Chapter 7
After reading the newspaper, a chill ran down Josée’s spine. A creeping sense of dread told her something was wrong—and a moment later, her instincts proved right.
**Knock, knock!**
A loud pounding rattled the front door of the brothel. With a resigned sigh, Josée opened it.
Bernard wasted no time. His foot slipped deftly through the doorway before she could close it, and he thrust a warrant into her face.
“We’re here to take you and your staff in for questioning. Please accompany us to the Royal Capital Police as key witnesses.”
Josée blinked in surprise. “Oh my… We haven’t done anything wrong, have we?”
“There was that incident with the stolen ring, remember?”
“Huh? You can’t possibly think *that* has anything to do with Frédéric-sama’s murder?”
Bernard nodded slowly, then glanced upward as if choosing his next words carefully.
“About that gold wedding ring…”
“Yes?” Josée prompted.
“Afterward, did Frédéric-sama—or anyone on his behalf—come to retrieve it?”
Josée shook her head. “Not at all. It’s still unresolved.”
“I see…”
Josée narrowed her eyes. “Something’s bothering you, isn’t it? Just say it.”
Bernard hesitated, then finally muttered, “The corpse we found… it was wearing a gold ring. The same kind that supposedly went missing at Lirondelle that day.”
Josée’s eyes widened. “What? That’s impossible…”
“Maybe it was just lost and turned up again,” Bernard offered weakly.
“In that case, shouldn’t we be cleared as suspects? If the ring’s no longer missing, then there’s no motive connecting us to the murder.”
“It’s not that simple. Unless you can prove your alibi for that day, you’re still on the list.”
“…Hmph.”
As they spoke, three courtesans—still groggy and rubbing their eyes—peeked through the doorway behind Josée.
“Are we being arrested?” one asked.
“Even after we worked so hard entertaining Frédéric-sama?” another added.
“What about the customers with reservations today?” the third chimed in.
Seeing their anxious expressions, Josée turned sharply back to Bernard.
“We can’t afford any more disruptions to our business. Solve this quickly and let us get back to normal.”
“…Get in the carriage,” Bernard said with a sigh.
“Hold on. There’s something I want to know first.” Josée held out the newspaper to him. “If the body didn’t have a head, how did the police identify it as Frédéric-sama? Was it based on his personal belongings?”
Bernard raised an eyebrow. “Ah… Actually, we had Frédéric-sama’s wife come to the scene to confirm it was him.”
Josée frowned. “When a killer decapitates someone, it’s usually to delay identification. So why leave the clothes intact? If you’re going to go to the trouble of cutting off the head and dumping the body in a river, wouldn’t you destroy all identifying features?”
“…What are you trying to say?”
“I’m saying there’s a chance that headless corpse isn’t Frédéric-sama.”
Bernard scratched his head, visibly irritated. Josée, who had her own suspicions about Frédéric being a spy, pressed further.
“Look, just because the family says it’s him—”
“It’s dangerous to confirm a body’s identity without objective evidence,” she cut in.
“…”
“Those three courtesans know Frédéric-sama’s body better than anyone. Let them examine the corpse before you make your final decision.”
From behind her, the courtesans nodded firmly.
“We’ll help.”
“We can’t run a safe business with a murderer still out there.”
“Josée, you’re amazing!”
Bernard let out a long sigh, scratching his head again. Then, turning away, he muttered, “…If you insist. We’ll stop by the riverbank where the body was found.”
Josée gave an eager nod—but then caught herself and pursed her lips.
“You’re just trying to use my brain again, aren’t you?”
“…I’m just humoring your request.”
“Hmph. So stubborn…”
The five of them left the brothel and climbed into the carriage.
The Lubton River ran along the route to the Royal Capital Police. It was once infamous as the site of public executions by guillotine.
When they arrived at the scene, they stepped out of the carriage. The corpse lay beneath a weathered mat. The courtesans shrieked at the sight, but Josée walked forward without hesitation. She offered a brief prayer, then lifted the mat.
Sure enough, a gold ring adorned the left ring finger.
Still, something felt off. An uneasy tension prickled at the back of Josée’s neck.
“Bernard,” she said quietly, “could you lift the clothes for me?”
As if on cue, the courtesans stepped forward.
“Um, could you pull down the pants?” one asked.
“We need to see the butt we used to spank every week,” another added matter-of-factly.
Bernard grimaced, but he complied. He undid the waistband and slid the trousers down.
Michelle let out a sharp gasp. “There’s no pentagram mole!”
Bernard looked even more suspicious, but Lisette and Anaïs quickly spoke up.
“Frédéric-sama had a set of moles on his right buttock,” Lisette explained. “When you connected them, they formed a pentagram—or maybe a pentagon. He used to brag about it, called it his lucky charm.”
“Did his wife not know?” Anaïs wondered aloud.
“And this guy seems slimmer than Frédéric-sama. Are you sure this is really his body?”
Bernard studied the courtesans’ faces carefully.
“…The family’s identification takes precedence over your opinion.”
“Ehh?!” the three gasped in unison.
“But,” Bernard added, “I’ll take your statements into account. I’ll report that we spoke with you.”
Josée reached toward the gold ring. “Can I take this off?”
“Don’t touch it,” Bernard warned. “I’ll do it.”
He carefully removed the ring and handed it to Josée, who examined the inside.
There was no wedding date engraved.
She pressed the ring against a stone and scratched it.
The gold coating flaked away, revealing a dull gray metal underneath. Both Josée and Bernard gasped.
“A noble’s wedding ring… and it’s just gold-plated?”
“And no engraving, either. Anaïs said Frédéric-sama’s ring had the date inscribed inside.”
“…”
“This is highly suspicious.”
Just then, an officer approached from behind.
“Detective Bernard, it’s time.”
“…Right.”
The five of them returned to the carriage and left the riverbank behind.