But I had to be fair. Moreau was guilty of supervising my torture, yes, and I’d readily accuse him of that, but I couldn’t be certain that he murdered Gallo.
“Also, Colonel Moreau has no blood on him,” I continued.
The blood on the stones under Gallo was dark and dried, not fresh, and the blood on the knife was the same. If Moreau had stabbed the man some time ago—long enough for his blood to dry—why wait or return to be found over the body?
Vernet made a noise of acknowledgement. “I thank you for your observations, sir. The colonel is a highly respected citizen of Lyon, and I doubt he has turned into a mad killer overnight. You, however, Captain, I do not know, so please do not leave the city until I conclude my investigation.”
I made him a bow. “I am lodging in a villa on the hill. I must go to the village of Saint-Jean at the end of next week for my daughter’s wedding, but otherwise, I am at your disposal.”
“I am certain I can either clear your name or arrest you within that time,” Vernet said with confidence.
He gestured to his men and gave them a brusque order to remove Gallo from the bridge. The lieutenant, a man in his twenties at most, repeated this command to the sergeant with impatience.
The sergeant, a thin man with a sour face, scowled at the younger lieutenant but lifted Gallo’s booted legs while the lieutenant lifted the man under his arms. The two, with the body, shuffled to the island side of the bridge, then filed into a narrow street, and were gone.
Vernet slapped on his hat. “You are likely right, Colonel Moreau. Gallo walked imprudently home alone in the dark and was followed and killed for what little coins he had in his purse. He did not hide the fact that his mistress bestowed handsome gifts on him, which probably came originally from her comte lover.”
“Gallo was at the Comtesse Lejeune’s chateau last evening,” I said as Vernet began to turn away.
Vernet swung smartly back to me. “Was he? And how do you know this, Captain?”
“I was there myself. He caused a scene at the door, before several guards, including my man here, escorted him out the gates.” I indicated Brewster, who was pretending to be a stone.
“Did they?” Vernet’s eyes lit with interest. “How far did you escort the gentleman?” he asked Brewster.
I translated, and Brewster scowled. “I didn’t kill the bloke. What for? We dragged him to the edge of the path that led down the hill and pushed him onto it. He took to his heels right quick. Couldn’t get away from us fast enough.”
I relayed this to Vernet, whose eyes narrowed as he listened. Then he shrugged. “I will speak to the comte’s guards. I am sure it happened as your man says.”
He pretended nonchalance, but I detected the shrewdness in him. Vernet was not a man who would brush off this murder, write by unknown cutpurse in his report, and go home to put up his feet.
“Good day to you, Colonel. Captain.” Vernet saluted each of us in turn, nodded at Brewster, then turned and walked briskly in the direction his men had taken.
People drifted out of his way, a few greeting him reluctantly when he acknowledged them.
Brewster scowled at me. “I hope you haven’t landed me in it, guv. There were no need to bring up the man being at the comte’s palace or me giving him a hard shove down the hill.”
Moreau answered before I could. “There was need. Someone could have followed Gallo from the comte’s villa and decided to end his life.”
“The footmen and guards were happy to be rid of him,” Brewster said. “But none followed him. They had good drink in their barracks. Decent ale. I thought all Frenchies drank wine.”
“There are several fine breweries near Lyon,” Moreau answered without inflection. “Captain, perhaps we can have a word?”
The hesitation in his voice told me he’d had to work himself up to the suggestion.
“Of course,” I said. “There is a coffee house yonder.” I pointed across the bridge in the direction of Beaumont’s tavern.
“No,” Moreau answered decidedly. “In the Place.”
On a wide open ground where all could see us, he meant.
“Of course,” I said, and gestured for him to lead the way.
Chapter 6
Moreau crossed the remainder of the bridge into the Presqu’île without waiting to see if I’d follow. I started after him, Brewster directly behind me.
“No need to accompany me,” I told him. “You’ll be wanting your breakfast, I’m certain.”
