Death and Transfiguration

Chapter 37

It all made sense now. Jean-Luc wasn't at rehearsal on the day that Lajoie was murdered, and the connection to Claire Sylvestre seemed logical too - he had certainly been close with his mother. He must have been the one who stole his father's rifle, and he must have been the one who committed those murders, as absurd as it was to think that a thirteen-year-old boy had killed three people in cold blood.

It was absurd, wasn't it? Jean-Luc was a child, and children don't go on killing sprees to avenge their mothers, or at least so I thought. There had to be a more reasonable explanation for this, but all of the evidence pointed toward him.

Yet, I soon realized there were a few holes in my theory. Jean-Luc was in the orchestra pit when the first murder was committed, and I was sure that he was home with his father when Pascal died. As far as I could tell, he couldn't have committed either of those crimes. Besides, I didn't have any real proof that Pascal was only murdered to throw us off, and even if Jean-Luc was involved somehow, perhaps he wasn't the killer. Perhaps there was someone else, someone helping him commit these awful crimes.

I glanced back into the house, and I soon realized that I needed a plan if I wanted to get to the bottom of this. I needed to talk to Jean-Luc - whether he was the killer or not, he was clearly the missing piece of the puzzle that all of the other investigators had been ignoring all this time. If he wasn't the murderer, he might have some insight that Pascal and the police had overlooked, and if he was, I might just be able to extract a confession.

However, I didn't think that I was ready to speak to Jean-Luc just yet. I needed more evidence before I could accuse a child of such a heinous crime. I needed to be certain, or at least as certain as I could be, that he was the one who killed Bergmann, Lajoie, and Pascal.

I started to walk home, but on my way back to the boarding house, I encountered a group of children around Jean-Luc's age, sprawled out by the Place Pasdeloup, discussing some book about a dog that I had never read. Most of the children were unfamiliar, but there was one boy I recognized. He seemed to be the leader of the group, confidently spouting off thoughts and opinions while keeping the younger children in line. However, before I could say anything, he glanced in my direction and said, "Hello, Miss Brackenborough!"

"Antoine," I said. "It's nice to see you again."

"Nice to see you too," I said. "What are you doing here?"

"Just talking about Beautiful Joe," Antoine said. "You should read it, Miss Brackenborough. It's the saddest book I've read all year."

"It's also the only book you've read all year," one of the other children said.

"Shut up, Marcel," Antoine said.

All of a sudden, I saw an opportunity. "Antoine, could I talk to you for a moment?" I asked.

"Sure," Antoine said, and I pulled him aside for a moment.

"Where were you when Johann Bergmann died?" I asked.

"I...I don't know," Antoine said, but he'd suddenly gone pale. "When was that?"

"May 28th," I told him.

"May 28th," Antoine repeated. "I...I was at a concert. Playing the violin."

"Where was that?"

"The Olympia."

"You're lying," I said. "The Olympia only has opera, ballet, and music hall performances. You couldn't have had a recital there."

"I'm not lying," Antoine insisted. "I was playing the violin."

"Where?"

"Palais Garnier. I was in the pit."

"But you're not in the Paris Opera orchestra."

"I'm not."

"So what the devil were you doing there?"

Antoine looked like he might break down at any moment. "I...I don't want to talk about it, Miss Brackenborough."

"You can trust me, Antoine."

Antoine still looked uneasy, but he took a deep breath and whispered, "I switched places with Jean-Luc."

"How?" I asked. The boy in front of me truly bore little resemblance to Jean-Luc: his hair was curly, while Jean-Luc's was straight, his skin was dark, while Jean-Luc's was pale, and his face was round, while Jean-Luc's was angular. There was no way the two of them could have switched places without anyone noticing.

"The people there think kids all look the same. They see a boy who can play violin, and they assume it's Jean-Luc."

"But why would you do such a thing?"

"I don't know," Antoine said. "I don't know what he was doing, or why. And I...I don't want to talk about it. It was just a prank. We didn't hurt anyone."

"You don't have any idea of what Jean-Luc was up to?"

"How would I know?" Antoine said defensively. "I'm not even friends with him anymore!"

"Relax, Antoine," I said, but he was still furious with me.

"I don't want to talk about this," he said before melodramatically storming off and rejoining his friends.

I sighed and headed back toward the boarding house - it seemed that I was on the right track, even if I hadn't figured out every last detail quite yet. Despite my hope that I was somehow wrong, that Jean-Luc was innocent, it seemed like I was right about him, and it seemed like Jean-Luc's friends were in on it too. Why would Antoine have been so shifty if he and Jean-Luc were just pulling a harmless prank? Perhaps he had abandoned Jean-Luc so suddenly because of the murder plot. Perhaps Romain was involved too. Perhaps Jean-Luc and his friends were more than just another group of rowdy thirteen-year-old boys.

Before I reached the tenth arrondissement, I decided to turn back. I needed to talk to Jean-Luc about this eventually, and there was no use in delaying the inevitable. I walked back toward Sylvestre's house, and when I got there, I rang the doorbell, wondering how in the world I would explain this to Sylvestre. How was I supposed to tell him that I suspected his son of being a murderer?

Thankfully, I didn't have to deal with that, as it was Jean-Luc who opened the door. "Miss Brackenborough?" he said, confused. "What are you doing here?"

"Jean-Luc, what do you know about Johann Bergmann, Pierre Lajoie, and Louise Pascal?" I asked.

All of a sudden, Jean-Luc broke down crying, and when I reached out to comfort him, to tell him that he could trust me with his secrets, he told me everything.