The Body In the Vestibule by Katherine Hall Page Page A

new—and one for the books.
    â€œDarling, calm down and get back into bed. I think you’ve had a very powerful nightmare, but everything’s fine. I’m here.”
    Faith reached over and put on the light.
    â€œI’m not dreaming! I wish I were! I couldn’t sleep and the smell of all that fish was bothering me, so I took the trash down to the poubelle . And when I opened it, he was there. Dead. I even took his pulse.” At the recollection, she immediately got up to wash her hands. “Go look for yourself if you like, but we’ve got to call the police. I mean you’ve got to. They’d never understand me.”
    Tom followed Faith into the bathroom, where she started to scrub her entire arm thoroughly with Roger & Gallet’s sandalwood soap.
    â€œAll right. I do believe you. It just seems so improbable.”
    Faith briskly dried off and they went to the phone.
    After telling the beginning of the story several times to what was apparently the wrong branch of the Police Nationale, Tom managed to explain the entire situation and was told they would be there immédiatement.

    â€œI’ll have to let them in. Are you sure you’re all right here?”
    â€œYes—and I certainly don’t want to go with you.”
    Tom left with the key and Faith stood by the windows overlooking the street. In what seemed like only seconds, two police cars pulled up. She was impressed.
    They approached the door and gave three resounding knocks with the heavy iron door knocker. The sound filled the night and Faith saw several lights go on in the buildings surrounding the square. Presumably, screams were normal nocturnal sounds in this part of the city. Such knocks on the door were not.
    Tom must not have reached the vestibule. They knocked again. Faith opened the window and stepped out onto the small balcony. She was intending to tell them he was coming when she saw the door open. Several more lights went on at the neighbors’.
    She stepped back and closed the window, then went into the living room to wait. After a few minutes, she decided to make some tea. She was freezing and maybe if she did something, she wouldn’t keep seeing the clochard ’s face in front of her everywhere she looked.
    The water had just come to a boil when she heard the keys in the locks and dashed down the hall to open the door. Tom stepped in first, followed by two policemen, gardiens de la paix in the city, she’d learned, not gendarmes , but they all wore those hats that made them look like children’s book illustrations.
    Tom appeared—what? Worried, embarrassed, tired—he was panting slightly and the gardiens , although trim, were winded. They were both tall, with dark hair. Their cheeks were flushed and so smooth, it wasn’t clear whether they’d both recently shaved or hadn’t started to grow beards yet. The greatest difference between them was that there was a thin film of sweat on one’s forehead, causing the dark hair that grazed it to curl slightly.

    Faith stood contemplating the group for a moment, then asked, “What is it? What’s happening?” No one seemed to be rushing forward to tell her anything.
    â€œWhy don’t we sit down, sweetheart,” Tom said, and led her to one of the chairs left in the living room after the party. The police glanced around in some surprise at the lack of furniture and remained standing.
    â€œFaith, honey,” Tom said gently, “There wasn’t anything except trash in either of the poubelles. ”
    â€œWhat!”
    â€œThis is not to say you didn’t see the clochard, ” Tom started to explain, but then the younger of the two policemen interrupted.
    â€œIf I may, Monsieur Fairsheeld? I have some English, madame,” he explained, and pulled a chair next to hers and sat down, but not before glancing over his shoulder toward his partner. Madame was in a fetching white chemise de