### Contents

  1. Other Books
  2. Author's Note
  3. Title Page
  4. Copyright
  5. Chapter One - Setting the Stage
  6. Chapter Two - Anton's Lovers
  7. Chapter Three - Madeleine
  8. Chapter Four - Paris France
  9. Chapter Five - Their First Time
  10. Chapter Six - The Murder
  11. Chapter Seven - The Marriage
  12. Chapter Eight - The Arrest
  13. Chapter Nine - Father Faustier
  14. Chapter Ten - Eddie Whalen
  15. Chapter Eleven - Stateside
  16. Chapter Twelve - Stakeout
  17. Chapter Thirteen - Back to Paris
  18. Chapter Fourteen - Follow the Money
  19. Chapter Fifteen - Confession
  20. Chapter Sixteen - Reconciliation
  21. Chapter Seventeen - Celebration
  22. About the Author

## Guide

  1. Contents
  2. Start of Content

**Adriel Chevalier Book Series**

False Antichrist - 2016

The Gold of Ophir - 2018

Noah's Portal - 2019

Zanzibar - 2020

The Precinct Murders - 2020

Where the Chips Fell - 2020
**To the Reader**

This story deals with real life codependent personality disorders. Codependency is most often the root of many irrational behavioral problems. Often people don't understand why they do what they do, and few of them are ever diligent enough to delve into the workings of the human psyche to learn the reasons.

My thanks to Father Pierre André Faustier, who provided insight into the main character's disorders. I insisted that Father Faustier narrate this book because I had chosen not to get involved in this case.

As always, many of the events contained herein pertain to true experiences. The names and locations have been altered, and any similarities to persons living or dead are merely a coincidence.

My love to each of you,

Adriel

WHERE THE CHIPS FELL

Adriel Jacques Chevalier

Copyright © 2020 Adriel Jacques Chevalier

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 9780463258163

## CHAPTER ONE

### _Setting the Stage_

ANTON CARTIER WAS languishing in a French prison when I first met him. He was being detained for trial on the suspicion of murder of one of the more prominent citizens of Paris, and his future appeared to be hopeless. However, his story began long ago in his childhood. He was the youngest of three siblings and greatly favored by his mother. His brother and sister would disappear each morning to walk to the schoolhouse three blocks from his home. The day belonged to him and his mother, and she pampered him extensively. They had developed an incredible emotional bond, and they reveled together as they enjoyed breakfast in front of the television and playtime for most of the day. She would then bathe and groom him before his father and siblings returned for the evening. After dinner, he would cuddle with his mother on the couch as the family watched their favorite television programs.

However, one day his world of paradise came to a crashing halt. His father suffered a heart attack and was unable to work for several months. Out of necessity, this caused his mother to find employment in order to keep food on the table and pay the bills. Anton's world had been turned upside down. He was too young to understand the gravity of a heart attack. All he knew was that because of his father his relationship with his mother had suffered an unforgivable intrusion.

This drove an incredible wedge between him and his father. In order to compensate for time lost with Mommy, he often begged her to sleep in his bed for the night. However, he would be outraged to awaken in the morning alone. He tried his best to steal whatever time he could with her on the weekends, and before long the wedge that drove him from his father was fueled by animosity on both sides. The guilt that his mother felt for having to leave Anton to go to work exacerbated her favoritism, and Anton soon found throughout his formative years that he could often get away with practically anything.

Anton always felt that he was the victim of the interrupted relationship with his mother and his father's contempt. However, he was brilliantly manipulative and managed to drive a wedge between his mother and father as well. This delighted Anton exceedingly. Although, he was totally unaware of his emotional condition and the fact that the roots of codependency had been deeply planted within his soul. This greatly influenced his passions and decisions throughout his life and caused some deplorable behavior.

To make matters worse, the fires of codependency were fanned when Anton lost his first love to another classmate in high school. Once again, his love had been stolen by another, and his heartbreak was devastating. He had given his heart to Sheila, and he had vowed to marry her, but alas, another had stepped in to steal her away. The stage had now been set to compel Anton toward a life of debauchery. He no longer trusted anyone, and he felt the undying need to compensate for his pain by stealing other men's wives and lovers. Throughout his college years, Anton became very adept to luring women who claimed they were committed to another. He was pleasantly surprised to learn that many of them found cheating to be quite an aphrodisiac.

Anton was also favored by his mother's sister. Aunt Matilda was overjoyed whenever Anton would walk to her house every Wednesday morning during summer vacations when he was in middle school. He would sit and sip iced tea while she regaled him with stories of her youth. He always enjoyed listening because Aunt Matilda was quite a storyteller, and her stories got better every year. However, Anton was completely unaware that due to some shrewd investments and some incredible luck, she had amassed a sizable fortune.

Anton was devastated once again in his senior year of college when Aunt Matilda passed away from a massive coronary occlusion. To his surprise, she had left him the bulk of her estate, which totaled fifty-four million dollars. That event fed his codependent fire with gasoline, as he was now independently wealthy. Not only was he exceedingly handsome, but he was exceedingly rich, which gave him all the more advantage to lure the wives of others.

For nearly two decades, Anton lived a life of seclusion. His parents and siblings had all passed away. His only interaction was with his many lovers and his dedicated housekeeper, Ms. Henderson. After Anton purchased his estate, he advertised for a maid in a periodical, and Ms. Henderson was the first to respond. She was a spinster from Oxford, England, and Anton was entertained by her accent. She was in her mid-fifties, very proper, extremely reliable, and incredibly capable. She lived at the estate with Anton, and she was in charge of everything.

Anton was wealthy enough to invest his fortune very conservatively. He skimmed an ample amount from his dividends into liquid accounts for living purposes. Anton employed an accountant who sent him monthly statements to keep him abreast of his finances. The last thing Anton wanted was to be ruled by his money. He paid as little attention to it as reasonably possible.

Anton bought a home on the far north side of town. The neighborhood was well established, and the four-acre lot gave him a comfortable space between him and his neighbors. The three-story house was grand, having seven bedrooms, seven full baths, and four half baths. What originally attracted Anton was the off-white stone that gave the edifice the look of a castle. The front door was huge and made of mahogany with large knockers that had faces of gargoyles.

The front door opened to reveal a sizable foyer with a breath-taking chandelier hanging from three stories above. The Spanish tile enhanced the majestic appearance of the entry. One of the more impressive attributes of the interior was the lavish woodwork throughout. A formal living area opened to the left. The carpeting was so plush that it threatened to throw one off balance as he walked. Three steps up from the living area was a large drawing room that was semi-circled with windows reaching from the floor to the twelve foot ceiling. White silk curtains flowed down the towering windows giving a heavenly appearance. The hardwood floors sparkled as though they were covered with glass.

Anton's favorite room was the enormous gourmet kitchen. It sported a gas fueled Jenn-Air stovetop in the center of the room with an overhead exhaust. A walk-in cooler provided enough space to hang and age a full side of beef. Four large ovens were available to bake several dishes at various temperatures. Huge butcher-block tables were arranged for chopping. Each block was designated for a specific use. One was for raw vegetables, one for fruit, one for raw meat, one for cheeses and another for onion and garlic. Fifty-one feet of cabinets and counters ran the perimeter of the room, separated by two doorways and a huge picture window.

A formal dining room adjoined the kitchen. It had a crystal chandelier that hung above the Louis XV dining table. French doors opened into the foyer, which made it convenient to readily seat guests upon their arrival. However, no guests were ever entertained by Anton in his home.

The bedrooms and baths were lavishly furnished and decorated. The study was lined with bookshelves from floor to ceiling, and a large fireplace stood at one end of the room with a mantle that reached from wall to wall. Anton spent early morning hours there reading his books. Although Anton did not smoke, the room also contained an antique smoking stand and a portable wet bar.

The basement provided an excellent area on the northeast side that Anton had sealed off with its only access obtained by a secret passage from his elaborate bedroom. In addition, he had a tunnel built from this area of the basement to the back of the property, which bordered a small river. The heavy brush along the river conveniently secluded an iron gate, which remained padlocked, avoiding entry to the passage. He had the entire perimeter of the lot fenced with high wrought iron and accentuated with stone pillars that matched the house.

Another large iron gate, which gave access to his driveway, was opened via remote control. He had the lot elaborately landscaped to the extent that no one could see his house from the road or from an adjoining property. The landscaping contained beautiful gardens that provided a pleasurable stroll in the cool evenings. On either side of the lot were bushes that formed tunnels. These tunnels gave his Dobermans quick access from the front to the back of the property to deter any trespassers.

Ms. Henderson was entrusted with the upkeep of the entire estate. She outlined the daily tasks for the gardener, had control of admitting vendors and workmen to the property, cleaned the house, washed Anton's excessive amount of laundry, fed and cared for the Dobermans, and paid all of the bills for the household from Anton's designated liquid account. Anton trusted Ms. Henderson implicitly, as well he could. Ms. Henderson did not ask personal questions. She was aware of the quirks that Anton possessed, and although she admitted to herself that at times it was a concern, he paid her handsomely, and she had no considerable expenses of her own.

The one task that Ms. Henderson was never allowed to do was cook, unless it was for herself. Ms. Henderson was a terrific cook; however, cooking was one of Anton's other passions. Anton had personally studied the art of cooking and developed some very incredibly delicious recipes. He had discovered some exotic food combinations that created aromas and flavors that were unique and delectable. Anton had struck a deal with a specialty grocer in town, who was lucratively compensated for delivering some of the finest quality produce, meat, fish, fowl and dairy that one could find. Ms. Henderson was advised of the grocery list, but was allowed to add to it whatever she pleased. It was her responsibility to keep the freezers and refrigerators well stocked. In addition to being an unbelievably fabulous cook, Anton thoroughly enjoyed fine wines, which he had delivered to his estate by the truckload and stored in his wine cellar, another task entrusted to Ms. Henderson.

Anton also minded his own business and never asked any questions of her that did not pertain to his estate. Although Anton was extremely demanding, he was also extremely generous. Ms. Henderson was given eight hours of leave each week, which she took religiously every Sunday, plus one week of paid vacation every quarter. Often Anton would fund her vacations as a bonus for her dedication to him. Ms. Henderson had few living relatives, none of which lived in America, so her holiday time was usually spent at the estate. Anton also enjoyed holidays at home due to the fact that all of his lovers were married and spent that time with their own families. He took advantage of this time to cook for Ms. Henderson and allow her to enjoy some of his finest wines. Conversation on these occasions was kept on a very surface level and usually consisted of the discussion of food preparation and the weather.

One of Anton's most prized possessions was his grand piano that was majestically displayed in his drawing room. Soon after Anton had acquired the house, he visited an estate sale of a deceased widow where he found this exquisite piano. He had taken a college course in music due to his love of the art, which began while receiving piano lessons at the age of thirteen. Anton had composed a few songs over the years and delighted in practicing on such a terrific instrument. Although he never felt that he had enough time to develop his skill to a level that he considered satisfactory, he nevertheless enjoyed playing at least two hours a week.

Due to Anton's love of cooking and a ploy to attract women, he developed The Gourmet Club that met every other Sunday afternoon at a nearby clubhouse that he rented. It was very adequately equipped with everything needed to prepare the most elaborate meals that he enjoyed bestowing on his members. Not only did he find it a convenient means by which to meet more women, he also had a passion for creating recipes and experimenting with various herbs and spices in his dishes. It seemed a shame to him to possess such an exquisite talent only to be enjoyed by him alone.

The required fee for membership to the Gourmet Club was two hundred dollars per week. Although Anton had no need to have the cost of the affair subsidized, he discovered that by requiring the members to pay this amount each week he could prevent persons from attending who did not have the proper means. Each member of the group was responsibly punctual to arrive never before a quarter till two and never after two o'clock. Anton insisted on the strictest schedule and demanded that if one could not arrive on time, she should not attend. All information concerning The Gourmet Club meeting was posted on the Internet. Each member retrieved her instructions detailing what her responsibilities were to be for the next meeting. Anton resolutely varied each member's tasks from week to week in order to provide a variety of instructions to each, giving them a well-rounded understanding of the culinary arts in total.

The group in attendance was always small, usually six to eight, and frequently guests invited by the regular attendees would drop in. Three of the regular members of his gourmet club were currently his lovers. Since Anton only dealt with married women, it was rather simple to keep all of his covert actions hidden from everyone. None of the women wished to be exposed and therefore maintained the utmost discretion in front of the group.

Men were rarely in attendance and never visited more than once. On one occasion, Lisa had invited Ted, who was one of her coworkers. Ted seemed to be a very likable young man but didn't fit into Anton's purpose for his club. Ted was outgoing and pleasant and made several attempts to invite Anton to cook for one of his dinner parties. Anton had the keen ability to be cruel and sarcastic in a way that was so subtle it could only be felt at nearly a subconscious level. It was this tactic that Anton employed to discourage unwanted visitors from future meetings. In the space of about an hour and a half, Anton had made Ted feel ignorant about food and wine, an inadequate lover, and self-conscious of his appearance. If anyone in the group that afternoon had been asked what it was that Anton had said to cause Ted to feel that way, they all would have declared ignorance of hearing any such thing because Anton was so skilled in this maneuver that only the target could understand the insults. Needless to say, Ted never returned, nor did any man attend twice. This actually created a subliminal desire for Anton among the women due to the fact that no man felt comfortable in the presence of Anton's self-confidence.

Today was Sunday, April 15, which was the last meeting of The Gourmet Club, although none knew this to be the fact, not even Anton himself. He had arranged everything with his grocer. He personally had picked the wines from his cellar that he designated for the day's meeting. Among his selections were bottles of Chateau Lafite Bordeaux, Chateau Latour Bordeaux, Dom Perignon, Montrachet from Domaine del le Romanée-Conti, Rousseau Chambertin, vintage Port, and Jerez Sherry. In addition, Anton snagged a bottle of Hennessy Private Reserve from one of his liquor shelves. Edward, Anton's grocer, personally delivered the groceries to the clubhouse and helped Anton unpack them into the refrigerators. Anton unwrapped the chesses, Roquefort, Gruyere, Brie, goat cheese, and Kasseri. Edward was busy unpacking the pheasant, quail, partridge, snails, lobster, scallops, elk, buffalo, and kangaroo. Next, Anton continued stocking the refrigerator with French cream and butter, duck eggs, sour cream, and cream cheese. Edward finally finished with the meats and began transferring the exotic greens, sun dried tomatoes, artichokes, Portobello mushrooms, cherry tomatoes, and fresh basil into the refrigerator. All that was left were the herbs and spices, including Madagascan peppercorns, capers, Greek olives, shallots, several heads of garlic, and the Kopi Luwak coffee that Anton loved so much on special occasions. Anton promptly wrote a check to Edward for the groceries and included a very generous gratuity. Edward then returned home for a relaxing afternoon with his family.

If the afternoon's repast were to require a considerable amount of time in preparation, Anton would always begin some of the initial prerequisites to assembling each of the dishes. This he kept to a minimum as much as possible to allow the members to experience the more important phases of executing his recipes. Anton immediately began organizing and completing the preliminary arrangements before his members arrived. The rich chicken broth that Anton had simmered for several hours at home was poured into a large stockpot. Anton then began to proof the yeast for the Focaccia that was to be baked by Eileen today. He then opened several bottles of red wine to let them breathe before the members arrived.

The menu today was to begin with appetizers of escargot, steamed artichokes dipped in lemon butter, and stuffed lobster tails. Next, a thick mushroom soup was to be prepared using the deeply rich chicken broth as a base. Portobello mushrooms were lightly sautéed with garlic and butter before introducing them into the steeping broth. Minced shallots and herbs were finally added along with heavy French cream to bring the soup to its completion. Following the soup was an exotic salad prepared with greens, cherry tomatoes, cheeses and topped with an herbal dressing that consisted of one of Anton's secret formulas. Many claimed this to be their favorite part of any meal due to the addictive flavor of the dressing. Accompanying the salad was a basket of freshly baked Focaccia, lightly basted with garlic, olive oil, and balsamic vinegar and topped with kosher salt and rosemary. The entrée of the day was to be a platter of various meats, each prepared in a distinct manner to offer a variety of complementing flavors to satisfy the most distinguished palate. Moderate portions were served to each member in order to allow enough residual appetite to enjoy a zabaglione, which rested on a sweetened cake and was laced with various tantalizing liqueurs. This was enjoyed with the Kopi Luwak coffee that everyone so much anticipated.

Eileen was the first to arrive. Anton promptly had her begin kneading the bread dough. Soon afterward, Joann, Sandra, and Francoise arrived. They each were put in charge of the appetizers and soup. Cynthia closely followed Janelle. Anton had them prepare the exotic meats. Dessert was left for Kimberly.

Anton organized the women in the kitchen as though he were conducting a fine orchestra. With his direction and demonstration, the meal was served with each of the various dishes finishing at its proper time. The wine was poured, the appetizers were enjoyed, and the soup and salad were a delight. Anton sat back, sipping his wine, and watched as everyone shared in the gastronomic enjoyment and conversation. He was amused that he had instilled just a shade of distrust in each of them for the other. It was a delicate balance that he maintained in order to prevent them from becoming good friends apart from these meetings. Anton always demanded complete control of nearly every situation and relationship in his life. He felt a smugness and comfort at this moment and was drinking it all in.

Just as they were all about to enjoy the entrée, Cynthia began describing the recent move that she and her husband had made to a house they had purchased last month on the north side of town. Anton shot Cynthia a scowl. He always disapproved of any personal talk and encouraged everyone to concentrate on the purpose of the meeting. Cynthia missed the menacing look from Anton and continued her story. Anton had planned to chastise her later and decided to ignore her.

However, he perked up when she started explaining about her strange neighbor next door. "The neighbors all tell me that he's a recluse of some sort. No one ever sees him leaving or entering his property. It's surrounded by this huge iron fence, and there's so much landscaping that you can't even see his house. A gardener shows up every day, and he has a housekeeper, but nobody has ever seen him. One neighbor said that she saw someone jogging at four o'clock in the morning and wondered if it might be him. Well, my husband, John, was so intrigued by this that he went to the county courthouse to look at the public records to see who lives there. However, it's owned by some dummy corporation that we can't trace."

Anton nearly choked on his Chateau Lafite Bordeaux and screamed silently to himself, "Oh, my God, I'm screwing my neighbor!" After dessert was served, the conversation began to turn toward their annual celebration which was scheduled for next month. Every year, Anton would take the members of his club to the finest French restaurant in town. Anton had made a particular point of introducing himself to the chef at Chez Gerard. Chef Felipe arranged some special plates of various offerings for Anton's guests that were not a regular part of the menu. This allowed them all to experience a wide variety of the haute cuisine made so famous by the French. All the employees of the restaurant loved Anton. He was generous beyond belief. Although it was the French custom to include a fifteen percent gratuity with the meal, Anton always added an additional twenty percent. After the aperitifs, wines, appetizers, soups, salads, entrees, desserts and Cognac were completely enjoyed, it was not unusual for the bill to exceed three thousand dollars before the additional gratuities. "May 6" Anton announced as he opened his appointment book. "We will all meet at Chez Gerard promptly at two o'clock."

## CHAPTER TWO

### _Anton's Lovers_

ANTON RELATED HIS lifestyle to me in great detail. Much of his story I have omitted for the sake of brevity, but I chose to reveal the following in order that you may understand how demanding his life was. It was his codependency that drove him to anesthetize his emotional pain, which only happened when he was with a lover. The pleasure of captivating another man's wife was the only manner in which Anton could briefly escape the pain of losing his mother at an early age due to his father's heart attack. Although, Anton was completely unaware of what the subconscious source of his torment was, and each night when he returned home he fell back into his misery.

Victoria was the longest standing affair that Anton had. She had met him early in his days of revelry. Victoria could be counted on every Sunday night in Hotel B. Her husband had a poker game that he attended come hell or high water. Victoria knew that he would be gone from six in the evening until sometime past midnight. She held a doctorate degree in chemical engineering, and she had retired early from her career due to the lucrative nature of her husband's business. She spent about thirty hours each week performing managerial duties in his office. Victoria was extremely intelligent and had an overactive mind. She was one of the most energetic women that Anton had ever met. Consequently, Anton found it necessary to ply Victoria with copious amounts of fine French wine to allow her to achieve the appropriate relaxed, amorous state necessary for their enjoyment. Anton also enjoyed imbibing with her, sometimes to excess. After sharing two bottles of Bordeaux, her mood was usually ripe for a very intimate, slow, rhythmic lovemaking that she enjoyed so much. The continuous coitus was accentuated by her periodic wave of orgasms that usually numbered from seven to ten during each encounter.

However, that Sunday evening Anton couldn't divorce his mind from the horror that Cynthia was now his next-door neighbor. On three separate occasions, Victoria questioned Anton if he was well. Anton assured her that he was fine. The more he tried to focus on Victoria's pleasure, the more he found himself struggling with the threat of a possible exposure. The evening was a disaster that left Victoria feeling rather unfulfilled. She gave him a suspicious look as she slipped out the door to go home.

Monday morning came all too soon. Anton had enjoyed a late night with Victoria on Sunday and thought that perhaps he had sipped just a little bit too much Bordeaux to be at his best for this morning. As a result, Anton made a very strong pot of rich Columbian coffee to perk his senses. He lamented sleeping in until seven this morning, but he admittedly needed it. Anton received the morning newspaper due to the fact that Ms. Henderson insisted on knowing what was happening in the world. Anton abhorred television and refused to own one. Anton could not have cared less about the news. Consequently, he often found the paper staring at him from the center of the breakfast table on days such as this. Anton sneered at the newspaper and arose from his chair to snag another cup of strong coffee. The seam of his robe caught on the chair, and he spilled some of the remains of his cup on the floor.

"Damn!" Anton snatched a towel and swiped the coffee from the tile floor. Anton loved to drink coffee from enormous cups which appeared to be more like bowls. He always added copious amounts of heavy French cream, which he had delivered by his grocer, not like any that could be purchased in a common market.

Anton was beginning to deal with the fact that his neighbor was his lover. He was disappointed in his performance with Victoria the night before, and he intended to snap out of his funk. "Monday, let's see, this morning is Rachelle. Oh my! I definitely need another cup of coffee," Anton thought to himself as he recalled Rachelle's needs.

After a quick shower and review of the day's obligations, Anton disguised himself in the manner that was accustomed to Rachelle. Details to these matters would bore more than intrigue us, so I will omit the style of Anton's appearance to each of his lovers. Suffice it to say that he spent a considerable amount of time and energy in upholding his façades.

Anton slid one of the ornamental wooden blocks aside from the paneling in his bedroom revealing a keyhole. He then retrieved the key from his pocket and turned the lock. The oak wall panel beneath silently slid sideways revealing the tight, circular stairway to the basement. Anton stepped inside and flipped the lever. The panel whispered as it closed once again.

"To the tunnel," Anton charged, as he descended the staircase. A flashlight lit his way as he traversed the back lot underground. He had his bag of effects in hand and after unlocking the gate, he slung them into the rowboat moored beneath. He relocked his gate, unlocked his boat, and leisurely rowed downstream where he locked his rowboat once again to an iron fastening under a bridge.

He emerged from beneath the bridge and entered his awaiting limousine. Not a word was spoken between Anton and the driver. Anton insisted on the same driver each day and tipped him handsomely for his promptness, dedication, and discretion. Amusingly, the driver never really knew who Anton was. Anton always paid in cash and never carried any positive identification on him. The driver knew only too well the destinations and times to be available at each of the hotels.

Anton entered Hotel A and approached the desk. He was a cash customer and as a result was asked few questions, especially due to the fact that he tipped everyone so generously.

"Have I any messages," he inquired of the desk clerk.

"None today, Mr. Anton." Everyone at the hotels referred him to him as "Mr. Anton," partly because they had no idea who he was, and to be polite, they felt they should call him Mister, therefore it settled to call him Mr. Anton. Anton could never help from smiling ear to ear upon hearing this.

"Thank you, and will you please hold my bag behind the desk?" Anton always kept a bag apart from his room after having some unpleasant experiences in the past. The desk clerks were familiar with this exercise and always looked forward to his generous compensation. He exchanged his bag for his room key, which he never carried with him outside the hotel.

As Anton ascended in the elevator, he was recounting the instructions that he had given to housekeeping to make sure the room was not completely cleaned. Rachelle was the last to visit Hotel A on Friday due to a cancellation by Cynthia, and this morning she would be the first. Rachelle had a nasty habit of occasionally leaving lipstick love notes on the mirror, much the way that animals mark their territory. As irritated as Anton was at first, he soon realized that he could use this behavior to his advantage. He therefore made sure that this little possessive trace that she had scrawled on the mirror on Friday remained intact for her to enjoy this Monday morning. It just made it all the more believable that there was no competition.

Anton tried to arrive before his Monday morning encounter to gain control of everything. Besides, he no longer gave out keys. It was eight minutes till nine, which was later than comfortable for him, but all seemed well. Anton kept several changes of clothing and personal effects at each hotel. To anyone searching the room, it would appear as though he lived there. Anton left the door ajar, and within two minutes Rachelle appeared. She put the "Do not disturb" sign on the outside, gently closed the door behind her, and turned the lock.

Rachelle, what a sight to behold! Her honey colored hair flowed down past her shoulders. She had bright, beautiful green eyes that danced when she looked at Anton. Her seductive smile with those pearly white teeth and red lipstick was thrilling as she strode across the room unbuttoning her stark white blouse. She was wearing a red suit with a skirt which looked very professional. She kicked off her red heels and began to remove her jewelry, smiling all the while. Anton loved these promenades that Rachelle enjoyed displaying before their lovemaking. It was a sensuous, sophisticated strip tease that one had to experience to truly appreciate, and Anton truly appreciated it. Rachelle jerked her head to flip her hair behind her shoulder. She was now to the point of removing her undergarments, which she did with great deliberation, creating tremendous anticipation for Anton. Rachelle could sense all too well how much Anton appreciated these episodes.

"Miss me?" Rachelle's voice was deep and sexy.

"Always, my dear," Anton replied with a loving, longing, dreamy look in his eyes. Sometimes Anton couldn't distinguish if it was fact or fantasy that he displayed to these vixens. It really didn't matter. He was thoroughly enjoying himself. Rachelle locked her lips to Anton in a passionate, open-mouthed kiss that made his chest swell with arousal.

What a difference six months had made! When Anton met Rachelle, she was an unhappy housewife. Her husband was an investment banker who was too proud to allow his wife to have a career. She filled her days with charity work, community activities, and social gatherings. She wanted for nothing from a material standpoint, but emotionally she was starving. Her husband was a selfish lover who never gave any interest to her satisfaction. Every Saturday night, he spent all of two minutes gratifying himself with her before falling fast asleep. Rachelle would lie on her back staring up into the darkness of the bedroom while tears rolled down the sides of her face soaking her hair. This ritual never changed until Rachelle met Anton. Rachelle was a one-time visitor to Anton's Gourmet Club. Anton had been so taken by her beauty and charm that he insisted on her staying after to help him clean the kitchen. It was this tactic that Anton employed to establish a relationship with his victims. Rachelle was somewhat timid and reluctant to give Anton her telephone number. Although Rachelle was extremely attracted to Anton, she never thought of herself as having an extramarital relationship. Anton was kind and understanding and sensed that she wasn't happy. He persisted on having her meet him for coffee one evening during the following week.

Coffee was served in the room at Hotel A. Rachelle's first visits to Anton were filled with nothing but conversation. She felt as though she had known him all her life and began to open up about her problems. Having been sexually abused by her stepfather during her years of puberty had left poor Rachelle frigid. Anton gently coaxed Rachelle to talk about the incidents. Through many tears and emptied boxes of tissues, she poured her heart out to him. Never before had she been able to talk about this embarrassing time of her life. Anton assured Rachelle that it was not her fault and persuaded her to forgive herself and her stepfather. Anton knew all too well how to give advice, but he didn't employ it in his own life.

After a few weeks of visiting Anton, one day Rachelle stood up, took Anton by the hand, and led him to the bedroom. Tears welled up in her eyes as she began to undress. "You don't have to do this," Anton insisted.

"I know. I really want to." Anton gently caressed Rachelle's shoulders and began to lightly kiss her all over her body. She shuddered as the tears fell from her eyes. Several times Anton asked if she wanted him to stop. Each time, more emphatically than the last, she demanded that he continue. Anton very slowly and erotically continued to kiss her about the face, neck and lips. When he entered her, she exploded into her very first orgasm in her life. She wept so strongly that Anton withdrew and just held her for half an hour. When she regained her composure, she begged him to continue.

Rachelle had three orgasms that day, which to her was miraculous. Anton prided himself in his ability to deliver multiple orgasms to his lovers. He loved making a secret game of it to see how many he could stack up during an encounter. Due to Rachelle's unfortunate past, Anton could never get her past five. From that day forward, Rachelle refused to have sex with her husband, which greatly frustrated him. This, however, greatly amused Anton because Rachelle's husband was Anton's most detested cuckold.

The limousine driver pulled in front of Hotel B. Anton had changed his appearance during the short ride. As usual, he hopped out with his bag and strode into the lobby.

"Mr. Anton!"

"Mr. Anton!"

Two of the hotel porters had addressed Anton upon seeing him enter. Anton smiled widely, gave a wave with his hand extended straight into the air, and handed his bag to the desk clerk along with a hundred-dollar bill in exchange for his room key.

Anton ascended a large winding staircase to the second floor where his room was located. He inserted the key and entered the room. Ten minutes later, Carmen joined him. Carmen was a petite woman of thirty-five. She had long, straight, dark brown hair that ended at the center of her back. Her breasts were small, but the rest of her body was attractively curvaceous. She had a bright smile and dark brown eyes.

Anton always made it a point to demonstrate the skill of his tongue on his new lovers. During their first encounter, after Carmen's third orgasm, she had exclaimed, "That's the most I've ever had!"

"Oh Sweetheart, we're just getting started," Anton promised.

Carmen would hold out as long as she could between orgasms. She adored the fact that she felt powerless to Anton's lovemaking and succumbed to between ten and fifteen orgasms in the three hours allotted to her. However, Carmen was very unsure of herself in the bedroom, but she was very addicted to Anton. Her fear of disappointing Anton caused her to be a very passive lover, which in fact did disappoint him greatly. This was probably one of the reasons that Anton was able to coax Carmen into some of the most hideous acts he could devise. Discussing them is not worth polluting the mind. Carmen was sent to Anton by one of his ex-lovers, Sara. Carmen had lost attraction for her husband, but she didn't want a divorce because of her children. Sara suggested an affair and knew just the right man.

How different was Andrea! Anton always met Andrea at four o'clock on Monday afternoons and kept her as late as he possibly could. He had met her one evening as he was passing through the hotel bar. Andrea was sitting in a corner by herself looking rather depressed.

"Lost your best friend?" Anton inquired standing by her table.

Andrea gave a start. She hadn't seen him approach. "Oh, it's just my husband."

"Care to talk," Anton offered.

Andrea gave him an amazed look, as if to say, "Who do you think you are?  
She shrugged her shoulders, and nodding toward the other chair invited, "Take a seat."

It was late Monday afternoon, which at this time was an open time slot for Anton due to a recent breakup. Andrea poured out her dismal life to a very understanding Anton. It was the beginning of one of his most prized love affairs.

Andrea was five feet two inches tall. She had long blond hair that was thick and slightly wavy. Her blue eyes were bright turquoise. She had the cutest upturned nose and possessed a striking appearance. She had the most incredibly delicious body, had never borne children, and she was as tight and firm as anyone Anton had ever enjoyed. Andrea knew how to please him. They would enjoy mutual oral sex for over an hour at a time, and Andrea was so skilled in the employment of a combination of stimulations that she could easily produce five orgasms for Anton during the tryst. Andrea was also an avid scorekeeper and always tried to give Anton at least half as many orgasms as she enjoyed from him. Needless to say, Anton slept well on Monday nights.

Suzette was a mystery. She reminded him so much of the late Audrey Hepburn in one of her earlier movies, _Roman Holiday_. She showed up every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon in Hotel B. She so often acted like she was in denial. Anton found her so amusing that he would often laugh aloud. Suzette was very quiet and possessed a manner that seemed to say, "I'm not the one doing this. It's you who's doing this, not me." She seemed to harbor a significant amount of guilt over her affair but would never think of ending it. She had married a much older man, and he wasn't capable of giving her the physical attention that she so desperately wanted. Suzette was another referral from an ex-lover.

The trait that Anton loved most about Suzette was the way that she would squeal and arch her back as she was writhing during an orgasm. His second favorite trait was that after her sixth orgasm her kisses became profoundly more sensuous, and a much more passionate Suzette would emerge. After her fifteenth orgasm, she was often exhausted and docile. Then, she would begin her denial phase again, and Anton would lie there with her in his arms and laugh.

Valerie was a former member of the gourmet club. Her husband worked from home, and it was difficult for her to get away. Her only opportunity was on Tuesday evening when her husband regularly visited his ailing sister in a nearby town. Valerie was always nervous. She would often look behind her when approaching the hotel room as if someone might recognize her. Her paranoia was sometimes aggravating to Anton. Valerie had just turned forty years old. In spite of beginning to show signs of aging, Valerie was a very beautiful woman. Valerie was unique to Anton. She enjoyed little tortures. Because Anton was the only one who knew this little secret, he was the only one who could satisfy Valerie.

Eileen, a member of The Gourmet Club, was a regular on Tuesday morning in Hotel A, and she was also on call to fill in for Rachelle whenever she was unable to meet on Monday morning. All this was cleverly achieved via a voice mailbox. Eileen was twenty-two and appeared to be about fifteen. She had a tiny frame, a beautiful face, brown silky hair, and incredibly soft skin. Eileen was a pure delight. She had a perky personality that always lifted Anton's spirits. He had never seen Eileen emotionally down, even when stressful things would happen in her life. She amazed Anton in that respect. Their lovemaking was just pure fun, like two children frolicking in the bed together. The only concern that Anton faced with Eileen was her tiny frame. Anton's orgasms were so violent that he would convulse for nearly twenty seconds, thrashing from side to side with his legs flailing into the air. The two lovers would often be bouncing inches into the air above the bed, and on occasion, almost onto the floor. Not a pillow was ever left on the bed, and the fitted sheet would invariably come loose at least on one corner. All of Anton's women cherished his orgasms, and all of them recounted those moments when they were apart from him. Eileen was no exception. In fact, her arousal due to Anton's orgasms always caused her to orgasm with him. Only Eileen was able to do this every time. Eileen's magic number was consistently seven, no more, no less.

Cynthia met Anton at Hotel C on Wednesday and Friday afternoons. She also was a member of The Gourmet Club. Cynthia had fallen hard for Anton the first time she met him at a gourmet meeting. Cynthia was one of Anton's easiest conquests and one of his more regrettable. Anton normally had a tremendous contempt for the husbands of his lovers, but Anton had the unfortunate opportunity to accidentally meet John, Cynthia's husband. The young couple had such an air of innocence and purity about them that Anton felt bad that he was bedding this wonderful guy's wife. There were a few times when Anton spoke to Cynthia about possibly backing off, but Cynthia was so enamored with Anton that she would sit on the bed and silently weep at these suggestions. Anton was torn both ways. As a result of his reluctance, Anton was not nearly as aggressive with Cynthia as he was with the others. Fortunately, Cynthia achieved orgasms at the mere touching of her genitals by Anton. She was by far his most effortless amour, and he usually held her to no more than twenty orgasms each visit.

Janelle originally met Anton one evening as he was returning from a late rendezvous. Her car had overheated, and she was stranded beside the road when Anton's limousine rounded the corner. Immediately, Anton called to the driver to stop. Trusting the fact that Anton was in a limo, she agreed to allow him to give her a ride. Anton easily won her over and invited her to join him for lunch on Wednesday. Janelle curiously consented. Janelle was young and had been married for nearly a year and a half. She was impressed with Anton's manner and intrigued by his interest in her. It required only a week before Anton had her in his bed in Hotel C. She had the purest innocent look and always seemed so naïve to Anton. He enjoyed corrupting her and coaxing her to do some remarkable deeds. Her husband was such an egotist and thought that all women desired him. In reality, he didn't have a clue as to how to satisfy his wife emotionally or physically. Janelle was such an eager subject who was willing to experiment with the most bizarre requests that Anton could devise. Her chestnut brown hair hung past her shoulders and would often tickle Anton's face when she was on top of him. This was her favorite position to orgasm, and Anton enjoyed watching her supple breasts bounce wildly as she rode him hard. Anton believed there was no limit to the number of times Janelle could discharge. As time permitted, she had achieved twenty-six delightful, soaking convulsions of pleasure on her third visit.

Natalie's appearance was flawless. Her facial features were well chiseled with clear, alabaster, silky skin that seemed to glow. Her lips were soft and sumptuous like rubies against her fair complexion. The darkness of her eyes and her well-defined eyebrows and lashes afforded her such a striking appearance that she never needed any makeup whatsoever. Her hair was like soft, light brown silk that hung past her shoulders and teased her bare breasts. Natalie's twenty-year-old body was perfect in every respect. The proportion of her breasts with her svelte figure was exquisite. Her skin was absolutely clear of any marks or blemishes and was the softest that Anton had ever caressed. One of Anton's favorite activities was bathing Natalie with his bare hands. He considered it one of the most sensuous activities that he had ever experienced. Natalie was the only woman who had ever caused Anton to discharge at the very sight of her. As much as Anton tried to coax Natalie to join him more often during the week, her rigid schedule with the ballet company would never permit it. Due to an unfortunate accident while diving into a swimming pool, Natalie's husband was paralyzed below his neck and confined to his bed. Full-time nurses attended to him around the clock. A successful lawsuit had provided them with enough means to keep them materially comfortable the rest of their lives. Natalie could never bring herself to divorce him, but she did enjoy her relationship with Anton.

This was the state of affairs at the time that Anton met Madeleine. His life was about to change forever. His codependency was lurking in the shadows and waiting to captivate him in ways he never dreamed. However, he was totally unaware of his emotional condition at this point, but he was totally enslaved to it. He claimed later that Madeleine was the best and worst relationship that he ever encountered.

## CHAPTER THREE

### _Madeleine_

IT WAS TUESDAY morning, and Anton's first appointment was with Eileen in Hotel A. Eileen was just what the doctor ordered. It was impossible to remain in a funk with Eileen around. She was so uplifting and just pure fun. That morning, Anton had one of the best times ever with her. She was the first to leave the room while Anton lay on the bed sporting an indelible smile. Anton sighed as he pulled the door shut when he finally left the room at twelve thirty. He smiled and shook his head as he recounted the morning's antics. He was halfway down the hall when a voice from behind called, "Pardon, Monsieur! Do you have a morning journal?" Anton was struck as though an angel had called to him. That voice! A surge of excitement shot through his veins.

He spun on his heel, and his heart leaped as he first set eyes on her. She was standing in her doorway in a bathrobe. Her hair was soaking wet. Although she was admittedly attractive, if you or I had lined up all the women that Anton had enjoyed in his lifetime, I'm sure that we would have placed her at the bottom of the beauty list. Contrarily, Anton swore she was the most beautiful creature that he had ever laid eyes on. Her hair was dishwater blond. She had a slender body and stood about five feet five inches tall. One of her small, firm, milky white breasts was nearly exposed. She had a pleasant face with chiseled features. Her nose was straight, narrow and slightly pointed. Her eyes seemed faint as though they needed a considerable amount of eyeliner, but as Anton always boasted later, she never wore any makeup. Her cheekbones were high and accentuated the structure of her face. She had beautiful, white, straight teeth, and when she smiled Anton's knees nearly buckled.

Anton stood in the hallway gazing at her. Her grin grew larger, and her head tilted with a slight, puzzling gesture. "Monsieur? I didn't receive a morning journal, and I was wondering if you had one to spare?" Her heavy French accent had Anton mesmerized. When Anton was finally able to respond, he became aware that his mouth was agape.

"Je suis désolé," Anton responded.

"I speak English," she reminded him.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking clearly," Anton stammered as he approached her.

Her eyes widened, and she stifled a laugh as she saw the look of bewilderment in Anton's eyes. "Do you have a journal, Monsieur?"

"No, no, I don't, but I would be most happy to get you one," Anton eagerly offered.

"Oh, please no, Monsieur, I can have the front desk send one up. I heard your door close, and I thought I would see if maybe you had one."

Anton was completely overwhelmed. He felt as if he were about to explode. "Have you had breakfast yet?"

She gave Anton a deliberate and knowing smile that hinted of gratitude and reluctance. "Actually, I just got out of the shower, and I was about to make some coffee. I always read the morning journal with coffee before getting dressed for the day. I never eat breakfast."

"I'm sorry. I haven't introduced myself. I'm Anton." Anton extended his hand. She reached out to shake his hand, and what remained of her hidden left breast was now exposed. She didn't seem to notice. Anton tried not to appear to either.

She smiled so sweetly and pleasantly. "I'm Madeleine. Pleased to meet you."

"Well, Madeleine, do you eat lunch by any chance?"

"Monsieur, I have already taken too much of your time." Madeleine had pulled her bathrobe together and began to retreat into her room.

"Please! I have all the time in the world to spare. I would really be honored if you would allow me to take you to lunch. I know a great French restaurant not too far from here, and I would be delighted to introduce you to the chef."

"French restaurant!" Madeleine coquettishly feigned indignation. "Monsieur, if you came to Paris, would you expect your host to take you to McDonald's?"

"I can hardly compare McDonald's to Chez Gerard, but I think I understand your point. Just what genre of cuisine did you have in mind, Mademoiselle?"

"Well, pardner, I have a hankerin' for some Texas bar-bee-cue," Madeleine drawled in her best western accent. She broke into an embarrassed laugh at her poor attempt.

"Well, ma'am, Texas bar-bee-cue it is!" Anton was an expert with nearly every accent known. "Think you'll be hungry around three o'clock?"

"Three is fine. Thank you for the invitation." Madeleine's smile made Anton's heart melt as she gently closed the door.

Anton stood at her door for another minute trying to collect his thoughts. No woman had ever come close to affecting him the way Madeleine just had. His head was spinning. His heart was racing, and he had the most wonderful euphoria ever just by having a conversation with her. Anton was so dazed that he had forgotten all about his awaiting limousine.

When he exited the hotel, the limo driver was patiently waiting for him while reading a book. Seeing Anton approaching, the driver quickly placed his mark in the book, donned his cap, and jumped out to open the door for Anton. The driver pulled in front of Hotel B at one thirty. Anton picked up the limo phone and told the driver that there was a change of plans. Anton then left a message for Suzette that he wouldn't be able to meet today. Then, he began to interrogate the limo driver as to where the best Texas barbecue restaurants were. He spent the next two hours visiting the recommended restaurants to make a choice.

