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empty. He said he didn’t stop at any point along the journey. So you can see why people are rumbling about black magic. It doesn’t help that Dr. Kalderash is of Gypsy extraction.”
    “But do you actually believe she used black magic to kidnap a woman from a moving vehicle?” Corbeau asked, incredulous.
    “That’s what I intend to find out. I thought you might interview her this morning.” He smiled at her expression. “The universe is a big place, Inspector, with more possibilities than our mustard-seed-sized intellects can conceive.”
    “But you consider Kalderash a strong suspect?”
    “I consider her the only suspect.”
    “I thought the universe was a big place. Surely it’s large enough for more than one theory at this point in the investigation.”
    Javert shrugged. “I’ll make it worth your while. Review the facts of the case. Interview the suspect and whomever else you deem important. I’ll keep Vautrin out of your hair while you do. And when you gather enough evidence for an arrest warrant for Dr. Kalderash, then you’ll have the opportunity to carry out that warrant as a fully restored detective inspector of the Sûreté.”
    Corbeau let out a long breath. Her windpipe still ached from where Vautrin had tried to crush it. A lump was forming on the back of her skull from where he’d bashed it against the doorjamb. Hadn’t he been surprised, when he’d arrived at Armand Lambert’s building, priest in tow, to see that she’d gotten there first? Whatever dark little business of his she’d stumbled on, he’d be looking for any excuse to send her on her way. She certainly didn’t fancy spending the day skulking around the Palais de Justicetrying to avoid him.
    At the same time, Javert’s certainty of Dr. Kalderash’s guilt suggested a setup. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t set up suspects before, of course. The first thing an agent learned was that if a criminal isn’t guilty of the crime in question, he—or she—is probably guilty of something else. But it smelled all the same.
    “I’ve done a lot of your research for you already,” Javert said. “I’m confident that once you read the evidence, you’ll agree with me. What do you think, Inspector?”
    He held out his hand. She hesitated. Surely he didn’t expect her to accept his assessment on faith. Yet she might arrive at the same place Javert had, through her own methods. And then her days of coffee and paperwork would be over.
    “I’ll read over your reports,” she said, taking the proffered hand. “But I’ll conduct my own investigation.”
    “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
    “What about Mr. Lambert?”
    “Who?”
    “Armand Lambert. You showed up at his house just as I was leaving. Chief Inspector Vautrin and his pet priest took Mr. Lambert into custody earlier this morning following his outburst. Who knows what sort of spiritual remediation they have in mind for him? Frankly, Monsieur, I fear for his safety.”
    “Mmm.” Javert nodded. “You concentrate on Dr. Kalderash. I’ll find your Mr. Lambert. In the meantime, I believe you know where you are now.” He rapped the top of the carriage with the handle of a large, oiled-silk umbrella. The carriage slowed and pulled to a stop before the café Corbeau knew so well. “Oubliette doesn’t open for another hour or two. It should give you plenty of time to settle your affairs there before you go to interview Dr. Kalderash. Best not to let these things fester. Her address is inside, by the way. The Rue des Rosiers. Although I’m sure you could have deduced that for yourself.”
    Corbeau folded the papers back into their envelope and tucked it into her shoulder bag. Javert opened the door onto the uneven sidewalk in front of the café. Corbeau placed one foot onto the metal step, pausing to watch the pounding rain and the river rushing through the gutter beneath her. Javert chuckled, his voice resonant within the wooden walls of the fiacre.
    “Where are my