Thursday 18th February
Three days had passed since Paul left. It had gone six in the morning and an alarm woke Jasmine up from her deep sleep. She gazed out of her green bedroom and noticed that there was only a few people on the street below.
She got up and poured herself an over boiled coffee, the coffee was bitter and made the night before but it did the job and it woke her up. As she stared out of the window she looked at a mirror on a nearby wall.
Her hair was sticking up and she sighed knowing of what the day was to bring. Today would be the day her uncle would be cremated at ten o'clock and their would be a memorial for her boss at one o'clock. She sat on the sofa and reflected on how quiet the apartment had been since Paul had left three days earlier.
She had gotten used to him being around and found the quiet disconcerting. Jasmine wondered how we was doing and what he was up to. The coffee was poured down the sink and she got showered and changed putting on a black skirt and jumper with a white silk shirt underneath before driving to Pere Lachaise Crematorium located on the Boulevard de Ménilmontant.
When she got to the cemetery the occasion was small as Giovanni had requested. Their in front of her was her mother Isabella who wore a dark blue suit. Jasmine hadn't seen her mother in weeks and they rarely saw each other.
The two looked at each other and they embraced.
Jasmine looked to her mum and saw that she was full of grief.
Jasmine spoke first "Is everyone here?"
Isabella looked to her daughter "Only a few people came. You know your uncle wasn't one to create a fuss or drama."
Jasmine nodded agreeing with her mother "I know I remember last Christmas. It was me, you and my Uncle."
Her mum smiled at the thought "That was a good time."
They walked together into the crematorium, the sky was clear blue with the winters sun piercing the tree canopy. Their was little sound with only the occasional wind blowing around them. Jasmine recalled seeing her uncles body a week earlier in Southampton but chose not to say anything to her mum.
Jasmine and her mother walked to where a few close friends and family had gathered. The priest began his eulogy. Jasmine wasn't listening as her thoughts were turning to her uncle and what little times they had spent together flooded through her mind. One memory was when Jasmine was nine and they where in Lyon and Giovanni showed her the city talking about its history and culture. She especially recalled seeing the Basilique Notre Dame with its twin turrets.
After ten minutes the priest had finished his eulogy. They looked to each other and embraced before returning their eyes to the black panelled coffin as it entered the furnace.
Jasmine looked to her mother with concern "What are you going to do now?"
Isabella took her daughters hand and gripped it softly "Daughter don't worry about me. Its a pity your dad isn't here he would have loved to have been here."
Jasmine nodded "He would have. I miss him."
Jasmine recalled how her father had died from a long battle with cancer five years earlier.
Isabella continued as the first signs of tears emerged "As do I."
It was going on eleven thirty and Jasmine stayed a few minutes talking to a few people and drove her mum back to her mothers apartment in Montparnasse, Paris.
On the way to her bosses memorial Jasmine recalled how she walked into the office the day after her boss was killed and she saw how everyone was shocked by his death. She remembered walking into her bosses office expecting him to be their laughing. His death had come as a deep shock. Throughout that day Jasmine finished up her paperwork eager for her mind to be elsewhere and to keep her mind off things.
Jasmine left the office and as she left Francois Jupon stood in the doorway. He was Marcus's superior. He was six foot and he spoke with a Nice accent and he had lived in Paris twenty years.
Francois got a chair and sat next her "This is perhaps something you should know, Marcus was going to promote you to inspector and it was his last act before he was killed. You are now Inspector Rosinni."
Jasmine tried to smile but couldn't "Thank you."
That was yesterday and she arrived at the memorial half an hour later and walked into a crowd of faces. People she knew, people she didn't, but Jasmine got the sense they were all saddened and that Marcus was a popular figure. She sat by herself in the middle of the church next to her boss Francois and some of her colleagues.
The memorial was held at the Paroisse Notre Dame de Grace de Passy close to the Eiffel Tower and close to offices where Jasmine worked and it had wooden stalls, a large organ with white washed walls and stained glass windows depicting the Resurrection and other biblical scenes that Jasmine couldn't make out.
Apart of her was distracted thinking about how the Brethren had killed her uncle and boss and she was determined that they would be brought down. Whatever it took Jasmine vowed to sort it out and to bring whoever did this to justice.
In the crowds was Pierre Nopasni, a fifty five year old killer, quiet and methodical in his work for the Brethren. He knew of Byron's death and he had been hired to continue his work.
The memorial service started and Jasmine was the first to read out a eulogy where she talked of being a young detective seven years earlier and how she had the best training possible and that Marcus would be dearly missed. A tear formed in Jasmines eye as she sat back down.
Jasmine felt like she was being watched. She glanced around and saw Pierre looking at her. His eyes were dark and featureless with no emotion. Jasmine scoured her brain and recalled seeing him moments before meeting Marcus at Cafe De Mars.
The service ended and Jasmine talked amongst her colleagues and friends. Many people asked who killed him and what had happened. Some asked her about her uncles funeral earlier that day.
She returned to her apartment later that afternoon. As she looked out of the window to a scene of cars and people, a shiver ran down her spine and thought about Pierre's cold eyes. She wondered if she had seen her bosses killer.