‘He’s always been here on the most difficult cases.’ She and Powerscourt were back in the Hôtel St Jacques preparing to compile a list of the pilgrims and their whereabouts on the day John Delaney died. It was, Powerscourt had said, time to begin the work that brought them to the Auvergne, the unmasking of a killer. ‘I’m sure Johnny’s time will come, Lucy. I’ve got to cable him about John Delaney, as you know,’ Powerscourt said, placing the big black notebook he had bought in the Maison de la Presse on the little table by the window. ‘Now then, you’ve got all your notes there and the ones Alex Bentley took in the interviews with our friend the Sergeant? Let’s begin with the Americans.’ ‘Do you think they’re all suspects, Francis?’ ‘What do you mean, all?’ ‘Well, do you include that nice young man, Alex Bentley? Father Kennedy? Michael Delaney himself?’ ‘For the purpose of this exercise, Lucy, we include the lot.
