Chapter 29
A heavy cloud of disappointment and disillusionment toward Josée hung in the air. Pascal gave a long sigh and shrugged.
"Yeah, right. No way that's true. Just as I thought—this woman’s useless."
"Oh? Is that so?" Josée replied smoothly. "But what if someone here had something to gain by making a suicide look like a murder?"
The atmosphere shifted. The room suddenly felt warmer, as though the air had thickened. Josée scanned the others with sharp eyes, then pointed up at the chandelier hanging overhead.
"That chandelier is attached to a hook in the ceiling, isn’t it?"
Everyone instinctively looked up.
"And over here," she continued, gesturing, "we have a detachable clothesline."
The implication clicked into place. Everyone exchanged uneasy glances.
"And there's also a chair. Maurice-sama used what was already here to hang himself. But then the culprit found the body, panicked, and tried to stage the scene to look like a robbery and homicide."
Serge’s eyes narrowed as realization dawned.
"Right. A hanging victim always has rope marks around the neck. So the culprit deliberately injured his throat to hide that."
Josée nodded.
"Exactly. But to make it look like a clear-cut murder, they needed something more dramatic—something that left no doubt."
"So they used the gun?"
"Yes. They left the party headquarters, circled around to the garden, and shot Maurice-sama while he was still hanging. Afterward, they came back inside, dripping wet, and took the body down. Then, when they saw the rope marks on his neck, they used shards of glass to damage the area even more. And—"
Josée’s voice sharpened as she drove the point home.
"They burned the suicide note that had been left on the table... right there, in this fireplace."
Bernard immediately began rummaging through the ashes. Watching him, Pascal scoffed.
"If it’s burned that badly, it must be gone for good—"
"Oh really?"
Josée smiled, a glint of triumph in her eyes.
"Is a suicide note always written just once? And does it always have to be on paper?"
Bernard lifted his soot-smeared face, eyes wide.
"Josée, you...!"
"I’ve already found the second copy. None of you noticed?"
The representatives and officers looked around, startled, shaking their heads.
Josée pointed confidently at the desk.
"Right here. Take a look."
As they gathered around, faint indentations became visible on the wood’s surface.
"!......This is..."
"He must have written the note while sitting at this desk. The pressure from the pen left an imprint."
"Uh... Can anyone read it?"
Just as Bernard tried to make out the markings by candlelight—
"Stop ittttt!"
Enzo suddenly lunged at Josée with a furious bellow.
Serge reacted instantly, slamming into Enzo from the side and pinning him to the floor.
"Gwah!"
The officers raised their guns, shouting as they restrained him.
Bernard read aloud:
"I am being threatened by my stepson, Enzo. I cannot write the reason here. I took out life insurance as he demanded, so someday he will stage an accident and kill me. Before that happens, I will die on my own terms. If I commit suicide right after taking out the insurance, the payout won’t go to the beneficiary. This is my revenge. Caroline, be well. Goodbye. From Maurice."
The soft wood had preserved the letters better than expected. The message was unmistakable.
An officer began binding Enzo’s torso with the very clothesline that had once circled Maurice’s neck.
"You bastard!" Enzo screamed, thrashing. "That guy was taking bribes from a drug cartel! He wasn’t some poor victim being blackmailed—he was a piece of shit!"
The representatives listened with grim expressions as the dam of family secrets broke.
"He killed himself the moment the insurance was signed! He just didn’t want me to get the money! That’s why he did it at the party headquarters! Everything was going fine until that damn woman stuck her nose in!"
Josée, utterly unbothered, gave a cool reply.
"Oh my. And who’s the pathetic man who got humiliated by that ‘damn woman’?"
"Y-You bitch—!"
"Sorry," she said lightly. "I’ve already forgotten all about you. You’re the one who’s finished now... socially speaking."
Enzo hurled slurs—“whore,” “slut”—but quickly fell silent when one of the officers barked an order.
Josée watched as he was dragged away.
"Hmph... What a pathetic man."
And quietly, she thought to herself:
"The police were rotten, but politicians... they’re even worse."
She muttered the words aloud. Serge and Clovis exchanged awkward glances.
Pascal walked over to Josée.
"You found the suicide note, figured out it was suicide, reconstructed the scene, and re-deduced the whole thing. Not bad."
Josée gave him a frosty look, unimpressed by his sudden change in attitude.
"Don't look at me like that," Pascal said, raising his hands. "I admit it—I underestimated you just because you’re a woman. That’s why I was so surprised. But still… Clovis-dono really found someone incredible."
Josée blinked.
"Clovis-sama chose me...?"
Her eyes met Clovis's. He smiled gently.
"I heard about the poisoned wine. The Radical Party isn’t a monolith—it’s full of different factions. The one trying to recruit you is the Déracinés Faction—the Weeds. The ones who poisoned you were probably from the Royalist Faction."
Josée tilted her head.
"Royalist Faction?"
"A faction that worships the king."
"So that sort of thing still exists. Well, I guess I can understand wanting to side with the strong."
"Honestly, I don’t think anyone who wants to become a representative should be joining the Royalist Faction. I doubt they even understand why they’re in politics. If all they want is to cozy up to power, they shouldn’t be in politics at all."
Clovis’s voice was firm as he extended his hand to her.
"I’ve heard the rumors about you in the underworld. They say there’s a fearless and greedy foreign woman stirring things up."
"Hehehe. I’ll take that as a compliment."
"I meant it as praise, not slander. Even though people describe you that way, somehow—deep down—they all end up rooting for you. That kind of person... is exactly who politics needs."
"Really?"
Josée felt a flutter of pride, but quickly reined it in under Serge’s pointed gaze.
Praise, after all, is when you need to be the most careful.
The rain had stopped. A faint glow of morning light peeked through the windows.
Out in the garden, investigators were digging a mud-caked gun out of the earth.