“I was sure he’d send you to question me. I should have put money on it. He’s so stubborn.”
“You would have lost your bet. In fact, he forbade me to come near you. That piqued my interest, of course.”
“He’s obsessed with what happened with Mom’s urn. It must have been dropped by one of the funeral home employees. They blamed it on a stranger to cover their backs, but their theory is so absurd I don’t even know why they bothered contacting the police.”
“I got involved by way of a slightly more serious crime.”
He told her about the theft that had been committed and Mr. Bartel’s accusations of Thomas Saurel. Manon confirmed that she and Thomas had spoken, emphasizing that he had been a real gentleman to agree to do her such a favor, particularly since he was used to playing for sold-out concert halls.
“Can I show you something?” She opened her laptop and clicked on a YouTube video of Thomas at the concert in Stockholm. “Just look at the expression on his face while he plays.”
The detective was watching Manon and not the recording. The sound was barely audible, but one glance at the screen was enough to make the pianist’s talents clear.
“Now listen to this,” she said enthusiastically, turning on the stereo that played ambient music throughout the bookstore. “It’s him,” she said, and then fell silent.
Liszt’sConsolationsfilled the store. Manon turned the volume up again in the middle of the piece.
The detective handed her the box of tissues he’d noticed on the counter. “Here,” he said, “you shouldn’t listen to this kind of music at a time like this. It’s enough to make even me tear up.”
“How could you believe that the person who recorded this album is a common grave robber? My dad is like a dog with a bone. Maybe he’s just being overprotective because he saw me talking to Thomas?”
“Probably.”
“I’m sorry you came here for nothing.”
“How well do you know Thomas Saurel?”
“Like I said, we met for the first time the day before yesterday. Why do you ask?”
“No reason.”
Manon leaned in toward Pilguez and studied his face. “Are you keeping something from me?”
“Nothing I could reveal to you in good conscience.”
“Do you have evidence that incriminates him? No, of course not. You’re trying to sow the seeds of doubt to see if I’m hiding anything. I’ve seen this hundreds of times in cop shows.”
“You watch too much television. Talk to your father. He’ll tell you more.”
“I’d rather talk to you. Come on, spill it.”
“Isn’t that supposed to be my line?”
“It’s good to switch things up every now and then.”
“I’ll admit, today hasn’t exactly been routine ... Look, Thomas Saurel, this pianist of yours ... you’ve known him longer than you think,” the detective admitted.
Manon responded with only silence, making Pilguez wonder if Mr. Bartel’s accusations were really as baseless as he’d believed. To find out, he offered her a deal. “A secret in exchange for a promise,” he proposed.
“What promise?”
“I thought you’d ask what secret. Here it is: Don’t tell your father anything I’m about to tell you. I’m not kidding, either. If you rat me out, I promise that your car, which is partly blocking the sidewalk out front, will never again enjoy such leniency. I’ll have my colleagues give you so many parking tickets that you’ll have to start riding your bike—which isn’t exactly easy in this town.”
“All right, you’ve scared me straight. You have my promise. You didn’t need to threaten me, by the way. I always keep my word.”
As soon as she learned the truth about her mother’s past, memories of her childhood began to make their way to the surface. And once they did, Manon finally understood why Thomas’s face had seemed so familiar.
18