Anton had no idea how much time it took for three o'clock to arrive. His experience heretofore was that time slipped by at an alarming pace. Now it crawled like a snail. Finally, the clock gave in and admitted that it was nearly three. The limo swung around to the entrance of Hotel A. Anton jumped out and received several curious and confused stares from the hotel staff. No one said a word. Anton slipped into the elevator and was soon making quick strides down the hall with a new spring in his step.

He gave a light rap on Madeleine's door. She opened in an instant, and Anton nearly lost his breath when he saw Madeleine adorned in a beautiful, short, red dress and a slight wave in her hair that swept over one eye. Her legs were so shapely and well toned. Her skin was so light and appeared silky smooth. Her lips had a slight pouting look, and Anton tried to imagine what it would be like to kiss them every day for the rest of his life.

"My God, you're beautiful!" Anton breathed the words before he knew what he was doing.

Madeleine shot him a surprised, but pleasing glance. "Well, thank you, Anton."

It was then that he noticed it. He felt a piercing stab to his heart, and he nearly choked. She was wearing a wedding ring with a huge diamond.

Anton tried to hide his disappointment. "I hope you're hungry because you are in for a real treat. There is an authentic Texas barbecue restaurant about a mile from here that has a rib platter you'll never forget."

"Does it have those great big Texas fries?" Madeleine's favorite food was French fried potatoes.

"As many as you can eat," Anton promised.

The driver opened the door to usher Anton and Madeleine into the limo.

Madeleine looked back over her shoulder at Anton. "A limousine?"

"Only the best for you," Anton grinned.

Lunch was truly delightful. Anton's promise held true. The ribs were plentiful and sumptuous. They had been Mesquite smoked to perfection, and they were so tender that they nearly fell off the bone. Surprisingly, Madeleine insisted on the hottest sauce that Zesty's Barbecue had to offer. Anton chuckled as Madeleine consistently created a mountain of soiled paper napkins that the waitress hopelessly tried to keep from accumulating on the table. What an appetite! Anton was amazed at the amount of ribs that Madeleine could eat. Where could she possibly put all that food? She was so slim.

"You have a beautiful accent. What part of France are you from?" Anton was spellbound. He couldn't take his eyes off of her for a second.

Madeleine was trying to be polite and not speak with her mouth full, but it was nearly impossible. "I live in Paris, but I was born in Bordeaux. When I was six, we moved to the country. I grew up on a small farm in the Loire valley."

"What brings you to the states?" Anton had hardly touched his meal.

"I have a friend here that I met in college. Every three months we meet here and fly to Las Vegas together to gamble. Do you like to gamble?"

"Frankly, it has never attracted me. I've never been to a casino."

"Really? Well, someday I must take you and show you how exciting it can be. I would love to have taken you this trip, but we just returned, and my flight back to Paris leaves tomorrow afternoon. I would have left today, but I couldn't get a non-stop flight until tomorrow."

"Do you have plans for tonight?" Anton was hoping to enjoy as much time as he could with Madeleine.

"Well, actually I don't. My friend, Ann, and her husband have an engagement out of town, and I was going to spend the evening in my room."

This was like music to Anton's ears. "Do you have a family in Paris?"

"Just my husband, my parents are both deceased, and I was an only child. My parents did not have brothers or sisters either, so my husband, Hervé, is my only family. We have no children."

"How long have you been married?"

"It will be seven years next Saturday. And you, are you married," Madeleine inquired.

"No, I have never married."

Madeleine shot Anton an inquiring look. "Seriously, at your age, I'm shocked that a man as handsome as you has remained single that long."

"Thank you for the compliment. I really hadn't met anyone that I considered would be a perfect mate for me."

"Perfect? You demand perfection?"

"Absolutely."

"No wonder you stay single. Monsieur?" Madeleine paused. "I'm sorry I don't know your last name."

"It is Cartier. And yours?"

"Mine is Marceau."

"And your maiden name?"

"Pasteur, why do you ask?"

"I like your maiden name better. Do you mind, Mademoiselle Pasteur?"

Madeleine blushed. "That is highly inappropriate, Monsieur Cartier."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. Tell me about your husband."

"He is a financier in Paris. We met at the Garnier ballet one evening. I was with some friends, and I bumped into him at intermission. He is a very direct and outgoing man. We talked for a few minutes, and he asked me to have dinner with him. I accepted, and nine months later we were married."

"Are you happy?"

"Am I happy? He is a very successful businessman. I want for nothing. He is kind to me, and lavishes me with jewelry and furs. I have the freedom to travel and do as I please. What more could a woman want?"

Anton arched his eyebrows. "Perhaps a great sex life?"

Madeleine's eyebrows furrowed. "Who said I don't have a great sex life?"

"Do you?" Anton leaned forward slightly as he persisted with his questioning.

"Monsieur Cartier, although I appreciate your lunch invitation very much, my sex life is none of your business! Shall we change the subject?"

"Madeleine, I'm terribly sorry. Once again, I didn't intend to offend you. It's just that I have met few wives who are truly satisfied with their husbands. You strike me as a most incredible woman, and it would pain me to think that you were not totally satisfied in your marriage. You are intelligent, beautiful, witty, fun, intriguing, and quite frankly, as strange as all this may sound, I fell hopelessly in love with you the moment I saw you."

"Ridiculous! Is this some preposterous American ploy to get me to sleep with you?"

"Absolutely not, I never suggested such a thing, nor am I. All I said was that I fell in love with you, and I want you to be completely happy. So are you?"

Madeleine's eyes began to brim with tears. Anton reached across the table and took her hand. She pulled away and retrieved a linen handkerchief from her purse. It had two intertwined, golden M's embroidered on one corner.

"Madeleine this is the third time I have apologized in the last five minutes. I don't want to upset you. I mean every word of this. I'm not trying to get you to sleep with me. That's not what I want. When I heard your voice this morning, it was like the most beautiful sound in the world, greater than birds singing or children laughing, which until now, I considered to be greatest. When I turned and saw you standing in the doorway my heart leaped into my mouth. I was dumbfounded, if you couldn't tell. I've never met anyone as beautiful as you."

Madeleine gave a bitter laugh, wiping a tear from her cheek.

"Madeleine, I'm sincere. I've been single all my life. I will admit that I've had several relationships, but I've never met anyone like you. I told you that I expected perfection. Until today, I never knew what that was. Now I know."

"You are so full of shit, Monsieur Cartier," Madeleine accused as she shook her head and wiped another tear from her eye. "So what are you doing at the hotel? Where are you from?"

"Madeleine, I'm going to take a frightening chance and tell you the truth. I live here in town. I have that room to meet with several women. Right now, I can't imagine ever seeing any of them again now that I've met you. I can't explain it. I just want to be near you. I enjoy looking into your eyes, listening to your voice. I've honestly never felt like this before."

"You must have some money to throw around if you live like that. What do you do for a living?"

"I have investments. I'm comfortably retired."

"Can we get out of here? I'm embarrassed to be sitting here crying."

"If you don't mind seeing yourself to the limo, I'll pay the check and be out as soon as I can."

"Thank you." Madeleine wiped her eyes one more time, slipped her purse over her shoulder, and excused herself.

As Anton waited for the waitress to give him the check, he fantasized about replacing all of her embroidered handkerchiefs with ones that bore the initials MC when she took his last name.

Anton slid into the limousine seat next to Madeleine, and the driver closed the door. Anton looked deeply into Madeleine's eyes and pleaded, "Can we go back to your room and talk?"

Madeleine's eyes were slightly red. She was staring straight ahead and fighting the flood of tears that desperately wanted to flow. She reached over and took Anton's hand. "Thank you for the wonderful compliments. No one has ever said such things to me."

"Madeleine, there's so much more that I want to tell you." Anton raised her hand to his lips and gently kissed her alabaster flesh. She was so soft, and he tasted the sweetness of the back of her hand. An overwhelming, tingling chill swept over Anton when his lips met her hand. "My God! What's happening to me? Who is this woman?" Anton's head was spinning, as he commanded the driver to return to the hotel.

Anton instructed the driver to wait. If he no longer needed his services for the day, he would telephone him in the limo. The driver nodded, closed the door after Madeleine stepped out, and settled into his seat with his book as the couple walked into the hotel.

Madeleine was silent as they made their way to her room. Anton walked beside her not knowing what to say. They reached her room, and Madeleine shoved her key card into the slot. She opened the door and dropped her purse on the floor. She staggered over to the bed and collapsed into a fetal position sobbing uncontrollably. Anton affixed the "Do not disturb" sign on the outside, closed the door, and locked it.

Emotion was welling inside of Anton. It was an emotion that was unfamiliar to him. He slowly walked over to the bed, lay next to her, and gently held her as she wept. As Anton held Madeleine in his arms, he felt a sense of fulfillment that he had never felt before. It was as though he needed nothing else in this world other than just being in her presence. He didn't care about sex. He just wanted to be near her. He felt as though he had been in tremendous pain all his life, and now that pain had ceased. The pain gave way to an intoxicating euphoria created merely by being near Madeleine. He couldn't bear the thought of her getting on a plane and leaving the country. He counted the hours left with her. He savored every moment. All he could think was that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Madeleine. He didn't care where or how. Anton began to softly caress Madeleine's hair. She smelled divine, and her hair was like silk running through his fingers.

After half an hour, Madeleine finally stopped sobbing. There were no tears left in her eyes to flow down her cheeks. She lay motionless on the bed in Anton's arms. Finally, she turned over to face him. Her eyes were red and swollen. Her lower lip was quivering as she reached up with her forefinger and touched Anton's lips. "You say the sweetest things." She buried her face in Anton's chest and began gently sobbing again.

It was another half an hour before she settled down. She was holding Anton tightly, desperately clinging, fearing the emotions that stirred within her. Anton wondered what she was thinking. He knew so little about this wonderful creature, and he was starving to know every detail of her life. Would she consider leaving her husband? Anton tried not to build any false hopes, but his mind was like a runaway freight train. He couldn't stop the barrage of schemes that permeated his mind. He didn't want to be selfish. He really did want Madeleine to be truly happy, and if she convinced him that she was happy with Hervé, then he would concede. No matter what happened, he couldn't imagine himself ever making love to another woman.

As Anton lay there, he began to make plans to break up with all of the women that were addicted to him. He tried to imagine what he would feel like if Madeleine were to do the same to him. A wave of horror swept over him as he pushed the thought from his mind. He knew what he had to do. He didn't want to just leave goodbye messages. The right way to end these relationships was in person. He would do his best to explain what had happened and hope that they could forgive him. He recalled incidents in the past when he had ended some of these relationships. He had learned that it was impossible to predict a woman's reaction. Regardless of the reaction, he knew it was always manipulative. He had seen anger, depression, indifference, devastation and attempted suicide. He knew this would be ugly, but there was no avoiding it.

When Madeleine regained her composure, she went into the bathroom to wash her face with a cool cloth. Anton sat on the bed trying to make sense of everything that had happened in the past four hours. Then, he had a most incredible thought.

Madeleine returned to the bedroom with a sheepish half grin. "I'm sorry for all the emotion. I've never met anyone like you, Anton, and no one has ever made me really think about my life this way."

Anton interrupted. "Madeleine, I have a great idea. I'd like to show you where I live. Would you please be my guest for the night? I have five guest rooms, and you can have your pick. My housekeeper is delightful, and I would really appreciate the opportunity to entertain you for the evening. I want to know all about your life, what your dreams are, what your fears are, and what you think would make you truly happy. Please accept."

Madeleine's mouth opened, but no words came out. Her eyes widened and she looked around the room.

"I promise that I will be a perfect gentleman. I just want to spend as much time with you as I can before you have to leave."

"Do you have any brandy at your house? I could really use a drink."

"Armagnac, ever had any?"

"Not that I can recall."

"You're in for a real treat. Let's get you packed up and checked out of here. You are to be my guest for the night."

While Madeleine began gathering her things, Anton telephoned the limo driver and announced their departure. After she had finished packing her bags, Madeleine asked Anton to excuse himself from the room while she telephoned her husband. She had already concocted an excuse to be out of touch with him until she arrived at home. Anton went to the lobby and took the opportunity to leave cancellation messages for his lovers scheduled for tomorrow. When Anton looked up, he saw Madeleine at the front desk returning her key. He rushed over, grabbed her bags, and excused the porter in attendance. The desk clerks gave each other wide-eyed glances of amazement, but tried to conceal their reactions.

The limousine ride to Anton's house took about twenty-five minutes. Madeleine held Anton's hands with both of hers and smiled at him appreciatively as he pointed out various landmarks along the way. When they had turned onto Anton's street, he telephoned Ms. Henderson to prepare for his arrival. She was rather surprised since she was always unaware of his coming and going. She pressed the remote control, and the large iron gates slowly swung open. The limo pulled into the circular driveway and stopped in front of the house.

"Mon Dieu, Anton!" Madeleine was thoroughly impressed with his home.

Anton gave her a proud smile and invited, "Welcome to my humble abode, Madame Marceau." It pained him to call her by her married name. He smiled and held out his hand to escort her into the house.

When Anton opened the front door, Ms. Henderson was standing on the far side of the foyer, wearing her apron and holding a towel. She gave a start when she saw Anton ushering Madeleine into the house.

"Ms. Henderson, I would like you to meet my guest for the night. This is Madeleine Marceau. Madeleine, this is Ms. Henderson." The two women exchanged polite greetings. "Ms. Henderson, would you please show Madeleine the five guest rooms that we have available so that she can decide which one meets her approval? I'll leave her bags here until she decides where to settle. After she has chosen a room, please show her into the drawing room. In the time being, I'm going to retrieve my bottle of Armagnac."

Ms. Henderson led Madeleine up the winding staircase. Madeleine was admiring the huge chandelier as she climbed the stairs. Anton watched until she was out of sight. It was then that he noticed the unexpected gloom when she left. He looked around as if maybe some lights had just burned out. He shook his head and headed for the study where he kept his bottle of Armagnac.

Anton returned to the drawing room and placed two brandy snifters on the linen runner that was draped over an antique table. He placed the bottle of Armagnac between the two snifters and wandered over to the windows that encircled the corner of the room. The Steinway grand piano sat over a white, circular rug in this section of the drawing room. It made an impressive display. One of the silk curtains gave a slight movement from the air blowing through a vent. Anton turned and spotted Madeleine being escorted through the living area by Ms. Henderson. It was as if the lights had just brightened. "She literally lights up my life," Anton thought as he studied her every movement. Madeleine had the sweetest smile on her face.

"Which room did you choose?" Anton was pouring Madeleine a glass of Armagnac.

"Oh, I adore them all. I chose the room decorated in mauve. I think it's my favorite."

"Will that be all?" Ms. Henderson was standing with an impatient air about her. Her voice betrayed a slight tremble.

"Yes, thank you, Ms. Henderson."

Ms. Henderson spun around and marched from the room.

"Well," Anton observed with his eyebrows raised, "I do think Ms. Henderson appears a bit jealous."

"Jealous? Why in the world would she be jealous?"

"I'm not sure, except that I have never brought a woman to this house before." Madeleine gave Anton an incredulous look. "I'm serious, Ms. Henderson is unaccustomed to anyone being here. I'm only here in the late evening, and much of my time is spent in my study or here in the drawing room."

Madeleine's look was growing more curious. "Anton, you are a most unusual man." She drummed her fingers on her brandy snifter as she studied Anton's face. "You were right. This Armagnac is a real treat. Thank you so much. I really needed a drink."

As Anton and Madeleine sipped the Armagnac, they felt the soothing affects of the Cognac help lift any uncomfortable inhibition. They began to laugh and discuss various topics to learn each other's opinions concerning politics, world affairs, religion, government, and anything else that popped into mind. At one point, Anton played the piano for her. She sat on the edge of the grand Steinway with her bare feet dangling in the air. Her short dress was now high enough to reveal the full length of her curvaceous legs. Anton could spy her right buttock from his piano bench. She obviously was either wearing a thong, or, his heart leaped at the thought. She was so captivatingly beautiful as she sat there feeling the effects of the Cognac and enjoying kicking her legs to the rhythm of Anton's music.

As the night wore on, Madeleine began to yawn, and it was obvious that she was fighting sleep. The brandy was about to send her into a slumber. Anton summoned Ms. Henderson at eleven o'clock to make a strong pot of Columbian coffee. Anton invited Madeleine into the kitchen to show her around. Anton was surprised that Madeleine did not cook. She knew how to boil eggs and warm frozen dinners, but that was the extent of it.

They spent the rest of the night in his study. Ms. Henderson was excused and retired for the evening. Anton spent the next six hours learning about Madeleine's life. Her parents owned a small farm that they renovated into a bed and breakfast inn. Her father would take care of the farming chores, and her mother would cook for the guests. The clientele mostly consisted of American or English couples who had come to enjoy the authentic French country cooking. Apparently, her mother was unable to impart her culinary skills to Madeleine. Madeleine enrolled at Dauphine in Paris at the age of eighteen and studied English. That's where she had met her friend, Ann. Ann was an American who had come to Dauphine to study French. Madeleine had dated another college student steadily through her second year at Dauphine. He broke her heart one day when he told her that he had fallen for a much older woman. Madeleine later found that the older woman was also very wealthy. After graduation, Madeleine found an opportunity to work as a travel agent on the Champs-Élysées near the Arc de Triomphe. She kept in close contact with Ann who had found a career as a French teacher in the Midwestern United States. Madeleine worked as a travel agent for several years before she met Hervé. Hervé insisted that Madeleine quit working once they were married. He was too proud to have his wife earning an income. Hervé was twenty years older than Madeleine. Anton quickly did the math once he had learned Hervé's age and deduced that Madeleine was thirty-five. Just the idea of Madeleine with another man sickened Anton.

Madeleine had shared stories of childhood friends, holidays, life with her parents, school, and a few personal, embarrassing moments in her life. Anton coaxed her to talk a little more about Hervé. Madeleine finally began to admit that she had married Hervé because he could provide her with a secure future. She had never really been attracted to him, and now more than ever, she found it increasingly difficult to succumb to his desires. She would often avoid him and put him off as much as three months before finally giving in to him. She laughed, saying that he only lasted about two minutes at the most. Anton felt a searing pain in his heart.

Having his fill of conversation about her husband, Anton now began to expose his own heart. He took her to his room and showed her the various paraphernalia that he used to disguise himself. Madeleine was fascinated with the facial hair attachments that were virtually undetectable. This entire façade was so interesting. She asked him to don the various wigs and facial hair, watching him apply the adhesive to the sheer netting that held the hair. She couldn't believe how realistic it all was. It was a masquerade of several men and personalities that he showed her for over two hours. Never had a man entertained her so much. When she saw Anton as he truly was, she walked over to him and held his face in her hands. His hair was thinning and beginning to gray at the temples. She could see the smile lines around his eyes, and the intenseness of his love showing through, touching her very soul.

"You are the most incredible man I have ever met. I love you just the way you are."

Anton's heart was filled with such passion; he grabbed Madeleine and held her tightly. They stood in each other's embrace gently swaying as if dancing to an unheard melody. Suddenly, as though waking from a dream, Anton realized that the sun had risen while they were embracing. "Madeleine, I'm so sorry. I haven't let you sleep at all."

"Oh, please, don't worry. I've had such a terrific time, and actually I will sleep on the plane the whole time. It's an eight hour flight."

Anton knew that her flight wasn't until four twenty-five in the afternoon. It was now seven thirty in the morning. "Will you take a short nap with me? I will get you up in plenty of time to shower and get ready. I can escort you to the airport around two o'clock."

Anton carried Madeleine's bags to her room and turned down the bed. Madeleine curled up in Anton's arms and began to snore gently. Anton smiled as he held her sleeping form tightly. He caressed her hair again and smelled the sweetness of her scalp under his nose. He then slid his hand along her left thigh, lightly dancing his fingers over her soft skin. His hand glided higher and higher under her dress, curious to find what she wore underneath. Finally, he found the strap of her thong, and he smiled contentedly. Anton was so tired, but he couldn't possibly sleep. He couldn't bear to miss a single waking moment with Madeleine. She looked so angelic as she slept in his arms. He lay there stroking and kissing her hair until the clock revealed that it was time to awaken her. Anton gently stroked Madeleine's face until her breathing began to indicate that she was waking.

Anton softly whispered in her ear as he kissed it, "Angel, it's time to wake up." Madeleine stirred and held Anton's arms more tightly. "Hey, Sweetie, it's time to take a shower. Come on. You have a plane to catch." Anton's words echoed in his ears like a death sentence.

Madeleine blinked and rubbed her eyes. She smiled so dreamily and stretched as she turned to face him. She touched Anton on his lips with her forefinger just as she had done at the hotel. Madeleine climbed out of bed and grabbed her bathrobe.

"I'll get some coffee going and find the morning paper for you." Anton scooted off the bed and left Madeleine to take her shower.

Ms. Henderson had already made a pot of strong coffee. She glared at Anton as he poured himself a cup. "Good morning, Ms. Henderson." It was nearly noon. Ms. Henderson continued reading her newspaper without responding. "I know this may seem a bit peculiar, but could I borrow your newspaper for about an hour?"

Ms. Henderson gave a disgusted snort and slapped the paper on the table. She then stormed out of the room. Anton gave a low whistle. He prepared Madeleine's coffee, snagged the newspaper, and left them both on the table in her bedroom, closing the door as he left. Then, Anton hurried up the stairs to his own room on the third floor for a quick shower and a change of clothes.

When Anton emerged from his room and trippingly descended to the second floor, Madeleine's door was open. She was sipping her coffee and reading the paper. Her bags were packed and ready to take downstairs. Anton tried not to disturb Madeleine as he removed her bags from her room. He called the limo service and went back upstairs where Madeleine was still reading.

"The driver will be here shortly." Anton stood staring at her. She looked so lovely. She was wearing a pink hooded leisure outfit, which was her favorite attire for flying. Anton spotted her sleeping mask and earplugs lying on the bed beside her purse. Madeleine usually took two sleeping pills, donned her mask and earplugs, and attempted to sleep as much as possible during the flight.

Madeleine finished her coffee and folded the newspaper. "Thank you, you are such a dear. I appreciate the journal." She stuffed the rest of her belongings into her purse and slung it over her shoulder. Anton took her by the hand and led her downstairs. The limo had just arrived, and the driver was waiting at the door. Ms. Henderson was standing in the foyer waiting for the guest to depart.

Anton and Madeleine climbed into the limo. At that moment, Anton began to show signs of alarm. "What's the matter," Madeleine prodded while holding Anton's hands.

Anton felt himself begin to tremble. "I can't stand the thought of you leaving."

"Oh, I'll see you again soon," she promised. "You gave me your email address, your phone numbers, and I have your home address. I'll be in touch in a few days."

Anton was silent the rest of the trip. He carried Madeleine's bags to the desk to check in. Madeleine pulled her passport from her purse and checked her bags. After Madeleine received her boarding pass, she took Anton's hand and walked toward the gate. When they reached the security checkpoint, Madeleine turned to Anton. "We have to say goodbye here." Tears began to roll down Anton's cheeks. "Oh, Anton, please, don't cry. This is hard enough. I promise I will see you soon. I told you that I have a lot of freedom. Let me check my schedule when I get home, and I will return as soon as I can."

Anton stood there shaking his head and crying all the more. He tried to speak, but he was far too choked up to say a word. Madeleine pulled a handkerchief from her purse and dabbed his eyes and cheeks. There were the golden double M's again, but Anton was too grief stricken to pull away.

"Anton, I promise. I will see you soon." He looked so pitiful standing in the airport crying silently while Madeleine continued to assure him. He kissed the top of her head as she gave him a long hug. Then, she held both his hands and shook them, assuring him, "I'll call you tomorrow, I promise."

With all the strength she could muster, she let loose of Anton's hands and passed through the checkpoint. She walked backward toward the gate, blowing kisses to Anton. He just stood motionless, watching her disappear down the wide corridor. Anton sat in the terminal for over an hour knowing that Madeleine had not yet left. She was flying thousands of miles away, and their lips had never met. He checked the monitor for the flight information, and when he realized that Madeleine's plane had departed, he decided to go home. It was the worst evening that he had spent for as long as he could remember.

Anton awoke with a splitting headache. He found some Ibuprofen and swallowed two of them with a glass of water. He shunned the coffee this morning. After showering and dressing, he shut himself in his study to check his email.

A ray of hope beamed into his life once again. Awaiting him was a message from Madeleine.

Date: Thursday, 19 Apr 2018 03:31:10 +0100

To: anton.j.cartier@hotmail.com

From: madeleine.pasteur.marceau@pfr.net

Subject: missing you

Dearest Anton,

I just arrived, and I haven't even had a chance to unpack. I wanted to email you as soon as I could. I so much appreciated the time that we spent together. Thanks to you, I slept the entire flight, and I feel very rested. I wanted to let you know that I returned safely, and as I promised, I will try to call you today. It is 9:30 AM here. There is a six-hour time difference, so it's about 3:30 AM at your house, otherwise I would call you now. Hervé will get home around 6:00 tonight, so I will try to call you around 5:00 my time, which means that it will be 11:00 AM for you. I have so much to do. I have several notes from Hervé that I need to read, and I have over 150 emails that I need to get through today. I want to take a nice, long, hot bath and relax before I enjoy my journal and coffee. Thank you again for a most enjoyable time.

Love,

M.

## CHAPTER FOUR

### _Paris France_

ANTON KNEW WHAT he had to do. It was time to end his relationships with all of his lovers. He immediately began to meet them at their respective times in each hotel for the next few days according to schedule. Each time one entered the room, he began the same discourse about falling in love and now being committed to one woman. As expected, the results were unpredictable. Some understood, while some sobbed and begged. Some wanted one last fling, however, Anton remained firm as a rock. He removed all of his belongings from each of the hotel rooms, checked out, tipped the staff ridiculously, and retired to his home.

However, the most frustrating aspects of his week were Madeleine's telephone calls. Thirty minutes after Anton had broken his relationship with Andrea on Friday, his cell phone rang at 11:00 AM.

"Madeleine?" Anton's heart was pounding wildly.

"Mon chéri! Bon après-midi."

"Oh Madeleine, it's so good to hear your voice. When can you come back here?"

"Oh, mon chéri, I am still trying to check my email and make sense out of Hervé's messages. It looks like he has parties and soirées booked for us nearly every other night. I have to talk to him when he gets home so that I can understand all of his scribbling."

"I can wait for a week, that's fine."

"No, mon chéri, it looks like he has us booked for more than a month."

"What?! Madeleine, I have to see you!"

"Let me talk to him and see what's going on. After I understand what our schedule is for the next few weeks, then I can make some plans."

"When can you let me know?"

"Hervé should be home in an hour. I'll speak to him tonight, and I can call you tomorrow morning whenever you want."

"What time does he leave for work?"

"He usually gets out of here by eight thirty."

"Call me then!"

"Mon chéri, that would be two thirty in the morning at your house!"

"I don't care. I'll be waiting for your call."

"D'accord, I will do as you ask. I miss you, mon chéri."

"I'm dying without you, Madeleine. Please get away as soon as you can."

"I will, my sweet. I promise. I have to go now."

"Madeleine, I love you."

"I love you, Anton. Au revoir."

"Au revoir, ma chéri." Anton began pacing the floor. "Hervé's beginning to get under my skin!" Anton kept pacing and fuming. Finally, he began to devise a plan. Admittedly, it was impetuous, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

After more breakups, Anton retired to his bedroom early that evening. He wanted to get as much sleep as possible before Madeleine called. He had placed his cell phone on the nightstand within easy reach. Anton was sleeping soundly when Madeleine dialed his number. Anton reflexively snatched the cell phone.

"Madeleine?"

"Bon jour. I'm sorry to wake you, mon chéri, but you asked me to call when Hervé left for work."

Anton glanced at the clock. It was two fifteen. "Yes, yes, Sweetheart, did you get a chance to find out about your schedule?"

"I did, and it doesn't look good. Hervé has us booked for two parties next week, and our wedding anniversary is a week from tomorrow. He is taking me to a chalet in the Alps over the weekend." Anton's blood began to boil as she continued. "We have a wedding to attend the following week, and his brother and sister-in-law are coming to stay with us the week after that. I'm so sorry, mon chéri."

After a moment of silence, Anton announced, "Madeleine, I'm coming to Paris."

"No, no, no, you mustn't!"

"Madeleine, I am coming to Paris," Anton insisted.

"No, Anton, if Hervé finds out that you exist, you will be taking a permanent residence in Père Lachaise."

"Madeleine, I can take care of myself."

"No, my love, I have heard your French. You'll be like a cabbage among the lilies."

"I'm not even going to ask what that means. Look, I know my French is a little rusty, but in three days I'll be speaking like a Parisian. I have to see you, Madeleine."

"Please Anton, listen to me. My husband is a very powerful man. If he finds out about you, you won't be safe in Paris; you won't be safe in France; you won't be safe in Europe anywhere!"

"I guess that's just the chance I'll have to take."

"Where would you stay?"

"I'll find a hotel near your home. You can come and visit me during the day."

"No, no, I can't. What if one of my neighbors sees us? Anton, you don't understand. I can't take that chance."

"OK, what if I get a hotel room that isn't near your home, some place where no one knows you."

"Anton, I'm going to be busy. I wouldn't have much time to see you anyway."

"What about when Hervé is at work? You mean to tell me that you can't leave for the day? Where's all this freedom you said that you have?"

"Mon Dieu, Anton, you are upsetting me."

"Do you even want to see me?" Anton felt the searing pain in his heart increasing.

"Of course I want to see you, but you can't come to Paris. Give me a few weeks to get everything sorted out, and when my schedule clears, I'll come to you."

"Madeleine, you just don't understand. I'm miserable without you. Asking me to wait a month is like asking me not to breath for an hour. I can't wait that long. I'm coming to Paris."

"Merde, Anton! You sound like a spoiled child." There was an awkward silence before Madeleine spoke again. "Please, don't be angry with me, Anton. Let me think about it. I'll see what I can do. It scares me to think that you would be here in Paris. I would much rather meet you at your home where it is safe. Paris is not safe for you, mon chéri."

"Madeleine, I would go to the moon if that's where you were. I'll go anywhere to be with you, and I'm not afraid of Hervé or anyone else for that matter. I'll do anything for you."

"Then wait for me, please!"

"OK, I would to almost anything for you, but I cannot wait. I need to tie up some loose ends here, and I'll try to be there some time on Monday. I'll email my itinerary to you."

"Pardieu, Monsieur Cartier! You are one stubborn man!"

"One stubborn man who is absolutely crazy about you," Anton reminded.

"I have to go now. I have been away for a week, and we have all these places to go. I need to go shopping, and now I have to find out how to hide you when you get here."

"I'll do the hiding. You just find a way to get out to see me."

"D'accord."

"I love you, Madeleine."

"I love you, Anton."

Later that morning, Anton made the necessary hotel and airline reservations for his trip to Paris. He then updated The Gourmet Club website to explain that the club was dissolved. Soon after noon, he decided to email Madeleine with his itinerary and send her a poem that he had written for her earlier that morning. About an hour later, Anton met Ms. Henderson in the kitchen and informed her that he was going to France. He gave her a copy of his itinerary with a few additional instructions. She was very accustomed to running the house without him. There had been many occasions when she hadn't seen him for days. All the same, Anton could sense that something wasn't settling very well with Ms. Henderson.

She couldn't keep her silence. "Mr. Cartier, I have been your employee for twelve years. During that time, I have done my best to serve you in maintaining your household. You have been kind and extremely generous to me all these years. Before I continue, may I have your permission to speak frankly?"

Anton was pouring himself a cup of coffee. He nodded his head and turned with an amused look on his face. "Certainly, Ms. Henderson."

She continued. "You know that I have no close family. In fact, as much as it may disturb me at times, I think of you as being part of my family. I know that your family is deceased. Now, I don't pretend to know what you've been up to all these years, but I have to confess that just from washing your laundry and seeing some rather bizarre things, there are times when my imagination gets the best of me. It's none of my business, but I believe that you are a very lonely man." She paused. "This is awkward. I should have rehearsed what I wanted to say."

Anton encouraged her with a grin, "No, no, you're fine. Please tell me what's on your mind."

"I'll get right to the point. I care too much for you to watch you make a terrible mistake without telling you what I think."

"By all means, Ms. Henderson, please tell me what you think," Anton invited.

"That girl is no good."

"Madeleine?" Anton appeared shocked.

"Absolutely! Who else? In all of my years here, I have never known you to bring a woman to this house. You're about to run off to Paris, and you don't know anything about her."

"And you do?" Anton interjected.

"Mr. Cartier, in the past few days I have seen you writing poems, moping around like a lovesick schoolboy, sending love emails, making rash decisions, and changing your lifestyle. I have a terrible feeling that you are going to be incredibly sorry."

"Well," Anton stopped in thought for a moment. "I appreciate your concern. I can understand how all of this may appear, but for the first time in my entire life, I have fallen head over heels in love. Do you believe that there is one right person in the world for you?"

"Certainly not!" Ms. Henderson nodded her head with each word.

"Well, I do," Anton challenged, "and I have found her. There's no doubt in my mind."

"Mr. Cartier, how could you possibly trust her?"

"I trust her implicitly."

"She's married, sir!"

"Oh, you noticed the ring?"

"And you didn't? What kind of woman spends the night with a man when she's married?"

"Ms. Henderson, nothing happened. We haven't even kissed," Anton confessed.

"It's none of my business what you did with her. I'm just trying to wake you up before you make a big mistake. Whether anything happened or not, would you want your wife behaving like this girl?"

"She's not happy, and she's not my wife, yet. I'm sure that if she were happily married, she would not have accepted my invitation, and if she were married to me, I'd make sure she was the happiest woman in the world."

"And just whose fault is it that she's not happy?"

"It's her husband's fault, obviously."

"Mr. Cartier, it takes two people to make a marriage."

Anton interrupted. "And what if one of them doesn't try? Is it the other person's fault for being unhappy?"

"You don't know her husband, and you don't know her. Mr. Cartier, I'm not here to argue. All I'm saying is that from what I can see, I think you are making a terrible mistake." Ms. Henderson took a deep breath and exhaled. "Thank you for allowing me to speak my mind. I've said all that I wanted to say, and I will continue to serve you with the best of my ability as always, whether I agree with you or not."

"Thank you, Ms. Henderson. I do appreciate your concern. If you're worried about your future employment..."

"Oh really, Mr. Cartier!" Ms. Henderson was indignant. "I'm concerned for your future, not mine. You've paid me handsomely enough that I could retire anytime if I wanted." His embarrassment was evident.

Three days later, Anton's bags were packed. Most of the clothing that he was taking had been purchased on Saturday. There was an entire bag of disguises. He was taking all of the paraphernalia necessary to produce a complete charade, if needed. He had several wigs, types of facial hair, and makeup. He also had packed several styles of clothing which were atypical to his appearance. Anton bid Ms. Henderson farewell and climbed into the limo. He remembered the trip to the airport with Madeleine, and tears formed in his eyes. He was eager to see her face again. Anton checked in at the airport and waited at the gate. Two hours later, it was time to board.

After the plane reached cruising altitude, Anton ordered a vodka and tonic. He was hoping to get a good night's sleep before he reached Paris. Anton didn't function well if he lacked too much sleep. Admittedly, his normal sleeping schedule rarely allowed more than six hours, and this flight would accommodate that. He just couldn't stop thinking of Madeleine. His mind was racing. He felt like a youngster on Christmas Eve.

He had traded emails with Madeleine earlier and explained his itinerary. She promised to meet him at the baggage claim area. She would have a limousine waiting. How good it would be to see those gorgeous blue eyes again. He couldn't wait to hold her in his arms and hear her voice. To touch her was electrifying. Hearing her voice was like hearing a favorite song that you couldn't hear enough. Anton reminisced about the night that they had spent together. They hadn't even kissed, and yet he felt more fulfilled from that experience than he had ever felt in his life. Anton finished his second drink and settled back in his seat for a nap.

Anton awoke to some considerable air turbulence. The plane was being tossed about and shaking rather violently. The seat belt sign was on, and the flight captain had just explained that the turbulence should end soon. They were approaching Charles de Gaulle Airport and should land within twenty minutes. Although it was daylight, the plane was descending through thick clouds and rain was streaking the windows. His head was pounding with another headache, and he had forgotten to bring any painkillers. Anton was seated in the center row. When the plane broke through the clouds, the turbulence ended. He could see Paris in the distance through the windows on his right. Anton tried his best to stretch within the confines of his seat. He brushed his hair back with his hands and straightened his clothing. He was eager to land and spend the day with Madeleine.

As promised, Madeleine was waiting at the baggage claim. She was beautiful. She wore a beige skirt and jacket with matching shoes. Her white blouse was accentuated with a black bow. Her hair was straight and hung just past her shoulders. She approached Anton with outstretched arms. He rushed over and grabbed her off the floor, swinging her in a circle, holding her tightly, and kissing her cheek as they spun around.

"Bienvenus à Paris, mon chéri!" Madeleine had such a terrific smile.

Tears streamed down Anton's face as he stood there shaking his head, studying Madeleine's face. He hugged her again tightly and whispered in her ear, "Madeleine, I've been lost without you." In an instant, his nagging headache disappeared.

Madeleine nervously looked around to see if she recognized anyone. Her husband was well known in Paris, and she knew hundreds of people who were acquainted with him. Although she had met many of Hervé's associates at the airport on countless occasions, none of them gave her such an intimate greeting. She took Anton's hand and led him to the limousine as quickly as possible. The porter loaded Anton's bags, and they were off to the hotel.

Madeleine had given Anton the choice of five hotels in the area. He had secured a room at the Sofitel Trocadero Dokhan's not far from Madeleine's condominium. During the ride to the hotel, Madeleine instructed Anton to refrain from showing any affection in public. It was not unusual to see Madeleine escort Hervé's business associates to their hotels and acquaint them with Paris. As long as Anton behaved in a businesslike manner, she could accompany him throughout the city without suspicion. Anton agreed, somewhat, but didn't care for the constraint.

"Anton, we're both taking a very big chance by you being here in Paris. If Hervé has any suspicions, he will find out about you, and I don't know to what lengths he will go to dispose of you. He is a very influential man in Europe, especially Paris."

"Don't worry, my love. I am accustomed to flying under the radar. He won't find out about me."

Once Anton had settled into his room, he invited Madeleine for coffee and had the morning journal brought in. She appreciated Anton's consideration. He knew that she wasn't an early riser, and her excursion to the airport had prevented her from enjoying the morning news. Anton was perfectly content to sip his coffee and watch Madeleine peruse the paper for thirty minutes.

When Madeleine finally folded the journal and placed it on the table, Anton stood up and walked over to her. He took her by the hands to help her to her feet. He then held her in his arms and began to explain, "Madeleine, on the way over here I had a thousand thoughts about you. I couldn't wait to see you again, and I kept thinking about what we would do today." Anton was massaging Madeleine's back as he held her.

"And what did you have in mind," Madeleine asked coquettishly.

"Madeleine, I want to kiss you." Anton had never announced this to anyone before.

Madeleine silently giggled. "Oh you do, do you?"

"Yes, but not here."

"Not here?" Madeleine was surprised.

"I remember my parents telling me about how they first met. My father was born and raised in France. My mother was from the United States. She served as a nurse in World War II, and my father flew for the Armée de l'Air. My father met her in Paris when the war came to a close. They fell in love, and the first time they kissed was in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower. I want us to kiss for the first time in that same shadow."

"Anton, you're such a romantic, but I don't think we should show any affection in public."

"I knew you'd say that. I had an idea on the way to the hotel. It was raining earlier."

"So?"

"So, you brought a jacket along that has a large hood. No one could recognize you with your hood up. The rain has ended, and the clouds are breaking up. We are within walking distance of the tower."

Madeleine couldn't resist the look in Anton's eyes. She held out her arm, and Anton led her out of the hotel and down Avenue Raymond Poincaré. They crossed the Trocadero. By now Anton was exercising all the restraint that he could muster. He nearly dragged her across Pont d'Elena. Once they had cleared all the traffic and were standing in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower, Anton spun Madeleine around. She was nearly drunk with anticipation. He pulled her close. She looked up into his eyes with a wanton passion that overwhelmed Anton completely. He gently placed his lips to hers and sensuously teased her tongue with his own.

So much happened in this one instant that it is difficult to recount it all. When Anton's lips met Madeleine's, a jolt like electricity shot down Anton's spine, through his arms and legs, and his head began spinning. Tingling chills reverberated through his entire body. He had never experienced such bliss in his entire life. He felt a tremendous comfort and sense of wellbeing, like a child in his mother's arms, safe and warm. As they stood in the shadow kissing with tears streaming down their faces, they both felt a most incredible sensation. It was as though their bodies ceased to be solid and they melted into one being, one person in one body.

They tasted the saltiness of each other's tears as their lips caressed, and their tongues danced around each other. Madeleine gently sucked on his tongue, teasing it with her lips. Anton trembled and returned the same to her. Madeleine was moaning softly as they stood kissing for three full hours. When Anton and Madeleine finally disengaged their lips, the shadow had moved. They held each other tightly at the foot of the tower for another half hour, kissing and nibbling. Although Anton had no idea as to the events that were about to unfold in his life, he was right about one thing. This would be his last, first kiss.

The next three days, Anton and Madeleine met in secret. They continued to explore the adventure of each other's lips. They held each other tightly, kissing, nibbling, caressing. Perhaps the more interesting facet to their rendezvous was that neither of them touched the other in an inappropriate area. They were like two school children that were oblivious to sex, experimenting with a newfound bliss. The satisfaction and profound stirring that they experienced deep within their hearts was greater than any encounter that either had felt before.

Friday morning, everything came crashing down for Anton. Madeleine met him in his hotel room that morning and explained that Hervé was coming home early from work to take her to the chalet for the weekend. Tomorrow was their anniversary. Anton first pouted, then became silent. Finally, he burst into an angry fury, spouting insults and hateful remarks about Hervé. Madeleine belonged to him. How could she possibly go off with another man for the weekend?

Madeleine tried her best to calm Anton. "Mon chéri, if Hervé suspects that I'm seeing another man, he will have me watched. I'll never be able to see you again. Please understand that he is my husband. You're acting like a jealous child."

"Madeleine, I want you to be my wife. I don't want to share you with anyone else. I can't endure the thought of you being with him, sleeping in the same bed with him, touching him, or him touching you!"

"Anton, you must be patient. I met you ten days ago, and you want me to leave my husband. We wouldn't make it out of Paris. Hervé would see to that."

"Madeleine, I could buy him out three times over, I'm sure. Money talks."

