Dry Bones Read Free Page B

Waving an encyclopaedia around his head, he was more likely to frighten a burglar to death than do him physical damage.
    Suddenly the bedroom door opened wide and electric light flooded the room. Raffin froze in mid-stride, the
History of the World
raised in readiness. A woman stood in the open doorway looking at him in astonishment. She was tall, wearing a long, black dress gathered at the waist. It was sleeveless, with a quite daring neckline. Dark hair, shot through with hints of silver, tumbled in luxuriant curls around her face and over her shoulders. Her skin was clear and lightly tanned, and large, startled black eyes held them both in their gaze. Enzo thought she was quite the most beautiful woman he had seen in a very long time.
    She looked up at the book above Raffin’s head. ‘For Heaven’s sake put that away, Roger,’ she said. ‘History never was your strong suit.’
    Slowly, Roger lowered the book. ‘What are you doing here?’ There was no disguising his annoyance.
    She half glanced back into the bedroom. ‘Came to get the last of my things. You weren’t here, and I still have a key.’
    He lais the
History of the World
on the dining table and held out an open hand. ‘Well, I’ll relieve you of that now, thank you,’ he said. She slipped long, elegant fingers into a pocket hidden among the pleats of her dress and produced the key on a length of leather thong. He snatched it from her. ‘Have you got everything?’ There was still tension in his voice.
    ‘I think so. I just need a bag to put it in.’
    ‘There are some large, plastic carriers in the dressing room.’
    But she made no move to go and get one. Instead she looked beyond him to Enzo. ‘Aren’t you going to introduce us?’
    Raffin glanced at Enzo, as if he had forgotten he was there. He said dismissively, ‘He’s just come to pick up some papers.’
    Enzo stepped past him and held out his hand. ‘Enzo Macleod.’ He smiled. ‘
Je suis enchanté, Madame
.’
    She shook his hand and held it in hers for just a moment longer than was necessary. Her eyes were compelling, and Enzo felt trapped by their gaze. She said, ‘I’m Charlotte. You’re not French.’
    ‘Scottish.’
    ‘Ah.’ A pause. ‘What papers?’
    ‘That’s really not any of your business, Charlotte,’ Roger said.
    ‘I’m investigating the disappearance of Jacques Gaillard,’ Enzo told her.
    Raffin sighed deeply. ‘Now you’ll never get rid of her. Charlotte’s a…psychologist.’ He spoke the word as if it made a bad taste in his mouth. ‘Trained in criminal profiling.’
    Enzo raised a dark eyebrow. ‘Where did you train?’
    ‘As a profiler? The United States. I spent two years there before coming back to set up my own psychology practice. From time to time the Paris police deign to seek my advice.’ She glanced in Roger’s direction. ‘But I make my living from people with everyday hang-ups. In my case, crime doesn’t pay.’
    Roger said, ‘I’ll get you that bag.’ And he headed off through a tiny door in the wall to the left of what had once been a fireplace.
    Charlotte advanced towards Enzo, and he tried to put an age on her. She was a little younger than Roger. Early to mid-thirties perhaps. ‘What are you?’ she said. ‘A policeman? A private detective?’
    ‘I used to be a forensic scientist.’
    She nodded as if that explained everything.
    Roger reappeared with two large plastic carriers. He thrust one at Charlotte and said to Enzo, ‘I’ll get those notes for you.’ And he disappeared through double doors into his study.
    ‘I suppose I should pack, then,’ Charlotte said, and she retreated to the bedroom.
    Left on his own for a few moments, Enzo looked around Raffin’s salon. Tall windows opened on to the courtyard below. Bookshelves lined the walls on two sides of the dining table at one end of the room. The remaining walls were covered in art: still-lifes, classical scenes from Greek and Roman literature, oriental
tableaux
,