Speak Softly My Love by Louis Shalako

we’ll let you know.” Tailler picked up
the pencil and waved the cross-word puzzle at her in mock humour—it
wasn’t all that funny with her husband gone but he’d been playing
it heavy-handed since arriving.
    “ Do you take the paper regularly, or just on
Sundays ? I see
you’re a big crossword fan.”
    Tricky Tailler…
    He read
the clues for a couple of the blank lines, and solved number seven
with a little thought.
    Trapezoid.
    He
wondered what she might make of that.
    The look
on her face was unreadable.
    “ Ah, no, we just pick it up once in a blue moon. Didier,
rather. Me, not so much.”
    Me, not so much.
    Ah, but
the date was right there on the top of the page—and going by the
look of nervous concentration on Monique’s strained and narrow
face, she was aware that the question wasn’t entirely innocent.
That side-to-side shift of the eyes was a dead giveaway in Tiller’s
opinion, but of what. That was always a good question. Sometimes
people just couldn’t remember and yet they still wanted to answer
the question. They still wanted to help.
    It was
possible she couldn’t quite remember what day that had been. This
was Friday’s paper.
    Tailler
had it right in front of him.
    It was
the day after the body in the park, and that, had been front-page
news. It was old news at this point. That section of the paper must
be around someplace. He wondered what she did when she was done
with them. It was probably lining the bird-cage, he
realized.
    Hubert
broke it off smoothly before they got in too deep. Their questions
could reveal much, to the devious mind of a killer…
    “ Okay, Madame, we’ll be in touch.” He handed her a card.
“These missing person cases are a real high priority with us. Call
us if you think of anything or just have a question. Oh. And see if
you can find last year’s income tax statement, ah. Please. And
we’ll need the name and branch of his bank as well.”
    Her
mouth opened and Tailler stood there with pen poised to
strike.
    By the
time they were done with her, the lady was more than glad to see
them go.
     
     

Chapter Eleven

     
    The two
detectives had requisitioned a car, which they didn’t do very
often. They were on their own for a change. Their next stop was way
over on the other side of the city. Madame Godeffroy lived in the
Chaillot area on the north side of Paris. The company was in the
other end of town. Gaston e Cie was located just below the Butte
aux Cailles, near the Seine and the route out of the city to the
major wine regions. Primarily in the south, there were wine regions
all over the country. The firm had set its original roots down in
the industrial and commercial fringe belt. What had once been near
the outskirts was now well within the built-up areas. The city was
getting bigger every day, a product of the industrial revolution
and internal migration. Hubert picked his way through unfamiliar
streets, attempting to avoid yet another go-around due to yet
another one-way thoroughfare.
    “ Where in the hell are we? Argh.” Hubert spun the wheel and
the car swerved into the curb. “We forgot to ask how they
met.”
    “ Yeah, I know. It’s a hard job sometimes, eh?” Tailler was
still thinking about Didier—and two different beautiful women, both
of whom seemed to care for him.
    That was
just plain unbelievable. He could not deny a moment of what could
only be described as envy. There were times when you just had to be
honest with yourself, although the heart pounded a little because
of it.
    It
really didn’t bear thinking about. That Didier must be a real
bastard.
    And I’m jealous.
    Hubert
made Tailler crank the passenger-side window down. Checking the
mirror, he waited for a pedestrian to come along from behind
them.
    Hubert
leaned way over.
    “ Hey, buddy.”
    The guy
stopped and looked.
    “ Sir?” The fellow had some element of caution but seemed
helpful.
    “ Where in the hell is Gaston e Cie, the more or less
world-famous wine