"It's not just money. You don't understand. Hervé has many powerful connections throughout Europe who are very dedicated to him. Your money would do you no good. Please try to understand. I want to be with you too, mon chéri, but I can't move as fast as you expect me to. Give me some time, please."

"What am I going to do in Paris without you?" Anton was sulking.

"There's so much to see and do. You couldn't begin to experience but a fraction of Paris if you had a month, much less a weekend."

The rest of the morning was spent embracing and kissing, with Anton whispering into Madeleine's ear all the wonderful feelings that stirred in his heart for her. He wooed her with all the strength he had in every fiber of his being. Madeleine was melting. She was falling deeply in love, and as she tingled in Anton's arms with each word, each kiss, each caress, she wondered how she was going to deal with Hervé this weekend.

Friday night found Anton in the Latin Quarter on Boulevard Saint Germain at Les Deux Magots. The pricey café was a frequent haunt for Hemingway and Jean-Paul Sartre in times past. Anton sat and drank in silence, feeling sorry for himself. He needed a plan. The drunker he got, the crazier his thoughts became. He would do anything to win Madeleine. No obstacle was large enough, no task too difficult, no situation so impossible that it would keep him from having Madeleine as his wife.

Saturday morning, Anton's head ached. He popped some Ibuprofen into his mouth and gulped some water. He needed to keep busy. Idle time would torture him beyond what he could bear. Anton looked like a lost puppy dog wandering the streets of Paris without Madeleine. His heart ached as he thought about her being with Hervé. He was tormented with thoughts of Hervé celebrating his anniversary with Madeleine. Anton certainly knew what he would be doing right now if he were in Hervé's place.

Anton was strolling along the Seine on the Quai du Louvre. He decided he would exhaust his day inside the museum. He bought his ticket and cleared the metal detector.

Anton made his way to the Denon wing. He always wanted to see the Mona Lisa, which in Paris is called La Joconde. What a crowd! Finally, Anton found the Salle des Etats, Section 8 on 29. He gradually passed, shoulder to shoulder in the dense crowd to get a good vantage point. His anxiety was mounting due to the enormity of the crowd, but he pressed on to see the main attraction. There she was, framed in gold, the most famous masterpiece in the world. She was housed behind bullet proof glass in a protective, environment-controlled case. Anton appreciated the smoky look of the painting, which made La Joconde so appealing.

Anton spent most of the day in the Louvre. He was fascinated by the skills of so many artists. He tried to imagine attempting to create such masterpieces. His skills were far inferior from the works of art displayed in these galleries. Several hours of studying artwork finally tired Anton enough to leave. He crossed Rue de Rivoli and entered Angelina's. Madeleine had recommended the hot chocolate drink. It was incredible! What little appetite Anton had was completely quenched.

Anton followed the Seine back to his hotel. He couldn't get Hervé and Madeleine out of his mind. He wondered what they might be doing. He fumed as he walked along the river, wishing the old man would have a heart attack. That would solve so many problems. Before long, Anton had reached Pont d'Alma and turned to take Avenue du President Wilson over to Avenue Raymond Poincaré where his hotel was. It was going to be a long weekend.

Sunday morning, Anton sat at the table staring out the window sipping his coffee. Anton knew that Hervé and Madeleine would be returning this afternoon. Madeleine had explained to Anton on Friday morning that she was planning to do some shopping on Sunday after her return. She didn't want to spend her valuable weekdays performing tasks that would keep her from Anton.

A fifth of Cognac on Friday night had helped him devise several schemes. Today was the day to put one of them to use. Friday afternoon after Madeleine had left, Anton picked up the newspaper. Although he abhorred the news, he felt a connection with Madeleine as he perused the journal and brushed up on his reading in French. A particular article caught his eye. There was a condominium for rent, and not just any condominium. He recognized the address on Avenue Paul Doumer. It was right next to Madeleine's. It amused him to think they could be next door neighbors.

Sunday afternoon, Anton called the number for the apartment, introduced himself, and set an appointment for five o'clock to look it over. He allowed himself ten minutes to make the walk over to Avenue Paul Doumer. The gentleman who had advertised the apartment was waiting for him outside on the walkway. Anton employed his best Parisian accent. "Bonjour. Êtes vous monsieur avec l'appartement pour le loyer?"

The French gentleman rolled his eyes. "Yes, sir. I am the one who is renting the apartment."

"Oh, you realized I was American?" Anton was disappointed.

The Frenchman rolled his eyes once again and sighed in disgust. "Please, follow me." As he began to reach for the door, a taxi pulled in front of the apartment. Madeleine stepped out, carrying several shopping bags. When she looked up, her mouth flew open and she dropped two of her bags. The Frenchman hurried over and took her bags, and led her over for an introduction. "Em, this is Monsieur Cartier. He has come to look at the condo for rent. Mr. Cartier, this is my wife, Madame Marceau." Madeleine exchanged a brief, cordial greeting and gathered her packages in an obvious hurry to retreat inside. Anton did his best to hide the smirk that was trying to emerge. As Anton viewed the apartment with Hervé, he continually sized him up. The competition was no competition at all. He could see that she would be fairly bored with this middle-aged, overweight, self-centered baboon. So, he calls her "Em." Anton made a mental note never to make that mistake. After the tour, Anton expressed his appreciation and told Hervé that he would consider renting the condominium. He just needed a few days to make a final decision. Anton laughed all the way back to his hotel.

It was soon time for one of his old tricks. Madeleine had mentioned that on Sunday evening Hervé was taking her to La Tour D'Argent, one of her favorite restaurants near Notre Dame. Anton had dropped into the restaurant during the weekend to secure a reservation for the same time on Sunday evening. Admittedly, the task cost him 500 euros due to such short notice. You normally can't get reservations within the month, but Anton pleaded and bribed his way into a table guaranteed to be near the Marceaus.

Anton donned a light brown wig that hung to his shoulders. He selected a matching goatee, and picked a pair of narrow glasses. He dragged a floor-length coat from his closet and pulled on his boots with two-inch heels. By the time he finished with his makeup, he had disguised himself completely.

Anton sat patiently in the back seat of the taxi. He had instructed the driver to park on Avenue Paul Doumer a few doors down from Madeleine's apartment. He was waiting for his dinner party to depart for the restaurant. Finally, Hervé and Madeleine emerged to slip into their awaiting taxi. Madeleine looked stunning. She was wearing a light blue Versace evening gown with a silver fox fur jacket to cover her delectable shoulders. She was so sleek and sophisticated. Anton was trying to gauge the number of karats that hung from her neck and ears. Her diamond jewelry was impressive, even to Anton. Hervé wore a boring, traditional, black tuxedo. Anton felt his body heat climb up his neck. As difficult as it was to see them together, he had to observe them to get an idea of what their relationship was really like. Anton had his driver follow them to the restaurant. He paid the driver in excess and jumped from the taxi. He then positioned himself at the door of the restaurant, taking the opportunity to hold the door for Monsieur and Madame Marceau. Neither of them recognized him. Anton smiled smugly and filed into the restaurant behind them.

Anton had the perfect vantage point to observe Madeleine with Hervé. He was seated facing their table from the side so that he could see both of their expressions. Hervé was preoccupied with the wine list, and Madeleine was perusing the menu. After several minutes, Hervé announced his wine selection to Madeleine, and she nodded. Neither spoke again until the waiter arrived. Madeleine was behaving in a very reserved manner, which matched Hervé's demeanor. Neither of them smiled. They both appeared to be bored to death. Anton smiled with contentment and continued feigning to study the menu.

Anton's appetite was now back. He ordered Caneton Roti a L'Orange, Croquettes Au Pain D'Epices, Aperitif kir royale, foie gras, a bottle of '95 Chateauneuf du Pape, and a fromage plate. Dinner was superb, and his view of Madeleine was most satisfying. During the entire course of their meal, there were no laughs, no smiles, and scarcely any conversation.

There certainly didn't seem to be much passion in their relationship. Anton was beginning to wonder what Madeleine's home life was like. She most assuredly deserved far better than this. After dinner, Anton remained at his table as Hervé and Madeleine stood to leave. Hervé helped Madeleine with her fox jacket and escorted her to the door. Anton couldn't imagine how Hervé could remain so aloof in the presence of such a magnificently beautiful woman as Madeleine.

Monday morning, Madeleine flew into a rage when she entered Anton's hotel room. "What on earth were you doing looking at our rental condo? Are you out of your mind? Do you have any idea what you have done? Hervé never forgets a face! Now that he's seen you, he won't forget where or when. Anton, it's time for you to leave Paris!"

Anton smiled at the comment of Hervé not forgetting a face. "Would you please calm down?" Anton casually poured Madeleine a cup of coffee. "First of all, he doesn't know anything about me. I'm just an American who is interested in renting the condo next door. By the way, why didn't you tell me it was for rent?"

"You're not renting that apartment, Anton! If you ever expect to see me again, you will stop this nonsense! I'm not going to put up with you scheming behind my back. I can't afford to have you surprising me like this. Mon Dieu, Anton, I peed my pants when I saw you. I had to go straight to my room and change my underwear."

Anton started laughing. "You're overreacting. Calm down. All right, no more schemes. I just thought it would be more convenient to be your next door neighbor."

Madeleine was still angry. "You shouldn't even be in Paris! I want you to go back home and wait for me."

"Madeleine, I have to see you."

"Then you better start cooperating immediately! I can't have this, Anton." Madeleine was fuming.

"OK, OK. I promise. I'll play by your rules. Just don't ask me to leave Paris. By the way, how was the anniversary?" Anton wasn't laughing anymore.

"I don't want to talk about the weekend. It's over, and I'm glad." Madeleine finally stopped long enough to sip her coffee.

Anton was glad that the weekend was over too. He changed the subject and waited for Madeleine to calm down. As soon as he could see that she was beginning to soften, and she had finished her coffee, he took her by the hand and led her to the bed. He pulled her down next to him and held her closely. He began to caress her hair and kiss her face. She reluctantly responded, but within five minutes she was reciprocating with hot, passionate kisses that left Anton tingling once again.

After nearly an hour of kissing and snuggling together, Madeleine finally disclosed a surprise that she had for Anton. "After that foolish stunt that you pulled, I wasn't sure if I was going to tell you this, but remember when I said that Hervé's brother and sister-in-law were coming to stay with us next week?" Anton nodded. "Well, we had to cancel on them."

"How so?" Anton asked attentively.

Madeleine was smiling and outlining Anton's lips with her finger with a teasing motion. "Because," she began slowly, "Hervé has business in Geneva, and he will be out of town all week."

"That's great! That means that we can go have dinner together some evening. That will be fantastic!" Anton was ecstatic.

Madeleine was lying on her back, staring at the ceiling with a dreamy look in her eyes. "Actually, mon chéri, I was thinking of having you spend the night.

Anton's heart leaped. Finally, Madeleine had made a decision. She was obviously making plans to leave Hervé. Anton's head was spinning at the thought. "I thought you were nervous about having me near your place."

"Well, I don't want you living next door, but I thought about this over the weekend. I'd be more concerned to be here at the hotel with you, just in case anyone might notice that I had stayed the night. Things like that don't go unnoticed in Paris. Besides, it would be easier for you to slip into my apartment without anyone seeing you. You just have to promise to be absolutely quiet when Hervé calls me in the evening."

"You have my solemn oath," Anton promised with his right hand in the air. "Are you sure that you don't mind having me in your bed?" Anton was looking for assurance that they had the same thing in mind.

"Mon chéri, my bed hasn't seen any activity for so long. I have no conflict in my mind, and you?"

"It will be like we're married. I can't wait." Anton was more hopeful than ever.

The rest of the week Anton and Madeleine continued to meet during the day. They enjoyed their same blissful relationship and anticipated their first night together. They had discussed on occasion the excitement that they both felt and how wonderful it would be to indulge in their "honeymoon." No further advances were made by either of them. They were enjoying the anticipation of consummating their love.

Evenings were difficult for Anton, but he kept his thoughts on the week that he would spend with Madeleine, when he would pretend that she was his wife. The coming weekend was going to be much easier than the last one. He knew that Hervé would be flying to Geneva early Monday morning. Anton was growing exceedingly eager. His anticipation would help him glide through Saturday and Sunday.

Anton knew that Hervé had asked Madeleine to accompany him to the airport on Monday morning. It was now Friday morning, and Anton had a thought. "Sweetheart, since you are going to the airport with Hervé, and his flight leaves at seven, I thought maybe it would be better if you gave me a key to your condo. That way I could enter soon after you leave, and no one would notice us coming into the building near the same time. Besides, it would help create the fantasy about us being husband and wife, and I could have your coffee and morning journal waiting for you."

Madeleine gave Anton a suspicious look. "Promise me you won't have the key copied."

"I promise."

Madeleine shook her head, amused with Anton. "You're such a schoolboy." She giggled. She pulled the key from her purse. "I have a spare."

Anton took the key and put it in his wallet. "Thank you, Sweetheart."

Anton spent the weekend making reservations at several restaurants around Paris for the coming week. He was so thrilled in his anticipation that he rarely thought of Hervé at all.

## CHAPTER FIVE

### _Their First Time_

ANTON USUALLY FINISHED his morning jogs around five o'clock. He always took the same route. He would pass through the Trocadero, cross Pont d'Elena, run across the spot where he and Madeleine first kissed, then through Champs de Mars, past École Militaire on Avenue de Tourville, up Boulevard des Invalides to Rue de Grenelle, then down Rue du Bac to Boulevard Saint Germain. He would run east to the Seine, turn around, and retrace his steps back to his hotel.

Anton hurriedly showered and donned the costume that he had chosen the night before. He arrived on Avenue Paul Doumer in time to see Hervé and Madeleine climb into a taxi. He casually walked down the street, ignoring them as they passed. He nonchalantly turned into the building and ascended the stairs to their condo. He pulled the key from his wallet and turned the lock.

When Anton opened the door, the first thing he noticed was the fresh smell of gardenia. It was pleasantly invigorating and inviting. The apartment was furnished with an amazing number of imports. It nearly looked like an import retail store. Anton chuckled to himself. The other furnishings were more modern. This certainly was far from his own taste. The apartment had a remarkable elegance, despite the peculiar furnishings. The gardenias were beginning to seem a little overwhelming though. Anton strolled from room to room. The apartment was rather spacious and contained four bedrooms with three full baths. One bedroom actually had a decent view of the Eiffel Tower. The kitchen was a grave disappointment. It didn't appear to ever have had any meaningful activity. These people obviously dined out regularly or catered in.

After acquainting himself with the layout of the condo, Anton decided to do some deeper investigation. He sauntered into Madeleine's bedroom and took a good look around to find any telltale signs of intimacy between Hervé and Madeleine. Anton was impressed with the number of suits that Hervé had in his closets. They were obviously all tailor-made to fit that rotund figure he carried. Madeleine's closet was like visiting a fashion show of the most prestigious designers. Hervé obviously provided well. Anton found a large floor safe that apparently held the jewels that Madeleine enjoyed wearing so much.

Anton finally located Madeleine's dresser. He opened the top drawer to have a look. She had thongs in every color imaginable. He found G-strings, crotchless underwear and a few skimpy articles that he couldn't identify. After all, this was Paris. All of her underwear was sheer temptation. Anton's imagination wasn't doing him any favors. He found nothing but erotic lingerie as deeply as he could look. One of Madeleine's closets contained dozens of negligees that would have driven any man wild. The further he looked, the more upset he became. Finally, Anton tried to reason with himself. He didn't want to spoil this time with Madeleine by being a jealous lover. He knew that was one of the most offensive traits that turned a woman off. He negotiated with himself. Perhaps the reason that Hervé buys all of this erotic lingerie is because he's so frustrated with not getting to enjoy her. Anton kept pacing the floor and giving himself these pep talks until Madeleine arrived.

"No coffee? No journal?" Madeleine acted surprised.

"Oh, dear!" Anton had been so caught up in his frustration that he had forgotten to fulfill his promise. "I didn't expect you back so soon. I'll start the coffee and get your journal immediately. You must be tired. Why don't you go lie down, and I'll come give you a back massage as soon as I get the coffee started." Anton felt his embarrassment beginning to show.

Madeleine gave Anton a teasing, pouting, side-glance as she walked into the bedroom. Anton flew into action. He started the coffee and found the journal lying on the breakfast table. He hurried into the bedroom to find Madeleine seductively stretched on the light blue silk sheets wearing an incredibly sheer negligee. Anton stopped in his tracks, dropping the journal on the floor. Sadness shadowed his face. Madeleine readily perceived what Anton was thinking. She smoothly arose from the bed and glided to Anton. She took both of his hands, and with an inviting look assured him, "Anton, mon chéri, I bought this negligee over the weekend for us. Hervé doesn't even know that it exists.

Anton had to admit that out of all the sexiest lingerie that he had seen in her closet, this one was far beyond the others in provoking his sensuality. He threw his arms around her in gratitude and firmly placed his lips upon hers. "You are my love. You are my life. You are the reason that I breathe." Anton began a dance between their tongues that sent Madeleine into a sexual frenzy. With one sweeping motion she ripped the negligee from her body. Her ruby nipples were hard and protruding with excitement. Anton clasped his lips upon her right nipple and began to suck it gently and slowly. Madeleine started to undulate with the rhythmic throbbing of Anton's kissing and sucking.

At that moment, Madeleine felt a surge of delight that encompassed her in such a fashion that she swooned. When she regained consciousness, Anton was looking soulfully into her eyes. "Sweetheart, I want you forever and always."

Madeleine reciprocated, "Anton, I am yours forever!"

They were now both naked. Anton breathed over her whole body. Madeleine was heaving with anticipation. Anton lightly touched and teased her entire body with his tongue. He lured her clitoris with his hard, throbbing penis. Anton was a master at control, and he exercised every bit of his talent with all his strength that remained. He withdrew and collapsed on top of Madeleine, sucking her nipples and caressing her with his tongue repeatedly.

Madeleine burst forth, "Take me, Anton! Please, take me now!"

Anton nibbled at her left ear. "In due time, my dear." Anton continued to work Madeleine softly and sensuously. He massaged her breasts so delicately that she began to moan and tremble. He worked his way slowly down her belly and buried his tongue in her navel. He took a long, slow journey down the path of soft baby blonde hair that led to her awaiting bush.

When he arrived at his destination, he exhaled upon her vulva. Madeleine shuddered. Anton began to establish himself between her legs. He wrapped his arms under her upper thighs and over her crotch. He then spread her awaiting vulva with his fingers. Her clitoris was so swollen it nearly frightened him. It jutted out, begging for attention. Anton clasped his lips over her love button and began to suck it gently and slowly. He drew it deeply into his mouth, licking upward with his tongue. Madeleine began to quiver. Anton released her genitals from his mouth and then immediately attacked again with his tongue. He caressed her gently, licking upward, then downward. He read her like a book. Her responses were his guide to bringing her pleasure.

Madeleine was quivering and jolting like a fish on the dock. Anton was drilling her relentlessly with his soft, stroking tongue.

He slipped two fingers into her, reaching behind her pubic bone. When he found the textured flesh that marked her G-spot, he tenderly caressed it in a circular motion, applying a gentle pressure. All at once, she exploded like a rocket into orgasm. She ejaculated nearly a half-liter of fluid, spewing left and right as she convulsed in ecstasy. Anton sucked up as much of her love juice as he could. He held her thighs tightly and rode her like a wild bronco.

Madeleine had a desperate, dazed look in her eyes as she continued to convulse. She didn't understand what had just overtaken her body. When she finally regained control, she clasped her hands over her face and cried, "Oh, Mon Dieu, I have peed the bed!"

Anton slid upwards and locked his lips to hers in a long sensuous kiss. He then consoled her, "My dear, you did not pee the bed. You had an orgasm and ejaculated in delight. It isn't urine, Sweetheart. It's a clear liquid with no urinary properties. It just means that you thoroughly enjoy our lovemaking."

Madeleine tried to understand her new experience. After a few moments, she lamented, "Oh Anton! Now I am afraid that you will expect this every time, and I don't know what to do."

"Nonsense," Anton consoled, "I want you to relax. I want you to enjoy each moment and do what feels natural to you with no expectations and no regrets. Just enjoy yourself to the fullest."

"I want you in me, Anton. I want you in me now!" Anton thrust upward with his body hitting the target and driving himself deep within her. Madeleine burst forth again immediately into sweet orgasm, screaming with a shrill, penetrating plea to continue. Anton followed with deep, rhythmic strokes, filling her cavity with stimulation that fired three more screaming orgasms through Madeleine's body in less than a minute.

Anton was amazed. Never had he seen such a display of pleasure.

He drilled her harder. She orgasmed over and over again. Anton couldn't keep count, nor did he care to. All he wanted was to please her, and he undoubtedly did. Madeleine had clawed his back wildly. She was drooling, and her eyes had rolled back into her head. Anton's concern grew. The bed was soaked. Traces of blood were beginning to appear. Madeleine was convulsing violently. Finally, Anton decided to relax. He stayed inside her, but reduced his movement to a slow, circular motion. Madeleine was shaking and panting as she tried to gain control. Tears streamed down the sides of her face, and she groaned like an animal as she took Anton deeper and deeper. Madeleine's eyes were like glass, she couldn't focus on anything. She writhed and moaned and discharged over and over again.

When Anton finally withdrew, Madeleine was lying on the soaked bed, turning her head from side to side. She was trying to speak. She reached out and took Anton's hand, pulling him on top of her again. She whispered to him, "It's your turn." Anton plunged in again, and in a few minutes he released an orgasm that sent the pillows flying. Madeleine hung on tightly as she was thrashed from side to side like the prey of a shark. Anton was convulsing so violently that they were bouncing off the bed into the air as he flailed wildly. After about thirty-seconds, his convulsion subsided, and he collapsed on top of her. Madeleine held him securely and gently sobbed, burying her face into the hair of his chest.

It was now noon, and the untouched coffee was stale. The journal still lay on the floor. Madeleine had no desire for either. Anton and Madeleine continued to make love for six more hours. When they finally realized that they were beginning to feel hunger, Anton and Madeleine made an agreement to break long enough to go get a bite to eat. Then they would return to resume their "honeymoon."

Anton took this opportunity to give Madeleine a long, sensuous shower before calling a taxi. Madeleine had promised Anton a Croque Monsieur, a French ham and cheese sandwich. Fortunately, dusk was setting in. Anton and Madeleine slipped into the taxi unnoticed for a short jaunt to the cafe. They ordered their sandwiches and decided to take them back to the condo. Anton chose a Croque Madame, which included a fried egg. The sandwiches were delicious. Madeleine fed half of hers to Anton, and when they finished eating, she took him by the hand and led him to the bedroom.

They spent the entire night making love and napping whenever they needed.

In the morning, Madeleine looked dreamily into Anton's eyes. "I've never felt this with anyone." Her eyes began to flood with tears. "I had no idea that it could be so wonderful."

Anton began to weave his addiction on her. "Sweetheart, this could be yours every day if you would just leave Hervé." Madeleine was silent. She lay in his arms weeping. They got out of bed around nine o'clock that morning. Madeleine was so sore that she had difficulty sitting in a chair. She was red and swollen and needed a break. Anton agreed to let her rest until afternoon. Madeleine enjoyed her coffee and journal while Anton made a few plans. He had reserved a table at Jules Verne in the Eiffel Tower for nine o'clock that evening.

If I recounted all of the sexual pleasures that Anton and Madeleine experienced together for the rest of the week, it would be redundant. She did visit her doctor for an antibiotic on Friday that would overcome her urinary tract infection. She was totally spent, emotionally, sexually, physically, and looking forward to resting without Anton's incessant demands for coitus. Madeleine was in an emotional tailspin.

## CHAPTER SIX

### _The Murder_

ANTON SPENT THE weekend daydreaming about plans for Madeleine to leave Hervé. She called him once on Saturday and once on Sunday morning when she had a few moments of privacy. Anton reiterated his love for her and couldn't wait to have her in his arms once again. Madeleine had been soaking in a warm bathtub to help relieve her more tender parts in preparation for the coming week.

Anton anticipated Madeleine's call on Monday morning. He felt so confident that he had successfully addicted her to his lovemaking. His cell phone rang. He expected a wonderful greeting from Madeleine with plans for the day. His heart was not ready for what he was about to hear.

"Mon chéri, I don't know if I can see you today." Madeleine was obviously weeping.

"What are you talking about?" Anton had anticipated another day of absolute bliss.

"Hervé has been pressuring me hard to have sex with him, and I can't bring myself to do it."

"Good! This is your opportunity to tell him that it's over."

"Anton, I think that maybe he is having me watched. He said that he had been suspicious for some time now that I was seeing someone else."

"That is not good." Anton pondered for a while. "Madeleine, please come to my hotel. We'll sort all of this out."

"Mon chéri, I am afraid. Please come here. I know that you brought disguises with you. I saw them."

Anton was shocked at her invitation. Hervé was at work, and yet she wanted him to come to her apartment. It was all too exciting. "I'll be there in less than half an hour."

Anton still had his key. He opened Madeleine's door and threw his coat on a chair. He found her in her bedroom, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. "Sweetheart, we will get through this."

"Oh, Anton, you don't understand. He has been adamant with his advances. He's tired of waiting. I have put him off for so long. In the past, I would just give in, but now that you and I have been together, I don't think that I can do it."

"Madeleine, you need to explain to him that it's over."

Madeleine continued to dab her eyes and shake her head. "You don't know what you are talking about. Hervé Marceau is not a man that you can tell him you're leaving without a death certificate."

Anton paused in thought. He clasped his lips to Madeleine's. He then began to caress her the way that she loved so much. She moaned. Within five minutes, the two of them were entwined in ever changing positions. She discharged to fourteen orgasms before Anton would release his hold on her.

"Now tell me that you can't leave him." Anton looked directly into her eyes.

Madeleine was once again drunk with passion. "I just want to die!" She broke down sobbing. Anton concentrated his efforts on comforting Madeleine.

That evening, back at the hotel, he began to realize that she would not have the fortitude to leave Hervé. This had been his biggest fear from the start. Anton was a master manipulator, but some tasks were beyond mere manipulation. He was going to have to engineer a scheme that would be subtle enough not to be recognized by Madeleine but yet effective enough to produce the outcome that he sought. He didn't want to alienate Madeleine. This was definitely a delicate situation.

Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday were very much alike. Anton tried to resist the temptation to pressure Madeleine. He knew that if he issued an ultimatum, it was over between them. Besides, he didn't want to torture her with such a move. Anton continued to be supportive and as understanding as he could feign.

Friday, however, brought a much different challenge. Anton watched Hervé leave for work, as usual. He then entered the condo in disguise, using his key. Anton heard Madeleine softly crying in the bedroom. She was sitting on the edge of the bed with a box of tissues in her lap. Used tissues were accumulating on the floor in front of her.

"Sweetheart, what's the matter?" Anton rushed over and knelt in front of her, taking her left hand. Madeleine didn't respond. She sat weeping as though he weren't there. "Madeleine, what happened?" Anton was becoming more insistent. "Did he give you a hard time?" Madeleine cried harder. "Did he force himself on you?" Anton's anger was beginning to burn. Still Madeleine did not respond. She just cried all the harder. "That bastard! I'll kill him," Anton screamed. He shot to his feet and began pacing in front of Madeleine. "I swear, I'll kill the son of a bitch!"

Madeleine looked up at Anton with tears streaming down her face. She was slowly shaking her head. Her lower lip was quivering, and she was unable to speak. Anton continued to pace the floor, shaking his fists in the air. Madeleine held out her hand for Anton. He rushed over, sat beside her, and put his right arm around her. Madeleine was trying to speak. "Please, don't do anything, please."

"Did he hurt you?" Madeleine shook her head and cried harder. "Did he force himself on you?" Madeleine looked away from Anton, crying in shame. "He's dead," Anton promised. Madeleine took both of Anton's hands and shook them, shaking her head.

"You have to leave him, Madeleine. I can't put up with this." Anton was breaking down. As much as he wanted to let her make her own decision, he couldn't allow himself to stand idly by and watch this happen to her.

"Promise me you won't make trouble," Madeleine squeaked with emotion. She gave Anton a pleading look.

Anton was heaving with anger. His internal struggle was mounting. Finally, knowing that he couldn't force her hand, he gave in. "I'll do as you wish, but please try to understand my position." Madeleine buried her head in his chest. Anton held her closely, doing his best to comfort her. He had lost all desire to make love today. He couldn't bear the thought of another man touching Madeleine. She was his! Anton was convinced that Madeleine was his true wife. She belonged to him.

Anton spent the rest of the day with Madeleine trying to comfort her and reassure her of his love. He did his best to control his anger. Time passed too quickly. It was the hour for him to depart. Hervé would be home soon. Anton kissed Madeleine long and hard, encouraging her to take a stand. He was dreading the weekend.

That night, Anton went back to Les Deux Magots, where he had enjoyed a bottle of brandy the weekend of Madeleine's anniversary. He decided that another bottle would serve him well tonight. The more he drank, the more he schemed. What does one do when the immovable object encounters the irresistible force? As impossible as his situation seemed, there had to be a simple solution. Anton had usually found in the past that the simplest solution was often the most difficult to recognize.

Anton finished his brandy. He nodded politely to the gentleman at the next table, who had also been drinking alone. After settling his bill, Anton grabbed his coat and headed for the door. Once Anton had turned his back, the man at the next table snatched Anton's empty glass from the table and dropped it into a plastic bag. Then, he too disappeared from the bar.

Madeleine did not call during the weekend. Anton's imagination tortured him constantly. He found himself wandering the streets from bar to bar, trying to anesthetize his emotions. He was miserable. Monday morning as Anton was preparing to leave for Madeleine's condominium and watch Hervé climb into his taxi, his cell phone rang. Anton didn't recognize the incoming number, but no one else knew how to reach him.

"Madeleine?"

"Anton!" Madeleine screamed in horror.

"What's the matter?"

"Hervé's been shot." She was crying so uncontrollably that Anton could hardly understand a word.

"What did you say?"

"Someone shot Hervé. He just died at the hospital."

"Where are you? I'll be right there." Anton grabbed his jacket from the chair.

"No, no, you can't. I have to give a statement to the police. Please stay where you are. I'll call you later."

"Are you all right? How did this happen?"

"I'll explain later. I can't talk right now." Madeleine was wailing as she hung up the phone.

Anton felt desperate and empty. He wanted to be with Madeleine. She needed him now more than ever, and he wasn't allowed to help. "So the bastard's dead," Anton thought to himself. He was sorry for Madeleine's grief, but relieved that his archenemy had been removed. Now he wouldn't have to worry about whether Madeleine would leave Hervé. It was done.

Claude Maudlin, Marceau's attorney, escorted Madeleine to the police station to file a formal statement. Madeleine was clad in a long black dress, black gloves, black hat and veil. She was constantly dabbing the tears from her eyes as they entered the interrogation room. Inspector DuBois asked them to be seated and then reached for the tape recorder.

"Madame Marceau," the inspector began, "do you realize that this a formal statement and that it is being recorded?"

"Yes," Madeleine's voice broke with emotion.

"I'm sorry to have to put you through this, but we need to establish what happened."

"I understand."

"Please state the date and time of the incident, and tell us in your own words what happened. Please include as much detail as you can possibly remember."

Monsieur Maudlin put a comforting arm around Madeleine for support. Madeleine tried to calm herself. "I was awakened this morning around four o'clock. I went to the bathroom, and as I was coming back to bed, I thought that I heard something downstairs."

"Please tell us the date," the inspector reminded.

"Oh yes, it is Monday, 14 May. I heard a noise downstairs, and I was frightened. I woke my husband, Hervé, and told him that I had heard a noise downstairs. Hervé listened for a while, and then he heard it too. He got out of bed and put on his robe to see what was causing the noise. I sat in bed waiting for him to return. After a minute or so, I heard voices. I thought Hervé might have been talking to a neighbor."

"What kind of voices, Madame? Was it a man and a woman, or two men?"

"It was definitely two men. Then I heard one of them shout something. I think it was Hervé."

"And what did he say, Madame?"

"I couldn't understand him, and then I heard a gunshot." Madeleine broke down sobbing at this point. Monsieur Maudlin continued his attempts to console her, giving an impatient glance at the inspector.

"We're nearly finished," the inspector promised. "Please, Madame, tell me what happened next."

Madeleine was biting her lip to gain control. "I was so scared. I didn't know what to do. I was afraid that someone was going to come after me, so I locked myself in the bathroom. I thought I heard our condo door close when I got out of bed to go into the bathroom, but I was too scared to check. After about five minutes, I decided to come out since I hadn't heard any more noises. When I went downstairs, Hervé was lying in a pool of blood. I was hysterical. I called the police right away and asked them to send medical help, that my husband had been shot."

"Did you see anyone else?"

"No."

"Before you heard the voices, did you hear the condo door open or close?"

"I heard something, but I thought it must be Hervé checking downstairs."

"Did you recognize the other voice, Madame?"

"No, it was too muffled."

"But you are sure that it was a man?"

"Absolutely."

"Was anything taken from your apartment?"

"I don't know. I haven't really checked."

"Do you know of anyone who would wish your husband harm?"

"My husband knew hundreds of people. He was very well liked to my knowledge. I don't know why someone would want to murder him."

"There was no forcible entry detected. Do you know of anyone who may have a key?"

Madeleine thought for a moment. "No, I know of no one, in Paris that is. My friend in America has a key so that she can enter whenever she visits if Hervé and I are not home when she arrives."

"I apologize for having to ask the following questions. Do you know if your husband was having an affair?"

"I seriously doubt that. He was a loving and attentive husband." Madeleine dabbed her eyes once more with her handkerchief.

"Madame, have you been seeing a man other than your husband?"

Before Monsieur Maudlin could protest, Madeleine answered, "No."

"I have one more question, Madame. Would you agree to submit to a lie detector test?"

Monsieur Maudlin intervened, "My client does not need to submit to a lie detector test. She is obviously devastated from this experience, and I see no evidence whatsoever that would implicate Madame Marceau."

Madeleine was sitting in a daze when she spoke as though waking from a dream, "Monsieur, it's all right. I would submit to a lie detector test."

"Until there is any proof that my client is a suspect, I am instructing her to decline." Monsieur Maudlin took Madeleine by the shoulders and helped her rise from her chair.

"I understand." The inspector stopped the recording. "I will be in touch if I have further questions. Oh, and by the way, Madame, I am requesting that you do not leave Paris until we conclude our investigation." Madeleine nodded with assent as Monsieur Maudlin took her by the arm. Inspector DuBois eyed Madeleine suspiciously as she left the room.

When Anton's cell phone rang again, it was two fifteen in the afternoon. He didn't recognize the number, but Madeleine's voice was electrifying.

"Madeleine, are you all right?"

"I'll be fine. I'm still very shaken."

"Madeleine, I want to see you. Can you come to my room?"

"No, no, Anton, I think I'm being watched. The police asked me if I was seeing another man."

"What did you tell them?"

"I told them, 'No,' of course! Listen, Anton, I don't think we should take the chance of being seen together at all."

"I understand. You're probably right."

"By the way," Madeleine continued, "where were you at four o'clock this morning?"

"What?!" Anton was astonished. "You know where I was. I go jogging every morning at four o'clock. What are you asking me? You think I had anything to do with this?"

"I'm sorry. I don't know what to think anymore, except that you had better get back home as soon as you can before the police find out about you."

"I'm not going without you," Anton demanded.

"Anton, the police won't let me leave Paris, and if you stay until I can go, you may need an extended visa, and that will mean more trouble for us. You have to go now."

Anton realized the truth in her logic. "I suppose you're right. How will I contact you?"

"You can't. I'll call you from a public telephone again. The police will be watching me, but they don't know about you, so your phone should be safe. I'll call when I can. Please get a flight back to the states as soon as possible. I will try calling you sometime tomorrow."

Anton agreed. He called the airline immediately and secured a flight for ten twenty in the morning on Air France. He would be home by one thirty in the afternoon. This was his last day in Paris, and he would spend it alone in his room. Anton returned home waiting for Madeleine to call. Three days had passed, and Anton was growing more anxious each hour. He tried to busy himself with his music, reading, and making plans for Madeleine.

Sunday morning, Madeleine finally called Anton at three o'clock. Anton would have been up in an hour anyway. He was so excited and eager to talk with Madeleine.

"Anton? I'm so sorry to wake you, mon chéri."

"No problem, are you all right?"

"I'm holding up. I have so much to do. My attorneys and accountants are busy trying to settle Hervé's estate. I am having everything liquidated. I want to leave Europe as soon as possible."

"I miss you terribly, Madeleine. Do you have any idea when you can be here?"

"I cannot leave Paris until the police release me. They are continuing their investigation. Apparently, there isn't much evidence. I think they might suspect me."

"That's ridiculous! Have they found the murder weapon?"

"Not that I know of. So far, they seem baffled. Hervé was well known and well liked. There is a lot of pressure on the police from prominent citizens from what I understand. My attorney said that they would soon get desperate to find someone. I'm so glad that you left Paris safely."

"Madeleine, I hope you don't think I had anything to do with this."

"No, mon chéri, I don't. I'm sorry that I asked you before. I was just upset. I hope I know you better than that."

"Good, I know I shouted a lot of threats the week before, but I was just angry. I would never do anything so foolish."

"I know, mon chéri. I have to go now."

"I love you, Madeleine."

"I love you, Anton."

Monday morning, Madeleine answered the telephone. It was Monsieur Maudlin, who was apparently upset that the police had insisted on giving Madeleine a lie detector test. When he had protested, the police reasoned with him, explaining that there were no other witnesses, no forcible entry, nothing had been stolen, and if his client were innocent, it would eliminate her as a suspect in the murder. Madeleine was frankly relieved, knowing that if she were removed as a suspect, she would be free to leave Paris. She agreed and asked Monsieur Maudlin to arrange the interview.

Meanwhile, Inspector DuBois was giving the lie detector technician some final instructions. When he turned, he came face to face with a fellow officer. "DuBois, you're wasting your time. This woman is not a killer. Believe me, I know."

DuBois haughtily brushed the officer aside, "Well, Inspector Patois, that is exactly why you are not assigned to this case, and I am. If it's one thing that my many years of experience have taught me, it's that anyone will do anything under the right circumstances." DuBois left the room to retrieve Madeleine and Monsieur Maudlin, who had just arrived.

The only attendees allowed in the interview were Inspector DuBois, Monsieur Maudlin, the lie detector technician, and Madeleine. As the technician was hooking Madeleine up to the machine, he explained the procedure and what the machine would monitor. Only the technician would be allowed to see the results during the interrogation. He then ran a baseline test of a few obvious questions, asking her to reply truthfully to them the first time and then to lie while responding the second time. Once the technician was satisfied with the results, he motioned to Inspector DuBois to proceed.

"Please state your full name."

Madeleine very calmly and deliberately answered, "Madeleine Pasteur Marceau."

"Where do you reside, Madame Marceau?"

"42 Avenue Paul Doumer, Paris, France 75016."

"Were you the wife of Hervé Marceau?"

"Yes."

"Was your husband murdered at approximately 4:15 AM on 14 May?"

"Yes."

"Were you present when your husband was murdered?"

Madeleine looked confused. "No."

"Did you see who murdered your husband?"

"No."

"Madame Marceau, have you been seeing another man other than your husband?"

"I object," Monsieur Maudlin immediately interjected. "That is a personal question and has no bearing on this investigation."

Inspector DuBois rephrased, "Do you have any idea who murdered your husband?"

"No."

"Did you murder Hervé Marceau?"

"No!"

The technician nodded, and Inspector DuBois ended the interrogation. "We will be in touch. Thank you both very much for cooperating."

Monsieur Maudlin escorted Madeleine back to her condominium. Meanwhile, Inspector DuBois met with the technician to discuss the results.

"Well, you are apparently satisfied with the interrogation," Inspector DuBois observed. "Tell me what we have."

The technician showed Inspector DuBois the printout of the responses given by Madeleine. He had written the questions into the margins for clarity. He then explained the results to Inspector DuBois. "She answered every question truthfully, except..."

"Yes," Inspector DuBois anticipated.

"Except for the question as to whether she knows who did it. Her response didn't appear to be a direct lie. It seems as if there is an element of doubt, but I'd say that she has an idea who it might be."

"But you don't think she's sure?"

"No, not entirely, however, she's definitely hiding something, but she didn't murder him."

Inspector DuBois showed signs of disappointment. "We don't have enough to hold her. Maudlin will demand a release or an arrest warrant. I have no choice but to release her."

Monsieur Maudlin called Madeleine with the good news. She had been cleared of suspicion and was free to leave Paris whenever she pleased. Madeleine was overjoyed. She asked about the finalization of the estate. Monsieur Maudlin explained that the other attorneys were handling those affairs and that transferring assets to a spouse was not difficult. He expected that within two weeks her affairs should be in order.

Madeleine had received a call from the realty company the next day. They had posted Madeleine's properties on the Internet and had them sold within four hours. The locations were so popular that the buyers made offers without even visiting the properties. Everything was falling into place.

Madeleine called Anton to explain that she had been cleared of suspicion, and she was trying to finalize her business with the estate as soon as possible. Anton was eager for Madeleine to come home to him. It was just a matter of time. He wanted to marry her as soon as possible. Madeleine urged him to be patient and that she was eager too. Anton felt as though his dream had come true. It was like a fairy tale. The bad guy was dead. The woman was to be his wife. He was going to live happily ever after.

Anton wanted to be proactive and alert his attorneys and accountant that he was planning to get married soon. They urged him to have a prenuptial agreement drafted to protect his assets. Anton was resistant. He trusted Madeleine. He saw no need to protect his assets from the one woman in the world that he had ever loved. What was his, was also hers. He didn't want it any other way.

Meanwhile, Madeleine met with Monsieur Maudlin to prepare the transfer of ownership of assets from Hervé's estate. Madeleine anxiously waited for six days to see the results. After all assets and liabilities were balanced, Monsieur Maudlin presented Madeleine with a detailed report showing a complete list of transactions necessary for the proceedings. Madeleine's only concern was the bottom line, 8,462,920 euros. Madeleine eased back in her chair, smiled contentedly and instructed Monsieur Maudlin to liquidate all assets and deposit the proceeds into her Swiss bank account. She was leaving Paris.

## CHAPTER SEVEN

### _The Marriage_

IT HAD BEEN almost three weeks since Anton had heard from Madeleine. He was nearly insane from anxiety. He had been calling her phone number countless times each day for the past week. He had reasoned that since she was cleared of suspicion, the police would not be watching her. Where could she be? Anton was impossible to be around. His irritation caused him to lash out at Ms. Henderson and complain about everything. As much as she tried to ignore him, he was beginning to grate on her nerves.

