Death and Transfiguration

Chapter 8

"If my records are correct, you work for Bertrand Sylvestre?" Robiquet said to me, frantically taking notes.

I nodded and explained, "I'm his daughter's tutor."

"Interesting," Robiquet said. "I recognize you from the premiere of The Lost Shadow. You were near the back, weren't you?"

"Yes, that's correct," I said, unsure where exactly Robiquet was going with this. He must have already known that I had nothing to do with Bergmann's murder. Why was he questioning me?

"Were you working for Mr. Sylvestre when you attended the premiere?" Robiquet asked.

"No," I said. "I came to Paris specifically to see The Lost Shadow. I didn't even meet Bertrand Sylvestre until the following day."

"Did you see any members of the Sylvestre family at the theater that day?"

"No," I said again, until I remembered something. "Jean-Luc. He was in the pit orchestra, wasn't he?"

Robiquet nodded. "I haven't talked to Jean-Luc yet, but he's listed in the program, and de Villiers said that all of the orchestra musicians were present at the performance."

"You've talked to de Villiers?"

Robiquet sighed. "I've talked to a lot of people, Miss Brackenborough, but it doesn't feel like I've gotten anywhere. If you could tell me anything you remember from that night, I'd greatly appreciate it."

I recounted the whole evening for him, from when I bought my ticket to when I walked out of the opera house. I was sure that none of it was relevant to the murder case, but Robiquet listened carefully, occasionally scribbling something down in his notebook. Talking to Robiquet wouldn't bring Bergmann back - I knew that much - but maybe, there would be justice for him. Maybe I could find some semblance of closure amongst all of this madness.

"Thank you, Miss Brackenborough," Robiquet said after I had finished, but I didn't feel any different after telling him everything that I'd seen. I still missed Johann Bergmann. I still grieved for the years he had left to live and the pieces he had never gotten the chance to write. Of course, I was grateful for the opportunity to study with Sylvestre, but even that couldn't make up for the loss of Johann Bergmann.

"Have you talked to Mr. Sylvestre yet?" I asked Robiquet.

"That's what I was about to do," Robiquet said. "De Villiers says that he was part of a feud with Bergmann - is that true?"

"I think so," I said. "I haven't known him for very long."

"Has he ever talked about Bergmann at all?"

I thought back to when we'd first met, and I said, "He called him a world-class ratbag once." Robiquet immediately wrote that down, but before he could jump to any conclusions, I added, "I think he just dislikes his music. Mr. Sylvestre disapproves of many of the..." I paused for a moment, searching for the right word. Sylvestre and I had very different tastes in music: I found his favorite composers to be quite boring, and he thought that the music I liked was hardly music at all. "He disapproves of many of the more avant-garde composers," I said.

"I see," Robiquet said as he wrote something down in his notebook. "Has he ever said anything else about Bergmann?"

"Not that I can think of," I said.

"Thank you very much for your time, Miss Brackenborough," Robiquet said. "You've been very helpful."

"You're welcome," I said.

He then knocked on the door, and a few minutes later, Sylvestre answered. Before Sylvestre could say anything, Robiquet presented his badge and said, "I'm Officer Robiquet from the Seine Department of the National Police. May I ask you a few questions?"

"Aren't you a little young to be a police officer?" Sylvestre said.

"I graduated from the National Police School two months ago," Robiquet explained.

Sylvestre gave him a suspicious look and then said, "Okay, but I don't have a lot of time. I have to be at the conservatory in thirty minutes." He glanced in my direction and said, "Miss Brackenborough, could you please go inside and make sure the children are ready for school?"

"Of course, Mr. Sylvestre," I said as I entered the house.

Sophie and Jean-Luc were inside, eating their breakfast. "Hi Miss Brackenborough!" Sophie exclaimed as soon as she saw me. However, Jean-Luc barely looked up from his toast, a surly expression on his face.

It seemed like the children were doing just fine, and my curiosity was killing me. I had to know what Sylvestre and Robiquet were talking about, so I cracked open a window, and soon, their voices floated into the kitchen.

"I don't see what this has to do with me, Officer Robiquet," Sylvestre said. "I wasn't even at the premiere."

"Where were you then?" Robiquet said, furiously writing in his notebook.

"I was at the conservatory, grading papers."

"But your son was there, wasn't he?" Sylvestre curtly nodded. "Why weren't you there to support him?"

"He's scheduled to play for most of the performances of The Lost Shadow," Sylvestre explained. "I knew the opera house was going to be crowded on the night of the premiere, so I figured I would see Jean-Luc play another day."

"How long were you at the conservatory?" Robiquet asked, shifting the subject slightly.

"Three hours or so. I arrived there at seven and returned home around ten."

"And you graded papers that whole time?"

"I had assigned a ten-page essay on the use of cadenzas throughout music history to my Introduction of Composition class the previous week," Sylvestre said. "Those take a long time to grade."

"What about your daughter? Where was she during this time?"

"She was staying with her uncle Paul. He lives in Orleans."

"Is this your brother?"

"No, my wife's."

"Where was she when all of this happened?"

"She died last year."

"Oh," Robiquet said. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"There's nothing to be sorry for."

"How...how did it happen?"

"She was in a carriage accident," Sylvestre explained. Robiquet wrote that down, and Sylvestre quickly added, "I don't see what this has to do with the investigation, Officer Robiquet."

"You never know," Robiquet said. "Anyways, I think that's all I needed from you, Mr. Sylvestre. Thank you for your time."

Sylvestre headed back inside, while I closed the window, hoping that he wouldn't notice what I had been doing. I didn't know what to think after hearing what Sylvestre had said. Perhaps it was all true. Perhaps he really was at the conservatory during the premiere, but how could anyone prove that? Perhaps he had killed Bergmann, but there would be no way to know for sure. Regardless, I only hoped that soon, there would be justice for Johann Bergmann.

I went through my day, constantly wondering whether or not Sylvestre was telling the truth. I hoped that he was - I didn't know what I would do if it turned out that my composition teacher was a murderer. Sylvestre didn't seem like the type of person who would kill someone, but what did I really know about him? As I had told Robiquet, I hadn't known him for very long. We weren't quite strangers anymore, but we certainly weren't friends.

When Sylvestre returned from the conservatory, he asked if I wanted to have a composition lesson, but I declined, too shaken by the events of that morning. I immediately walked home, ready to spend the rest of the day in Madame Leclerc's boarding house, writing pieces that would never leave my composition book.

I climbed upstairs, but before I reached my room, I walked past Moreau's. Strangely enough, I didn't hear him practicing, so I assumed that he must not be home. I was just about to head into my room when I heard him calling my name.

I opened the door to his room and asked, "What is it, Moreau?"

"Can we talk for a minute?"