Killer Critique by Alexander Campion Page B

an interminable wait she muttered, in Brando’s Method mumble, “ C’hais pas —I dunno.”
    Martinière was at a loss. “Mademoiselle, this is a murder investigation, a very serious matter. Your active cooperation is required by law.”
    Sybille glanced up at him with a withering adolescent sneer, rolled her eyes, and returned them to the floor.
    Capucine had had enough. “Sybille, didn’t you see the man splash into his dinner? I wish I’d been there. I would have bust a gut.”
    Sybille giggled and started to reply, but Martinière cut her off with a retort to Capucine.
    â€œCommissaire , please do not interfere. This is a very serious interview.”
    He directed his attention to Sybille.
    â€œThis is a capital case. A man has been murdered. You were quite possibly an ocular witness.”
    Clearly bored, Sybille changed tack. She pulled her chair up to the edge of Martinière’s desk, leaned far forward, put her elbows on the top, nestled her chin in her palms, and stared at him fixedly, unblinkingly. Martinière was completely unnerved.
    â€œMademoiselle, you must pay attention to what I’m saying,” he said in a voice that was beginning to become high pitched. “Let me read you what the Code Penal has to say about failure to cooperate with a juge d’instruction .”
    Martinière got up and went to a bookcase in the corner and started searching for a law book that eluded him. He wasn’t going to find it. Capucine had already noticed Sybille smirking at the red-bound Code Penal on the desk. She was a lot less scatterbrained than she sought to appear.
    As Martinière rooted through the shelves in exasperation, Sybille picked up his cherished gold pen, stealthily opened the top of his blotter, and began doodling on the immaculate felt-like paper. With unexpected talent she drew a cartoon of a blustery and comically severe egret that was a perfect caricature of Martinière. Capucine was sure that she fully well knew that Martinière would be incensed by someone even touching his beloved fountain pen.
    Giving up at the bookcase, Martinière turned around and caught sight of Sybille’s handiwork. He shrieked, “Put that pen down. What do you think you’re doing? And look at it! You’ve destroyed my blotter.” He grabbed his pen and examined the nib carefully to see if any damage had been done. Capucine could feel him burning with desire to try it out on a piece of paper, while knowing that the gesture would make him utterly ridiculous.
    â€œMademoiselle, I give up. Since you refuse to talk to me, I’m going to have no alternative but to hand you over to the police,” he said, as if this was the most dire threat imaginable. “And you’ll see that they are far from being as enlightened as I am. In fact, their techniques can sometimes be quite harsh, believe me.”
    Instead of being cowed, as Martinière had hoped, Sybille turned and winkled at Capucine, who smiled sweetly back.
    Martinière fumed at both of them. “ Ça suffit, mademoiselle —enough of this nonsense. This interview is at an end,” Martinière said with dramatic finality intended to foretell imminent and grave consequences.
    Sybille stood up and sashayed out of the office, swiveling her hips, smirking victoriously at Capucine as she passed. Capucine fervently hoped the expression was out of Martinière’s range of vision.
    The door clicked shut. Capucine waited for the explosion. But Martinière just sat perplexed, looking at his desk.
    â€œ Mais, mais, that juvenile delinquent has stolen my Limoges penholder. It was my mother’s. Or, wait, perhaps I put it in a drawer.”
    He began opening the drawers of his desk one by one, rooting through them in a barely controlled panic.
    Capucine slipped out of the office and caught up with Sybille in the corridor. Laughing quietly, Capucine beckoned with