Finally on Monday morning, Anton's cell phone rang. He looked at the incoming number in shock. It was Madeleine's stateside cell phone. "Madeleine? Where in the hell are you?"

"Oh, mon chéri, I wanted to surprise you."

"Where have you been? I have been trying to call you for over a week."

"Don't spoil my surprise, mon chéri. I'll explain everything when I see you."

"Where are you," Anton demanded.

"Do you remember where we first met?"

"Of course I do."

"Well," Madeleine's voice was practically a song. "I am standing in the doorway of that very same room in my bathrobe right now, just the way you met me. I wanted to surprise you and start all over again from that moment. When can you be here?"

"I'll call a limo immediately. I should be there in about forty-five minutes."

"I'll be here in my bathrobe, mon chéri."

Anton tried to sort out his emotions as he waited for the limo. He was elated to hear that she was here, but he was furious that she had kept it all a secret. His frustration mingled with his excitement. He didn't know whether to scold her or praise her. Soon, his anger melted. He adored her. He worshipped her, and now that she was here, he could consummate all his plans with her.

Anton bolted into the hotel. He dashed into the elevator and sprinted down the hall. Room 245, Anton remembered. He didn't need to knock. There she was with soaking wet hair, looking identical to the day that Anton first laid eyes on her. His heart leaped once again with the memory of that day.

"Monsieur, do you have a morning journal?"

Anton smacked his forehead. He had forgotten to snag a morning paper on his way there. "No, I'm sorry I forgot the paper."

"But I always enjoy the morning journal with my coffee. Now what will I do if I don't have my morning journal?" Madeleine was adorable. She was teasing him coquettishly and allowed her bathrobe to fall open, revealing her light brown bush.

Anton's heart leaped once again. He was immediately aroused. As many times as they had made love, and all of the things that they had experienced together, Anton was bewildered that he was just as excited now as the first time they met. He stepped toward her, took the collar of her robe in each hand, pulled it down over her shoulders, and exposed her completely. As he moved his lips toward hers, he whispered, "I'm sure that I'll think of something."

Anton stepped forward, backing her into the room as he kissed her. He slammed the door closed with his left foot and advanced toward the bed. Madeleine kept pacing backwards as Anton advanced. She felt the bed at the back of her legs, and Anton fell forward on top of her. He ravished her body as though it were the first time. Somehow, it was all the more exciting. He had the knowledge of what inflamed her desire coupled with the excitement of their first meeting. This encounter proved to exceed anything that either of them had experienced before. They made love for thirty-six straight hours. Neither slept. It was as though time stood still.

When they finally had their fill of love for the time being, they found themselves laughing about the chambermaid who had caught them in the act about six hours before. They didn't care who saw them. Nothing mattered except for the love that they shared. Anton thanked her over and over for creating such a wonderful rendezvous. They had no desire to leave and ordered dinner to be sent to the room. Anton wouldn't allow Madeleine to clothe herself, so they enjoyed Chateaubriand and Bordeaux in the nude. Anton kept licking, sucking, kissing and caressing her all through dinner. She giggled and teased him in return with her own tantalizing methods that she knew he loved so much. Dessert was pure delight. Anton found a creative way to enjoy strawberries dipped in "Chocolat-a-la-Madeleine. After they both were ultimately sated with love, food, and wine, they slept sweetly for twelve hours. Anton was the first to awaken. He lay with Madeleine naked in his arms. He was recounting the glorious moments with her that they had experienced the day before. Gradually, the thoughts began to approach him. Where had she been these past three weeks? Why had she waited so long to tell him her plans? He began to calculate the totality of her absence. His brow furrowed. Just then, Madeleine stirred. She was cooing and purring. She writhed in his arms, smiling with her eyes closed. He smiled at her. She was such a delight.

Madeleine blinked her eyes open. She grinned widely and kissed Anton full on his lips. "Bon jour, mon chéri."

"Bon jour, ma cherie." Anton held her tightly. "Sweetheart, where have you been the past three weeks?" Anton tried to keep all threatening signs from his intonation.

"Please, don't be upset with me. I knew if I disclosed my plans to you that you would insist on seeing me right away. I called Ann and told her everything. We went to Las Vegas for a week of celebrating."

"What? You went to Las Vegas with Ann? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I already explained. You would have insisted on seeing me, and I wanted to spend some time with Ann. Please tell me that you understand."

"I do not understand!"

"Anton, I have been through hell. Between the murder of my husband and the suspicion of the police, keeping you a secret, dealing with all the legal and financial proceedings, I was exhausted. I needed to relax and have some fun."

"I'm not fun?" Anton was injured.

"Of course you are! Did we not just have an incredible time? I just needed some time away from everything that reminded me of the horrible experience. I thought spending a week with Ann in Las Vegas would be what I needed."

Anton tried to understand. "I suppose you're right. By the way, when do I get to meet Ann? Do you plan to have her as a bride's maid for our wedding?"

Madeleine hopped up from the bed and grabbed her bathrobe. "It's not likely. When I told Ann everything that had happened since you and I met, she strongly disapproved. I was afraid that I would lose her as a friend forever. I think it may have been a mistake to tell her that I met you before Hervé was murdered."

"Why don't you let her meet me? I'm sure that I could win her over." Anton lacked no self-confidence when it came to the opposite sex.

"I don't think we should chance it. She means a lot to me, and I would hate to lose her as a friend. We have known each other since college. Give her time, Anton. This is all so new to her too."

"Maybe so, but what is Ann's last name?"

"Oh, no, you don't! After that little stunt that you pulled with Hervé, asking to see the condo rental, I don't trust you."

"Sweetheart, you don't think I would sneak behind your back, do you?"

"I think I can't trust you. That's what I think. Leave it to me. In time, she will agree to meet you. In the meantime, I think we should get married in Las Vegas. I have just the spot. I picked it out while I was there last week."

Anton gave Madeleine a dubious look. "Where?"

"I want to get married to you in a helicopter hovering over the strip in Las Vegas!"

Anton's mouth dropped open. "You've got to be kidding."

"Not at all, in fact, I made the reservation. We are going to be married a week from today!"

Anton stood up and wandered aimlessly through the room, mumbling to himself. Madeleine sat on the bed watching him stagger through the suite. "Madeleine, I'm not totally prepared," Anton began to stammer. I was hoping for a little more time and input into our plans. This is a complete surprise."

"What plans? I have everything arranged." Madeleine was so excited that it was contagious.

Anton tried to get accustomed to Madeleine's proposal. "I suppose that I could get everything in order the next few days." Anton shook his head in disbelief. "Can you believe that my attorney and accountant wanted to draft a prenuptial agreement?" Anton laughed.

Madeleine took Anton by the arm in an assuring manner. "Mon chéri, I think that would be wise."

"What?" Anton pulled away incredulously.

"I don't want anyone thinking that I'm after your money. I wouldn't be offended to sign a prenuptial agreement. I encourage it. In fact, I insist!"

Anton sat in amazement. "Madeleine, what I have is yours too. I don't want some distrusting agreement between us. I love you."

"I love you too, but I don't want everyone you know to be suspicious of me. Call your attorney today and have him draft the papers. I will sign them immediately."

Anton couldn't help but admire Madeleine's integrity. "That will show them," he thought. "How dare they distrust the love of my life?"

All the necessary preparations were made. Madeleine did sign the prenuptial agreement, and Anton's attorney kept a notarized copy. The happy couple flew to Las Vegas to put the finishing touches on their wedding plans. Madeleine seemed more excited than Anton. Things were moving so fast that Anton didn't have time to appreciate what was happening. He was partly in denial that anything so wonderful could be happening to him. His dreams were about to come true.

The ceremony was loud and far from romantic. Anton was relieved that Madeleine didn't intend to sky dive from the helicopter, kissing all the way to the ground. When all of the formal events were out of the way, Anton was relieved. He was looking forward to the real honeymoon. He whisked Madeleine into his arms and carried her over the threshold. She laughed, clinging to the bottle of Dom Perignon that Anton had presented to her. When Anton gently landed her on the bed, she rolled over and unzipped her dress.

In an instant she had shed her clothing. It was astonishing. There lay Anton's true heartthrob, naked, laughing and pouring Champagne into her navel. Anton didn't waste a second. He stripped in record time and dove for her abdomen, not losing a drop of the sparkling wine that danced on her belly.

It would be untruthful to say that this time together was better than all the others. It wasn't so. After all, how could it keep getting better? The one thing that was better was that Madeleine was now his. She was truly his wife in every way. Anton appreciated that fact, and he kept striving to recreate what they had already experienced. He soon discovered that his focus was in the wrong place.

The next morning, Anton awoke to Madeleine stepping into a dress. "Where are you going?"

"Oh, mon chéri, I thought I would get a little time at the blackjack table before you awoke."

"You want to gamble on our honeymoon?" Anton was astonished. "Have I become that boring to you?"

"Oh no, no, no, I just love to gamble, and I thought that while you were sleeping I would slip out for a few hands."

"Well, the only 'hands' that I want you to enjoy are mine!" Anton grabbed her by the arm, pulling her onto the bed. He started kissing her passionately. Within minutes, they were back to their routine.

Evening was approaching, and they were getting hungry. Anton decided that they should get a change of scenery and go out for a bite to eat. After showering and dressing, Anton escorted Madeleine to a buffet. Anton hated buffets, but it was quick, and the food was acceptable. He dined on prime rib, baked potato, and washed it down with three Heineken beers. He was eager to get back to the room.

They made the short walk back to the hotel and awaited the elevator. When the doors opened, Madeleine stepped inside. As Anton stepped forward to enter, a man cutting in front of the elevator slammed into him, knocking him into the wall. The man's knee ascended hard toward Anton's groin, missing the mark. The man continued to walk away, glancing over his shoulder. Anton was appalled. As he entered the elevator, he asked, "Did you see that?"

"See what, mon chéri?" Madeleine was brushing some lint from her jacket.

"That Cretan! He knocked me up against the wall, and I'll swear that he tried to knee me in the groin!" Anton was flustered.

"Mon chéri, this is Las Vegas. It's like Paris. It's full of pickpockets. Check your wallet."

As Anton reached for his wallet, Madeleine brushed lint from his jacket. His wallet was intact. Luckily, so were his testicles. "I'll swear I've seen that man before," Anton insisted.

"Let's go enjoy the evening," Madeleine suggested.

Anton agreed, but he couldn't get the man's face out of his mind. It was just a matter of time. He would figure it out. Anton enjoyed the evening with Madeline, but he couldn't help but notice that she was drinking coffee. Madeleine never drank coffee except in the morning as she read the paper. Anton drank another glass of wine and pretended to be sleepy. Madeleine lay on the bed stroking his hair. Anton slowly calmed his breathing and simulated a slight snore. Madeleine very gently laid Anton's head on a pillow. She then slipped into her clothes and put on her jewelry. Anton watched her with one eye. She checked on him once again, bending to kiss his cheek.

Madeleine quietly closed the door behind her as she sneaked into the hall. Anton bolted from the bed and jumped into his clothes. He carefully opened the door and looked down the hall toward the elevators. He caught a glimpse of Madeleine as she entered the awaiting car. Anton tore down the hall and pressed the elevator button. The next car arrived in less than five seconds. Anton leaped in and pressed the first floor button.

When he entered the lobby, he looked all directions, trying to remember what color she was wearing. He thought he caught sight of her and followed. The crowd was getting dense, and he was afraid that he would lose her. He stepped up his pace and decided to confront her when he caught her. She approached one of the gambling tables and was met by a tall, handsome man. Anton started to fume. He pushed his way over to her and grabbed her by the arm, spinning her around to face him. The strange woman that glared into his face was livid. "Who the hell do you think you are?" The tall, strange man stepped forward.

"My apologies! I'm so sorry! I thought you were someone else." Anton fled back toward the elevators. He wasn't used to being around so many people, and he was beginning to suffer from a panic attack.

Three hours later, Madeleine slinked back into the room. Anton was finishing his second bottle of Bordeaux. She was removing her earrings and stopped short in surprise when she caught sight of him sitting on the edge of the bed. "Mon chéri, I thought you were asleep for the night."

"And I thought that you would spend our honeymoon with me." Anton was weaving.

"Anton, you're drunk. Please put the wine down, and let's get some sleep."

"Where have you been?" Anton was clinging to the bottle that held but half a swallow.

"I played a few hands of blackjack, that's all."

"I hope you're done gambling for the rest of our honeymoon," Anton slurred.

"I thought you went to sleep. I didn't want to disturb you. You need to sleep off your wine, Anton. You're a mess."

Anton refused to sleep until he knew that Madeleine slept soundly. The first seeds of suspicion were planted in Anton's mind. They hadn't been married forty-eight hours and Anton was beginning to distrust her.

The next few months did not improve Anton's peace of mind. Madeleine insisted on taking monthly excursions with Ann to Las Vegas. Luckily, she only spent long weekends on these vacations, which amounted to three or four days instead of the seven-day jaunts that she was accustomed to enjoying quarterly. Still, there was a distance between them that displeased Anton. He was continually disappointed that Madeleine was too tired or too stressed to make love every night. She often put him off for days at a time. Anton had never been treated this way, and he was increasingly frustrated. Anton had noticed that Madeleine's attitude toward him had worsened markedly in the past two weeks.

## CHAPTER EIGHT

### _The Arrest_

ONE AFTERNOON, WHEN Madeleine was out shopping, Ms. Henderson entered the kitchen to freshen her coffee. She noticed the business telephone directory sitting on the counter. Interestingly, it was opened to the classification of Private Investigators. A moment later, Anton emerged from the bathroom and grabbed the telephone book.

"So you trust her implicitly," Ms. Henderson recounted. "I just wonder who it is that you don't trust."

Anton sneered at Ms. Henderson and disappeared into the study. He was growing tired of his situation. Madeleine continually refused to introduce him to Ann. She claimed that Ann's husband was jealous of Madeleine taking her to Las Vegas every month. Why didn't he do something about it? Why did Anton not know who these people were or where they lived? His frustration was mounting. He struggled with his thoughts. He wanted to trust her, but she showed too many signs of deception that he knew all too well.

Anton didn't want to become a selfish husband. He had contempt for men like that. Anton decided that his suspicion would be his undoing. Maybe he was making too much of all this. Marriage changes things. He decided to take a new stance on everything. He needed to see it all through Madeleine's eyes. When she returned from her shopping trip with Ann, he would sit her down and explain all of his feelings. They would work it all out together. Anton felt much better after his self pep talk. He grabbed his coffee cup and went to the kitchen to refill it.

The telephone rang. Ms. Henderson picked up the receiver, "Cartier residence." She then turned to Anton and announced, "Your accountant is calling."

"Really?" Anton gave Ms. Henderson a curious look as he took the phone. Anton's accountant seldom called. He had explicit instructions concerning Anton's finances and knew that Anton didn't want to be bothered any more than absolutely necessary. "Robert, what's the matter? Did Ms. Henderson forget to pay your invoice?" Anton was smiling as Ms. Henderson shot him a look of outrage. Suddenly, Anton reacted in shock to what he heard next. "What?" Anton turned pale. "Are you absolutely sure? Have you verified this?" Anton listened. "OK, thank you, I appreciate your call. I'll get to the bottom of this right away." Anton paused to listen again. "No, don't do anything yet. I'll let you know. Thanks again."

Ms. Henderson tried not to appear as an eavesdropper. Anton was too dazed to notice anyway. As Ms. Henderson left the room, she mumbled under her breath, "I told you she was no good."

When Madeleine returned from her shopping trip, Anton waited for her to deposit everything in the bedroom. He then escorted her into the study.

"Where have you been," Anton began.

"I've been shopping with Ann. You know that."

"When am I going to get to meet Ann?"

"Anton, I've explained this a hundred times. Ann doesn't want to meet you. When she found out that I was seeing you when I was still married to Hervé, I nearly lost her as a friend. She blames you. She has no desire to meet you."

"Well, I think it's about time that she did. My accountant just called." Madeleine's eyes grew wide. "That little Vegas trip that you and Ann took last weekend apparently cost me fifteen million dollars!" Anton had never shouted at Madeleine before, and it frightened her.

"Sweetheart, I, I, I can explain," she stammered.

"Explain what?" Anton's voice was increasing in volume. "How in the world can you lose fifteen million dollars?"

Madeleine began explaining rapidly, "Sweetie, Ann and I were playing blackjack. Well, actually I was playing. It was a hundred dollar table, and Ann didn't have the money. Then a gentleman at the table invited me to a private game in the back. It's by invitation only. Only the elite can play at these tables. You know how it is. You keep buying chips, and when it's all over, you don't realize how much you lost. Please, don't look at me like that."

"Madeleine, that is preposterous. You drew money from my principal accounts that I use for investments. You knew what you were doing. Are you trying to ruin us? That's one-fourth of my assets!"

"I'm sorry, Honey. I promise it won't happen again. Besides, we still have plenty of money left. I'll make it up to you."

"No, you won't. Now you listen to me. Those reserves are there to support the lifestyle that we're accustomed to living. They also help support the other people in our lives who depend on us. I don't want to have to watch the stock market on a daily basis and have a heart attack in the next few years. The first thing I'm going to do is remove you from all of my bank accounts. Secondly, I am demanding that I meet Ann tonight. I want to hear from her what happened, whether she likes me or not."

"All right, Sweetie. I don't blame you for being upset. Anton, I am so sorry. Let me go explain it to Ann, and I will bring her back here to explain everything to you."

"No, Madeleine, I want to go to her house. I'd like to meet her husband also."

"Anton, you can't just invite yourself to someone's house. Let me go over there right now and talk to them. Then, if they agree, I'll send for you."

"I'm not sure if I should let you out of the house. Why don't you just call her?"

"Oh, Anton, please don't treat me like a child. I can't persuade her on the phone nearly as effectively as I can in person. Give me thirty minutes. If I haven't called for you by then, you can call my cell phone."

Anton was fuming. "All right. Thirty minutes is all you get."

Madeleine grabbed her coat and rushed out of the house. She jumped into her Mercedes and cleared the gate as soon as it opened. Anton glanced at the clock. It was too late to call the bank. He would have to wait until morning to have her removed from his accounts. He opened the liquor cabinet and grabbed a bottle of Cognac. He filled a snifter and emptied the contents into his stomach. The burning inside now matched the burning of his temper.

Thirty minutes later, Anton called Madeleine's cell phone. He could have guessed, no answer. Anton had finished half the bottle of Cognac by now, and his anger was increasing. He resisted the urge to smash the bottle in the fireplace. Just then, he heard Ms. Henderson answer the intercom calling from the front gate. He then heard her footsteps approaching the study. "Mr. Cartier, the police are here. They say that they have a search warrant and a warrant for your arrest. What shall I do?"

Anton looked confused and horrified. He tried to collect himself. The effects of the Cognac weren't helping. "Wait until I get to my room, and then let them in," he instructed. Anton quickly dashed up the stairs, leaping three at a time. He bolted into his room and closed the door. He grabbed some clothing and a travel bag that he always kept packed. Then, he fumbled about in his top dresser drawer looking for the key.

He heard Ms. Henderson invite the police into the foyer. One plain-clothes detective stepped inside, presenting the search warrant. He was accompanied by five uniformed officers who filed their way into the foyer behind him. Anton finally found the key and rushed over to the wall, opening the decorative square on the paneling. He inserted the key and turned. Nothing happened. "Damn!" The passage hadn't been used for months. Anton heard the voices of the policemen on the stairway. Anton turned the key several more times. Still there was no response. Anton thumped the panel with the heel of his hand, and instantly it slid open. He stepped inside, pulled the lever, and the panel whisked shut a split second before the officers opened his door.

He listened at the top of the circular staircase, just on the other side of the secret panel as he stood there with his travel bag on his shoulder. He was glad that he had kept this passage secret from everyone, including Madeleine. Only the construction company and architect knew about it, and that was over ten years ago. Anton couldn't tell how many officers were in his room, but he knew there were at least three. He heard one officer exclaim, "I found it!" Then, he heard several footsteps as everyone left the room. The voices faded into the distance, and he could faintly hear the banging of doors and milling about of the officers in the other rooms of the house, obviously searching for him.

Anton stood there breathlessly trying to gain his composure, wishing that he hadn't drunk the Cognac. He feared losing his balance and making noise that would disclose his hiding place. He held the railing tightly while he slowly and deliberately stepped downward toward the basement. Once he reached the bottom, he sat on the bench that ran along one wall. He removed his cell phone from his pocket and tried to dial his attorney. He couldn't get a signal in the basement.

Back in the foyer, Ms. Henderson did her best to cooperate with the police. She explained to the detective that Mr. Cartier had been there earlier, but she did not know where he was now. The other officers assembled. Two had searched the grounds, while three had searched the house.

"Nothing, sir," one reported.

Another officer, out of breath, reported, "We searched the grounds. There's no way he could have climbed that fence. There's a lot of landscaping, but we searched everywhere. Lucky for us it isn't dark yet."

The detective thanked Ms. Henderson for her cooperation and left a message that Mr. Cartier should turn himself in as soon as possible. Ms. Henderson took his business card and closed the door. She was accustomed to Anton disappearing and reappearing in the past. She tucked the card into her apron and slowly walked into the study in a daze. She strolled over to the liquor cabinet, grabbed a bottle of Scotch and a glass and plopped down in a chair.

Anton was trying to clear his head. It's amazing how fear and desperation can have a sobering effect. Finally, he stood up, opened a cabinet, and retrieved a flashlight. He would have to go to the end of the tunnel to get a signal on his cell phone. As he opened the door, he heard some rats scurry toward the river. Anton hadn't been in this passage for some time. It sloped gradually downward as he approached the river. Anton could barely see beyond the brush that had grown over the gate. The rowboat was gone, and he wasn't about to take a swim. He dialed the number again. This time, he had a strong signal.

"Schwartz, Lee and Henson," the receptionist answered.

"Hello. This is Anton Cartier calling for Thomas Lee. It's an emergency."

"Please hold."

Anton's heart was racing as he waited for his attorney to answer.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Cartier, but Mr. Lee is in court right now. Can I take a message?"

"Please have him call Anton Cartier at 555-2175 as soon as possible. It's urgent."

"I certainly will, Mr. Cartier."

"Thank you."

Anton stared out at the water gently flowing down the river. He was horrified at the thought of going to jail. He had enough money that he could run, but where would he go? Anton wondered if the police were gone or if an officer had been stationed to wait. He didn't dare go back into the house. He wondered what Ms. Henderson was thinking. Anton couldn't go back into the basement, or his cell phone couldn't receive the call from his attorney. Anton sat down, leaning against the iron gate, wishing he had brought the bottle of Cognac. Anton's thoughts swam with suspicions and theories about what had happened. His head was beginning to ache. He wondered where Madeleine was and what she was doing.

Finally, darkness fell upon the river. Anton checked the time. It was eight thirty. He didn't cherish the thought of spending the night in that cold, dark, damp tunnel. Just then, his phone rang. Anton checked the number. It was his attorney. "Thomas!"

"Anton, what's the emergency?"

Anton explained everything that had happened that afternoon.

"Anton, I'm not a criminal lawyer. I need to refer you to one of my associates, Jonathan Knight. Can you be reached at this number in the next thirty minutes?"

"Absolutely."

"Let me brief him on your situation. He's here in the office. I'll have him call you."

"Thanks, Thomas."

Anton was now trembling with fear. All the money in the world may not be able to save him now. Twenty minutes later, his phone rang again.

"Mr. Cartier? This is Jonathan Knight. Do you have time to explain your situation to me in a detailed manner?"

"Yes, Mr. Knight. I appreciate your call." Anton spent the next thirty minutes explaining his relationship with Madeleine and all that had transpired in the past seven months. After listening intently, the attorney advised Anton to turn himself in. He would then proceed to have bail posted and get Anton out of jail as soon as he could. If Anton waited until morning, the attorney might have a better chance of getting Anton out before evening, but he couldn't promise anything. In the meantime, he was going to contact the authorities to get the details of the case and let them know that Anton was coming in.

Anton then decided to call Ms. Henderson. When the phone rang, Ms. Henderson was slouched in a chair in the study. Her hair was tousled, and her eyeglasses were askew. She reached over and answered the phone, "Cartier residence."

Anton replied, "Ms. Henderson?"

"Hello?" Ms. Henderson was waiting for a response.

Anton raised his voice. "Ms. Henderson!"

It was then that she realized she had the receiver backwards. She turned the handset around, "Cartier residence."

"Ms. Henderson, have the police all gone?"

"Mr. Cartier, where did you possibly go? Yes, they are all gone."

"Ms. Henderson, have you been drinking?"

"I'm fit as a fiddle," she assured him.

He wasn't convinced. "Why don't you get some sleep? I'll instruct you in the morning."

"Yes sir," Ms. Henderson replied as she hung up the phone.

Anton went back through the tunnel, up the staircase, and entered his room. If his attorney was going to notify the police, chances are they wouldn't come back for him unless he didn't show up tomorrow morning. Anton spent the night mostly awake. He dozed for a few minutes from time to time. His head was pounding. Morning dawned all too soon. Anton took a long, hot shower and chose some comfortable clothing. He was hoping that he would be out of jail by evening as the attorney had mentioned.

Anton shared a pot of coffee with Ms. Henderson and relayed to her what the attorney had told him. He made sure that Ms. Henderson had everyone's telephone number and that he would contact her as soon as possible when he knew what was happening. She wished him well. He could see the sadness in her eyes. She had no desire to say, "I told you so."

Anton called his attorney and arranged to meet him at the police station. At the station, Mr. Knight introduced himself and took Anton aside for a short consultation. He had ascertained from a judge that Anton was being arrested for the murder of Hervé Marceau. Anton was jolted with shock. Mr. Knight pulled a notepad from his briefcase.

"This doesn't look good, Mr. Cartier. They have the murder weapon with only your fingerprints on it. They have also established that you were in Paris the day of the murder. Unless you can provide me with an airtight alibi, we are at a terrible disadvantage."

Anton was in shock and slid down the wall into a sitting position on the floor. Mr. Knight helped Anton to his feet and over to a bench. Anton couldn't yet speak.

Mr. Knight continued, "Mr. Cartier, you need to be completely honest with me. I have to know the truth in order to represent you to the best of my ability." Anton nodded. "Did you murder Hervé Marceau?"

Anton shook his head emphatically.

"Were you in Paris during the murder?"

Anton nodded in affirmation.

"Did you have a firearm in your possession?"

Anton looked bewildered. He shook his head.

"I hate to bring you more bad news, but I have to tell you that they plan to extradite you to Paris. I need to take a full statement from you as to your business in Paris and what you were doing at the time of the murder. Unfortunately, I cannot continue as your attorney after your extradition. I am not licensed to practice in Europe, but we do have associates in Paris who can represent you. I will pass everything along to them so that they can prepare your defense before you arrive."

Anton was beginning to cry. Mr. Knight sat on the bench with him and encouraged Anton to take heart. If he truly was innocent, there must be a way to prove it. Mr. Knight promised to meet with Anton later that day after he had contacted his associates in Paris. He asked Anton to remember as many details about the day of the murder that he could. Mr. Knight then escorted Anton to the desk to surrender. Anton was promptly handcuffed and led away.

Three o'clock that afternoon, Mr. Knight returned to consult with Anton. They were led into a private room with a long table and several chairs. Mr. Knight took a notepad from his briefcase again and laid his pen beside it. After a few preliminary statements, Mr. Knight asked Anton to recount all the details to the best of his knowledge. Mr. Knight took extensive notes. Forty-five minutes later, after Anton had explained all that he could remember and answered the many questions that Mr. Knight had asked, Mr. Knight set his pen down and leaned back in his chair.

"Mr. Cartier, I have to be candid with you. Your situation is bleak. You need to understand what you are facing. I was hoping to establish some shred of an alibi. However, here are the facts that I have established so far. The fingerprints on the murder weapon match your fingerprints that have been on file since you worked at the Parks Department in high school. According to your passport, the airline, and the customs office, you were in France at the time of the murder. You admitted to having an affair with the victim's wife at the time of the murder. You admitted to me that you had threatened his life to his wife. You also admitted to having a key to their condo. The murder took place at approximately four fifteen in the morning, an hour at which you are accustomed to being out. I'm sure that the Paris authorities will be speaking to the desk clerk of the hotel you stayed in. You have no solid alibi for your whereabouts at the time of the murder."

Anton shook his head in despair.

"Unfortunately it gets worse. I spoke with my associates in Paris. They informed me that Mr. Marceau was nearly a celebrity there. They were surprised that Paris hadn't yet named an avenue after him. You are one of the most unpopular criminals in Paris right now. In fact, I can't yet confirm that anyone will take your case."

Anton began to silently weep with his head down. Mr. Knight loaned him a clean handkerchief.

"Now, Mr. Cartier, I always save the best news for last. As empty as your case may seem, I am investigating how the police came to know about the murder weapon. Supposedly, an anonymous tip was given to a particular inspector in Paris. It was this inspector who notified the local authorities here about the anonymous tip. Normally, the Paris police wouldn't have entertained such a call, but they had no leads in the case, and they had suffered a considerable amount of pressure to solve this. What fascinates me is that an anonymous tip to an inspector in Paris revealed that the murder weapon was in your bedroom, four thousand miles away. I need to know where that weapon came from. Unfortunately, under the circumstances it's going to be difficult for me to get any cooperation from anyone, but I'm hopeful." Mr. Knight scheduled another appointment with Anton for next week. Although Mr. Knight had not yet learned the date of Anton's extradition, he felt certain that he could keep the next appointment.

Two days later, Anton received a visitor. It was Thomas Lee with more bad news. "Anton this is very unpleasant. Ms. Henderson called me to pick up a certified letter for you. Your wife, Madeleine Cartier, has filed for a divorce. In addition, Ms. Henderson informed me that your accountant called." Anton nodded and realized that in the midst of all this turmoil he had forgotten to remove Madeleine from his accounts. "Your wife apparently has gambled away twenty million dollars in addition to the fifteen million earlier this week. Your accountant has asked for your permission to speak with your investment broker to salvage what he can."

Anton was in stark horror. Anton felt as though his heart would stop beating. "Yes, please, by all means, do what you can."

"I had no idea this was going on, Anton. The prenuptial agreement won't allow her to take any more out of the marriage than she brought in, but there's nothing I can do about her ruining you financially before she filed for a divorce. We can get her removed from the accounts, but we can't reverse the damage that's already been done. I brought a power of attorney for you to sign. We can manage your affairs much better that way. I assumed that you would want Ms. Henderson to handle your business." Anton agreed.

Anton was scheduled for extradition to Paris on November 15th.

Two days prior to his departure, Mr. Knight had his last visit with Anton. As they sat at a table, Anton began, "Mr. Knight, you had asked me to remember anything unusual that I could think of that happened in the past seven months. I did recall something that I had long forgotten. The day that I married Madeleine, a man slammed into me at the elevator bank in the hotel. He tried to knee me in the groin, but luckily, he missed. I knew that I had seen him somewhere before, but I couldn't place it. Last night, I kept trying to remember where I had seen him. It finally occurred to me. The weekend before Hervé was murdered, I was sitting in a bar in Paris. I had several Cognacs, and as I was waiting for the check, I nodded to a man at the next table, who was also drinking alone. I think that is the same man who accosted me at the hotel."

"Are you sure?"

"Reasonably."

"Give me a detailed description." Mr. Knight grabbed his pen and opened his briefcase to retrieve a writing tablet.

"He was about my height, six feet tall. He had dark, wavy hair about three to four inches long. His complexion was dark like he had been in the sun, but the weather wasn't conducive for a tan when I saw him in Paris. He had an athletic build. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, and he was a rather handsome looking man."

"And the only times that you remember seeing him were on these two occasions?"

"That is correct. I don't think I have seen him before or since."

"Well, if you're right about it being the same man, that is quite a coincidence. Mr. Cartier, this will be our last meeting together. You are scheduled for extradition on Thursday. I am requesting that the murder weapon be kept here for two more weeks to allow further investigation for your defense. I will keep you posted through your attorney in Paris. If we can present any evidence of your innocence, we will have a better chance of getting someone to take your case."

"I appreciate all that you're doing, Mr. Knight. Hopefully, we can get this cleared up as soon as possible." Mr. Knight gave Anton an assuring pat on the back as he left. Anton was then escorted back to his cell.

Anton was accompanied to Paris by an Interpol officer, who delivered him to the police station where Madeleine had been questioned several months ago. Anton was led into the same interrogation room, and his hands were handcuffed behind the back of his chair. Anton sat alone for about fifteen minutes before an inspector entered the room.

"So, you little American swine, you thought you could get away with murdering Madeleine's husband, did you?"

Since when did anyone refer to Hervé as "Madeleine's husband?" Anton gave the inspector a contemptuous glance. "I know, you suspect everyone and yet you suspect no one." Anton gave his best Inspector Clouseau impersonation.

Anton felt a crushing blow to his chest as the inspector kicked him, knocking him backward. Anton crashed to the floor and thought certain that his arms had broken behind the chair. "You make one more Pink Panther joke, and you will find your testicles in your mouth!" The inspector put his foot on Anton's throat with just enough pressure to make him choke.

The door opened, and Inspector DuBois entered. He glanced up from the document that he was reading, surmised the situation with a grin, and said, "I see you have become acquainted with our interrogation tactics, Monsieur Cartier. That will be all, Inspector Patois. I will take over from here." Inspector Patois gave Anton a kick in the side before he turned and left the room. "Inspector Patois is one of our more congenial officers."

Anton was in a considerable amount of pain. He was more concerned about having broken arms and ribs than paying attention to Inspector DuBois. DuBois made no attempt to change Anton's position on the floor. He scooted his chair over to where he could look down on Anton to speak to him. Anton's face was contorted in pain.

"I can take your full confession right now, if you're ready."

Anton shook his head. "There's nothing to confess."

"It will be far easier for you if you just tell us the truth. We have enough evidence to convict you. Why put everyone through the trouble and expense of a trial? I'm sure the judge would be more lenient to a penitent man than a liar."

"I'm not lying. I didn't kill Hervé Marceau!"

"We'll see if you sing a different song in a few months, jailbird." Inspector DuBois arose from his chair and called for some officers to take Monsieur Cartier to the prison to await trial.

Anton screamed in pain as the officers picked him up from the floor. Anton found that Dubois had been telling him the truth about Patois. He definitely was one of the more congenial officers that Anton encountered. Anton met the warden during his induction to prison. He was beginning to get a realization for the hatred that everyone felt for him. He remembered that Mr. Knight had told him that he was one of the most unpopular criminals in Paris. He now believed it.

The stench in the prison was nearly unbearable. Anton was led downstairs to a shower room. The officers in charge stripped him of his clothing and threw him into the shower. Anton suffered several more bruises as he skidded across the stone floor. The water was ice cold. He shivered as the officers made him shower for a full ten minutes. They laughed and made jokes. When they finally let Anton out of the shower, he was shaking violently. They laughed when he asked for a towel.

"We are overcrowded, Monsieur Cartier. Towels are a luxury." The officers all laughed harder.

Anton was led down a long hall with cells on either side. His hands were cuffed behind his back. He was stark naked and dripping wet. Threats and insults were hurled at him as he was slowly led down the long hall. He was glad that his French wasn't good enough to understand everything that was shouted at him. The officers led Anton down another staircase to a cell that had a metal bench, no bedding, and a bucket for excrement. The floor and walls were cold stone. Anton was shivering so much that water was flying from his hair.

One of the officers became angry when Anton shook water on him unintentionally. He removed the handcuffs, kicked Anton into the cell and locked the door. "We'll get you some clothes whenever the next prisoner who chooses suicide can spare them."

Anton was left all alone. There were no windows. The cell was cold and damp. Anton's naked body continued to shiver violently. He tried to sit on the metal bench, but it was colder than the stone floor. Anton crouched in the corner, holding his knees next to his chin. He was glad to be alone. He was cold and frightened. A dimly lit corridor barely gave enough light to see around his cell. The excrement bucket had not been emptied from the last poor creature that occupied this room.

Hours passed. Anton stayed crouched in the corner. Finally, the dim light from the corridor was turned off. Anton was in total darkness. He sat with his teeth chattering. After about an hour, he heard some scratching noises. He couldn't make out what it was, but it was definitely in the cell with him. He finally determined that it must be rats. His back was against the wall, and his feet were on the floor as he crouched in the darkness. All at once, he felt a piercing stab to his scrotum. He screamed in terror and clambered for the bench. A rat had bitten him.

By morning, Anton was slightly delirious. Fever had set in, and his scrotum was beginning to darken. The dim light in the corridor was lit again, and a jailer came to bring Anton a weak vegetable broth that reminded him of dirty dishwater. Anton had no appetite. He begged the jailer for help, but the man acted as though he were deaf. Anton was alone again. He now shivered due to fever as well as the cold, damp cell.

For the next several days, Anton lay on the metal bench shaking and moaning. He had tried to quench his thirst with the nasty broth. He was rapidly losing weight, and his fever was burning. He realized that he would never stand trial. He began to understand how they would deal with him. Anton lost all hope.

## CHAPTER NINE

### _Father Faustier_

EVERY TIME THAT I read Revelation 3:17, I cannot help but think of Anton. In that verse, the angel of Jesus Christ is telling the Apostle John that the Church at Laodicea is "wretched, poor, miserable, blind and naked." This is the condition in which I found Anton Cartier on 25 November at two o'clock in the afternoon. The bishop had summoned me with a request to visit Monsieur Cartier at Maison d'arrêt de la santé, 42, rue de la santé, 75674 Paris cedex 14. An order from the office of the Archbishop of Paris had been issued to assign a priest to conduct an interrogatory visit with a prisoner to establish an understanding of the needs that were outlined in the order. Apparently, Monsieur Cartier had an influential friend in the Church, and cognitive channels that crossed the Atlantic were being exercised at high levels to assist him in his situation.

I carefully read the order three times to be sure that I understood what was required of me. The background of the prisoner that I was given was sketchy. I did, however, have enough information to establish a plan of investigation that would give me the answers to the questions that loomed in my mind. I was curious about the goal of my mission. Although, I was familiar with prison visitations, this situation would prove to be very unique. I was also surprised at the intensity of which I was to conduct my meetings with Monsieur Cartier. This was no small matter. He obviously had both friends and enemies in high places. In addition to the visitations, I was to provide a weekly report to the archbishop that measured his progress.

My first order of business was to meet with the warden at one o'clock to gain a better understanding of the prisoner's situation. I was alarmed to find that he had been charged with the murder of Hervé Marceau. He was being incarcerated while awaiting trial, which put him in the category of fifteen percent of the prison population who are in this institution. Judging from what I could surmise from my interview with the warden, before standing trial, Monsieur Cartier had a greater chance of either dying from prison conditions or committing suicide, a lamentable fate for so many of the prisoners here.

The current prison population was running about one hundred twelve percent of capacity. Serious shortages of provisions increased the already stressful lifestyle of the prisoners. In addition to the poor conditions, the regular daily meals that were served to the prisoners were not enough to sustain a healthy life for a prolonged period of time. It would be necessary to buy additional food. Prisoners who did not have the means or the support from family members to supplement their diets were among the unfortunate souls who suffered malnutrition, sickness, and sometimes death.

Upon seeing Monsieur Cartier for the first time, I realized my first goal. I had to get him into a hospital to regain his health, if possible. He was delirious, unable to respond to my questions, and he was shaking to the point that I feared that he was convulsing. He was unresponsive and apparently suffering from a blindness that later proved to be temporary. I immediately called for the prison doctor to assess his condition. The examination revealed that his scrotum was blackened and greatly swollen. His body temperature was 40 degrees Celsius. The doctor agreed to admit him to a hospital for treatment.

I was pleased at the level of cooperation that I received when I contacted the clergy of the prison. In spite of Monsieur Cartier's unpopularity with the Paris police, the Church was coming to his aid in a manner that I had never before witnessed for a prisoner. He was transferred to Fresnes hospital where he was treated intravenously with antibiotics. I visited him each day as he lay in the hospital bed, handcuffed to the metal railings. Within one week, his swelling from the rat bite began to subside, and his testicles started changing from black to blue.

When I first met Monsieur Cartier, he was in no condition for making acquaintances. I introduced myself during his recovery once he was lucid enough to comprehend, but I had decided to defer any serious dialogue until we could enjoy the privacy of regular visits at the prison. I reported his condition to the bishop along with an outlined plan that I had constructed for the visitations. The plan was returned to me with considerable revisions. I did not concur and intended to keep my original agenda. If I understood the order from the archbishop correctly, I would need an intensely profound approach to Monsieur Cartier's circumstances. However, I had no idea what lay in store for me.

I conducted a little research during his stay in the hospital. I had the pleasure of speaking with Ms. Henderson on the telephone and explained his situation. She made the necessary arrangements to have his food purchased on a regular basis. After sixteen days, Monsieur Cartier was transferred back to his cell. This time, he received the appropriate attire and a regular regimen of supplemental food, which was being purchased from his own funds, thanks to Ms. Henderson. In addition, I had requested that he be kept apart from all other prisoners and allowed to have pen, paper and books. Monsieur Cartier was allowed one hour of exercise each day. Outside of that, he remained in his cell at all times. My mission could now begin.

My first consultation with Monsieur Cartier was finally held on 12 December. After ushering me into the cell, the jailer handcuffed the prisoner's right hand to the iron chain that held his bed to the wall. I was then given a chair to be placed out of the prisoner's reach. The jailer departed, locking the iron door behind him. I saw the remains of the prisoner's lunch sitting next to him on his bed, and I was pleased to see that he was getting his additional food.

I had intended to formally reintroduce myself, but before I spoke three words, he cut me off, flying into a tirade. I was shocked when I encountered his rigid resistance to the Catholic Church. Normally, someone in his position, who had received a life-saving service, would be more receptive. He was extremely bitter and angry about his situation. He was contemptuous, argumentative, and rude. I patiently listened in silence while he maligned the Church in every way imaginable. The more that he ranted and raved about the corruption of the Church, the more intently I listened and took notes. He lectured me at length, beginning with Constantine, working his way through the Middle Ages, cursing and blaming the popes for practically every bad thing that happened in history. He blasted Church tradition, vehemently swearing and protesting that it was contradictory to the Bible. He condemned the Church for Mariology, the Crusades, selling indulgences, and propagating false doctrines. He insisted that the pope was the Antichrist. He cited the inscription, VICARIVS FILII DEI, which in Roman numerals totals the infamous number 666, the mark of the Beast. He called the Church "the great harlot, drunk with the blood of the saints," quoting from Revelation.

