Page 68 of The Midnight Carousel

The body of a Caucasian male is discovered mid-morning. Three fishermen trawling through marshland chance upon a large beer barrel turned on its side with a leg sticking out.

Laurent is at the precinct when the body is wheeled in, speaking to a group of detectives about the persons responsible for the fire at Silver Kingdom. All three have agreed on a theory, and the suspect will be brought in for questioning within the hour.

‘Anyone know whose body this is?’ an American detective shouts loudly enough to be heard above the hum in the room.

It is a large desk-filled space with an assortment of police personnel.

Laurent has to admit that the ambience here is more appealing than the shabby rooms at his own place of work.

Almost pleasant, in fact. There is no stench of open drains from the street, no screams from nearby cells, and the walls are freshly painted.

A man with a nose the colour and shape of a radish raises his hand.

‘A wallet in his pocket indicates that he’s Mr James Squires, originally from England. His wife is arriving to identify him.’

Although Laurent always believed the man would come to a sticky end, it is a surprise to hear the name nonetheless.

Yesterday, when Maisie had disclosed the identity of Milo’s father, it felt like a dagger had been plunged into Laurent’s heart.

Of course, he did not expect her life to exist in suspension. But to marry that brute?

Discussion turns to bootleg whisky, and Laurent feels justified in taking a break downstairs.

He is tired after barely sleeping a wink last night.

All he could think about, all he ever thinks about whether he is aware of it or not, is Maisie.

His emotions are all over the place. After finding her again at the fire, he had been building up to ask her a question.

Discovering her married put a brake on that idea.

Now his senses are electrified again. While he is worried that the timing might be inappropriate, this might be his final chance, since she leaves to catch her train this afternoon.

On returning from the café across the street, Laurent spots her instantly.

He would spot her anywhere. But here, in the reception area, she is a dazzling light amongst the rabble.

Her head is turning in different directions as though she is lost. His heart quickens as he shoves his way through the crowd.

Maisie looks shaken; she is trembling.

Laurent needs to share some other news with her. As it is a delicate matter to explain, he places a hand on her shoulder. She does not flinch or shrug him off and he is glad.

‘We have found evidence that Mrs Randolph is the person responsible for burning down the carousel, and Silver Kingdom with it.’

Maisie looks fatigued. Her face is washed out, and he notices that she is struggling not to cry.

‘There are numerous witness statements placing Mrs Randolph alone in the house yesterday,’ he adds gently.

‘And an almost empty bottle of fuel was found hidden behind a pile of shoeboxes in one of her wardrobes. The same type of fuel that was splashed around the carousel and enabled the fire to take hold.’

Her eyes widen. ‘Poor Nancy. She has a miserable life.’

She stares sadly along the corridor. Laurent studies the profile of her face. Even in the harsh glare of a police precinct and tainted with melancholy, she still radiates beauty.

‘Do you think you could help me find the room where I’m meant to identify James?’ she continues, fiddling nervously with her purse.

Composing himself, Laurent agrees and finds an available sergeant to escort them to the morgue in the basement.

Maisie baulks at the sight of her husband, his lips blue and his features frozen.

He is as white as a marble statue, with a hole the size of a one-centime piece in the centre of his forehead.

Maisie produces a handkerchief from her purse and dabs her eyes.

‘Can you confirm that this is James Squires?’ the sergeant asks.

Maisie covers her eyes and nods.

‘You need to speak,’ he says.

‘Yes,’ she whispers.

Thankfully, the sergeant affirms that the identification is complete. Once Maisie has signed a form, he hands over a small bag of James’s possessions. She follows Laurent back to the entrance.

As Maisie turns to say goodbye, their eyes connect. Laurent is transported back to the moments before their kiss when they bared their souls to one another.

Only one other person has ever laid themselves open like this. His mother– who had packed her suitcases but was too frightened to leave– showed him everything she could have been. Promise me, Laurent , she had urged, her face soaked with tears. Promise you’ll never let your chances slip away.

He cannot understand how he could have left Maisie all those years ago. Although he had justified it to himself at the time as being for her own good, perhaps deep down a part of him was not ready. But now he is.

‘Why don’t we go to my hotel? It is quiet there, and we can talk.’