and pulled back the peel.”

“An accident?” Anna gasped and hoped.

“Don’t think so,” Detective Malmann said. “Unless someone accidentally pinned his skin to the bed with those pushpins you brought him. By the way, why did you. . .”

Anna saw the darkness closing in from all sides of a circle. It filled her field of vision until her sight was gone and she was floating and free.

* * *

Anna shook her head violently from side to side. She didn’t want to come back. Finally she opened her eyes and pushed away the smelling salts that Inspector Cerone held under her nose. They made her feel like she was going to throw up.
 

“Tom,” she called out. “Where’s Tom?”

“He was just taken to headquarters for further questioning. We will take you there as well.”

“Let’s go,” Anna got up too quickly from the chair on which she had been placed after blacking out. She started to stumble and was held upright thanks only the quick reflexes of two uniformed officers. After a moment, Anna pulled her arms free.

“Come on. I want to get this over with.”

“As do I,” Inspector Cerone agreed.

Anna held out her arms.

“What are you doing?” Inspector Cerone asked.
 

“Don’t you want to lock me up?” Anna sneered. “Don’t you think that I’m some Goddamn fucking mass murderer?”

“Just follow me, please.”

“Fuck you.” Anna followed.

Unbeknownst to Anna, Tom had been handcuffed before being taken from the apartment. In her case, Inspector Cerone didn’t think it was necessary. He thought her to be delusional, paranoid and somewhat insane. He thought Tom was the killer.
 

Anna walked behind the inspector and the two officers walked behind her. As they moved quickly toward the apartment door, Henri, Madam Lapautre’s assistant came running in.

When Henri saw the blood, he started to scream and then to cry.
 

“One moment,” Detective Cerone held up one finger to stop Anna. He walked directly to Henri.
 

The two spoke quickly and quietly in French. The inspector held Henri in his arms

When the man started to shake and sob. Anna heard the inspector ask him who he was and why he was there.
 

“I was Madam Lapautre’s assistant, ” Henri fought a losing battle for control. “Today was my day off. I was in the country when I heard the news. She was so wonderful, so kind. Who did this? Who could do this?”

Henri looked over the Inspector’s shoulder and saw Anna. He stared at her for a moment before pushing the Inspector out of the way and charging. “
Meurtrier
, murderer!” he screamed in French.

Inspector Cerone and the two officers were taken entirely by surprise. Henri reached Anna before they could react. He grabbed her around the throat with both hands and pushed her back until she slammed into a wall.
 

“
Meurtrier! Meurtrier! Meurtrier
!”

Anna felt her windpipe being crushed. At first she fought, but quickly she found herself hoping to return to the peace of the darkness.
 

To Anna, it seemed like minutes, but it was only a couple of seconds before the two officers were upon them, prying Henri’s fingers from her throat. Others joined them and knocked Anna’s assailant to the floor.
 

His face was red and contorted, much like a baby’s at birth. He continued to scream “
Meurtrier
! Murderer!”

He would not be silenced until the officers dragged him into the side room and slammed the door.
 

“Are you alright?” Inspector Cerone asked.

Anna felt her throat opening. She nodded. “I think so,” she choked out the words. “Let’s go.”

* * *

Anna told and retold various police inspectors her story. She didn’t vary in her details or conclusions. She told what she believed to be the truth. Each time the police official would end up rolling his eyes and shaking his head. Finally, after two hours of interrogation, Anna was released.

“What about Tom?” she asked Inspector Cerone.

“We are not quite done questioning him yet.”

“Can I wait?”

“If you like, but it might be some time before a decision is made.”

“I’ll wait.”

The inspector directed Anna to a long plain wooden bench at the far end of the hallway. It faced a front desk manned by two male officers and a female secretary.
 

“You’ll let me know if anything’s new?” Anna asked as she started walking toward the bench.

“Of course,” Inspector Cerone called after her. “And if you recall anything ‘new’ I trust you will let me know.”

“Of course.”

Anna walked quickly to the bench and sat down. She wasn’t there for five minutes before Phillipe walked in from a stairwell. Her thoughts had been on Jeffrey, so she didn’t notice him until he started to speak.
 

“So,” Phillipe said. “Was it difficult?’

“What?” Anna jumped. She felt her heart race and then slow. “Phillipe you startled me, I’m sorry. What did you say?”

“Was it very difficult talking to the police?”

“Not for me,” Anna said. “I just told them the truth.”

“Truth can be very hard to believe if it is not what one wants to hear.”

“They think Tom killed her,” Anna shook her head.

“And what do you think, Anna McAlister?” Phillipe asked.

Anna thought about the blood on Tom’s clothing and the fact that he had been gone all night. She thought about his attack on her and the fury in his eyes.
 

He also wasn’t with me the night Duncan died.
Anna remembered waking up on the couch alone. She also remembered that Tom hated Duncan. She thought what a few days earlier would have been unthinkable.
Maybe.

“No!” Anna said sharply. “Tom didn’t do it.” she pushed aside her thoughts. “I know him, and I know he didn’t do it.”

Phillipe shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps not.”
 

“Definitely not.”

“Come with me,” Phillipe whispered. “My friend has arranged for us to view the old files. He should have them ready by now.”
 

“But what if Tom comes out?”

“I’m sure that won’t happen for awhile yet.”

Anna looked at the people behind the desk. “Would you tell them where they can find us just in case?” Anna asked.

“I don’t think that will be necessary.” Phillipe started to walk toward the door, but Anna stepped in his path.
 

“Please,” Anna’s plea came out in the form of a demand.

Phillipe sighed in disgust.

“What’s the problem with telling them where we’re going to be? I don’t understand.”
 

Phillipe turned toward the desk and said a few short words in French. He then walked through the door to the stairwell.
 

Before following Phillipe, Anna looked at the officer, she pointed to herself and whispered. “Records room?”

“
Oui
, Mademoiselle,” the officer never looked up from the paperwork in front of him. “That is what he said.”

Anna was relieved and reassured. She must have misinterpreted Phillipe’s reluctance to tell the officer where they were going.
Maybe I am being paranoid.
A memory flashed through Anna’s mind. It was of a poster she’d seen in one of her psychology classes. It read, “Remember . . . even paranoids have enemies.” At the bottom, her professor had written, “P.S. We mean you! Yeah, you mother fucker! We’re coming for you! You! You! YOU!”
 

Anna followed Phillipe down the stairs.
 

* * *

“In here,” Phillipe said, opening the door to a small basement room near the records division. “My friend put everything in here.”

Anna entered an eight by eight foot room. Its gray concrete walls and ceiling were completely bare except for several small cracks that spidered across their surfaces. There was a metal table and two wooden stools in the middle of the room. The only light came from a single reading lamp at one corner of the table. It illuminated a small stack of folders in the middle.

“Nice room,” Anna noticed what appeared to be water stains along some of the cracks. “And nicely decorated.”

“My friend didn’t want us to be noticed,” Phillipe said. “He promised that no one would disturb us here.”
 

“I can see why.” Anna sat down on one of the stools, feeling it wobble on its uneven legs.
 

“Many years ago this was a holding cell and interrogation room for those accused of crimes. It has not been used in a very long time.”

“It’s nice that they kept it in its original condition. I know I wouldn’t have changed a thing,” Anna forced a laugh and let it die quickly.

Phillipe closed the door. At the sound of the lock clicking, Anna shivered. “Is that really necessary?”

“I do not. . .I mean I am sure that you do not want us to be discovered and have to stop,
oui
?”