He became so animated in his blasphemy at one point that he threw his leftover prison food at me. As I calmly wiped the rice and cheese from my face, I smiled to myself inwardly half expecting his head to spin around and vomit pea soup. I very carefully continued to take notes on everything that he said, making marginal entries that I would utilize later. Any assumptions on my part that this man was an influential Catholic were quickly and completely quenched. I was more curious than ever as to the reason that I was sent here. Someone in the Church obviously cared very much for this man, and it was my responsibility to bring healing to his soul.

That first meeting with Monsieur Cartier lasted for nearly an hour. He was in no mood to hear anything from me, and he was now exhausted to the point that I was concerned for his health. He was still a very fragile man. I remained consistently pleasant as I prepared to leave and offered my hand to shake, promising to return tomorrow at two o'clock. He looked at me as if I were insane and refused my hand. I smiled and called for the jailer. When I exited his cell, he was staring blindly at the floor as the jailer removed his handcuffs.

I returned to my parish and added to my notes while everything was still fresh in my mind. The first meeting went well, and I was very encouraged. In the book of Revelation, the Church at Laodicea was chided for being lukewarm. Extremes are far easier to deal with than complacency or apathy. I had feared that he might act catatonic and not respond to anything. He will need that fire of his in order to get well. Gushing rivers cut deep gorges, but a stagnant pond will go nowhere.

My orders were to visit him seven days a week, including holidays. The number of hours spent was discretionary depending on his progress and his needs. The next day, I was tempted to wear a plastic rain slicker to his cell, but I wasn't sure that he would see the same humor in it that I did. Once he was cuffed, and the jailer disappeared, I saw a very different man. I sat patiently as he squirmed and tried to form some semblance of an apology. I smiled appreciatively and assured him that if he wanted to yell, blame, scream, or spit at anyone, it should be me. I could bear it.

He insisted that I call him Anton. I agreed and resumed my introduction, which he had prevented yesterday. "Anton, I am Father Pierre Faustier. I have a parish in the 6th Arrondissement. I hold a doctorate degree in Psychology from Rome. I also hold an honorary doctorate in Divinity. I have been blessed with the opportunity to guide many people in life and assist them in finding the truth. I was chosen to be your mentor and friend by the Archbishop of Paris. I have been given instruction concerning your situation, and I'm here to help."

Anton listened without a response. I spent several more minutes trying to get acquainted and break the icy barrier that still stood between us. I asked if he was receiving enough food and rest. I had to be sure that his physical needs were met before we could begin his long, arduous journey toward spiritual and mental health. He assured me that his needs had been adequately supplied, and he thanked me for the Bible that I had left for him to read.

I urged him to tell me about his situation. He was very reluctant to speak, and I was unable to coax him to explain the details that led to his present circumstance. I resisted the assumption that he was guilty of murdering Monsieur Marceau. When he finally did decide to speak, I was totally incapable of deciphering a single word. After nearly half an hour of incoherent babbling, I excused myself as politely and respectfully as possible. He made no visible signs of any response to my exit and continued to babble in the same manner, staring blindly at the floor as the jailer ushered me from the cell.

Anton was showing classic signs of severe emotional trauma. Patience, love and endurance proved to be my most valuable tools in dealing with him. It took four more weeks of visits, which were filled with a variety of behavior from Anton. On some occasions, he would not speak, but only stare at me in wonder. Sometimes, he would talk about trivial matters, which were totally impertinent. Gradually, he became more coherent, more lucid, and more congenial. Finally, I decided that he had progressed to a point where we could begin.

Anton began recounting his story to me concerning his situation in great detail. I continued to take notes profusely to the point that I could see that he was annoyed. I apologized and assured him that everything he told me was of the strictest confidence. I then showed Anton my notepad. He studied it for a few seconds and then looked up at me in wonder. I smiled and explained that I used a personal cryptography that could not be deciphered without the key, which I had long ago committed to memory. I learned the premise for secret code from my father, who was brilliant in that respect. He showed me how to introduce strategic redundancy that made solving the cryptic message nearly impossible without the key. Once I had gained Anton's reasonable confidence, he continued. I made several marginal notes that I used to formulate future questions to resolve any ambiguity and delve deeper into the subject matter.

I am always careful never to interrupt the speaker. I always wait until the next meeting to clarify and interrogate after I have carefully devised my approach. I know from previous experience that interrupting anyone during a discourse will deter him from revealing relevant facts. Listening is paramount. Waiting until a later meeting for clarification has also proven to be extremely fruitful in uncovering untruths and inconsistencies. I also employ a different tactic than I did when I first began counseling. I used to work backward from the present to uncover behavior patterns and find their roots in the past. I later found that if I started from childhood and worked forward, I saved a considerable amount of time and had more insight into potential behavior that had not yet been disclosed.

The next day at two o'clock, we resumed our conversation. We began with Anton's earliest memories and moved forward throughout his life. I waded through many stories of his childhood and school days. It was like panning for gold. Much of what one encounters in these episodes isn't useful in ascertaining a diagnosis. It is important to pay attention to the emotional episodes. Much like an archaeologist, one must examine them, catalog them, and return to fit the pieces together. He spoke about his life in great detail for four hours.

Anton was showing signs of fatigue. I concluded our meeting at this point and retired to my parish to assimilate, organize, and plan. Over the next few days, Anton continued to narrate his life to me, giving me essential clues into his behavior and an understanding of the sickness of his soul that plagued him so severely. His lifestyle was beginning to make sense to me. I could see an injured, lonely, scared individual who had a cycle of trading one mistake for another more grave. Although I was curious about the murder, my focus was to be elsewhere. He apparently had no connection with the Catholic Church. So why was there this intense interest from the archbishop in his situation? I was baffled. I knew that it would be useless for me to inquire of the archbishop. Besides, I was taking a different path than what he suggested, and I didn't want to invite any more inquiry into my proceedings than necessary.

One Tuesday afternoon, Anton began expressing his concerns about his current plight. His attorney had been unsuccessful in finding anyone in Paris who would agree to come to his defense. History had proven that those who were sympathetic with such a hated suspect often suffered the consequences. For the first time, we began to discuss the events that led to his arrest. When he mentioned the gun that was found in his nightstand, I found it curious that anyone would leave a murder weapon available for discovery. He swore that he had never fired a gun, much less had he ever owned one.

My first suspicions were that his wife, Madeleine, had planted the gun. However, Anton refused to believe that she would do such a thing. He said that she had passed a lie detector test in Paris, and they had cleared her of any suspicion. Although, that was the story that she told to him. I was toying with an idea, but I needed Anton's permission to proceed. I described an agent within the world of espionage whom I had met a few years ago. His wife had been kidnapped during his mission to find a particular gold mine, and I was called upon to hide him until we could get him out of France. He had some amazing capabilities that could be of great benefit in Anton's case, and he spoke flawless Parisian French. Anton readily agreed to employ Agent White to help investigate the murder.

Agent White worked for the same agency that employed me. The agency had its members strategically placed throughout the world to supply information and to direct global events to preserve humanity and prevent any devastating political or financial disasters. I contacted my superior to request Agent White to come to Paris. He arrived three days later, and I invited him to my home to discuss Anton's case.

Agent White was waiting for me in the vestibule when Mother Sulpice notified me of his arrival. I quickly descended the stairs and invited him into the drawing room. I had him take a seat and attempted to catch up with events since I had seen him last. "It's good to see you again, Agent White." White nodded with half a smile. "So much has happened since we last met. I have been keeping abreast of your career. My condolences on the demise of your second wife. She was a good friend of mine." I could see that Agent White was quite disturbed.

"Thank you, Father Faustier. However, I don't wish to appear rude, but I would rather not discuss my personal affairs. May we get down to business without further ado?"

I nodded with assurance. "Of course we can. I completely understand."

We discussed the various aspects of Anton's case that had been disclosed to me. However, Agent White began asking several questions to which I had no answers. I could see that he was becoming rather agitated, and I invited him to accompany me to the prison at two o'clock this afternoon to meet Anton. We decided to spend the rest of the late morning enjoying some coffee and croissants at a nearby cafe.

Although we had decided to walk to the prison, Agent White complained more than once about the cold weather. It was a cool, crisp, sunny day, and I found the air to be invigorating. This certainly wasn't the same man that I remembered a few years ago. Admittedly, he had been through a lot, and it hadn't changed him for the good. I escorted Agent White to the guard desk and explained that he was to have a private conversation with Monsieur Cartier. The guard took White to Anton's cell and locked him in.

After personal introductions, White sat and listened to Anton's story intently for two hours as he studied Anton's face. White said very little and interjected a question here or there. Anton had begun with the day that he had met Madeleine and gave a detailed account of all that had transpired since. Anton was again exhausted, and White sat in silence with Anton for several minutes. White stood to leave, but before summoning the guard he turned to Anton. "I know the despair that you are feeling in your predicament, but I promise to get you out of here." Tears began to fall from Anton's eyes. White loudly called for the guard and met me back at the guard's desk.

We returned to my home, and Mother Sulpice served us some tea and salmon fritters. After enjoying our tea, White asked if we could talk in private. I led him into my study and closed the door. As I took a seat, White began, "Father Faustier, I'm afraid that this case isn't for me. However, I will tell you that I believe that Anton Cartier is telling the truth. I don't believe that he murdered Hervé Marceau. I have an acquaintance, who is a private investigator. He lives in Dayton, Ohio. He's strange, but he's very good. His name is Eddie Whalen. I'll write his number on your scratch pad." Agent White wrote the number, shook my hand with half a smile, and took his leave.

I was dumbfounded. I had high hopes that Agent White would crack this case wide open, but he was unwilling to engage. I stared at the telephone number. I decided to call it immediately. The call went straight to voicemail, and I left a detailed message along with my contact number. I gave instructions to call at anytime day or night. I decided to return to the prison to alert Monsieur Cartier about the change of plans. He appeared disappointed and mentioned that Agent White had promised to get him out of prison. I encouraged Anton that if Agent White told him such a thing, he must have the utmost confidence in Eddie Whalen.

Late that night, I received a call from Mr. Whalen. I spoke with him for over an hour explaining the situation with as much detail as possible. Monsieur Cartier had consented to hire Whalen, and we discussed the fees and expectations. Finally, Mr. Whalen explained that he was going to interview Ms. Henderson to learn her perspective. Once he had the all of the information that he could get stateside, he was planning to come to Paris to meet with me and Monsieur Cartier.

I continued my cathartic sessions with Monsieur Cartier for the next two weeks. I hadn't heard a word from Mr. Whalen, and I was growing concerned. I finally tried giving him a call, but as before, it went straight to his voicemail. I left a message requesting an update on his progress and when he might be coming to Paris. The next day, I received quite a surprise.

## CHAPTER TEN

### _Eddie Whalen_

THE NEXT MORNING, Eddie Whalen was waiting for me in the vestibule of my home when Mother Sulpice notified me of his arrival. I quickly descended the stairs and stifled a laugh when I first saw him. He was a stereotypical private detective. He wore a crumpled trench coat with a brimmed hat. He smelled heavily of cigarette smoke, and I found myself picturing a frumpy version of Humphrey Bogart. Eddie was short, stout and maintained a particular elegance in his gruff demeanor. He was a very likable fellow. Eddie abruptly stood to greet me. "Good morning, Father Faustier, I'm Eddie Whalen. I hope I'm not intruding."

"No, no, not at all, Mr. Whalen, it's good to finally meet you in person."

"I have been investigating Mr. Cartier's allegations of murder, and I have some information as well as some questions that I would like to ask Mr. Cartier in person. I'm getting the run around over at La Santé prison. They won't allow me in for a visit."

I was surprised that Mr. Whalen had already been to the prison. "My goodness, I had no idea that you were in Paris. Do you want to come along with me this afternoon at two o'clock when I visit Monsieur Cartier?"

"Well, Padre, I was hoping to speak to Mr. Cartier alone, if that's possible."

"That's no problem, Mr. Whalen, but I have some business elsewhere until after noon. If you could return here at one-thirty, I will escort you to the prison. I will wait at the guard desk until you are finished questioning Mr. Cartier. I will also speak with the warden and let him know that you are to be allowed visitation at any hour. If you have any future problems, please feel free to contact me."

"Thanks a million, Padre. See you at one-thirty this afternoon." Eddie saluted, turned, and slipped out the door.

I had finished my business earlier than I expected. Eddie rang the doorbell at one-fifteen. Mother Sulpice invited him into the vestibule. I was just freshening up after lunch when he arrived. I gathered my notes and books and stuffed them into my satchel. I then met Eddie in the vestibule at one-thirty. I ushered him out the door and began to escort him to the prison.

I like to walk, and I allow myself a considerable opportunity on these occasions to stretch my legs. Eddie was scurrying along to keep up. I was chuckling as Eddie was huffing and puffing and trying to devour a croissant as we swiftly marched down Boulevard St. Michel. When we arrived at the prison, perspiration was trickling from Eddie's untrimmed sideburns. I escorted him to the guard's desk and explained that he was to have a private conversation with Monsieur Cartier. The guard took Eddie to Anton's cell and locked him in. I remained at the guard's desk and began to review my notes. Anton later recounted the following conversation.

"Hi, Mr. Cartier, I'm Eddie Whalen, the detective that was referred to your case." Eddie wiped his hand on his coat and extended it for a handshake.

Anton reciprocated. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Whalen. May I call you Ed?" Eddie shrugged in consent. "What do you have for me, Ed?"

"Well, Mr. Cartier, not nearly as much as I had hoped for." Eddie leaned forward and looked at Anton with one eye. "Ya see, I don't parlez vous the Francais. You know what I mean? Mr. Cartier, we all know that English is the universal language, and I know these people know English, but nobody will admit to it. I have had a terrible time getting information from anyone, and if it weren't for McDonald's, I'd be starving!"

Anton winced. He was trying to remind himself that Father Faustier had said that Eddie came highly recommended. "What have you found so far," Anton asked as he began to pace.

Eddie reached into his brief case and pulled out a stack of disheveled papers, which spilled to the floor. Anton stood in horror as Eddie scrambled to gather the documents. Anton felt a hardened lump in his throat as he fought to maintain hope. When the papers had finally been frantically transferred to Anton's desk, Eddie was wheezing and his eyes were bulging. After several seconds, Eddie regained his composure and began to explain. "As I was saying, I haven't been able to get much cooperation from anyone, so I went to the library. I started doing some research on the dead guy and his wife."

Anton cringed again at the crudity of his private investigator.

Eddie pulled one of the papers from the stack and read Anton's explanation that Madeleine had just celebrated her seventh wedding anniversary with Hervé nine days before the murder. "That is correct," Anton affirmed.

"Sorry, Mr. Cartier, but that is not correct."

"What are you talking about? She told me that she had been married for seven years."

"That is correct, Mr. Cartier."

Anton was growing impatient. "You're contradicting yourself."

"Not at all, Mr. Cartier, Mrs. Marceau..."

Anton abruptly interrupted, "Don't you ever call her by that name again. Her name is Madeleine Cartier."

"Sorry, Mr. Cartier, Madeleine was married for seven years all right, but not to the same man."

"Are you saying that she was married before Hervé?" Anton felt foolish as he turned away from Eddie.

"Yes, sir, as a matter of fact, she was celebrating her first wedding anniversary with Mr. Marceau just before his murder."

"So, who was her first husband? There was only one other, right?" Anton turned to face Eddie again with a hopeful countenance.

"Right," Eddie assured. "Mr. Marceau was quite an influential person. Because of that, I was able to find newspaper articles about him from over a year ago. I followed a string of clues that led to information that disclosed that his wife was married when they met. Apparently, Marceau stole her from her former husband practically overnight. I searched the public records, trying to find her previous marriage. However, she wasn't married in Paris. I kept searching the newspapers. Soon after she left her husband, there was some sort of ugly confrontation with Mr. Marceau at a public event that made the papers when her ex protested. That's how I found out who he was."

Anton appeared confused. "I know you can't speak French, but are you insinuating that you can read it?"

Eddie laughed. "No, no, no, I get these articles from the Internet, drop them into a translating website, and voila, I read it in English," Eddie explained triumphantly.

"So who was her first husband?" Anton was nearly shouting.

"Well, interestingly enough, she had worked as a travel agent in order to supplement her husband's income. Parisian cops apparently don't make much money. His name is Francois Patois. I checked with the police department, and he was promoted to Inspector about a year ago."

Anton suddenly made the connection. Inspector Patois, one of France's "more congenial officers." Anton's ribs began to ache at the recollection. Anton explained to Eddie about his meeting with Patois on the day of his extradition. He then ventured the question, "So why would Inspector Patois be so upset with me if Marceau stole his wife? You'd think that he would have thanked me if he believed that I was the murderer. Something doesn't make sense."

"I follow you there, Mr. Cartier. I agree. It sure seems that Patois would have been glad for his enemy to be dead, but then again, you married her next."

"Too true, so, Ed, is that all you have so far?"

"Sorry to say it is, Mr. Cartier. It has taken me a lot of time to find this. If I just knew where all the information was, it would be easy to retrieve it, but in this business finding where to start is often the hardest thing to do."

"I understand. Keep up the good work, Ed." Anton noticed a look of enlightenment on Eddie's face. Eddie quickly gathered his papers and called for the guard. He was smiling as he shook Anton's hand to leave. What a peculiar man he was.

When I entered Anton's cell he was deep in thought. "I'm not in the mood to be psychoanalyzed right now." Anton was dismissing me with a wave of his hand.

"Psychoanalyzed? Is that what you think I'm doing?"

"You're delving into my childhood, asking questions and taking notes. Yes, I'd say that you're analyzing me."

"Interesting, but I see myself as more of a friend than an analyst."

"I've never had a friend take notes."

"Maybe you've never had a friend as interested in you as I am."

"All the same, I'm not up for our meeting today."

"That's fine. Did Mr. Whalen have good news?"

Anton gave a long sigh. "He's pathetic."

"He's unpolished, for sure, but I wouldn't say, 'pathetic.'"

"He can't speak French. He eats at McDonald's. He's unorganized. It has taken him over two weeks to find out elementary things that seem contradictory. If I could just get out of here, I could do far better than he is."

"You wouldn't last thirty minutes outside these walls if the Parisians found out who you were. In fact, you'd be dead inside these walls right now if it were not for the Church. Admittedly, perhaps Mr. Whalen is not the appropriate place to put your confidence."

Anton's frustration was evident. "I'm stuck in this prison, unable to do anything to ameliorate my situation. You're not interested in helping me get free."

"On the contrary, Anton, getting you free is the very thing that I am striving toward with all my strength. Your prison captured you many years ago. You don't know what freedom truly is. You think these four walls keep you trapped, but it's not true. The apostle Paul realized his freedom while held in a prison cell. He wrote most of the epistles in the state that you are now. If you find true freedom, these walls will not prevent you from accomplishing anything."

"I think it's time for you to go." Anton sat in his chair, crossed his legs, and motioned for me to leave.

When I exited the prison, Eddie was waiting for me on the street.

"Hey, Padre. I need your help."

"What can I do for you Eddie?"

"Mr. Cartier said something in there that got me to thinking. The problem is, I don't speak any French, and I'm afraid that if I try to interrogate a certain someone, he won't give me the time of day. Would you do me a great favor and accompany me on my investigation?"

Needless to say, I was slightly flattered but still reluctant. "Eddie, the Church does not involve itself in matters of the state in this manner. It would be highly irregular for a priest to accompany an investigator. I hope you understand."

"Padre, I'm not asking you to get involved. You're the only one I know in Paris, and I need an interpreter. Are you telling me that out of the charity of your heart, you wouldn't assist me as an interpreter?"

I couldn't help but smile. "When and where?"

"The police station on the Bois de Boulogne at nine o'clock tomorrow morning."

My eyebrows raised, and I then regretted lending my services. "I'll meet you there," I promised.

Eddie was waiting outside for me as I strolled up to the police station. So far, I had to admire his punctuality. That seemed uncharacteristic for someone of his demeanor. I smiled down at him. He looked identical to the day before. I wondered if perhaps he slept in his clothes. Nothing was convincing me otherwise. Eddie was all smiles as we entered the station. I had determined to let him do all the talking, unless I was absolutely needed. Eddie approached the officer in charge and asked for Inspector Patois. It was obvious to me upon seeing Inspector Patois that Eddie had not scheduled a meeting. He seemed somewhat surprised and slightly irritated. When Eddie introduced himself, the Inspector had obvious resentment toward him that he tried to conceal, most likely due to my presence.

He then escorted us to an interrogation room where we could talk. Eddie began, "Inspector Patois. I really appreciate you meeting with us on such short notice." Actually there had been no notice. "I wanted to ask you a few questions about the Marceau case."

Patois was indignant. "I'm not aware that anything warrants discussion. We were notified that the American authorities have the murder weapon that killed Monsieur Marceau. We have confirmation that Cartier's fingerprints are on the weapon. We have proof that Cartier was in Paris at the time of the murder. We have Cartier in custody, and he will stand trial at the appropriate time."

"I understand," continued Eddie. "I hope you realize that all you have is circumstantial evidence. Just because Mr. Cartier's fingerprints are on the murder weapon does not prove that he pulled the trigger that killed Mr. Marceau. Just because he was in Paris at the time of the murder does not prove that he killed Mr. Marceau."

Patois added, "Did I mention that he was having a love affair with Marceau's wife and that he threatened to kill her husband?"

The threat was news to Eddie, who was visibly stunned. I could see Eddie thinking momentarily. "Well, Inspector, I wasn't aware of the threat by Mr. Cartier. In fact, I haven't seen that information contained in any of the arrest documents or the evidence held against Mr. Cartier. How did you obtain this information?" Patois appeared flustered. During the pause, Eddie continued. "I understand that you were married to Madeline prior to Mr. Marceau."

"That is irrelevant," Patois protested, pounding his fist on the table.

"I think it's very relevant. I found documented evidence that you were upset with Marceau because he stole your wife."

Patois bounded from his chair and put his finger in Eddie's face. "Look, you little American swine, I will explain this one time only, and if I ever see you in Paris again, you will be cellmates with the other American pig. I was married to Madeleine for six years, and I loved her. I was upset when she left me, and I never quit loving her. I would never have done anything to harm Monsieur Marceau if for no other reason than Madeleine loved him. I was upset, yes, but I respected Monsieur Marceau as much as the rest of Paris. If you had done your job thoroughly, you would know that I was at home watching over my sick mother when the murder occurred. Where was your precious Cartier? The desk clerk at the hotel said that he often left the hotel at four o'clock in the morning. Oh, but that's circumstantial, isn't it?"

Patois stormed from the room. Eddie had maintained complete composure the entire time that Patois was screaming at him. He was studying his face closely and taking mental notes. After we returned to the street, Eddie thanked me for accompanying him to the police station.

"He didn't have anything to do with the murder," Eddie confirmed.

"How do you know?"

"I have a gift of being able to tell when someone is trying to lie to me. Patois meant every word he said, especially about seeing me in Paris again."

"Are you leaving," I asked.

"I think so. I have a hunch as to how that handgun made it from Paris to Mr. Cartier's bedroom. I think it would have been fairly easy for Mrs. Marceau to get Mr. Cartier's fingerprints on that gun while he was dozing at any time. She could have had it with her the whole time when she went to the states."

"So, do you think she killed her husband?"

"Well, she apparently passed the lie detector test, which seems to indicate that she didn't. Maybe she had someone else do it, except that she stated also that she didn't know who killed her husband. I have a lot of work to do. Thanks again, Padre."

I left Eddie at the Metro station where he caught a train back to his hotel. I felt an irresistible urge to return to the police station. When I arrived, I spotted Inspector Patois signing some papers at the front desk. I introduced myself and politely requested some of his additional time. He gave me a rather sheepish look and asked me to follow him back to the same interrogation room. He closed the door and asked me to take a seat.

"Father, I am truly sorry for my outburst earlier. It's just that I couldn't bear for that Cretan to insinuate that I had anything to do with the murder of Monsieur Marceau."

"I understand completely, Inspector. By the way, he believes your every word. He also said that he is leaving Paris. Hopefully, you two will never meet again."

Inspector Patois gave me an assuring nod. "Inspector, you seem to me to be a man who truly wants justice."

"That is absolutely true, Father."

"I have been appointed as a counselor to Monsieur Cartier."

"I wondered your involvement in all of this," admitted the Inspector.

"Although I am not a judge, I do find it hard to believe that Monsieur Cartier is a murderer."

"Really? Well, I am rather convinced, Father."

"But Monsieur Whalen was correct that all of the evidence is somewhat circumstantial."

"Father, I respect you, and I respect the Church. I'm not sure what your intentions are concerning Cartier, but I assure you that I want justice served. If I were to divulge some secret information that would satisfy you concerning Cartier, do I have your solemn promise that it will remain totally confidential?"

"Confidentiality is most assuredly guaranteed, Inspector Patois."

"Very well, Father, I will divulge only some of the facts that we hold secret. I cannot divulge everything because I cannot compromise our case against Cartier."

"I understand," I nodded.

"When Hervé Marceau was murdered, we were at a loss for clues. The condominium had no signs of forcible entry. Madeleine said that a conversation had taken place between her husband and the murderer, which she could hear but not understand from her bedroom. That led us to believe that if she were telling the truth, then there were no immediate signs of alarm with Monsieur Marceau. He either knew his assailant, or he perceived no threat of danger. The gunshot was delivered at a range of about three feet. Madame had no traces of gunpowder on her fingers. The condo was searched extensively with metal detectors. No weapons were found. She also passed a lie detector test, which satisfied the department's suspicions. Father, I know Madeleine. I was married to her for six years. She could never kill anyone, not even in self-defense. I secretly visited her as a friend during her distress. She was so shaken. She broke down and admitted that she was having an affair. She also told me of the threats that her lover had made about her husband. I was livid to think that another man would disgrace Madeleine in that way. She also said that her lover had inquired of Monsieur Marceau about renting the apartment across the hall. When she refused to let him live across the hall from her, he put pressure on her to give him a key to her apartment. She swore me to secrecy. The department was receiving a tremendous amount of political pressure to solve the case. Monsieur Marceau, as you know, was a very influential man who will be terribly missed. He contributed a great deal to the city of Paris. He was instrumental in gaining finances for many of the city's improvements. He is well known in the financial world all over Europe. You can imagine my mixed emotions when Madeleine told me that she had fallen for him. I was devastated emotionally, and I did cause a scene once in public. However, as a constable of France, I must hold a higher commitment to my country. I had a great respect for Monsieur Marceau even in light of his selfishness. I did forgive him, Father. Are we not taught to forgive?"

"We are," I agreed.

"After four months of investigation, the department was still clueless. Everything that she had told me about her lover implicated him. He was jealous. He wanted Monsieur Marceau dead. Since Cartier had a prior conversation with Monsieur Marceau about renting the apartment across the hall, it would explain Marceau not being alarmed to see him at his door the morning of the murder. I was churning within. Then one day, I received a telephone call at the department. I think it was a man, but he was whispering in such a way that it was difficult to determine. He told me that he had seen a man in the early morning of 14 May place what appeared to be a gun inside a plastic bag and bury it beneath a tree in the Champs de Mars. He said that he counted the trees, and that we would find it at that particular spot, which I wrote down. He also described the man as wearing a jogging outfit with the physical characteristics that accurately matched Cartier. When I inquired as to why he waited so long to come forward, he hung up."

"And that's where you found the murder weapon," I added.

"Precisely."

"But how did that handgun find its way to Monsieur Cartier's bedroom?" I was getting confused.

"That's the part that I cannot tell you, Father."

I thanked Inspector Patois for his time and his willingness to allow me to understand his situation. When I stood to leave, I thought of a question. "Inspector Patois, you said that you were married to Madeleine for six years."

"Yes."

"Did you happen to know her friend who lives in the United States?"

"Do you mean Ann?"

"Yes, I believe that's her name. I think they met in college."

"Yes, that's Ann."

"Do you happen to recall Ann's last name?"

"Yes, she came to Paris on several occasions to visit Madeleine. Her name is Ann Carrington."

"Was that her maiden name or married name?"

"Ann wasn't married that I recall."

"Thank you once again, Inspector. May God bless you." As I strolled toward the Metro, I kept turning the story over and over in my mind. Anton's case was certainly not in his favor. I still could not believe that he was responsible for Marceau's murder. What was it that Inspector Patois did not want to tell me? Then I began to think of Eddie going back to the states to find out how the gun made its way into Anton's bedroom. I wished that I could tell him what I knew, but I had sworn confidentiality.

I felt that I was deviating from my assignment. I found the uncertainties and various facts of Anton's case far too intriguing. I began wishing that I was the investigator assigned to this case. My duties were far too grave for me to be distracted by armchair detective work. I needed to focus, but no matter how hard I tried to organize and plan my next meeting with Anton, my attention fell back on all of the loose ends concerning his case. I had actually caught myself entertaining the idea of begging for a sabbatical so that I could travel to the United States to do my own investigation. After all, I had made considerable progress with Anton, and taking a break would probably do us both some good.

I wondered about Ann. I wondered what Madeleine was doing, and where she might be found for questioning. I couldn't take it any longer. I picked up the telephone.

"Hello, Monsignor. This is Pierre Faustier. I have some personal business that has arisen, and I need to take a two-week sabbatical." I cringed as I awaited his response. I was awestruck when he offered me three weeks. All I needed to do now was to inform Anton that I would be gone for a few weeks, make my departure plans, and contact Ms. Henderson to anticipate my accommodations. She had left an open invitation for me to visit the next time that I was in America.

I began to ponder what I might leave for Anton to read in my absence. He was devouring three to four books a day, and I was planning on being in the states for nearly three weeks. I reached up and retrieved a small volume from my bookshelf. It was scarcely two centimeters thick. I hadn't planned on giving this work to Anton, at least not for quite some time. After reflecting a few moments, I decided that it might be just the thing for a man like Anton Cartier, a man of extremes. I stuffed the book in my valise and headed for the prison.

Anton was delighted to hear that I was interested in doing some investigating. He continued to express his doubts about Eddie and quickly jotted down some things for me to consider while I was in the states. Just before I was ready to leave, I pulled out the book and handed it to Anton.

Anton gave me a puzzled look. "The Truth about Rosencrantz?"

"I know, it's a strange choice," I conceded.

"But the book is barely a half inch thick. I'll finish it before you get back to your lodging." Anton seemed a bit disappointed and frustrated.

"Just read it carefully and slowly," I instructed. "When you finish it, read it again."

I didn't have time to explain to him what he was about to experience. After exchanging some pleasantries I bid him farewell. I have to admit that I felt a thrill of excitement greater than I have ever before or again experienced to this day. I knew that I was doing the best thing that I could do for Anton. I was on a quest to find the murderer who had carefully framed him.

## CHAPTER ELEVEN

### _Stateside_

I COULDN'T SLEEP a wink on the plane due to my excitement, and I was exhausted by the time that I arrived at Anton's house. Ms. Henderson was just as I pictured her. She wore a starched white apron over a black housedress, black stockings, and black leather sneakers. She was about five feet seven inches tall, very thin, but wiry and wore her white hair tied into a bun in back. She was a proper English lady and greeted me with dignity and respect. She had a room prepared for me, and she also had a plate of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies with a glass of milk waiting for me in the kitchen. Needless to say, I was delighted.

I devoured the cookies and drank three glasses of milk while I discussed my plans and needs with Ms. Henderson. I gave her a list of tasks that she could do to help me get organized for my investigation. The first thing that I had her do was contact Eddie Whalen. I was going to need him to help me figure out where to start. I then ascended the stairs and slept like a rock for six hours.

Ms. Henderson knocked on my door to tell me that Eddie had arrived and was waiting in the drawing room. I freshened up a bit and joined Eddie and Ms. Henderson. She had poured us each a glass of Scotch whisky, and we sat back to discuss our tactics. Ms. Henderson gave Eddie and me a detailed account of the day that Anton was arrested. She also explained all of the details of the day before when Anton was shouting at Madeleine for gambling away fifteen million dollars. Apparently, Madeleine had pretended to go to Ann's house at Anton's request to speak with her, but instead she went back to Las Vegas and gambled away another twenty-million dollars of Anton's money.

I asked if Ms. Henderson had seen Madeleine since Anton's arrest. She paused for a moment in thought and proceeded to recount the incident. Madeleine had rushed in four days after Anton had been taken into custody. She dropped her coat and purse on the floor in the foyer and ran upstairs to pack a suitcase. Ms. Henderson explained that Madeleine was in a frantic hurry, and she was downstairs within ten minutes with a travel bag and suitcase fully packed. She didn't say a word to Ms. Henderson as she grabbed her coat and purse, loaded her bags into her Mercedes, and sped away. That's the last time that Madeleine had been to the house. I noticed Eddie's countenance change when Ms. Henderson mentioned Madeleine's brief return. He didn't ask any further questions about the matter, but something was churning in his mind.

Eddie was very determined to find Madeleine. "Ms. Henderson, do you have any recent photographs of Mrs. Cartier?"

"Take a look around," offered Ms. Henderson. "Do you see any photographs anywhere in the house?"

Eddie looked all around the room. "As a matter of fact, I hadn't noticed that there were no photos anywhere," Eddie confessed.

Ms. Henderson explained, "Mr. Cartier is peculiar that way. He has no photographs of anyone, nor will he allow his photograph to be taken."

"Except for a mug shot," Eddie interjected with a laugh.

Ms. Henderson found no humor in it and continued. "He never had a single photograph taken of Mrs. Cartier, the wedding, or anything. He always said that photographs were merely snapshots in time of passing moments that had faded, and recalling such events was futile and senseless."

Eddie then asked if there might be a room with Internet access. Ms. Henderson led him to Anton's study and got him settled at the desk on a guest account so that he could do some research. She then returned to the drawing room with me, and we poured another glass of Scotch. It was during this conversation that I finally got an answer to one of my most puzzling questions. I explained in great detail the instructions that I had received from the Archbishop of Paris concerning Anton's care. Ms. Henderson pleasingly smiled as I itemized my instructions from the archbishop. I also expressed my bewilderment concerning the Church's involvement in Anton's affair, especially since he was obviously so opposed to the Catholic Church.

Ms. Henderson placed her glass of Scotch on the table and eased back into her chair grinning smugly. "Father Faustier," she began, "my employer, Mr. Cartier is very dear to me. I consider him to be part of my own family. Although I have to admit that I have learned more about his life and secrets since he has been in prison than I did during all of the years of service as his employee. I was given the power of attorney for Mr. Cartier, as you may know. Many things have come to light since then that have frankly shocked me. I can see by the look on your face that Mr. Cartier has disclosed his lifestyle to you. Finally, I believe that I am at the point that is beyond all shock. When Mr. Cartier was arrested, I suffered heartbreak worse than any that I can remember in my entire life. I experienced a succession of fears and anxiety, none of which were for myself. He has provided well for me all these years, and I could be financially independent if I so chose. I just couldn't bear the thought of him wasting away in some French prison with no one to come to his aid. Mr. Cartier and I rarely spoke of personal matters to one another. Therefore, our knowledge of each other's lives was kept to a minimum. You see, I had my secrets too. It's just that mine were not appalling. I have few living relatives, but the few that I have are impressive. My cousin is the Archbishop at Westminster. I called him after the arrest and explained Mr. Cartier's unfortunate circumstances. He assured me that he would take action on Mr. Cartier's behalf to the fullest extent that he was able to exercise. That is why the Archbishop of Paris contacted you, Father Faustier."

Eddie returned to the drawing room as he was stuffing some papers into his satchel. He invited me for a walk on the grounds for a little fresh air. Ms. Henderson escorted us to the back of the house and unlocked the service door. She then excused herself to finish some chores. Fresh air consisted of about four non-filtered cigarettes for Eddie.

Once Eddie and I were out of earshot of the house, Eddie stopped and looked me square in the eye. "Nice lady, that Ms. Henderson," Eddie observed. I agreed wholeheartedly. Eddie continued, "But she's hiding something from us."

I immediately protested, "You can't be serious! She has been very forthcoming about the facts, and she even cleared up one of my bigger personal mysteries."

"Remember when Patois was about to climb down my throat that day that I upset him?" I nodded. "Remember that I told you that I could tell if someone was telling the truth?" I nodded again. "Well, I'm telling you that Ms. Henderson is hiding something."

"What in the world would she have to hide," I demanded.

"I don't know what it is, but I know she's protecting Cartier somehow."

"So you think he's the murderer?" I was bewildered.

"I didn't say that. I just said that she's hiding something from you and me to protect him. I just don't know what it is yet."

"I think you're mistaken this time, Eddie." I laughed as I slapped him on the back.

"No mistake, Padre, I have a gift," Eddie reminded me as he turned his head away from me and exhaled a lung full of smoke. "I know she's hiding something important, and I'm going to find out what it is."

I chuckled. "OK, Eddie, You find out what it is. In the meantime, we need to find Ann Carrington, although that was her maiden name."

Eddie gave me a puzzled look. "I thought that Cartier didn't know Ann's last name." Eddie was eyeing me with his scrutinizing look. I knew that he could tell that I was hiding something.

"OK, OK," I admitted. "I went back and spoke with Inspector Patois after you left the police station. I thought that once you were gone he might loosen up a bit. I asked him about Ann, and he told me her last name was Carrington, and that she wasn't married when he knew her."

Eddie kept eyeing me closely. "And?"

"And we need to find out what her married name is."

Eddie looked at me more intently. "And?"

"Oh all right!" My frustration mounted. "Inspector Patois told me something in confidence that I cannot divulge. I gave my oath as a priest."

Eddie pursed his lips and nodded in consent. "No problem, I knew you were hiding something. I knew Patois was hiding something too. I expect that from a cop, but not from a priest. By the way, good work going back to the police station. It's what we call the 'good cop, bad cop' routine. Sounds like it worked. I know that you can't tell me what he said to you, but is it something that would make my job easier?"

"Or harder," I countered.

The next day, we visited Anton's accountant, Robert Greene, to clear up a few questions that we had about Anton's estate and Madeleine's losses. Mr. Greene was very helpful and showed us the receipts for Madeleine's gambling losses. It was extraordinary to see such numbers. Eddie and I could not imagine suffering a thirty-five million dollar loss in a lifetime, let alone in a few days. Madeleine had equal access to all of Anton's assets. Everything was held jointly.

I asked about Madeleine's assets that she had when she entered the marriage. Mr. Greene explained that Anton never considered Madeleine's assets and encouraged her to keep her accounts in Switzerland separate. Apparently, he didn't cherish the idea of having any of Mr. Marceau's money. I could easily imagine Anton saying such a thing.

We thanked Mr. Greene for his help and headed back to the house to discuss the conversation. Eddie was amazed that Anton seemed so foolish in trusting Madeleine.

I looked over at Eddie and asked, "Have you ever been in love, Eddie?"

"Me? Shucks no! I've seen a lot of women that I think look attractive, but I work all hours of the day. I don't have any time to start or maintain a relationship. Besides, in my line of work, it could be dangerous to have someone that close to you."

"Well, then I wouldn't expect you to understand Mr. Cartier.

Eddie had done a fair share of skip tracing for a loan organization in his younger days. Finding Ann was relatively simple. She had been married for over a year, and her last name was now Benson. She lived in a rather ritzy part of the city according to Eddie. We discussed at great length how we might gain a meeting with Ann to help us understand some of the facts surrounding the case. My time was limited, and I had to be getting back to Anton in Paris as soon as I could.

Eddie had decided to watch the house for a couple of days to learn her routine. In the meantime, I spent my time conversing with Ms. Henderson about sundry matters. Eddie stopped by at one o'clock one afternoon to invite me to pay a visit to Ann. He was certainly correct about the ritzy side of town. Although they did not have the means that Anton afforded, they appeared to be very well off.

Eddie and I pulled into the drive, parked, and made our way to the front door. Eddie rang the bell. After nearly a minute, Ann answered the front door. She was around five feet seven inches tall with straight, dark hair, bobbed just below her ears. She was slender and appeared to be in good physical shape. Her pale complexion was contrasted with her dark red lipstick. She was dressed in a very chic, tight fitting, black leotard that complemented her sleek figure. I would have assumed that she had been exercising if it were not for the diamond earrings dangling from her ears and the high heels that she wore. It was immediately obvious that she didn't appreciate being disturbed. Doubting Eddie's finesse in a situation like this, I spoke first.

"Good afternoon, I'm Father Faustier, and this is my colleague, Mr. Whalen. We are gathering some facts for a client, and we believe that you can be of great help to us."

Ann was impatient. "I'm very busy right now. Besides, I don't know what help I could be to either of you. Please leave me alone."

Before she could close the door, I interjected, "It's about your friend, Madeleine."

Ann stopped the door and eyed us up and down. "How do I know that you are really a priest?"

I offered my identification, and Eddie retrieved his as well. "You can check my identification with the Church right now while we wait if you like."

"And you can check my investigator's license with the state as well," Eddie echoed.

Ann studied the identification articles very closely, glancing back and forth to check our photographs with our faces. After about thirty-seconds, she gave a disgusted look and said, "Oh all right, I can give you about ten minutes."

Eddie and I sheepishly stepped inside. The interior was lavish. It appeared to have a little too much furniture, but it was rather impressive. Ann saw me gazing about the room, admiring the furnishings.

"My husband is in the import export business. We have so much of this stuff that I run out of places to put it."

"Is Mr. Benson available to join us," I asked.

"Actually, he's in China right now. He travels three weeks a month. It was hard to get used to at first, but his goal is to retire early in about five years, so I guess it's worth it."

"I see. That's impressive," I encouraged. Ann escorted us into a formal living area and invited us to take a seat. Wanting to take advantage of as much time as she might give us, I got right to the point. "Mrs. Benson, we would like to ask you a few questions about Madeleine Cartier." Ann seemed very guarded. "I understand that you were friends in college at Dauphine in Paris."

"That's correct, I studied there post-grad from Xavier. I taught high school French for six years. Maddie and I became instant friends. We always joked that we were twin sisters from different mothers."

"I'm sure that you are very aware of the recent trouble in Madeleine's life," I continued.

At that point, Ann erupted like Mount Vesuvius. "Trouble? Her life has been hell since she ran into that no-good letch!" Eddie and I both jerked back in our chairs as Ann jumped up and began pacing in a fury. "I tried to warn her about him, but she wouldn't listen. Maddie is so easygoing and non-confrontational. She will suffer to keep peace with anyone. All she did was ask the guy for a morning newspaper, and he wouldn't stop hounding her to see him. It turns out that the guy had some sort of perverted harem at the time that he met Maddie. He wouldn't leave her alone. He insisted on taking her to lunch and then to his house. He played her like she was a fool. He said all sorts of things to turn her head. Poor Maddie never had anyone give her that much attention. She was doomed. Then, he shows up in Paris and starts spouting threats about Hervé. Hervé is one of nicest men I have ever met. I didn't approve of her leaving Francois, but Hervé was certainly a dear. It took me a few months before I could see it from her perspective. Then, that jealous jerk, Anton, threatened to kill Hervé. Maddie thought it was all talk. Next, the guy plugs her husband, leaves France, and she ends up marrying him because he won't leave her alone. Naturally, she didn't think he did it. Maddie never thinks badly of anyone. I told her over and over how crazy she was to stay with him."

I interjected, "My understanding is that you have never met Mr. Cartier. Is that correct?"

"Absolutely, I refused to meet the jerk. I probably would have strangled him with my bare hands if I had come in contact with him. Maddie tried several times to get me to go to her house, but there is no way I would want to come near him."

"So, did Madeleine come here the night that the police came to arrest Mr. Cartier?"

"Yes, she said that he was shouting so loudly and scaring her so badly that she had to get out of the house. She told me that she was going back to Vegas to get away. I tried to stop her because it was such a crazy idea. She was too upset to reason with and left for the airport to catch the first flight to Vegas."

Eddie tried another approach to our interrogation. "Could you please shed some light on Madeleine's gambling problem? From what we have heard, she has lost a considerable amount of Mr. Cartier's money."

Ann appeared to relax slightly as she admitted, "Oh, Maddie might have a fondness of gambling, but I don't consider it to be a problem. Until she met this jerk we would go to Las Vegas about once every other month for a few days while Bill was away on business. I don't gamble much, but I like to go to the shows out there. Maddie was like a little girl in a doll shop around the blackjack tables. I would watch her until I got tired, and then I would go to the room to get some sleep. She spent many nights at the tables until dawn. A few months ago, we were there at one of the one hundred dollar tables when a man approached her to join a high stakes table in a private room. I was getting sleepy, so I decided to go back to the room. About three o'clock in the morning, Maddie came in crying and sobbing uncontrollably. When I finally calmed her down, she explained that she had a horrible losing streak. She had dipped into some of her husband's assets. Apparently, he kept his investments easy to liquidate to have ready access to them. When she told me that she lost fifteen million dollars, I nearly swallowed my tongue. Although I hate her husband, I can't blame him for getting upset."

"Did you know that she lost an additional twenty-million after Mr. Cartier was arrested?"

"Yes, I did. I just attributed it all to the fact that she was so upset that she wanted to retaliate for everything he had done."

I was about to ask another question when Ann interrupted, "Gentlemen, your time is up. I have an appointment, and it's time for you to leave."

Ann quickly escorted Eddie and I to the door and promptly threw us out.

Once Eddie and I were in the car, I just had to ask, "So, Eddie, what does your supernatural gift say about Ann Benson?"

Eddie started the car, rolled down the window and lit a cigarette. As he put the car in gear, he began, "Well Padre, I find it most incredible that the one woman in this world who appears to hate Mr. Cartier the most, is the only one telling the truth, even more so than a priest and a housekeeper." Eddie gave me his one-eyed look that made me squirm a little. "But still, something is terribly wrong," he continued. "I can't put my finger on it just yet, but I'm sure it will all come to light sometime." Eddie blew a puff of smoke out of his window as we pulled out of the driveway.

After we returned to Anton's home and freshened up, we met with Ms. Henderson in the drawing room for a light snack and cocktails. We began to recount our conversation with Ann to Ms. Henderson when her countenance suddenly changed. "Is something the matter," I asked.

"Well, your description of Mrs. Benson just now sounds identical to Mrs. Cartier. She often wore a black leotard around the house with diamond earrings and high heels."

"Yes, but Mrs. Cartier has light, shoulder length hair I have been told," I countered.

"True," replied Ms. Henderson, "but she often wore a dark brown wig that was cut just below her ears."

Eddie and I looked at one another in horrible surprise. Could we have been in the presence of the very one whom we had been seeking and not even known? "But Mrs. Cartier has a distinct French accent," I objected.

"Had a French accent," Ms. Henderson corrected. "She was insistent on Mr. Cartier helping to rid her of the accent because she complained that she drew too much attention in public, and it was making her self-conscious."

Eddie and I decided to make another trip to the Benson home the next afternoon. We both began to feel a little foolish at the thought that we might have been so easily duped. If the woman that we questioned was in fact Mrs. Cartier, we at least knew what her face looked like. Eddie knew an artist in the police department who could make a sketch of her face that we could show to others during our search. We made several contingency plans that evening in preparation for the next day.

The following afternoon, Eddie and I looked at one another in anticipation as we knocked on the Benson's door. Our suspicions were confirmed when Mrs. Benson opened the door. We introduced ourselves again as we had done before, and a more congenial Mrs. Benson escorted us into the family room. She offered us refreshments, which we both declined. The resemblance between Ann and Madeleine was remarkable. They could easily pass for sisters. We explained our situation to Mrs. Benson and the fact that we had visited her home yesterday. She explained that her husband was indeed in China, and she had been away for five days visiting a sick friend out of town. We recounted yesterday's events, hoping that Mrs. Benson would sympathize with our situation. Our interrogation proved that Madeleine had accurately portrayed Mrs. Benson's sentiments concerning her attitude toward Anton. It became apparent that she was unwilling to help us find Mrs. Cartier.

Eddie decided to ask Ann about the thirty-five million dollar gambling loss that Mrs. Cartier had caused."

Ann's brow furrowed. "What in the world are you talking about?"

Eddie then began a sequence of questions. "Did Mrs. Cartier travel to Las Vegas the day that Mr. Cartier was arrested?"

Ann became guarded. "It's none of your business where Maddie went. I'm not about to tell you where she is, and I certainly don't know anything about a significant gambling loss. In fact, Maddie's trips to Vegas usually proved to be profitable."

At this point, I interjected, "Mr. Cartier's accountant has the receipts for the gambling losses. He can only offset her losses with her winnings, so by and large, Mr. Cartier has lost thirty-five million dollars, fifteen on one occasion and an additional twenty on a second occasion."

Ann appeared puzzled. "This is all news to me. I can't imagine that Maddie would suffer such a loss without telling me. Gentlemen, I don't think I can be of much help to you, and I have a busy schedule. So, if you will please excuse me, I have errands to do." Ann led us to the door rather coldly and bid us good day.

## CHAPTER TWELVE

### _Stakeout_

ANTON HAD BEEN reading for hours when he placed the bookmark into the small volume. He looked puzzled as he turned the book sideways to estimate how far he had read. This made no sense. His bookmark showed that he had read about half of the book. He should have finished it in fifteen minutes. So far, he had learned a considerable amount of history about secret societies, which never particularly interested him before. He had stumbled across such material in the library and read a few books. He knew enough that he considered them to be a waste of time. He still could not understand what was taking so much time for him to finish the book. He picked it up again, determined to finish it before nightfall.

Three more hours passed, and Anton once again placed the bookmark into the page. Another analysis revealed that he was still halfway through the book. This is impossible! Anton began to tremble and broke into a sweat. Was this an hallucination? Was he somehow dreaming all of this? He seemed to be awake, but the circumstances were more like a dream.

Anton picked the book up once more and began leafing through the pages. He read the succeeding chapter headings and continued to leaf to the end. This seemed like no monumental task. Then why was it taking hours to finish such a small volume? He then reflected on what he had read so far, and admittedly there was far more information conveyed than he thought plausible in such a few pages. Anton certainly didn't believe in magic, but he was dumbfounded to explain his lack of progress. He then turned to the front of the book to get the publishing and copyright information. There was none. The book was obviously very old, and the paper on which it was printed seemed very fragile but proved to be resilient. Anton's extensive experience with books lent him no help in understanding this strange work that he held in his hands.

Suddenly, Anton's eyes grew heavy, and he decided to get some sleep. Perhaps in the morning he would be refreshed and able to finish the book. As he lay on his bunk, he began to dream, although he felt certain that he was still awake. Images played before his eyes, and he saw some alarming scenes in great detail. Madeleine was walking toward someone. She was dressed in an evening gown with her diamonds dangling from her ears. Anton saw her from behind as she approached the stranger. All at once, Anton screamed in horror. The stranger was no less than the man who had been in the Paris bar and the hotel in Las Vegas, who slammed him against the wall.

Anton shot straight up in bed, wondering if he had alerted a guard with his scream. All was quiet, and no one came to his cell. He broke out into another sweat and wondered about the vision that he had seen. His mind was playing tricks on him, yet it seemed so realistic, and there was such detail in the vision. At this point, Anton began to doubt his sanity. Perhaps these months in prison had finally broken him down mentally. He was losing all rational thought. He couldn't finish a book, and now he was hallucinating. He had intended to stay strong and not lose hope through this whole ordeal, but it appeared that he was deteriorating quickly as he struggled to maintain his sanity.

What were his alternatives? Faustier was in the states. Eddie too was there trying to solve this tangled mystery. Ms. Henderson was continuing to handle his business affairs. Anton had no advocates in Paris. He suddenly felt so alone. He felt despair creeping into his mind, causing his hopes to crumble. Did he somehow kill Marceau and not remember it? Anton's confusion mounted, and he began to doubt the memories that he had of that horrible day in Paris last year. He felt like a boat tossed about on the ocean without a rudder or paddle. There was nowhere to turn, no stability to cling to, and no one to confide in as he lay there with tears streaming from his eyes.

He had no idea how long he had been lying on his bunk, when he realized that he must have fallen asleep. He was facing the wall, but he noticed that a light had been lit somewhere. Apparently, dawn was approaching, and a new day was beginning. Anton glanced at the clock on his table. It was merely past midnight. How could that be? Why had someone turned on the light in the hall? Anton rolled over to look toward the door of his cell. No one had turned on a light. What Anton saw caused a fear like he had never known. His blood ran like ice water through his veins. His eyes nearly popped out, and he became as rigid as a stone. This was definitely no dream or hallucination. This was the starkest reality that Anton had ever experienced.

As Anton recounted to me later, "The being of light that stood in my room appeared to be about seven feet tall. I realized at once that the pseudo-physical representation of what I saw was in no way indicative of any physical attributes. His face was radiant like the sun. When I looked into his face, it was as though I had been gazing at the sun and had a blind spot. I could detect absolutely no features. Time stood still. I have no way of knowing if the experience lasted a few seconds or hours on end. He slowly approached me as though a gentle breeze were moving him closer. The closer he got to me, the more I trembled like a leaf in the cold, wintry wind. I began to feel his presence as he approached. It was as though I was made of glass, and he was pure light. He shined through me so completely that I was totally exposed to him. No falsehood was possible. I felt paralyzed in his presence. He drew exceedingly close. As I sat in awe, he spoke to me. Not words that one could hear, mind you, but a sort of mental telepathy in which there was no possible way to misunderstand. 'Do you believe,' he asked. Actually, that is the only way that I can represent the communication in words. It meant far more than those mere words. It had a connotation that reached to the depth of my soul. When someone asks if you believe, it seems fairly straightforward. Either you do or you don't, but this question went much further into the recesses of my soul. My life answered his question, without any volition of my own. I was disturbed at the answer. I blurted out, 'But I want to believe!' He hovered ever closer now. I felt a compassion coming from him that I did not recognize before. He reached forward and touched my head. Not that he had a hand per se, but somehow I realized that he touched me. I had the strangest sensation when he did, and he conveyed to me that I needed to finish the book, and that I would be able to complete it now."

The next morning, Eddie showed up at the Cartier residence driving a panel truck. He was wearing a hard hat and a tool belt. As I approached the truck, Eddie jumped out and grabbed some magnetic signs from the back. He began placing the signs on the sides and back of the truck.

My shock was apparent when I asked, "Eddie, what in the world are you doing?"

"Relax, Padre," Eddie began to explain. "I don't want to draw attention to my actions, so I have to appear to be someone I'm not."

"Eddie, you're disguising yourself as a telephone repairman? What are you up to?"

"Jump in, and oh yeah, here's a hat for you. Just stay in the van, wearing the hat, and let me do the rest."

I was beginning to regret this already. We drove to the Benson residence and located the telephone box. Eddie jumped out, opened the box with his tools and clipped some wires, connecting his contraption. He then replaced the cover to the box, jumped back into the van, and we drove half way down the street. Eddie parked the van, removed his hard hat, and jumped into the back where he had a makeshift desk with some headphones and a tape recorder.

"Eddie, are you doing what I think you're doing? This is against the law."

"Relax, Padre."

"That's the second time today you've told me that, Eddie."

"First of all, Padre, we would have to get caught, which we're not. Secondly, we can't enter anything we find as evidence into a court of law, which we won't. Thirdly, if you want to catch the 'bad guys' you have to bend the rules a little."

"What makes you think that anyone will call her house? I'm sure she has a cell phone."

Eddie explained, "Remember the last time that we were at the Benson's? From where I sat I could see three telephones. I also saw a pad of paper sitting next to the telephone in the hallway. If people use their cell phones exclusively, they wouldn't bother to make telephones so convenient throughout the house."

"How long do you intend to stay parked here? We could be here for days before anyone calls, or they may never call."

"Take it easy, Padre. In this business, you have to be patient. We have no way of knowing where Mrs. Cartier is. Our only lead is Mrs. Benson, and they're good friends. You know women; they have to talk to one another every day. We'll wait here for about an hour. If we don't hear anything, we'll drive back to the Cartier house, and I'll switch the signs on the van. We'll come back and park half way down the block on the other side, and I'll raise the hood like the van is broken down. I can buy several hours like this."

Well, we ended up doing just what Eddie had planned. I began to remember my anxious feelings when I was in Paris. I just had to become the detective. Something in me gnawed at my peace of mind. I knew I had to come to the states to help Anton. It seemed like the most exciting time in my life. Now, here I was totally bored to death on some hopelessly wild stakeout with a lunatic detective who was masquerading as a telephone repairman and breaking the law by tapping a telephone. Hour after hour passed. We mostly sat in silence. I was too perturbed to carry on any meaningful conversation. Finally, after it was apparent that Mrs. Benson had gone to bed around midnight, we packed up Eddie's equipment and headed back to the Cartier residence.

Ms. Henderson had waited up for us. I would have told her what we were doing all night, but Eddie wanted everything kept a secret. My fatigue and disappointment were apparent, and Ms. Henderson knew better than to pry. She had some rare Scotch on hand, and I gratefully accepted some on ice. Eddie, on the other hand, went straight to his room that Ms. Henderson had prepared for him. He wanted to get as much sleep as he could before we went back in the morning. After two Scotches and some small talk, I retired as well.

Two more days were spent cooped up in that horrible smelling van, putting up with Eddie's cigarette smoke and his flatulence due to some bratwurst with onion and garlic that Eddie found at a nearby delicatessen. Years in the priesthood had taught me to be patient and tolerant, but I had never been exposed to long periods of Eddie Whalen in tight quarters. I began to doubt if the man even bathed once a week. We had listened to fourteen conversations of marketing calls, hairdresser appointments, spa reservations and lunch date proposals with friends. This was obviously the sort of career that drove people to consume too much alcohol. Stench and boredom! Boredom and stench! I found myself having a lot more than just two Scotches in the evening. Ms. Henderson was obviously getting concerned, and I had to temper my drinking. I had never been driven to these limits before.

One evening around nine o'clock as I was longing to return to Paris, we finally got some meaningful information. Eddie recorded the entire conversation. Here is a transcript of the conversation between Mrs. Benson and her husband.

Mrs. Benson: Hello.

Mr. Benson: It's me. I can't talk long, but I'm back, and I'm getting our friend situated.

Mrs. Benson: When will you be home?

Mr. Benson: I don't know, but I'll contact you before I leave. I still have several things to do to make sure they don't find her.

Mrs. Benson: A priest and a detective showed up a few days ago asking questions about her.

Mr. Benson: I heard about them. Listen, I think I heard some clicking. Someone may have bugged our phone. Don't say anything more. I shouldn't have called our land line. I better go. I'll call your cell when I'm ready to leave. Be sure to keep it on when you're home."

The conversation ended here. I looked at Eddie and said, "Well, it sounds like Mrs. Cartier is being hidden by Mr. Benson. The question is, 'Where are they?'"

Eddie was thinking. "Benson flew in from China. I know a guy who can track that information for me. If I get his connecting flights, we can most likely figure out what city they are in. I can also check the rental car companies."

"Excellent idea, Eddie, but the problem is, even if we find her, she won't cooperate. There's no way she will answer our questions."

"That's true, but we're not looking for her to ask questions."

"We're not?"

"No, the only reason I want to find her is to watch where she goes and what she does. Remember, actions speak louder than words. This woman obviously has something to hide. Mrs. Benson didn't know about the thirty-five million dollar gambling loss. Something doesn't add up."

"But the accountant has the receipts from the casinos, and the money is gone," I reminded him.

"Oh sure, she lost the money, but why didn't she tell her best friend? She's hiding something more than a gambling loss."

"You mean like a murder?"

Eddie gave me his sideways grin.

"But she passed the lie detector tests," I again reminded him.

"She wouldn't be the only woman to fool a lie detector," Eddie explained. "It's been done before. I think she had that murder weapon the whole time and planted it in Cartier's nightstand."

Here I was in the middle of another dilemma. I had promised Inspector Patois that I wouldn't reveal how they knew about the handgun. "Eddie, you're assuming that Mrs. Cartier had the handgun. Is there any other way that the gun could have ended up in that nightstand?"

"There sure is. Mr. Cartier could have put it there, but he wasn't stupid enough to keep a murder weapon in his house."

Inspector Patois refused to reveal how the gun got to the states. That truly was a mystery, but Patois was involved somehow. He did tell me that he had been talking with Mrs. Cartier. I wonder if he convinced her that Anton was the murderer. That would certainly explain the police showing up an hour after she left the house that evening. If Patois had somehow mailed that weapon to her, convinced her Anton was the murderer, then he could have persuaded her to plant the gun and call the police. It all made sense, but we needed hard evidence.

Eddie needed for me to take the post inside the van while he followed up on some research with his friends at the police department. Eddie showed me how to use the equipment, and I spent the next three days monitoring the telephone calls to the Benson residence. I brought some of Anton's books to read. It was such a relief to get some fresh air in the van and not have to put up with Eddie. He had contacted a friend of his at the police department who could check on the flight information that he needed to track Mr. Benson from China. He had other friends checking on rental car information, and he had some other tricks up his sleeve that he was unwilling to disclose. I was content with that. I knew too many of his tactics already.

When Eddie returned the following evening to the Cartier residence, it was the first time I had ever seen him discouraged and despondent. I nearly felt sorry for him. Eddie tossed his hat into a chair and flopped down on the couch in the sitting room. He just sat there shaking his head.

"Eddie, what's the matter?" My heart began to sink.

It was nearly a minute before Eddie began to speak. Ms. Henderson was sitting across the room in an armchair sipping some fine English tea. Eddie began, "Well, Padre, my resources couldn't trace any William Benson from China anywhere within the timeframe that we were given. There was no rental car information under that name either. This guy flies way too far beneath the radar. Something doesn't add up. I checked for possible aliases, and I had one guy who actually traced his..." Eddie stopped abruptly, not wanting to divulge any more information. "Let's just say that I couldn't even find a friend of his who could have rented a car or anything. In fact, I really don't think this guy has any friends."

Eddie was obviously flustered. Ms. Henderson sat in her chair sipping her tea. Finally, she spoke. "Mr. Whalen, I'm a little surprised that you are so discouraged."

Eddie apologized, "Oh, sorry, Ms. Henderson. I know I'm not being very professional here, but I really believed that I was going to be able to trace this guy right to Mrs. Cartier."

Ms. Henderson patiently began to question Eddie. "So, why were you so confident?"

"To be honest, Ms. Henderson, I have some of the best contacts, informants, and inside information of anyone in this business. I just can't believe that someone could elude me like this."

"So, what makes you think that he has?"

"Well, the guy goes to China for three weeks, and I can't find a single flight in any direction from any major city in China that he flew out of. I even checked with customs, and they don't have any record of him leaving or entering China in the past three months."

"So, what makes you think he was in China?"

"Both Mrs. Cartier and Mrs. Benson told us that Mr. Benson was in China. He owns an import export business and goes to China several times a year."

"So, what does all this tell you?" Ms. Henderson was leading Eddie on a logical path.

Eddie's eyes lit up. "That both of them think he went to China, but he didn't!"

Ms. Henderson smiled with a look of triumph on her face.

Eddie jumped up. "I'm getting stale, Padre. I never would have missed this before. I've got some more digging to do." Eddie scurried to the front door and left.

## CHAPTER THIRTEEN

### _Back to Paris_

THE NEXT DAY was spent preparing for my departure. I was really going to miss the company of Ms. Henderson. She was so delightful. I kept wondering if Eddie was really correct about her hiding something. It just seemed so preposterous that she would have anything to hide, especially from me. We had talked about so many things over the past weeks. I had given her a detailed outline of my duties and expectations concerning Anton. She greatly approved of my approach, and I promised to keep her updated on his progress. I was careful not to divulge any of the information that Anton had disclosed in confidence. It was rather intriguing that I was the only one who knew about the secret passage from Anton's room to the basement other than Anton himself.

I had finished all of my travel arrangements and had collected my belongings. Ms. Henderson had baked another batch of those wonderful oatmeal chocolate chip cookies that I planned to devour during my flight. Eddie had promised to take me to the airport. I had actually grown rather fond of him over the past few weeks in spite of unsavory aspects. He was one of the most interesting men I had ever met.

It would take about forty-five minutes to reach the airport from Anton's home. Eddie hadn't called, and he was about five minutes overdue. I tried calling his cell phone but only connected with his voicemail. The sun had set about half an hour ago, and I was growing more and more impatient. I had considered calling a cab, but the additional wait would make me too late for my flight. After pacing the floor for ten more minutes, the telephone rang.

Ms. Henderson answered, "Mr. Cartier's residence." I walked into the drawing room where she was, and she nodded to me, letting me know that it was Eddie. I gave her a questioning look.

"No, they're not Mr. Whalen." She paused again. I could see a concerned look on her face. "Right away." Ms. Henderson promptly hung up the telephone and scurried to the service entrance at the back of the house.

I tried to keep up with her, shouting, "What's the matter?"

Ms. Henderson pressed a button on the wall at the service entrance and straightway I heard growling and barking outside traveling from the back to the front.

"Mr. Whalen will be here in about five minutes. He asked me to release the Dobermans. He said that he would explain when he gets here."

"I'm going to miss my flight. What in the world is he up to?" I was really impatient now.

Just then, a page from the front gate came with Eddie's choked voice. Ms. Henderson grabbed the remote device from her apron pocket and pressed the button to open the gate. Two minutes later, Eddie came in all hunched over, staggered into the drawing room, and collapsed into a chair. He was breathless, wheezing, sweating profusely, and his face was terribly flushed. Ms. Henderson raced into the lavatory to get a cold cloth. Eddie had one finger in the air to signal for us to wait for him to catch his breath. Ms. Henderson gave the cloth to Eddie, who began mopping his brow. "Gotta quit smoking," Eddie began.

"What on earth happened," I demanded.

"Well, Padre, I was right on time to pick you up for the airport. I turned the corner and saw someone scaling the wall outside. I drove on by and parked down the street. I came back on foot to see if I could get a look at who went over the wall. I could see shadows, but I couldn't make anything out. Whoever it was went to the back, trying to look in each window as he passed. That's when I remembered the Dobermans. I walked away about a hundred feet so that he wouldn't hear me make the call to Ms. Henderson to release the hounds. You should have seen him coming back over that wall! Well, I tried to catch up with him, but he was far too fast for me."

"You think we had a burglar," Ms. Henderson asked with widened eyes.

"Not likely," Eddie explained. "This house is like Fort Knox with security. There are too many other houses that would be far easier to rob than this one. I think whoever scaled the fence knew that there was something inside that he wanted."

"You think it might have been a woman?" I was, of course, thinking of Madeleine.

"Not the person that I saw. He scaled that wall too easily, and boy was he fast! I think you better stick around a couple more days, Padre."

"Indeed I shall," I agreed.

Ms. Henderson offered to make a pot of coffee, but Eddie and I looked at each other and in unison requested Scotch. Ms. Henderson readily nodded in agreement. We spent the next two hours trying to unravel the mystery that surrounded all of these peculiar events. I could tell from Eddie's demeanor that he believed that Ms. Henderson could shed a lot more light on tonight's incident than she was willing. I have to admit that she seemed to skirt certain issues by changing the subject. Now I was getting suspicious as to what she might know that she considered worth keeping a secret.

Eddie suggested that Ms. Henderson alert the police so that a patrol car might be nearby in case there was a break-in. While she was on the telephone with the police, Eddie nodded to me that she was definitely keeping a secret. He took advantage of our time alone to discuss another interesting facet of the evening's events.

"You know, Padre," Eddie began, speaking in a low tone so that Ms. Henderson might not hear. "If I didn't know any better, I would have said that the man who scaled that wall and ran off into the night looked incredibly like Cartier himself." Eddie's eyebrows were raised as he gazed intently into my eyes.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up. "Things are beginning to get a little too eerie for me," I stated. "As soon as Ms. Henderson is off the telephone, I'm going to call the prison in Paris. It is early morning there at this hour."

When Ms. Henderson entered the room, I asked to use the telephone to call the prison and check on Anton's wellbeing. Ms. Henderson consented, and I went into the kitchen to use the telephone so that I would not disturb her conversation with Mr. Whalen.

"Hello. This is Father Pierre Faustier. I am calling in regard to Monsieur Anton Cartier. Could you please tell me if he has been resting well?" I waited until a guard was summoned to check on Anton. It took nearly five minutes before the guard returned with the news.

"He seems to be sleeping in a sitting position, Father Faustier. This is rather peculiar. He hasn't touched his meals for two days."

"Please have someone enter the cell and wake him, and also make a positive identification that it is Mr. Cartier in that cell," I insisted.

Another wait of ten minutes was almost more than I could bear. I had cold chills running up and down my spine wondering what strange things were happening. Finally, the guard returned to answer my questions.

"Father Faustier, I was unable to wake Monsieur Cartier. He seems to be sleeping peacefully, sitting on the floor in the middle of his cell. It is definitely Monsieur Cartier. I have no doubt. What concerns do you have about him?"

"I'm concerned that you cannot wake him. Are you sure he's well? Why has he not eaten for two days?"

"I don't know, Father. He looks well. I will keep an eye on him."

"Please call me if there is cause for any alarm." I gave the guard Ms. Henderson's telephone number.

When I returned to the drawing room, Ms. Henderson noticed the concern on my face. "Is everything all right?"

"As far as they can tell, he seems fine. However, Mr. Cartier is sleeping in a sitting position, and the guard was unable to wake him. He hasn't touched his food in two days either."

"Good heavens! Could he be in a coma?" Ms. Henderson was now alarmed as well.

"I doubt it. I asked them to call me here if there were any cause for alarm. I think we need to concentrate on our matters at hand right here for the time being." Eddie readily agreed.

After two hours of Scotch, Eddie was in no condition to drive, so he spent the night in one of the guest rooms. I unpacked my bags not knowing how long I might need to stay. Each passing day seemed to be stranger than the one before. I came here for answers, but all I was getting were more puzzles. The only satisfactory answer I acquired on this trip was why the Church had come to intervene for Anton. My head was spinning with the questions that loomed in my mind, but the Scotch was getting the best of me. I was asleep within five minutes.

The next morning, I awoke just before dawn. I needed a cold shower to clear my head from the night before. After my shower, I descended to the kitchen to see if Ms. Henderson had made a pot of coffee. She was drinking coffee and reading the newspaper at the kitchen table. I retrieved a cup from the cupboard. After pouring my coffee, I sat at the table waiting for her to finish reading. Within a minute, Ms. Henderson put the paper down, and we began to discuss the day's business.

Ms. Henderson was leaving for the grocery in a half hour, and I thought that this might be a convenient time to explore Anton's bedroom. I asked her permission, and with consent she gave me the key to Anton's room. I was apprehensive and eager for Ms. Henderson to leave. When she finally left for the grocery an hour later, I climbed the stairs to Anton's room hoping not to wake Eddie. I inserted the key and gently turned the lock. The door swung open without a sound.

I was surprised when I saw how lavish Anton's room had been furnished and decorated. The carpet was much thicker than in the rest of the house, and his tastes were very provincial. Not wanting to waste time, I began opening his dresser drawers in search of the key to the passage. I found it resting on the bottom of the top drawer at the back on the right side. I was shaking with excitement.

I walked over to the wall next to his bed and began testing each of the small, decorative panels along the chair rail above the paneling. Sure enough, the second small panel could easily be rotated counterclockwise to reveal a keyhole. I inserted the key and turned the lock. Nothing happened. I then remembered Anton's account of the frozen panel and thumped it with the heel of my hand. The panel slid open so quickly that it startled me, and I jumped back.

I could smell the musty basement below. I stepped through the passage and found a light switch. When I flipped on the light, the panel closed. I felt a panicked feeling at that moment because I couldn't recall Anton describing how he reentered his room from the passage. I found a lever, but it didn't open the panel. I began frantically looking along the wall and immediately found another keyhole. I gave a sigh of relief and began to descend the tight, circular staircase to the basement below.

I must have slipped on the staircase and bumped my head because the next thing I remembered was waking up on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. I was disoriented and frightened that I did not remember where I was. It took me several minutes to recall where I was and what I was doing. I decided to take advantage of the chance to explore the passage. I found several flashlights and batteries in a cabinet on the wall. I grabbed a flashlight and began traversing the tunnel. I could see light at the end where an iron gate sealed the passage. It was securely locked, and I did not have the key. There was nowhere to go even if I opened the gate.

I decided that there was nothing worthy of investigation and returned to the top of the stairs. I heard several voices inside the house, and although I could not understand what was being said, it seemed that someone was alarmed. I took the key from my pocket and opened the panel once again. I stepped into Anton's room, inserted the key into the lock, and closed the panel.

I then went into Anton's bathroom and tried to clean the dirt off my jacket and pants from lying on the basement floor. I then descended to the drawing room where three police officers, Eddie, and Ms. Henderson all stood. When they saw me, their mouths were agape, and Ms. Henderson hurried to my side.

"Father Faustier," she exclaimed. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine. I slipped and bumped my head and must have been unconscious for a time."

"We have been looking all over for you. When I returned from the grocery you weren't here, and there was no note. Mr. Whalen said that you were gone when he awoke. I was afraid that there was foul play, and I called the police."

"Oh dear, I'm so sorry for the alarm. I don't know how long I was out. What time is it?"

"It's ten thirty," explained Ms. Henderson.

"I'm terribly sorry, but I think I'm all right. Sorry again for causing any alarm."

The police officers excused themselves, and Eddie, Ms. Henderson, and I retired to the kitchen.

"Where the devil were you anyway," implored Ms. Henderson.

"I was in Mr. Cartier's quarters," I explained.

"I searched for you in there."

"Yeah, me too," Eddie chimed in. "You were nowhere to be found."

"You know," Ms. Henderson continued, "Mr. Cartier used to disappear and reappear every day. I suspicioned that he had some alternate passage in and out of this house. Would you be familiar with such a thing, Father?"

Eddie was studying my face intently. I knew that it was futile to lie. "As a matter of fact, I do recall that Mr. Cartier mentioned an alternate passage."

"And you found it," Eddie exclaimed, jumping from his stool.

I confessed. Ms. Henderson sipped her coffee with an air of satisfaction.

"Now let's see that passage," Eddie insisted, rubbing his palms together.

"Eddie, there's nothing to see, and I have already broken a confidence by disclosing that the passage exists."

Ms. Henderson chuckled silently. "I knew there had to be another way out of here."

I could see Eddie's mental processes at work. "You know, Padre. Things don't look too good for Mr. Cartier. This secret passage shows that he was a man of mystery. We haven't found a single clue that would show that he's not guilty. I was hoping to come up with at least a shred of evidence that would disprove all of the circumstantial evidence against him, but so far, I haven't found a thing."

"Don't give up, Eddie," I encouraged. "We just have to keep looking."

"Well, I do have a few ideas," Eddie confessed. I have some research to do tomorrow, and I have an appointment with the police lab technicians concerning the gun that was found in Mr. Cartier's room. I'm still fairly convinced that Mrs. Cartier brought it from France."

I had already betrayed one confidence today, and I wasn't about to tell Eddie what Inspector Patois had told me about the gun. Eddie was right about the mystery behind Anton. Madeleine and I are the only ones who know any details about his prior, secret life. If she testified, she could easily convince a jury that Anton was the murderer. In spite of the fact that I had no hard evidence, I did not believe that Anton was guilty of this crime.

Eddie shook his head with bewilderment. "I have a lot to do. I've got to hit the road and get busy." Eddie grabbed his hat and headed for the door. Ms. Henderson trailed behind and opened the front gate as Eddie drove down the driveway.

The next day, I decided that there was little else I could do for the investigation. I finalized my travel arrangements and began packing. It was time to get back and continue my obligations from the archbishop. However, another incident was about to happen that would again make my departure difficult. As Ms. Henderson and I were enjoying some Earl Grey tea, Eddie telephoned and announced that he was nearly at the front gate and desperately wanted to speak to me.

When he entered the foyer, I noticed that he had a tape recorder with him. I glanced at Ms. Henderson sheepishly, realizing that she was about to discover what we had been up to. Eddie removed his shoes and scurried into the drawing room frantically looking for an electrical outlet. When he finally got his equipment ready, he had us sit closely to listen to a conversation that he had just taped about an hour ago.

Mrs. Benson: Hello?

Caller (sobbing uncontrollably): Ann, oh Ann, you have to come get me, please, please!

Mrs. Benson: Maddie? Where are you?

Caller: I'm in the hotel where we stayed last. You know the one. Room 2142.

Mrs. Benson: Maddie, what's happened?

Caller: He took my credit cards and my cash, and my, and my..."

(Caller is sobbing and crying beyond comprehension.)

Mrs. Benson: I'll be there as soon as I can, Maddie. Hold on!

I looked at Eddie in surprise. "She was mugged! We can follow Mrs. Benson right to her," I encouraged.

Eddie gestured to calm down. "Not so easy, Padre, first of all, I don't think she was mugged. Secondly, Mrs. Benson is going to get on a plane to somewhere and then jump into a taxi and be long gone before we can follow her."

"Not mugged?" I was confused.

"No, not mugged. If she got mugged, she'd call the police. She can't call the police because she knows the person who took her belongings, and she can't go anywhere because he made sure that she can't."

"So who took her belongings?"

"Mr. Benson, who else?"

"But why would he do that if he was helping her?" I was getting confused.

"Well, from the sound of Mrs. Cartier's voice she is more horrified than angry. My guess is that Mr. Benson doubted that she would call Mrs. Benson for help, which means that there is definitely something more suspicious about this than I first thought."

"But Ann is her best friend," I reminded Eddie.

"Very true, but Mr. Benson is up to something, and he didn't want Mrs. Cartier to follow him. I'm sure he knows that he can't keep her wherever she is indefinitely, but he needed some time. I'm beginning to wonder if Mr. Benson and Mrs. Cartier don't have an affair going. That's the only reasoning that would lead me to believe that he wouldn't think that she would call her best friend. I got the funny feeling that things are about to break wide open on this case."

"Wonderful! I'm leaving for Paris tomorrow after spending three fruitless weeks here, and things are about to break wide open." I was pouting like a child.

Ms. Henderson chimed in at this point, "Father, all things happen for a reason. I'm sure you are needed far more in Paris right now than here." I felt foolish, being the priest and taking obviously good advice.

As I was en route to Paris, Eddie was at the police station visiting a good friend in the laboratory. The murder weapon had already been shipped to the authorities in Paris. The American scientists had finished their analyses of the weapon, and a report had been issued to the department. Upon closer scrutiny of Mr. Cartier's fingerprints, the investigator found some interesting residue that carried the prints. There was no doubt in his mind that Mr. Cartier's prints were transferred from another object to the handgun. This was the message that awaited me upon my return to Paris.

For the first time in this investigation, I breathed a sigh of relief. All evidence had proven to be circumstantial except for the fingerprints on the murder weapon. If we could prove that Mr. Cartier was set up to appear as the murderer, we could possibly get him acquitted, and he could return home. I was so eager to relate all of this to Anton, but as I soon found there was far more to tell.

Eddie had called while I was out the next afternoon. He left word that he had urgent news to tell me that should strengthen Mr. Cartier's case even more. I was so intrigued that I totally forgot to remember the time variance from Paris to where Eddie was sleeping soundly. The telephone rang about twelve times before the sleep-ridden voice of Eddie Whalen answered. I was over four thousand miles away, and I could swear that I could smell his stale cigarette smoke.

"Eddie Whalen."

"Eddie! It's Father Faustier. Sorry, I forgot the time there, but I heard that you called, and I was eager to hear what you had to tell me."

"Oh yeah. Padre! I had a real stroke of luck. In fact, you're not going to believe me when I tell you what happened."

"I'm all ears," I encouraged.

"Well, after you left, I got to thinking that if Mr. Benson and Mrs. Cartier..." Eddie broke off in mid-sentence. "Hey, Padre, tell you what. This is going to take a long time to explain, so I'd appreciate it if you'd let me make a pot of strong coffee and call you back."

"Certainly, Eddie, once again, I apologize, but I'm so eager to hear what you have to say."

I hung up the phone and patiently awaited his call. Forty-five minutes passed and I feared that he had fallen asleep. I didn't have the heart to call back and wake him. I was slightly disappointed, but I had to learn to be patient. Just then, the telephone rang.

"Hey, Padre, sorry it took so long. I was out of coffee and had to run to the all-night convenience store down the street to get some more."

"No problem, Eddie, I'm just glad that you called me back."

"Well, it was like I was saying, I figured that if Mr. Benson and Mrs. Cartier were having an affair it would be unlikely that Mrs. Cartier would have called Mrs. Benson to rescue her. I wasn't about to try and follow her, and decided to just wait near the Benson home to see if anyone showed up. Well, I was pleasantly surprised when a taxi pulled into the driveway and Mrs. Benson and Mrs. Cartier got out. The only luggage was an athletic bag that Mrs. Benson had. I have several tricks up my sleeve that I never showed you, Padre. Years ago, I invested in this little device that looks sort of like a little satellite dish. It's about twelve inches in diameter, and it has a set of headphones that plug into it. If you aim the dish just right, you can hear conversations from a hundred yards away. I was sitting across the street, so I could hear their conversation from inside the house. I tell you this is one sweet little device. I remember one time I was on a stakeout at..."

"Yes, Eddie, but please get back to your story. We can talk about your device some other time."

"Oh sure, Padre, sorry, well, as I was saying, I was listening to their conversation. I could tell that they had talked all the way back to Mrs. Benson's house because the conversation was sketchy from my perspective. I heard Mrs. Benson say something about getting a lawyer and something about divorce. I really wasn't sure if she was talking about the Cartier divorce or her own divorce. It was sometimes hard to distinguish who was saying what to whom. Then, right out of the blue they would change the subject and start talking about something that happened years ago when they were in college in Paris. So, I sat there listening to so many deviations on so many subjects that I had a hard time keeping everything straight. Then, one of them would say something about Bill, Mr. Benson, of course, and then the conversation would shoot off to some other topic. They would end up walking into another room, so I had to readjust my listening device to follow them, and I'd lose the continuity of their conversation. Then, about the time I thought that I was regaining some understanding, one of them would go to the bathroom. This went on for about three hours. You know, it amazes me how much women can talk and keep changing the subject without losing one another. Even if I recorded all of it, I don't think it would make much sense. I remember listening to my mother and her sister talk on Sunday afternoons when I was a kid, and it always baffled me how they could understand one another because they would invariably refer to things that had nothing to do with the conversation and still keep pace. I tell you, Padre, women are a mystery."

"Eddie, please, can you stick to the subject here?" I was really getting frustrated.

"Oh yeah, well, like I was saying, I really couldn't follow their conversation enough to make heads or tails of it all. Then one of them started crying, while the other one tried to console her. I naturally thought that Mrs. Cartier was the one crying because she had called Mrs. Benson and was so upset. It took five minutes of listening before I realized that it was Mrs. Benson crying, and it was Mrs. Cartier who was trying to console her. That's when I heard Mrs. Cartier encourage her to get a divorce. Now I was really curious about what had happened, and why Mrs. Cartier was telling her friend that she needed to divorce her husband. Apparently, it really was Mr. Benson who took all of Mrs. Cartier's things, but I wasn't sure exactly what happened because, like I said, the conversation was so sketchy that I was stacking up more questions than answers. That's about the time that I really had to find a bathroom. I probably had about six diet colas the whole time I was listening to those women gab about everything that happened in the past decade. Boy, did I need a restroom! That's when I wasn't sure what I was going to do because if I left to find a restroom, then I would miss the conversation, and who knows what nuggets of information I might miss if I tried to find a bathroom. That's when I looked all over my van for a big bottle or something that I could relieve myself in, but I couldn't find anything. You can't imagine the pressure on my bladder. I mean I'm dancing all over this van trying to come up with a quick solution. One time, I was in a similar situation and decided to step outside the van and go in the bushes. Well, little did I know that the house where I was parked on the other side of the street was owned by a police officer. You can't imagine the fast talking I had to do to keep from getting arrested. This business is really difficult sometimes, Padre."

By this time, I was really disgusted. "Eddie, we've been talking for fifteen minutes, and I still don't know any more than I did when you first called. I thought you had some meaningful information."

"Oh, I do, Padre. I told you this was going to take some time to tell you what happened."

"All right, then on with your story."

"Well, as I was saying, I really had to use a restroom, so I took an incredible chance and tried the most gutsy approach that I have ever done."

"And what was that," I asked.

"I went straight up to the Benson's door and knocked."

"You did what? You asked to use the restroom from the people you were eavesdropping on?"

"I sure did, and you know what? Mrs. Benson let me in, and she was really nice to me. She showed me where the restroom was, and seriously, it took me five minutes to drain my bladder. What a relief! I think my eyeballs were starting to turn yellow. Whew!"

"Eddie, please, get on with your story!"

"Yeah, well, like I was saying, it's kind of funny. I mean I had already met both of them, and they knew who I was, and they knew that I knew who they were, so it wasn't as strange as it sounds. Mrs. Benson offered me a cup of coffee, and she said that she was glad that I stopped by because she wanted to hire me to find her husband."

"You have got to be kidding me." I was bewildered.

"Nope, it turns out we were wrong all along."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I was sure that Mrs. Cartier had somehow either been responsible for Marceau's murder at least as an accomplice. I have to admit, after talking to the two of them, I could really see how they believed Mr. Cartier was indeed the murderer."

"You don't mean to tell me you think Mr. Cartier is guilty, do you?" I was flabbergasted.

"Oh, certainly not, Padre, I merely said that I could see why they were so sure. We talked for hours, and I finally understood how this all fits together."

"Do tell," I encouraged. Eddie then began to recount play by play the entire conversation that transpired between him, Mrs. Benson and Mrs. Cartier. It really was quite fascinating, and it explained so much that I felt foolish when I heard the story. It's funny how looking back on something you wonder why you didn't see it all along.

## CHAPTER FOURTEEN

### _Follow the Money_

WHEN I ENTERED Anton's cell, I came to a halt with surprise as I saw him sitting on his bunk. He was a mere shadow of the man that I had left. He must have lost twenty pounds, and that was twenty pounds that he couldn't spare. I questioned whether he could even stand, he looked so emaciated. His hollow eyes stared at me from deep sockets that were darkened beneath. It was as though he was wearing actor's makeup to look so appalling. However, as I approached I could see that his look was genuine. His lips were thin and darkened. His skin was so pale that he appeared to have no blood left in his body. His eyes were glazed as though he had been severely drugged. I was so shocked that I couldn't decide what to say to him.

He spoke first. "So, I understand that you had a fruitful trip to my home town."

"Not as fruitful as I had hoped," I explained, "but Mr. Whalen has made a tremendous breakthrough on your behalf. I know that you had little confidence in him, but he has proven to be a rather gifted investigator." Anton's face showed no expression. I was eager to ask him what had happened since my departure. "Are you well? I mean, you look like you've lost weight." I left it at that, rather than mention the other alarming aspects of his appearance.

"Let's just suffice it to say that I have been through a transformation of sorts." Still no emotion was showing.

"Are you eating?" My concern was apparent.

"There's no need to eat," was his reply.

"Anton, I do hope you haven't lost hope. I have excellent news for you. I feel confident that we can get you acquitted and get you back home. Please don't lose heart."

"Lose heart? That would require me to have one in the first place."

His macabre demeanor was really making me uncomfortable. "But wait until you hear what I have to tell you. Believe me, your life is about to change for the better for the first time in a very long time."

He interrupted, "You mean that you are going to tell me how you found out about Madeleine and Ann's husband and how they planned to run off together with my money. You were going to tell me how I was framed and now that they have been discovered, I am going to be set free."

"But, but..." I stammered.

"There's no need to tell me anything Faustier because you don't exist."

"What in the world are you talking about," I blurted.

"OK, tell me where you were born."

"What do you mean tell you where I was born?"

"Do you have a childhood, a birthplace?"

"Of course I do!"

"Then, please tell me."

My mind was a blank. I couldn't remember my childhood, my birthplace, or where I had been before I met Anton. "What have you done to me," I screamed.

All at once I shot straight up in bed. I was covered in cold sweat. Thank God it had all been a nightmare. It was scarcely after midnight. I went into the bathroom to get a warm cloth to wash my face. I remained shaken for at least twenty minutes. I was scheduled to see Anton at nine o'clock in the morning. Was this some sort of premonition? I went downstairs and poured a glass of sherry, which always helped me sleep. It had all been such a strange time, and I think the stress was beginning to wear me down. I kept recounting the dream over and over. Finally, my eyes grew heavy, and I trudged back upstairs to my bedroom.

I have to admit that I was apprehensive the next morning when I went to meet with Anton. Much to my relief, I found him looking as fit as the day that I left. He smiled genuinely as he saw me enter his cell. He seemed energetic and encouraged. As the conversation unfolded, it turns out that we both had so much to tell one another. Since it has always been my manner, I coaxed him to tell me about his experiences before I disclosed the comforting news that I bore.

Anton grabbed the book that I had left him from the top of his desk and shook it in midair with his left hand. "This is some strange work that you left me, Faustier," he began with a grin. "I was a bit perplexed when I couldn't seem to finish it."

This is where Anton had explained his strange encounter with the angel of light that visited him at night.

"So, were you then able to finish the book?" I was amused by his experience.

"As a matter of fact, I did. You knew exactly what was going to happen when you left me with this."

"Well, I really wasn't sure," I confessed.

Anton was grinning ear to ear. "You are far more than you appear to be, Faustier. You were certainly right about these prison walls not being able to contain me. I have been outside."

"Outside?" I wasn't following.

"Of course. Isn't that what you were referring to when you said that these walls were not what imprisoned me?"

"I'm not sure that I follow you. I meant that your prison was built from your own limitations to be free from within. I had no intention of inferring that you could leave the confines of this prison."

"Oh, but I have."

"Monsieur Cartier, the police would have combed this city and beaten you senseless if you had left." I had to smile at this point.

"Only if they could see that I had left."

"Wait a minute, I called here from the states one evening to have them check on you because of a bizarre incident that happened at your residence. They told me that you were sleeping in a sitting position and that you hadn't eaten for days."

Anton grinned and placed the book back on his desk. He sat down on his bunk continuing to smile. Finally, he began to explain. "I have been taking trips apart from my body."

"You mean, out of body experiences," I asked.

"Oh yes," he assured me.

"I have heard of such things, but I doubted that they were true. How do you know that you weren't dreaming?"

"OK," he offered, "try this one on for size. I saw you lying at the bottom of my circular stairway that leads to my basement. You were unconscious because you lost your footing and smacked your head on the concrete below." Anton was looking intently into my eyes, which grew wide at this point.

I broke into a sweat, "There's no way you could have known about that," I admitted. "What else did you see?"

Anton eased back onto his bunk and began his tale. "When I finally finished the book, I remembered being shocked about what I had read. I tried to go back and review some of the things that needed reinforcement, but I was unable to find what I had read previously. At that point, my suspicion concerning the book grew even more. It took me several hours of pondering before I realized that what I had read was not contained in this physical book. That is precisely why I could not finish it in one night. What you see sitting on that desk is but the small tip of the iceberg that lies beneath. There are pages to this volume that do not appear to the eye, but only to the soul."

I had hoped that Anton could shed light on this most magnificent literary work that had puzzled me for years, and he was explaining it beautifully.

He continued, "Once one begins to understand the fabric of the physical world and that it is merely the backdrop of a stage that veils the true reality, one can then begin to search for ways to experience the true reality. The biggest obstacle to 'getting backstage' is in not believing that it exists. So many people go through life thinking that science and this material world is all that exists, and for them it does. They have shortchanged themselves into living in a very small cosmos that offers nothing meaningful and lasting. They are doomed to suffer death like everyone else, and then they are faced with the reality that they never believed existed. They are lost and confused and can't find their way. I, on the other hand, have found a way to get 'backstage' and experience reality. Now, here is the really mind-blowing aspect of this. Once one gets accustomed to stepping outside of the body and traveling to any place in the universe that he so desires, he sees that another door exists that is far more intriguing than visiting Venus, the moon, or the Taj Mahal."

I was on the edge of my seat at this point, eager to hear about Anton's experiences. Anton then scooted to the edge of his bunk and began to speak in very low tones so that no one could hear but me. "You see, Faustier, your prison not only consists of the superficial stage of this false, physical reality, but also of the time in which you live."

I gasped in shock. "You don't mean to tell me..."

"Oh yes, I can transcend time as well." Anton studied my face closely. Somehow, I felt as though he knew far more than he was telling. He could read my mind, my thoughts, and intentions. I immediately looked at the floor. "Look at me, Faustier." I slowly raised my eyes, and I was sure that he knew all.

I stammered, "Wh... Wh... Where have you been?" Was this the premonition of my nightmare?

"Oh, not just where, Faustier, but when."

"Did you go back to the murder of Hervé Marceau?" I was beginning to tremble.

Anton just smiled. "So, you have some news for me. Isn't that so?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact I do, but I'm beginning to get the idea that you know what it is already."

"Not so, Faustier, otherwise you wouldn't even be here."

At this point, I began to disclose to Anton the story that Eddie Whalen had relayed to me the day before as we talked on the telephone. I skipped the impertinent details and went right to the dialogue that Eddie had with Mrs. Benson and Madeleine.

After Eddie had finished relieving himself, he returned to the living room where Mrs. Benson greeted him with a cup of hot black coffee. Eddie thanked her, and she invited him to have a seat with her and Madeleine.

Ann began, "Mr. Whalen, I would first like to apologize for being so rude to you when you and Father Faustier first came here. Since then, I have learned so much about this terrible situation, and I hope that you can forgive me."

"Shucks, ma'am, don't worry about it. I'm used to the cold shoulder."

Ann continued, "I would like to hire you as my private detective to find my soon to be ex-husband. I'm quite sure that he is in hiding at this moment, and I'm sure that he has the funds and means to disappear indefinitely. From what I understand, he has great need to do so."

"Well, it certainly isn't a conflict of interest on my part, Mrs. Benson. We can discuss my fees later. First, please tell me what has happened to cause you to need my services."

Ann began, "I hope you don't mind if I give you the history from the beginning."

"Not at all," Eddie obliged.

"Well, as you probably already know, Maddie and I have been friends for over ten years." Ann looked over at Madeleine and took her hand, smiling. "We've had a wonderful friendship that has really been more of a sisterhood. From the very start, we knew that something special was happening between us. We always called ourselves twin sisters from different mothers." Tears were streaming down Madeleine's face. "We have been through so much together. We have shared secrets and encouraged one another over the years, and have had some great laughs and good times together. The last thing that we wanted was for a man to come between us. Maddie met Francois one summer evening on the Champs de Mar. She was sitting on a blanket on the grass, enjoying the smells, sounds, and sights around the tower when he approached. Maddie felt a little intimidated because Francois was in uniform, and she thought that she might be in some sort of unknown trouble. He laughed and assured her that all was well. He just noticed her from afar and wanted to get to know her."

Ann looked over at Madeleine and gave her a reassuring look. "Maddie has never considered herself to be beautiful. I have often tried to convince her otherwise, but she has always been so modest. Over the next few hours, Francois fell deeply in love, and after a courtship of six months, Francois asked Maddie to marry him. She, of course, accepted. When I first heard of it, I was concerned that her marriage might interfere with our friendship, but Francois was a dear, and he never discouraged Maddie from visiting me or me coming to spend time with them in Paris. He was very thoughtful, and I always appreciated that. Maddie found a job as a travel agent soon after her marriage. She had been working for a tour company prior to that. They often struggled to make ends meet. As I'm sure you know, Paris can be dauntingly expensive."

Ann squeezed Madeleine's hand as she continued. "I have to admit that I was very disappointed in Maddie when I learned that she had met another man. Francois had been a faithful, devoted husband, but I also knew that the financial pressures were sometimes overwhelming for Maddie. We had several long talks on the telephone as I tried to discourage her from her relationship with Hervé. Maddie felt so bad about what she did to Francois, but Hervé was absolutely in love with her, and he could provide a financial security for her that she could never hope for with Francois. I didn't condone her divorce, and she knows that." Ann looked at Madeleine very pointedly. "But in time, I came to know and love Hervé. He certainly could provide her with the things that she never had. I had to admit that on some occasions I did feel a little jealous when she would appear wearing so many diamonds, or the latest Paris fashion, and oh, the minks!" Madeleine chuckled through her tears. "The one thing I really appreciated was the fact that Hervé would allow Maddie to come to the states so that we could go to Vegas and have a great time. That's where I met Bill. I could never really understand what Bill saw in me. It's evident that Maddie is the more beautiful between us." Madeleine shot Ann a reprimanding look. "Bill, as you know, is in the import export business. I don't know, maybe I saw this as an opportunity to have some of the things that Maddie has. Bill makes a great living. As it has all come to play out, I guess it makes more sense now, but I'll get to that. Would anyone like a drink? I think I'm ready for a martini."

At this point, they all agreed, and Ann went into the kitchen to make a pitcher of vodka martinis, which, by the way, was tremendous. After they settled back in the living room with the pitcher and their glasses, Ann continued her discourse. "Things all seemed to be going well. Maddie and I enjoyed our time together. We both lived in our dream homes, and the future looked fairly bright. That's when Anton popped into Maddie's life. You don't know how many times I have scolded her for accosting him in that hallway in her bathrobe. I know Maddie and her morning newspaper, but this cost her dearly. I've never met the man, and I never wanted to because I can't stand anyone who would chase a married woman." At this point, Ann broke down crying, and Madeleine hugged her closely, giving her reassuring strokes on her back.

Finally, Ann regained her composure after several tissues gathered on the coffee table in front of her. She continued. "Of course, I didn't know that Maddie had been seeing Anton while she was married to Hervé. She knows I would never approve of that, and she kept it from me, which really disappointed me when I found out because we have always been there for one another. Even though I disapprove, I would expect her to be honest with me." Ann's eyes were streaming tears. "I was horrified when I heard about the murder. I was so worried for Maddie. I had no idea who would do such a thing, and then when I heard that they suspected her I was really worried. As soon as Maddie was released to leave France and had handled all of her financial affairs, she rushed to see me, and we went to our favorite spots in Vegas. She said that she needed to have some fun and forget the horrible tragedy of Hervé's murder. I remember that I asked her what she was going to do, and she told me that she thought about moving to the states. That really excited me until I found out why she wanted to move here. Our friendship was never as threatened as it was at that time. She coaxed me to meet Anton, but I refused. When she finally got the guts to tell me the whole sordid affair, it was nearly more than I could bear. I thought that she had been so stupid, and I was totally convinced that Anton had murdered Hervé. She, on the other hand, was convinced that he didn't."

It was time to make another pitcher of martinis. The alcohol caused everyone to loosen up, and the whole gamut of emotions was displayed throughout the evening. There were laughter, tears, anger, envy, sorrow and compassion, and Eddie was part of it all. For the first time in his life, he felt camaraderie with women that he had never felt before. Glasses were filled, and Ann resumed. "I would be lying if I didn't say that I was jealous when Maddie would tell me about the bliss in her relationship with Anton. Hell, the most orgasms I ever had was three, and I thought that was something. Maddie had some astronomical number with Anton that I couldn't comprehend." Eddie squirmed a little, but the martinis were diminishing inhibitions at this point. "I guess the thing that bothered me most was the fact that this guy had some crazy number of affairs going on when he met Maddie. What were you thinking?" Ann looked over at Madeleine with a questioning stupor.

Madeleine took over at this point. Her voice was so soft and intoxicating. Her demeanor was definitely provocative. "Mr. Whalen, I know I look like a disgusting opportunist. I have often looked at my life in shame. I abandoned a terrific man who loved me to marry someone who had money. Don't think that didn't cause me serious guilt because it did. Then I ended up in an illicit love affair, which I swore to myself that I would never do. And for what? Simply because a man caused me to feel more like a woman in one hour than any man had done in years? Let me tell you, detective, that man could do things to a woman that she never knew was possible." Madeleine was beginning to slur her words. "Can you imagine having fifteen orgasms? The endorphins dumped into the blood stream are more intoxicating than morphine. The experience was more than my memory could bear, which made it new and wonderful every time we made love. Women love that euphoria and excitement, you know. In fact, it's absolutely addicting!"

Eddie stood up and attempted to excuse himself. He was becoming very uncomfortable. "Sit down!" Ann was motioning with her glass for Eddie to sit. "We're not going to jump your bones. We're just having some fun here." Ann was slumped against Madeleine.

Madeleine explained, "Mr. Whalen, few men understand a woman. Men don't know what we want or need. Most of them are idiots. When it came to making love, Anton knew what a woman wanted and needed. However, when it came to true companionship, he didn't have a clue. He thought that if I were satisfied in bed that everything else would be fine. Well, he was dead wrong." At this point, Madeleine's French accent was beginning to emerge.

Eddie saw an opportunity to clear up a mystery. "So, Mrs. Cartier, how is it that you kept your thirty-five million dollar gambling loss a secret to Mrs. Benson? Eddie saw Ann open one eye and look up at Madeleine questioningly.

"Mr. Whalen, I have been ashamed of a lot of things in my life. Loss and failure have never been easy for me, and it's hard for me to admit to anyone. I had to admit the loss to my accountant for tax purposes."

Ann now sat up and slurred, "You really lost thirty-five million dollars gambling in Vegas?"

"It was a high stakes table, and I was upset. I didn't want to tell you about it."

"Wait a minute," Ann began to delve, "you had to dip into his reserve accounts that you said that he had."

"Yes, I did. At that point, his money was my money, and I was very upset. I really don't want to talk about it."

Eddie sensed that something was very wrong. Ann then encouraged Madeleine to tell Eddie what had happened after Anton was arrested. It was then that Eddie nearly exploded in a nicotine fit. He begged to be dismissed to smoke nearly a quarter of a pack of cigarettes in fifteen minutes on the front porch. By the time that Eddie returned, Ann was sleeping peacefully on the couch. Madeleine had made a strong pot of coffee and offered Eddie a steaming hot cup. Eddie appreciated the change of pace. As Ann slept on the couch, lightly snoring, Madeleine continued her story.

"I'm glad that Ann is asleep. Frankly, Mr. Whalen, I couldn't relate this story to you otherwise. It would be too painful for her to hear, and I love her dearly. I guess things happen for a reason." Madeleine's seductive eyes were mesmerizing Eddie at this point. Madeleine began again. "I had so much to do after Hervé's murder. I had to deal with the police and keep Anton a secret. I had the finances to handle, and it was all so overwhelming. I was so relieved when the police removed me as a suspect. My attorney was such a dear, and he helped me to bring closure to my estate. You can only imagine the burning desire I had to get out of Paris. It had all been such a nightmare. I called Ann and told her that I was coming to see her. I had booked a room at our favorite hotel in Vegas, and she was so excited. I spent the week telling her the horrid details of everything that happened. I didn't want to tell her about Anton because I knew she couldn't accept it. She kept asking me what I was going to do, and I eventually broke down and told her everything. She immediately suspected Anton. I wanted her to meet him because I knew that he could win her over, but she wouldn't do it. I was afraid that I was losing her friendship. I remember crying for hours with her, begging her not to forsake me as a friend. She assured me that no matter what I did she would not forsake me, but she didn't approve of my decisions."

Madeleine paused to get another cup of coffee. "Mr. Whalen, I have tossed this whole mess around in my head so many times. Every time, I came up with a different conclusion. Anton always put considerable pressure on me. I was not accustomed to this in my previous marriages. Francois and Hervé had been loving and considerate. I trusted them, and they trusted me. Both of those relationships were solid and comforting from that aspect. Anton was a whirlwind. I had never experienced the things that he introduced me to, and I had never felt the things that I had felt with him. Naturally, I thought that I was truly in love for the first time. He was incredibly demanding of me to accept his circumstances. Knowing his past made me all the more suspicious."

"One day, I received a call from Francois. I was so shocked, and I felt a lot of old feelings begin to emerge. Francois was a perfect gentleman, as always, and he explained to me that he had gotten an anonymous telephone call concerning the murder weapon. I felt my heart sink. I can't help but admit that I always had a nagging fear that Anton had murdered my husband. When Francois had told me that someone had seen Anton bury the gun in the Champs de Mar," Madeleine tried to collect herself, "the very place where Francois and I had met," she tearfully continued, "my heart began to break in so many pieces. He told me that he had the murder weapon. He had checked the ballistics, and it was indeed the murder weapon."

Eddie interjected, "So why didn't he just submit it as evidence to the police?"

Madeleine gave Eddie a half smile. "He didn't want to take a chance that I had anything to do with Hervé's murder. Before I left France, I met with Francois and told him some of the things that had happened and that I had a lover. It was the first time I had ever seen Francois cry. I felt so bad. I don't think Francois knew what to believe when he received the anonymous call, so he wrapped the gun in a lead-lined box and had it shipped to me general delivery. I picked it up and kept it hidden."

"So then, you decided to plant it in the nightstand and have your husband arrested," Eddie implored.

"It wasn't that simple. I still didn't want to believe that Anton had killed Hervé. I began to test Anton with questions. He didn't get angry. He assured me that he didn't kill Hervé, and I believed him."

"So, how did the gun end up in the nightstand?"

"Oh, of course I put it there, but not until Bill Benson persuaded me to."

"How did Mr. Benson persuade you? What did he know about all of this?"

"That's a very good question. Bill was here one evening when I had come to visit Ann. I naturally trusted them both and told them about the call I had gotten from Francois. I also told them that I had been questioning Anton about the morning of the murder, and I was convinced he didn't do it. It was later in the evening that Bill got me alone while Ann was in the kitchen that he told me he was sure that Anton was the murderer. He told me that I would be the last to know because I was so emotionally involved. He said that he wanted to meet me for drinks the next night to help me sort this out. He felt that Ann would cloud the issue because she already hated Anton. It all sounded reasonable. Well, I met Bill at the Speak Easy bar downtown and had several drinks. I was getting pretty woozy when he said that he would get a room. I declined and told him that I really needed to get home, and I would call a taxi. He changed the subject to Anton and said that I should have the fingerprints on the gun examined. I asked him how I was going to do that, and he said that I should turn it over to the police. Honestly, at this point I was so scared to have the murder weapon, and I really didn't want to believe that Anton had killed my husband. Bill kept insisting that I turn it in. It was then that he came up with the plan."

"The plan?" Eddie was dying for another cigarette and coaxed Madeleine to join him on the porch.

"Well, the plan consisted of going to Vegas with Ann and gambling heavily. When I lost a considerable amount of money, I was to come back home and when Anton got upset, I was to plant the gun in the nightstand and call the police."

Eddie looked Madeleine square in the eye and accused, "You're lying!"

Madeleine jerked back and retorted, "That's exactly what happened! I did just what Bill told me to do. Here's where it gets worse. I could just kill myself!" Madeleine broke down sobbing. It was five minutes before she regained her composure.

Eddie took advantage of this break to suck down four more cigarettes to quell his nicotine addiction. He knew that she was deceiving him somewhere, but he didn't know where. It would all come out in the end. At least, that's what he believed.

Madeleine attempted to continue. "This is the worst part for Ann," Madeleine confessed. "After Anton was arrested, I didn't know where to go, so I went back to Vegas and did what Bill had told me to do, gamble. After a worse loss, I came back and went to Ann's house to stay with her while Bill was in China. Ann had to leave for a while, and that's when you and that priest stopped by. Honestly, I was scared out of my wits. I called Bill on his cell to ask what I should do. He told me to go to the hotel in Vegas where I went after Anton was arrested."

Eddie stepped close to Madeleine and interjected, "Except that Mr. Benson didn't go to China at all."

Madeleine looked down. "You're right. He didn't. He had me meet him at the hotel in Vegas. Honestly, I didn't see this coming. I'm so stupid sometimes." Madeleine looked away, wiping a tear from her cheek. "I thought Bill was trying to help me get out of this mess and build a future, but all he really wanted was me." Madeleine was wiping tears from both cheeks with both hands. "He told me that he had always been in love with me and that he only married Ann to be close to me. He went into the bathroom and emerged totally naked. I was so hurt inside, and I mourned for Ann, and what I knew she was going to go through. I told him to leave me alone. He kept approaching, and I was worried that he would rape me. He said that he wanted to divorce Ann and marry me. He told me that now that my husband was going to prison and that I was getting a divorce, we could be together forever. This was the worst so-called romantic interlude that I could ever imagine. I couldn't believe my ears. He tried to undress me, but I resisted. I was sobbing and curled up in a fetal position on the bed, begging him to leave me alone. He started ripping my clothes off. He tore my outfit right off my body. I thought that he might kill me. He took my purse, my clothes and my bags with everything that I had with me. When I could finally collect myself, he had gone and taken everything that I had with him."

Eddie gave Madeleine a consoling pat on her knee. "Mr. Whalen, I didn't know what to do. I didn't have anyone to call, and when I thought of calling Ann it broke my heart. It took me thirty minutes of thinking of alternatives before I finally broke down and called her. I didn't tell her the details until she got to the hotel. She was far more supportive than I anticipated. She went out and bought me an outfit and some underwear so that I could get home. She bought my plane ticket, and fed me, in spite of the fact that her husband was in love with me. Mr. Whalen, that's a true friend."

Eddie reverted back to the thirty-five million dollar loss in Vegas. "So, why don't you just tell me the truth about the money you allegedly lost?"

Madeleine looked down in shame. "I'm sure that it will come out sooner or later. I can't stand keeping secrets like this anyway. Bill knew that I had signed a prenuptial agreement with Anton. He instructed me to go to Vegas and get invited to one of the high stakes tables. He also instructed me to skim off some of the chips into my purse while I gambled to make it appear that I was losing more than I actually did. It's really not difficult to play blackjack for hours and continue dropping the tokens into your purse. When the first night was over, I had skimmed ten million dollars worth of tokens and lost five million. The casino frankly doesn't care if I pocket the tokens, but Bill said that I needed to make it appear to everyone during the evening as though I were losing considerably more in case anyone was questioned. I knew that Anton's accountant would call Anton because I made sure to send the gambling receipts to him the next day. I had no winnings to claim, just a fifteen million dollar loss. Of course, I had walked off with the all of the chips, which I put into a safe deposit box at the bank as Bill had instructed. He had me make a similar trip to Vegas after Anton was arrested. I skimmed twenty million, which went into the safe deposit box as well."

"So the money, or tokens actually, are sitting in a safe deposit box to be cashed in at a later time," Eddie interjected.

"That was the plan. However, my key ended up missing. I think Bill had stolen it from me at some point. I have a very good rapport with the bank personnel, and I explained that I had lost my key. After filling out some forms and signing an agreement, they were able to open the box for me. It was empty."

"So Mr. Benson is on the run with thirty-five million dollars," Eddie added.

"That's the way it appears," Madeleine admitted. "I'm sure he is out of the country by now. He made the plan appear as though it was for me to make sure that I got the money before the divorce because of the prenuptial agreement. However, in retrospect I now know that he intended to get the money all along whether he ended up with me or not."

This is where I ended my story with Anton. He sat pensively and quietly for a few minutes as I explained about the police lab determination that his fingerprints had been transferred to the murder weapon. I could see relief beginning to appear in his expression.

"So, Benson has disappeared with my money that Madeleine embezzled from me."

"It appears that way, Monsieur Cartier," I affirmed.

"And now Mrs. Benson has hired Ed to find my thief," he continued.

"In a manner of speaking," I conceded, "but more succinctly to find her estranged husband because she is filing for a divorce."

"Is there any way that you can get a picture of Mr. Benson for me?"

"For what reason? You can't leave the prison to look for him."

"Because I have a suspicion that I may have seen him at some point."

I was able to get a picture sent to me from Eddie, who scanned Mr. Benson's photograph which he kept to aid him in his search. As Anton suspected, Mr. Benson was the gentleman who had been at Les Deux Magots drinking alone that evening and also the man at the elevator in Las Vegas. Things were beginning to make sense. No wonder he had attacked Anton at the elevator. He was in love with Madeleine. What was he doing at Les Deux Magots that evening? Anton began to realize that he had been followed in Paris, but for how long?

## CHAPTER FIFTEEN

### _Confession_

THE FIRST THING Eddie did was alert the authorities that a possible new suspect had arisen in the Marceau murder. He also contacted Mr. Knight, Anton's attorney to explain what he had learned. The Paris police were also notified that another suspect had arisen who could be traced to Paris on the morning of the murder, and that this suspect apparently had motive due to the testimony of a key witness, the widow herself. Furthermore, this suspect also had a key to the apartment.

Eddie's job was easy this time, or so he thought. He took the first available plane to Las Vegas where he notified the authorities that a man either had, or would be, entering a certain casino and cashing in thirty-five million dollars in gambling tokens. Mr. Benson was now wanted for questioning in the case of the murder of Hervé Marceau in Paris. A quick interrogation at the casino confirmed that Mr. Benson had not yet made it to the cashier. All Eddie had to do was wait.

Several days had passed, and Mr. Benson did not show. Maybe he planned on holding the tokens for several weeks or months while he continued to hide. This was perplexing because Eddie was losing valuable time in his search. An all points bulletin had been posted, and there was no record of Mr. Benson crossing a border or taking a plane anywhere.

Mrs. Benson's bank accounts had been drained. Apparently, this self-serving pig was out to get everyone's money. It confirmed to Eddie that Mr. Benson had planned to live in hiding for a while before cashing in the tokens. It then occurred to Eddie that Mr. Benson may be in Las Vegas exchanging them for smaller denominations and then cashing them in little by little, or worse, he may be selling them at a cut rate on the street to avoid detection. He could go in and out of Vegas undetected under a false identity. This was not going to be as easy as Eddie hoped.

Eddie was faced with another dilemma. Casinos run around the clock, and Eddie needed to sleep. He was all alone on this stakeout, and the chances of him finding Mr. Benson were declining every moment. We could go on at this time describing the disappointment and frustration that Eddie had in tracking down Mr. Benson, but it really has no significance since Mr. Benson was caught three weeks later while being pulled over in a car for a speeding ticket. He was now in custody in his home town and apparently was ready to make a full confession for the sake of leniency.

Upon receiving this news, Eddie returned to Mrs. Benson, who was doing her best to handle her emotions as these events were unfolding. Apparently, Madeleine had finally confessed to Mrs. Benson about the plan to embezzle the money that she was to cash in after the divorce was final. Of course, this was to be done in an undetected manner due to possible law suits that could arise if Anton found out. However, she had been convinced by Mr. Benson at that point that Anton had truly murdered her husband. This deception concerning the money stretched the friendship between Madeleine and Mrs. Benson to its limits. When Eddie arrived, Mrs. Benson was no longer talking to Madeleine.

Madeleine was not a thief, and she hated lying or deceiving people. She was embarrassed at how much she had compromised her values over this whole ordeal. She had reasoned that if Anton was going to rot away in a French prison that she should at least be able to enjoy the rest of her life in leisure. Selfish, to be sure, but what else was there? Her second husband was murdered; her third husband was in jail, and her first husband was certainly not willing to take her back after what she did to him. The thought of starting another relationship frightened her, and she was far too tired to go through the effort to endure another one.

Eddie felt bad for Mrs. Benson. She seemed to be the innocent bystander who got crushed in this whole mess. She hadn't done anything underhanded. She stood by her friend even when she disagreed with her decisions and actions. She trusted her husband to help her friend in a time of need. Now she knows that the only reason he married her was to get to Madeleine. The level of scheming that he did and the deception that he wove was yet to be disclosed in his full confession. Ann Benson had much more to deal with emotionally in the next few weeks.

Madeleine had her own obstacles to overcome. Now that she understood the truth about Hervé, she was faced with the decision as to whether she should continue with the divorce. Could Anton possibly forgive her? Did she really want to stay married to him just for the sexual bliss? She had already confessed that he didn't have a clue about fulfilling a woman's needs emotionally. Madeleine had never felt so alone in her life. She had no family to turn to, no husband to console her, and her friend of many years wasn't speaking to her at the moment.

As disappointing as it may sound, Madeleine only had Eddie, whom she really didn't know at all. But did she really? It was obvious that Eddie sympathized with Ann, and why shouldn't he? Madeleine agreed that Ann had not deserved any of the disaster that was brought upon her. She married a man whom she thought loved her, but she was mistaken. She endeared herself to a friend whom she thought she could trust to be open and honest and later found out that there were limits to her friend's honesty. Nevertheless, Eddie was kind to Madeleine and understood her actions. He talked to her at great length. Actually, I should say that he listened at great length. Madeleine needed to talk, and talk she did.

Eddie had been searching for Mr. Benson for weeks. It's ironic how circumstances can sometimes cause you to think about things that you wouldn't normally think about. Eddie spent long hours waiting for Mr. Benson to show up in the casino. During that time, he pondered all of the information that he had gleaned in conversations with Father Faustier, Anton, Ms. Henderson, Mrs. Benson, and Madeleine. Faustier had questioned if Eddie had ever been in love. Eddie admitted that he had not. He was now wondering if he had ever been in love and not known it. That sounded too bizarre. How can someone be in love and not know it? Eddie chuckled to himself at the inane conversation in his head.

Ann was distraught. She felt that she couldn't trust her best friend. She just lost a husband whom she never really had. She couldn't get the picture out of her mind that portrayed her husband with her best friend. Even though Maddie had not succumbed to Bill's advances, it was what he envisioned for his own life. It wasn't a matter of forgiving Maddie. It was a matter of trust. How could she trust her best friend, when she now knew that there were limits to her honesty? The depression was affecting her daily life, and Ann wondered if maybe she needed some mood stabilizers.

Madeleine began to realize that she really had not invested much effort or time in her relationships. The three husbands that she had were infatuated with her. She was admittedly no raving beauty, but she did possess a seductive charm for certain men. It was this charm that she relied on so heavily that she never gave a thought of working on a relationship. After all, the men were crazy for her; so what was there to work toward? Just the same, the nagging question kept looming in her mind as to why she never put forth any effort to repair the broken parts of her marriages.

Francois was very attentive and affectionate. She felt that they had a good relationship, but Paris was expensive, and his policeman's salary was inadequate even with the income that she supplemented from the travel agency. Instead of confessing her wants and fears to Francois to find a solution, she kept her desires to herself, thinking that she was a good, sacrificing wife. However, when Hervé appeared, she saw him as a lifeboat on a sinking ship.

Madeleine did not readily know about Hervé's status. After he asked her to dinner, she did some research which turned her head completely. He was one of Paris' most prominent citizens in the financial world. Her decision to leave Francois was purely financial. Although Hervé didn't disgust her, she never really found him attractive. She certainly never had an orgasm with Hervé. One day, she brought home a gardenia that a friend had given her. Hervé loved the scent so much that he had her go out and buy several more. She loved the aroma in the apartment, but since the murder the smell of gardenia sickened her.

Bill Benson used to drop off several items of furniture from time to time that he was selling in Paris. As a result, her apartment was heavily furnished beyond necessity. Bill and Ann would visit about every three months, and they would all go out to dinner together at one of Paris' finest restaurants. The Bensons kept a key to the Marceau's apartment to allow easy access if Hervé and Madeleine were away when they arrived. Madeleine now shuddered at the thought of Bill opening their door the morning of the murder.

Eddie may have been mesmerized by Madeleine's sexy demeanor, but he had no confusion in choosing which woman he would have preferred. Mrs. Benson was by far the more attractive to him, mostly because of her stark honesty. Rather than lie, she would just refuse to answer, or tell you that it was none of your business. Eddie appreciated that. He couldn't imagine what it might be like to know that his wife was being dishonest or hiding something significant from him. With his gift, it could be disastrous in a relationship. Still, Eddie could not get Mrs. Benson out of his mind. He was hoping that it wasn't just pity that drew him to her. He certainly never felt that before in similar circumstances. Nonetheless, Eddie promised himself that he would not pursue a relationship with Mrs. Benson unless she followed through with her divorce.

A murder confession is one thing, but a complete confession of one's heart and intentions is quite another. Anton insistently prompted me to return to the states to take a full confession from Mr. Benson. I was reluctant due to the fact that it did not coincide with my orders from the archbishop, and now that Mr. Benson was confessing to the murder of Hervé Marceau, it seemed redundant. However, Anton was able to convince me that as a favor, he would greatly appreciate getting more information.

I then telephoned the archbishop and explained my dilemma. After a few moments of consideration, he gave me leave to take a full confession from Mr. Benson. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind I was suspicious that the archbishop was more curious than anything to find out the whole mystery surrounding Anton. Nevertheless, I was encouraged that I had the permission to pursue Anton's request. Although I was granted a mere week's absence, it seemed adequate to fulfill my request to Anton.

I was looking forward to another encounter with Ms. Henderson, who was truly one of the most impressive women that I have ever met. I made the call to Ms. Henderson to arrange my travel plans. She was so excited that I was returning, especially under the circumstances to interview the confessed murderer who would exonerate Anton. I didn't quench her spirit by explaining that the French judicial system was far more disappointing than the American system when it came to confessions and exonerating an imprisoned suspect. I held my tongue and tried not to give any false hopes.

I was amused that I was crossing the Atlantic once again in the same year, which was so rare for me. I had only been to America on three occasions in the past ten years prior to this incident, and here I was returning so soon. I shook my head in disbelief when I considered all that had happened in the past year. I'll have to admit that I never had a charge of responsibility quite like Anton. It had been a learning experience for me too. Even though I had been given the responsibility to rehabilitate Anton, I felt inadequate in so many ways. I had given him that book, which had been a mystery for me for over two decades. He ended up solving that mystery in only a few weeks. I always appreciate every opportunity to learn.

Some things are more distasteful to learn. As much as I felt that I had certainly had my fill of Eddie Whalen, I was still eager to see him again. He was one of the stranger individuals that I have encountered, and I don't wish to encounter another. Still, I have to admit that I feel a fondness for Eddie in spite of his quirks and poor hygiene and lack of manners. I have seen Eddie in times of discouragement and consternation. I was now curious to see what Mr. Whalen portrayed in the wake of a considerable triumph.

These thoughts haunted me the entire time that I was in flight, and I had no reasonable time to rest, in spite of the fact that I had downed four Cognacs. The excitement was more than I was accustomed to in my daily regime of responsibilities. Even the raciest of confessions paled in comparison to Anton's life and circumstances. I was glad to have been a part of it all, even though I felt like I contributed very little. I think I gained more than I gave on this adventure, but I wasn't sorry for that.

I finally arrived at the airport and found Ms. Henderson at the baggage claim. She was radiant. I gathered my luggage, and she escorted me to the waiting limousine. I enjoyed traveling in style, and since I had met Anton, it was the only way to travel. Ms. Henderson was beaming so brightly that I thought she would burst. She even brought a bottle of Armagnac with her in the limousine, and we toasted to the victory that would soon set Anton free and bring him home.

It was such a pleasure to see Ms. Henderson again. We laughed and talked into the wee hours of the morning. She had such a relieved and pleasant demeanor now that Anton was about to be acquitted. I remembered that Eddie had the nagging suspicion that Ms. Henderson was keeping a secret. At this moment, it all seemed so preposterous. I was tempted to disclose this to Ms. Henderson, but I feared that it might offend her, and I didn't want to sour any relationships that had been established by this entire ordeal.

I have to admit that I too felt such a sense of relief. There was no urgency to my visit. As a priest, I would have no trouble gaining an interview with the prisoner. He appeared to be very cooperative, which is certainly in his best interest. First degree murder is a frightening conviction. Albeit, I was more interested in the motivations and workings of the soul that brought him to commit this heinous crime. I had found in the past that when severe behavior exists that results in crimes of morality, a much deeper cause can be found. It usually begins with disappointments at an early age and the feeling of loss of love. I have counseled countless individuals, like Anton, who were devastated as children due to dashed dreams and the feeling of emotional abandonment.

After several pleasantries and the recounting of previous events, Ms. Henderson expressed an intent interest in how long it would take to get Anton home. She had heard that getting into French prisons is alarmingly easy, but getting out can be next to impossible. I assured her that I would do all that I could to expedite the matter. He had no legal representation in France, so I thought perhaps she should contact Jonathan Knight, Anton's attorney, to see if he could find legal counsel for Anton in Paris. I didn't disclose to her that the hatred the police harbored for Anton would not disappear overnight just because someone else had confessed to the murder. I was convinced that Inspector Patois would never change his stance toward Anton. I certainly was not about to disclose the countless cases of prisoners in Anton's situation who committed suicide because of the stress of awaiting a ridiculously elongated release. However, due to the overcrowded prisons, I would normally be optimistic in Anton's situation, but the murder of Hervé Marceau was a high profile case, and any mistakes made by the police or judicial system would not be tolerated by the government.

I needed to get some much needed sleep before meeting with the prisoner. As a result, I slept until nearly noon the next day. I showered and felt fresh enough to tackle the day's responsibilities. I telephoned the prison that morning and scheduled an interview with the Mr. Benson. I also called the representing counsel for Mr. Benson and invited him to attend, although my intentions were not to uncover additional confessions from the prisoner, and I definitely had no intention or desire to testify in a court of law.

I was able to gain an interview with Mr. Benson on Wednesday of that week. Mr. Benson's attorney agreed to let me speak with Mr. Benson in private. If Mr. Benson considered that he was being compromised, he could end the conversation and request the presence of his attorney at the next meeting. This was the first time that I ever met the man. He had a similar build to Anton, but appeared to be about ten years younger. He was a handsome man with dark, wavy hair. I introduced myself and exchanged a few pleasantries before beginning my questioning. I began with a few questions about his situation.

He explained to me that he was being charged with obstructing justice, grand larceny, petty theft, assault, conspiracy to commit murder, first degree murder and illegal possession of firearms. I asked how he intended to plead. His response was that he confessed to all but the grand larceny. I immediately found that entertaining, but I really wanted to know the whole story.

Mr. Benson was reluctant at first. His embarrassment was apparent. I had seen this many times from prisoners who had a change of heart while incarcerated when reflecting on their crimes. It's so easy to get caught up in the passion of one's feelings to the point of losing all rational choice. Few people wake up in time to make the right decision, and Mr. Benson was obviously one of those who never woke up until recently.

After a considerable time of ice-breaking conversation, I gently encouraged Mr. Benson to relax and trust me as one who would keep everything confidential. This seemed conflicting to Anton, who wanted me to interrogate the suspect, but I held my post as a priest and would never divulge a confidence. Anton would have to be content with my knowledge, whether I could divulge it to him or not.

Mr. Benson began, "I first met Ann and Maddie in Vegas. You know, it's one of those crazy incidents where you realize that if you had turned left instead of right, your whole life would have been different. I'm originally from Denver, Colorado, and I was on vacation, traveling alone. I am in the import export business. I had just returned from Singapore, and I needed a break. My business can be grueling, and there are times that I go days without sleep to meet demands, get the best deals, arrange shipments, and find potential buyers. I was exhausted. I returned home and decided that I needed about a week off to regain my strength and enjoy a diversion. I had never been to Las Vegas before, so I decided I would go check it out. I can't say that I've ever been interested in gambling, but I've heard a lot of talk. I knew that some of the shows were pretty good, and the hotels were magnanimous. I guess you can't go to Vegas without trying your hand at a little gambling. After all, what would you tell your friends?"

"Most of what I saw was so foreign to me that I had no clue. I watched some tables for a while, enjoyed a few drinks, and started to relax. Once my courage had built to a level that I thought I would participate, I found a blackjack table with some very attractive women. I had never been married because frankly, I've been way too busy to establish a relationship. My goal was to work hard for ten years, retire, and find the woman of my dreams."

"I had some casino tokens that I was carrying around that I had bought when I entered. I guess I thought that if I bought some, I would be committed to playing. Ann and Maddie were at the table with another woman and a man. I sat down and entered the game. I really didn't care if I won or lost, but out of dumb luck, I didn't lose. I guess I let the dealer play against the highest hand and bust; I don't know."

"All I know is that I couldn't take my eyes off of Maddie. She had the cutest way of playing with her chips, and her French accent was absolutely adorable. She was somewhat of a flirt too because she caught me looking at her and would give me the most seductive look with her eyes that I had ever seen. I thought maybe she was coming on to me, and I was getting anxious."

"I tried to break the ice and started joking with Ann and Maddie. We were cutting up with one another during the game, and things were going really well. After a considerable amount of time and a few drinks later, I decided to muster up the courage to ask if they would like to have dinner with me. They consented, and during dinner I learned that Maddie was married to a financier in Paris. You have no idea how disappointed I was."

"I may have a clue to that," I interjected with a smile.

Mr. Benson ignored my comment and continued. "We had a great time at dinner, and I made arrangements to meet with them several more times. Each time, I learned more about their friendship, how they met, and what they hoped for in life. I began to see the vulnerability in Madeleine, and for some crazy reason I believed that if I held out for the opportune moment, I could win her over. I finally realized that in order to get closer to Maddie, I was going to have to go through Ann. Maddie had an intense respect for Ann and her opinion in every matter. I had heard stories from them both about situations where Ann had detected aspects of events to which Maddie had completely been oblivious. Maddie began to realize that Ann had a better sense of judgment, and she found herself asking Ann for advice at practically every turn. That's when I started dating Ann and trying to win her over. We dated for about six months when I realized that Ann was ready for a proposal. I strategically popped the question. Ann was so thrilled to get a proposal, and I'm sure that she had stars in her eyes about being a bride. I know it was a treacherous thing to do, and as much as I felt terrible about deceiving her, the thought of finally getting to Maddie was worth it. I really wasn't sure how I was going to get to Maddie, but I knew that marrying Ann would surely get me closer. You're a priest, so I'm sure that you've heard everything at one time or another. There wasn't a single time that I ever made love to my wife that I didn't pretend it was Maddie. They have a similar build, and their physical characteristics are very close. I hope Ann never finds this out."

"I've met them both," I admitted. "I can understand how your little fantasy could work. However, thoughts produce feelings and feelings produce thoughts. It's a vicious circle. I have counseled with many people who think that they have 'fallen in love,' but in reality there is no such thing. It's a self deception. That's where morality comes in; you must choose what is right and refuse thinking of another woman in that capacity. True love is a matter of choice, and not just any choice. It's about choosing the right thing for someone, including you."

"Maybe so," he conceded, "but I knew that I really wanted Maddie, not Ann. I was afraid to make a play for Maddie because if my marriage to Ann were jeopardized before I could win Maddie, my scheme would have failed."

"It failed anyway," I reminded him.

"Again, perhaps so, but if Maddie had loved me, I would have gotten away with it. For some reason, I hoped that I had a chance of executing my scheme to win Maddie. I realized that she would never leave Hervé, so I had to find a way to get rid of him. He was far too rich and influential in Europe for me to hire someone to terminate him. Besides, I didn't want to get blackmailed in the future. I had to keep it a secret from everyone. I realize what you are saying about choosing what is right. If I hadn't followed my heart, I wouldn't be in this predicament right now. If I say I wish I could take it all back, I wouldn't be sincere because I know that if I could possible succeed with my scheme, I would do it all again. I guess that's what you would call unrepentant."

"You are correct," I assured. "Please continue."

"My plan to eliminate Hervé was conceived about a week before I executed it. I was afraid if I waited too long that I would lose the nerve. Maddie had just been visiting Ann and me, and I was about to explode. I couldn't wait for her any longer. I needed to get rid of her husband. I flew to Paris after telling my wife that I needed to go to Japan. I followed Maddie, and that's when I found out she was having an affair with Cartier. I was shocked, angry, and so jealous I think I could have murdered them both. Why was she with him instead of me? I was livid! I spent a day in despair not knowing how I was going to eliminate two men to get the woman that I really loved. Suddenly, my plan evolved into an obvious solution. I would eliminate Hervé and pin the murder on Cartier. I followed Cartier one evening to a bar in the Latin Quarter of Paris. I waited until he left before I took his glass. I used the fingerprints from the glass to transfer to the handgun after I used it to kill Hervé. That weapon was used to take them both out in different ways."

I could see the delight in Mr. Benson's eyes as though he were proud of his new plan. "Did you feel any remorse," I asked.

"None, ever, in fact, when I pulled the trigger that killed Hervé, I felt a sense of relief. I was confident that if I could pin the murder on Cartier that Maddie would end up with me. I already knew that she was capable of having an affair. All I had to do was wait and be there for her in her time of need. I waited for three days after the shooting before burying the handgun in a plastic bag with Cartier's fingerprints beneath a tree in the Champs de Mar. I stayed in Paris for another week after Cartier ran back to the states. I followed Maddie during that time and saw her meet with her ex-husband, Francois, whom I had never met. I later found out who he was when Maddie told Ann and me the story. Everything was falling into place. All I needed to do was give Francois an anonymous tip that I had seen Cartier bury the handgun under the tree the morning of the murder. I spent the rest of my time building suspicions in Maddie's mind about Cartier. I knew that she had planned to marry him in Vegas, and I was there to 'congratulate' the groom. I was seething with anger to think that someone else had stepped into the place that I wanted. I tried to knee his balls through the roof of his mouth, but unfortunately I missed. I admittedly took a chance of being seen my Maddie, but she was already in the elevator when I accosted him. The only good thing about her marriage was that she now lived in the same town."

"How were you planning to get rid of Ann?" I was curious.

"I had hoped that Maddie would be lonely and vulnerable after Cartier's arrest and turn to me for consolation. It was then that I was going to confess my love for her and ask her to marry me. I would simply have divorced Ann. However, when I made my move, she proved to be more loyal to Ann than I expected."

"You should have known how close they were."

"Oh, I knew they were close all right, but I also knew that Maddie had kept some things from Ann about Cartier, which made me think that she could keep secrets from her best friend. That actually was encouraging to me."

"What about the money? What did you do with the thirty-five million dollars?"

"Nothing, I was unable to find the safe deposit key among her belongings. I thought that maybe she left it at Cartier's house. I was thinking of breaking in to look for it, but it's heavily secured, and the housekeeper is always there at night."

"That's the night that I was leaving to return to Paris. It was you who scaled the wall."

"Too true. It was a stupid move on my part."

"But Mrs. Cartier said that the money was missing. If you didn't take it, who did?"

"I have no idea. I'm being charged with grand larceny, and I couldn't figure out how taking my own funds would constitute that charge. You mean they think I took the thirty-five million?"

"Precisely, Mrs. Cartier thought that you took the key from her purse and then went to the bank and removed the casino tokens. Mr. Whalen, the private investigator, was waiting for you to appear at the casino to cash them in."

"No, I never found the key."

I decided to ask the remaining question that I had intended to learn.

"What caused you to be so harsh with Mrs. Cartier in that Las Vegas hotel room? She said that you basically mugged her and nearly raped her."

"I can only plead temporary insanity. I felt really bad about that. I was frustrated that she would have an affair, and I expected her to be with me. When she resisted me, I went berserk. I ripped her clothing off, and I did contemplate rape for about two-seconds, but I knew it would end in disaster. In my exasperation, I took all of her clothing and belongings. I wanted so much to tell her later that I was sorry, but I knew that I would never see her or Ann again."

"Well, you may see them both again, but it will be in a Paris courtroom," I reminded him.

Ms. Henderson had contacted Eddie Whalen while I was at the prison interviewing Mr. Benson. Eddie was waiting for me when I returned to Anton's house. It was so good to see him again in spite of my unpleasant hours that we spent together in that infernal van while staking out the Benson home. I noticed something different about Eddie. I'm not sure exactly how to describe it, but he had a silly little grin on his face that I had seen many times before in others. If I didn't know this man better, I would have guessed that he was infatuated with some woman. I dismissed the idea and extended my hand as he stood up.

Much to my surprise, Eddie threw his arms around me and gave me a great bear hug. I was delighted. I hugged him back. By now, Ms. Henderson had retrieved a bottle of Armagnac and three glasses. This felt like old times that happened not so long ago. We laughed and recounted some of the amusing moments that we had shared. After about an hour, I began to focus on Mrs. Cartier. I was curious about what she had to say.

Eddie explained to me that Mrs. Benson and Mrs. Cartier were no longer speaking to one another. I was admittedly disturbed by this news because I believed that their friendship was integral to this case as well as their own emotional health. Dissension in the ranks was not conducive to lucid and objective witnesses at the trial. Although Mr. Benson was appearing to give a complete confession, one could never be sure that this is what would take place in the courtroom. Witnesses for the prosecution were essential in a case such as this.

I listened to Eddie over the next hour as he described to Ms. Henderson and me the emotional dynamics that had materialized between Mrs. Benson and Mrs. Cartier. I could see the concern on Ms. Henderson's face. I also noticed the tender demeanor in Eddie as he described Mrs. Benson's emotional condition. It was then that I began to draw some possible conclusions about Eddie's little grin that showed through his countenance. I was slightly alarmed that Eddie had assumedly fallen for Mrs. Benson. Eddie had been a true professional throughout the entire investigation. I didn't want to see him fall apart at the end due to some emotion that entangled his judgment. I realized that Mrs. Benson was the corroborating witness with Mrs. Cartier as the first. However, testimony of spouses is often negated and doubted in these cases, and Eddie's testimony was paramount in his investigation report.

I tried to remain positive. "So, Eddie, I understand that you have established a great rapport with Mrs. Cartier and Mrs. Benson. I wonder if there might be a chance that I could speak with Mrs. Cartier concerning the present state of affairs." I had not yet disclosed the conversation that I had with Mr. Benson previously because it was understood that I could not taint the testimony that they had concerning Mr. Benson. Perhaps this is why his attorney had no misgivings about me interrogating his client. If he could prove that witnesses had received information after the arrest and had been influenced, he may be able to have the case thrown out, which would put Anton at a terrible disadvantage. Therefore, I could not risk giving any details that might crop up in their testimonies at the trial that were not contained in the depositions. As precarious as this seemed, I had some unsolved mysteries that I needed to investigate.

Eddie immediately reciprocated, "Actually, Padre, I think Mrs. Cartier would be delighted to speak with you. I was guardedly surprised and dubious, but content that she might speak with me. I requested a private consultation with Mrs. Cartier in a public place with the strictest confidence that nothing discussed would be divulged at any time under any circumstance. I have to admit that this one aspect of the priesthood was intriguing to me because I was allowed a rare candor from people who would lie their socks off to save their hides, yet trusted me with the ugliest of truths. Eddie may have a gift to detect lies, but I had a station to hear truth.

I met with Mrs. Cartier at a local twenty-four hour coffee shop at one o'clock in the morning. The early hour provided us with enough privacy and yet with a witness from the barista concerning our meeting. I was careful at all times not to be compromised by private meetings with individuals, especially women. Mrs. Cartier was calm and conducted herself in a rather formal manner. We ordered our drinks and chose a table out of earshot of our barista.

Madeleine spoke first. "Father Faustier, I would like to apologize for the deception that I portrayed when you and Eddie first came to Ann's door."

I made a mental note of the fact that Mrs. Cartier was on a first name basis with Eddie.

She continued, "I was frightened, and I had no idea that anyone was looking for me. So when I realized who you were, I had to remain calm and pretend that I was Ann."

"No apology necessary," I assure her. "I completely understand your position. I'm just very grateful that you would meet with me today, tonight, whatever this is."

Madeleine gave a little chuckle as she resumed. "Please allow me to get right to the point. I can't leave here without knowing something very important."

"And that is," I inquired.

"I know that you have spent a considerable amount of time with my husband."

"Anton," I interjected. I wanted us to find a common ground of familiarity with her husband.

"Yes, Anton," she consented. "Has he said anything about me?"

"Why, yes, he has said a great deal. What is it that you want to know? However, please realize that I cannot divulge a confidence."

"Certainly, Father, I would never ask you to do that. I was wondering if Anton might perhaps be annoyed with me." Madeleine felt foolish using the word, "annoyed," because it was far too much of a euphemism to what she thought Anton might feel. She bowed her head.

I smiled. "Please tell me why Anton's feelings are so important to you."

Madeleine thought for a moment. "I'm not sure why I ask, but somehow in the back of my mind I'm afraid that I have completely destroyed an important part of my life." Tears began welling in her eyes. "I was a very confused woman, Father, and I had been pulled in so many directions by Anton, Ann, Bill, and François. I didn't know what to think. My late husband was murdered, and I never wanted to think that Anton did it, but his hatred and anger were so intense, and I didn't know him long enough to know if he were incapable of doing such a thing. I know that now."

"Do you," I implored.

"Yes, definitely," she responded. "I spent the last few months of our marriage before he went to prison doubting his innocence."

"I'm not sure 'innocence' is the right choice of words here," I admonished.

Madeleine gave me a curious look as she continued. "What I'm trying to say is that I was confused, and now that all of this has happened..." Madeleine paused as the tears fell from her eyes. She drew a handkerchief from her purse, and I could not help grinning ear to ear as I saw the golden embroidery of the intertwined M and C, representing Madeleine Cartier. I concealed my smile as she trudged on, "I really believe that I love my husband, Father Faustier." The tears were now streaming, and her voice was cracking, "But I'm afraid that he won't want to have anything to do with me." Madeleine was now in no emotional condition to continue her discourse.

I excused myself to go to the bar and order us another round of cappuccinos. That gave Madeleine enough time to regain her composure and continue with her concerns. "Father Faustier, I have never considered myself to be a religious person."

"That could be very much an advantage to you," I encouraged.

Madeleine gave a start and continued with a confused look. "I know that I should be more concerned with spiritual matters."

This statement could potentially open a can of worms that would derail us from our intended conversation, so I skirted the issue. "My dear, matters of the heart are spiritual matters." I encouraged her to continue.

"I don't know how to say this, but I want my husband back. I have seen so much lately, and I now realize that I have not always been diligent to nurture a relationship with anyone, not even my best friend, whom I'm afraid I have lost forever." Madeleine was now sobbing uncontrollably.

"Mrs. Cartier, I understand your heartache. I have reason to believe that Anton knows far more about you than you or I could possibly comprehend. As consoling or frightening as that may sound, I believe it to be true. I can't divulge any details, but I'm sure that if you believe by your own merits as a wife that you deserve the consideration of forgiveness and that you truly possess the qualities that Anton so desired in you, then you have nothing to fear about your future with Anton's affections."

Madeleine was still trying to gain control of her sobbing. In broken speech she continued, "But I did horrible things to him. I lost...," Madeleine was still trying to speak through the tears, "thirty-five million dollars! I called the police and planted a murder weapon with fingerprints that were fabricated!" Madeleine was now getting too loud even for our venue.

I tried to calm her as I coaxed her to continue. "Mrs. Cartier, please understand that Anton probably knows everything that you did, even before you met him." Madeleine gave me a very confused and dubious look. "I know this sounds bizarre, but I want to assure you that he knows you quite well. However, I need to know something, and this could be painful."

Madeleine looked downward, "OK, what do I have to lose?"

I began, "Please realize that I cannot divulge any information other than what I'm about to tell you. I spoke with Mr. Benson yesterday." Madeleine gave a terrible start with widened eyes. I continued, "And he told me that he did not take the thirty-five million dollars in gambling tokens."

"He's a liar!" Madeleine was now fuming. "I had that key with me the whole time! After I deposited the tokens in the safe deposit box, I placed the key in a key holder for safe keeping. I then went home to gather the remainder of my belongings that I needed according to Bill's recommendations. I was afraid of Anton's response after his arrest. He too is a very influential man. Bill saw me put the key holder in my travel bag liner. He knew exactly where it was."

"When do you believe he took the key," I inquired.

"It had to be the day that he took all of my clothes and belongings."

"When did you last see the key?"

"I didn't take the key holder out of my bag since the day that I put it there. I had no reason to because I wasn't supposed to retrieve the tokens until Anton and I were divorced."

"Mr. Benson told me that he thought you hid it at the Cartier house."

"Father Faustier, believe me, Bill is a liar. He lied to Ann for over a year, and he lied to me, and he lied to the police. Why in the world would you not suspect that he is lying to you?"

"I have no idea if he is lying or not. I wasn't able to take Mr. Whalen with me, and I certainly don't have his gift, but Mr. Benson certainly seemed genuine. Besides, he is facing life in prison. What reason has he to lie about it now? In addition, he drained his own bank accounts, leaving Mrs. Benson financially devastated. If he had thirty-five million dollars, why would he do that to her?"

Madeleine explained, "Bill Benson doesn't make many mistakes. He is a shrewd man, and he knows how to deceive people. After all that has happened, and from some of the stories that I have heard in the past, I would venture to guess that Bill has something up his sleeve, and he intends to use that money in the near future. Besides, Bill is a very envious man. He wants what other men have, and I doubt that he would give up his own funds just because he stole someone else's."

Perhaps Madeleine was right. Yet, I wasn't about to make a judgment about who was telling the truth. It certainly sounded like the key had been secure with Madeleine the entire time. One thing is certain. Anton suffered a thirty-five million dollar loss, and the the money is yet to be located.

## CHAPTER SIXTEEN

### _Reconciliation_

MY NEXT ORDER of business was to facilitate the release of Anton Cartier from La Santé Prison. Now that Anton had been cleared of the murder of Hervé Marceau, Anton's attorney was able to secure a lawyer in Paris who could handle the legal proceedings. I was hoping to grease the wheels of release to prevent any unnecessary delay. The Paris police had egg on their face by imprisoning the wrong suspect, and I knew that they would be trying to adhere to their initial suspicions. However, with my involvement I could assuage the situation by rationalizing their mistake. I gave the prison high praise for their cooperation with my visits and counseling of Anton.

Within a week, we were able to escort Anton Cartier from the walls that held him captive for nearly a year. Once we were outside, Anton took a deep breath of fresh air and smiled to me. I took him to my quarters to shower and change clothes. We had an awaiting flight to catch, and I was eager to return to the states with him and get him settled into his own home. I considered this to be part of my assignment from the Archbishop of Paris, and I intended to take full advantage of my time in the states.

Once we entered his foyer, Ms. Henderson threw her arms around Anton and sobbed for several minutes. His first request was a glass of Armagnac. We retired to the drawing room to enjoy a drink and discuss what had transpired in the past year. Ms. Henderson could readily detect that Anton was a very different man. I coaxed Ms. Henderson to tell Anton the story of how the Archbishop of Paris had come to his aid. Ms. Henderson didn't relish giving herself any praise, and I had to interject accolades for her during the story.

Anton set his drink on a side table. He leaned forward in his chair with clasped hands pressed against his lips for a moment before he began. "Father Faustier, I never gave you a formal apology for the disrespectful way that I treated you when you first introduced yourself to me."

I held up my hand for Anton to pause. "Anton, I never took offense at anything that you said that day. In fact, I pondered all of your accusations against the Church when I returned home, and in all honesty, I could not disagree with you. However, the Catholic Church provides me with an unparalleled opportunity to help others. Were it not for the Church's influence, I could never have had the chance to come to your aid. As a result, here you sit in your own home today, and that is my reward. No apology is necessary."

Anton turned to Ms. Henderson. "Ms. Henderson, I need to be candid with my intentions. I know that you never cared for Madeleine, but I have hope of reconciling with her. I have learned a tremendous amount of information from Father Faustier about my emotional disorder and how it affected my judgment and decisions. I can now see things from a much better perspective, and my reassessment of my life has proven to me that I really do love Madeleine. I hope that you can accept that."

Ms. Henderson paused before responding. "Mr. Cartier, I experienced that woman steal your money, plant evidence to condemn you, file for a divorce with the intent of keeping millions of dollars that belonged to you, and fleeing in your time of desperate need. For the life of me, I can't understand how you could possibly trust her."

I felt the need to interject at this point. "I understand your concerns, Ms. Henderson, but if you knew the whole story I think you would have a different perspective. Unfortunately, I am not at liberty to disclose all that happened to Mrs. Cartier. However, I believe that she deserves her day in court. You should give her a chance to explain. However, before that happens, I believe that Madeleine and Anton need to have a counseling session with me. There is a lot of understanding and healing that needs to take place if Anton is going to consider his marriage. As you once told Anton, it takes two people to make a marriage. No one person is to blame for the failure."

Anton was anxious about having a meeting with Madeleine, but he knew the sooner that they met, the sooner they could understand what the future would bring. He had serious doubts that she would be willing to remain in their marriage. I offered no assurances. Madeleine needed to speak for herself. However, I needed to meet with her in private before they came face to face with one another. I excused myself for a few moments to telephone her from the kitchen. All I told her was that Anton was now home, and he wanted to have a meeting with her. However, I suggested that she meet with me first. She agreed, and we set a time and place. I returned to the drawing room and informed Anton of my meeting tomorrow with Madeleine in her hotel room.

Anton was surprised that Madeleine was not staying with Ann, but I didn't want to disclose all that had transpired between them. Madeleine needed to explain everything to Anton. I was still very concerned that Ann was at odds with Madeleine. Ann had regained the money from her bank accounts from Mr. Benson through some legal proceedings and his willingness to comply. She rarely left the house these days according to Eddie, who nearly daily remained in contact with her.

The next day, I knocked on Madeleine's door. She cordially invited me to come inside. I originally had suggested meeting in a public place, but she was certain that she would be overcome with emotion and begged to meet in private. She offered me a cup of coffee, and we sat in the living area of her suite. She was extremely nervous and began to fidget in her chair. I began, "Mrs. Cartier..."

She interrupted, "Please, call me Madeleine."

I continued, "Very well, Madeleine, I wanted to help prepare you for your meeting with Anton."

She was already crying. "Oh, Father Faustier, I know that he's going to want his money back, but I don't know where it is. I still believe that Bill hid it somewhere, and he's not going to admit it. I checked on my funds in Europe, and I have a little over nine million euros. I can't possibly pay Anton back the entire sum. I'm afraid that he will have me arrested."

"Arrested? For what? You had legal right to that money as his wife."

"I planted the murder weapon in his nightstand, for god's sake. I'm sure that's a crime somehow."

"Well, I'm not at liberty to say what Anton has told me, but I am at liberty to say what he didn't tell me, and he has made no mention of that incident."

"Father, I don't think that I can face Anton after all that I have done. I have nowhere to go and no one to turn to. If I tell him that I want to stay married, he'll just think it's out of desperation."

"Well, is it?"

"No," Madeleine emphatically replied. "I honestly never stopped loving Anton. I had been convinced by others that he really did murder Hervé. I never wanted to believe it, but the evidence was overwhelming."

"And yet, he really didn't murder Hervé, but you succumbed to those who sought to frame him or hoped that he really did murder Hervé."

"Yes, I know, and I'm sure that Anton is aware of that too."

"Madeleine, do you believe that Anton is a vindictive man?"

"Truthfully, Father, I honestly don't know."

"Are you willing to find out?"

Madeleine wiped another tear from her cheek as she pondered for a moment. "If I don't meet with Anton, I'm afraid that I will regret it for the rest of my life, but I'm also afraid to face him."

I smiled. "Well, that's a chance that you need to decide if you're willing to take. Would it help if I told you that I would be there as your advocate?"

"Yes, Father, it most definitely would. Would you do that for me?"

"Of course I will. Let's plan to meet with him at his residence tomorrow afternoon in the study. I will accompany you to the house and stay with you the entire time."

"What about Ms. Henderson? I'm sure she hates me with a passion by now."

"Ms. Henderson and I have become good friends. I have encouraged her to keep an open mind. You'll be just fine, but I think that meeting with Anton will help bring closure and healing for you both."

The next afternoon, Anton arranged for a limousine to take Madeleine and me to his house at two o'clock. He had Ms. Henderson prepare some tea and pastries for us to enjoy in the study during our meeting. However, upon our arrival as we stepped into the foyer, Madeleine made a dash for the nearest half bath and vomited. She emerged shaking like a leaf in the wind. I took her arm and held her tightly as I escorted her into the study. Anton was sitting behind his desk, and Madeleine and I took seats side by side.

I didn't like the polarized seating arrangement and suggested that we all sit in a circle. I began. "I'm not here to speak for anyone today, but I do want to orchestrate this meeting to avoid any misconceptions. I know this is a tense moment for you both. I want to get right to the point, and before either of you say a word, I would like for you to perform a little exercise for me." I opened my briefcase and took out two sheets of blank paper with clipboards. I handed one to each of them along with a pen. "I want you to take the next half hour to write on these papers exactly what you feel about one another and what you would like to say today. If you need more time, we will take longer. When you are finished, please hand me your papers. Please begin."

I watched as Madeleine continually wiped her eyes as she wrote. She never looked up from her paper as she intently continued to formulate her thoughts. After about ten minutes, she whispered to me for another sheet of paper. I handed one to each of them. Anton often paused to study Madeleine. Half the time he wrote, and half the time he observed her. There was utter silence except for Madeleine's sniffles and blowing her nose.

Finally, Madeleine handed me her papers, and continued to wipe her eyes as she stared into her lap. Anton continued to write and observe Madeleine. He had started on his second sheet of paper, and within a few minutes, he handed me his copy. Although I encouraged them to enjoy the refreshments, no one had an appetite. We sat in silence as I read the papers. Anton stared at me the whole time while Madeleine continued to hang her head. I then handed Madeleine's copy to Anton and gave Madeleine his copy. I instructed them to read but not respond.

Madeleine began to wail. I was afraid that she would collapse onto the floor, and I scooted next to her to support her. She was sobbing and heaving with emotion. When I glanced at Anton, tears were falling from his eyes like rain upon Madeleine's papers. I asked them to read each other's papers two more times. Their reactions remained the same with each reading. They now sat in their chairs with heads bowed as they cried. I gave them a few more minutes to try to collect themselves. Once I was sure that Madeleine could support herself, I arose from my chair. "I'm going to leave you both to talk. Take as much time as you need, and when you are ready, please meet me in the drawing room."

Before I got to the door, Anton had rushed over to Madeleine and knelt before her. He held her slumped body in his arms as he kissed the top of her head. She threw her arms around him and held him tightly as I closed the door to leave. I heard the start of their conversation from the other side of the door.

"Oh, Anton, I am so sorry. I will never doubt you again."

"That's not reasonable, Madeleine, and I would never expect that. However, I hope that you will never betray me again."

I was certain that they would not emerge for quite some time. I found Ms. Henderson in the kitchen. She was pulling another tray of pastry from the oven. I was delighted because I never got a chance to enjoy the ones in the study. After sharing tea and crumpets, I invited Ms. Henderson into the drawing room to talk. I filled her in on what was happening in the study. Madeleine had cleared a hurdle with Anton. It was now time to prepare Ms. Henderson for a reconciliation. "Ms. Henderson, have you ever been in love?"

She gave me a startled look. "My goodness, what kind of a question is that?"

"I would say that it's an honest one. Have you?"

"Well, who hasn't been in love at one point in life?"

I smiled. "You keep answering my question with questions. Please, tell me about it."

"Well, there's nothing to tell, really. It never amounted to anything, and that was that."

"Ms. Henderson, as long as I have known you I have been impressed with your talents. You have done a most admirable job for Anton for over a decade. He has always had high praise for you. Can you recall ever making a mistake?"

"Gracious, Father Faustier, everyone makes mistakes."

"Yes, I realize that, but can you recall one that you can relate to me?"

Ms. Henderson sat with a puzzled look on her face. "Well, I have a great attention for detail. I don't think I have ever botched a single order or chore for this household." Ms. Henderson continued to ponder. Finally, she looked up at me and confided, "I'm afraid that I can't recall any mistakes, Father Faustier."

"Come now, Ms. Henderson, surely you can think of something."

"Well, I have always tried to do the right thing. I'm sorry, but nothing comes to mind."

"Very well, let's see if I can be of assistance. Have you ever misjudged anyone's character?"

Ms. Henderson was pensive. "Well, now that you put it way, I would have to admit that I was surprised concerning Mr. Cartier's lifestyle. Once he was arrested, I learned so much about his affairs. I supposed I judged him to be far more morally fit than he really was."

"Tell me, Ms. Henderson, did that knowledge cause you to care any less for Mr. Cartier?"

"That's a very good question, Father Faustier. I suppose if I had learned Mr. Cartier's lifestyle when I interviewed for this job, I would have turned it down."

"So, now that you know the truth, are you sorry that you took this job?"

"Oh, no, not at all, I have come to know and care for Mr. Cartier. I don't agree with what he did, but I had the opportunity to know him. He's a very kind and gracious man."

"Yes, he is, and he's a very forgiving man as well. I have had the pleasure of watching him transform over the past several months. He has learned why he behaved the way that he did that was so deplorable, and he has learned to make the right decisions without the coercion from his personality disorder. Few people ever find that kind of healing. He is a very different man than the one that you knew."

"Yes, and I thank you for that, Father. You did a wonderful job in his counseling."

"Well, really, I was just a sign post to point him in the right direction. It was his determination and hard work that led to his healing. Speaking of deplorable behavior, tell me, why do think Madeleine did the things that she did?"

Ms. Henderson closed her eyes and took a deep breath before letting out a long sigh. "I see where you're going with this, Father. However, a leopard does not change its spots."

"And yet, my leopard actually did change. You must realize that we should not judge or give up on another. I'm asking you to give Madeleine a chance. She truly is repentant. Otherwise, when I ask you if you ever made a mistake, you may readily recall this one."

Ms. Henderson gave a frustrated snort. She gave some thought and finally conceded. "I suppose you're right, Father. It would be the Christian thing to do."

"Well, Christian or not, it would be the right thing to do." Anton and Madeleine emerged from the study arm in arm. They walked down the hallway to the drawing room. I immediately stood and invited Anton into the kitchen. "Come, Anton, let's allow Ms. Henderson and Madeleine to get reacquainted." I was fairly certain that Madeleine's repentant attitude and Ms. Henderson's compulsion to do the right thing would have positive results.

Once Anton and I reached the kitchen, he expressed his concern for Madeleine's and Ann's friendship. Madeleine had explained how upset Ann was with her, and they were no longer speaking. It wasn't healthy for Madeleine to have no other companions than Anton. I explained to Anton about Eddie's interests in Mrs. Benson. It certainly was none of my business, but I did have concerns if Mr. Benson were going to experience a trial with witnesses. Unfortunately, Eddie had confided in me that Mrs. Benson was immovable in her position toward Madeleine. Her stance caused Eddie and Mrs. Benson to grow closer. I asked if he would meet with me tomorrow afternoon to discuss the matter.

Eddie and I were meeting for a light breakfast of coffee and pastries at a nearby cafe. I was the first to arrive and sat at a table by the window as I sipped my coffee. I was startled by a strange man who slid into the chair across from me. When I started to object, I nearly choked. I didn't recognize him. Could this be Eddie Whalen, the private detective, who never seemed to bathe? I was shocked to my core. He was clean shaven, and his hair was closely cropped. It appeared that he had lost several pounds, and he was dressed very keenly. He smelled fantastic, and I noticed a small nicotine patch on his upper arm that showed slightly below his sleeve. He looked rather handsome. His transformation was unbelievable!

"My goodness, gracious, Eddie, what has happened to you?"

Eddie was grinning from ear to ear. "I think I'm in love, Father Faustier."

"What, no Padre?" I was slightly disappointed.

"I'm afraid not. Ann is schooling me in manners and political correctness."

I tried to clear my head. "Well, I must say, this is the last thing I expected."

I listened to Eddie for the next hour as he explained Ann's resentment toward Madeleine. It wasn't that she couldn't forgive Madeleine, but she could never trust her again. Ann chose to end their relationship due to a lack of confidence that she could mend her ravaged heart. Eddie cringed every time Ann referred to Madeleine as a thief and opportunist. He didn't agree with her, but he was wise enough not to defend Madeleine to Ann.

I asked if I could speak with Ann, but Eddie was reluctant. He was afraid that it would just exacerbate the situation. Af far as Ann was concerned, Madeleine had no defense for her actions. She had no intention of being friends with a thief and a liar. Eddie didn't want to hear her rant again about the way that Madeleine treated Francois, or how she traded one rich man for another richer. She blamed her failed marriage on Madeleine as well. Eddie seriously doubted that there was any hope for reconciliation.

Finally, after an hour, Eddie convinced me that it was fruitless. Ann's non-contested divorce would be finalized in six weeks. They were going to take a cruise to Panama to celebrate her freedom. I wished him well. Just before he departed, I remembered that Ms. Henderson wanted to throw a welcome home party for Anton. She mentioned that she wanted us all there to share in the celebration. I wasn't sure of the date, but I asked Eddie if he would keep his calendar open in the next week or so. He readily consented.

I returned to Anton's house later in the morning. Ms. Henderson said that the happy couple had yet to emerge from the bedroom. Knowing what I knew, I didn't expect to see them until evening. I spent the afternoon with Ms. Henderson. I was leaving for Paris the day after tomorrow. It was time for me to get back, but I promised to return for the celebration. She had explained to Anton that for once she was doing all of the cooking for his party. So far, he was yet to use his kitchen, but I was sure once he and Madeleine could resume a somewhat normal life after the newlywed syndrome he would be feverishly cooking again.

Ms. Henderson negotiated a date for the party according to my schedule. I explained that Eddie would be attending, and I would alert him about the date. She was pleased. I told her about his transformation. I couldn't wait for her to see him. I was certain that neither she nor Anton would recognize him.

Two days later, I arrived in Paris. I needed to establish my new normal. It had been quite a year. I pondered as I thought about the thirty-five million dollars in poker chips that somehow disappeared. I had a tendency to agree with Madeleine that Bill Benson had hidden the chips with the hope of somehow getting released. Anton still had several million dollars, but he wasn't as carefree as he had once been.

## CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

### _Celebration_

THE DAY AFTER my return to Paris, I received some disconcerting news. The Monsignor, who was familiar with Anton's case, gave me a call to let me know that Inspector Patois had committed suicide. I was shocked. He had left a suicide note with an apology to the Paris Police Department that he had been instrumental in unknowingly framing Anton Cartier. His remorse and shame for his injustice was more than he could bear. I doubted that Madeleine had a clue about the suicide, and I dreaded disclosing it to her. I had planned to wait until after the party in case she was still unaware.

It was time to formulate my final report to the Archbishop of Paris. I pored through my extensive notes to glean the high points of my account. I began with the seeds of codependency that sprouted from Anton's early youth. I outlined his feeling of betrayal over losing his mother's undivided attention to go to work in compensation for his father's heart attack. I continued with his relationships with his mother and father and the polarization of his competition for his mother and his disdain for his father.

I began to parallel his need to steal women from others to anesthetize the pain of rejection that he felt by losing his mother's attention. He had epitomized his lovers to symbolize his mother and used the assumed pain of his lover's mates to torture his father in effigy, so to speak. However, this was a temporary fix that only gave him relief during his sexual encounters with other women.

The coup de grâce was when he met Madeleine. The state of euphoria that he felt in her presence was a new and ultimate experience of relieving his emotional pain. He had never felt such a thing with another. His codependency deceived him into believing that he had found his ultimate mate. However, codependency is a treacherous bedfellow that always betrays us in the end. In reality, Anton was blithely unaware that Madeleine possessed certain passive aggressive traits that duplicated his mother's attributes. The magnetism toward Madeleine and the false promise of love and security caused a heightened sensual experience that he could not experience with another.

It was emotional heroin, and Anton was hopelessly hooked. There was no lasting relationship in this state of incomprehensible emotional bliss, as there is no lasting state of relying upon heroin until it ultimately destroys a person. This is the root of all addictions. It's fairly apparent to recognize sex, gambling, drugs, alcohol, however, emotional addictions are often disguised and mistaken for love. Once Anton began to realize that what he felt for Madeleine was not genuine, he had a chance to view it from another perspective.

I had challenged his mistrust of Madeleine on their honeymoon in Las Vegas. As he began to recount the experience, he realized that his reaction to her desire to gamble while he was sleeping was unfair. This is where codependency plays its nasty little game of suspicion, accusation, and the impending belief that she was betraying him. The disorder sought to prove to him that he was unworthy of love. It tried to reinforce what he felt as a child. Some call it demonic, and maybe it is in some fashion. I have found in my experiences that it always follows the same pattern, and it's incredibly predictable.

Once Anton learned the attributes of his codependency, he was able to choose against it. One of his greatest challenges was to view Madeleine more objectively without the intrusion of his disorder. That is extremely difficult to do. Although, as I watched his progress I saw that he was able to reason and sort out his true feelings toward her. Love is a choice, and if one ever feels that they don't have a choice, it is most likely due to codependency.

I kept in close contact with Anton each day. All seemed to be going well. He and Madeleine were exploring their new relationship, both physically and emotionally. He began to mentor her and teach her what he had learned. It was essential for her to understand his relentless pursuit of her in the beginning. It was also essential for her to understand his choice to spend the rest of his life with her apart from his codependency. Granted, there wasn't the unbelievable fireworks in the bedroom like there was before, but it had been replaced with a deep, meaningful act of love that gave far more emotional satisfaction.

It was time for me to return to Anton's house for his party. I still dreaded telling Madeleine about Patois' suicide. I would put it off as reasonably as possible. However, upon my arrival I received somewhat of a relief and the pain of what Madeleine experienced. A certified letter had been delivered to Madeleine that contained the information about the suicide. However, the shocking news was that Inspector Patois had never changed his will, and Madeleine was the sole heiress to all of his assets. Naturally, she didn't care about the money, but the thought that Francois had kept her in his will broke her heart. Anton supported her in her grief.

The day of the party had arrived. I was staying in Anton's blue guest room. Dinner was scheduled for six o'clock in the evening. Ms. Henderson had been in the kitchen since before dawn. Every time Anton passed through the kitchen, she would shoo him out. He laughed to me about it wondering if she was afraid of his expected criticism, or if she wanted to keep her methods a secret. He was excited about the menu. Ms. Henderson was preparing Beef Wellington with an inside crepe wrap to protect the delicate pastry. Her accompaniment was a Potato Gratin and a garden salad. He giggled as he told me that she was stealing his salad dressing recipe.

Madeleine emerged from their bedroom on the third floor. As she descended the stairs, I actually gasped. She looked radiant. She too had been through a transformation that was more spiritual than physical, but greatly showed in her countenance. She extended her hand, and I graciously kissed it. We all retired to the drawing room, and Madeleine insisted that Anton play the piano. We sat and sipped cocktails as Anton graced us with a few of his original tunes.

Later in the afternoon, Eddie called from the front gate. Ms. Henderson was still concentrating on the cuisine, and Anton opened the gate. As predicted, everyone could not believe that the gentleman who stepped through the front entrance was Eddie Whalen. Madeleine glided over to Eddie and hugged him tightly. She looked him up and down and exclaimed, "Eddie, I can't believe it's you. You are so handsome!" Eddie blushed and thanked her. Madeleine began to inquire about Ann, and Eddie tried to be as gracious as possible with few details.

Anton was on hand with a glass of Scotch for Eddie as he stepped into the drawing room. Anton exclaimed, "Good god, Ed, I can't believe it's you." Eddie grinned and did a complete turn to show his attire. "So, are you nicotine free," Anton inquired.

"Well, let's just say that I'm tapering off the patches. I think I'm going to make it."

"Good for you," Anton encouraged.

It was a delightful reunion, except for the absence of Mrs. Benson. I was pleased that Madeleine made no further reference to her and appeared to be enjoying herself. I excused myself from the group and stepped into the kitchen. Ms. Henderson was hard at work, and her hair was beginning to fall into her face. "Is there anything I can do," I offered.

She smiled and wiped her brow with the back of her hand. "Actually, everything is under control, but I would appreciate if you would watch the potatoes to be sure that they don't get too brown. I really need to freshen up before dinnertime."

"I would be honored," I assured. About twenty minutes later, I took the potatoes out of the oven and placed them on a trivet.

Ms. Henderson returned and called everyone to the dining room. Anton went to the wine cellar to choose a few selections for our dinner. Everyone found a seat. The wine was poured, and I helped Ms. Henderson bring the food to the table. You must understand that I live in Paris, one of the gastronomical capitals in the world. However, what Ms. Henderson presented on this day was beyond my comprehension. Anton even stood from his chair and gave her a bow. I actually saw a tear in her eye.

As we finished our exquisite entrée, Anton began to pour everyone some Armagnac as Ms. Henderson served a Plum Pudding that was to die for. We all settled in to enjoy the last course. However, Ms. Henderson was nowhere to be found. A few questioning looks were exchanged, and as dessert was nearly finished, Ms. Henderson appeared with a gift-wrapped box to present to Anton and Madeleine.

Anton seemed perplexed. "Ms. Henderson, this is highly irregular. You know I don't accept gifts."

Ms. Henderson agreed, "Of course you don't accept gifts, but this isn't a gift. This is for you and Madeleine, and when you open it you will understand."

Anton gave Ms. Henderson a questioning look and placed the box in front of Madeleine to open. Madeleine tore at the wrapping and removed the top of the box. Her eyes grew wide, and she gasped as she recoiled from the box. "Oh, my god, how did you do this?"

Anton peered into the box. His eyes nearly popped as he looked over at Ms. Henderson.

Ms. Henderson smiled. "My dear, when you came back to the house after Mr. Cartier's arrest, you left your purse in the foyer. I easily found your key to the safe deposit box. You used one of Mr. Cartier's boxes at the bank. I gained power of attorney, I had the key, and retrieving these chips was no challenge. I wanted to wait until Mr. Cartier's business was settled before I offered them back to him."

No one knew what to say. I looked over at Eddie, and he looked over at me. No words were necessary. He was absolutely right. Ms. Henderson had been hiding something to protect Anton.
About the Author

Adriel Jacques Chevalier descended from a French family that migrated to the Netherlands before immigrating to the United States. His ancestors were jewelers and watchmakers for many generations. However, Adriel was never adept with handling the delicate parts of tiny machinery. Instead, he turned his interests to the software industry that was just becoming popular early in his adult life. He found that logic and problem solving better suited his skills, and he excelled in his field.

Adriel's elder sister had taught him to read and write at the age of three. Due to boredom suffered from structured learning, he sought to educate himself from his youth. He spent decades studying ancient history and various writings, mostly Christian and Judaic literature. Some of his studies he opted to conduct in the pre-translated, original language to gain a clearer understanding.

Always frustrated with the structure and politics of organized religion, he sought relationships according to the instruction of the Messiah, "For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there I am in their midst." Adriel recognized that the Messiah's name was synonymous with his authority, which is Truth, and that any group larger than three brought annoying problems.

Adriel and his fellows departed from the mainstream teaching of the established religions and embarked on a journey that led them on a quest for intrinsic Truth. Through many enlightening revelations and miraculous experiences, Adriel came to recognize that much of what is taught today concerning the Creator and his anointed one is rubbish. He forsook the erroneous cliches, rhetoric, and discrepancies of the religious culture and embraced Truth, which is available to any man, anywhere, at any time.

Although it was contrary to Adriel's belief system to share his findings in a rhetorical document, in his later years, he decided to envelop them into a work of fiction to be enjoyed by others. 
