“What …? You’re making this up.” Brianne gasped.
“Now old Lavigne’s doing it again, Brianne. He thought marrying you would stop Renaud. But Renaud can’t quit. He’s ill—a pedophile. With all the pressure, Renaud’s gone over the edge to hide his assaults, even killing Madame Vasseur and shooting me.”
Brianne erupted in sobs.
“You think he’ll stop? Forget that Catholic-girl guilt,” said René. “Bon, we’ll point out the residue on your hands and you’ll both go to prison.”
Brianne’s terror-stricken eyes pleaded. “Non, non.”
“Smart choice,” said René.
Thursday, 11 A.M.
AIMéE WAVED TO Zacharié as he left the café on sun-dappled rue du Louvre. She tucked a copy of Le Parisien in her bag and peered at him from over her Jackie O sunglasses in front of Leduc Detective’s building door.
“I explained to Zazie’s parents,” he said.
“How’d it go?”
“The version I gave?” His mouth turned in a rueful smile. “For reasons of state security, etcetera. The usual smoke screen. I’m only permitted to say blah, blah and apologized for their daughter getting involved. End of story.”
For the best and as promised, he’d kept her name out of it. At the corner she saw a flashing glint, heard a car’s screeching brakes, a ringing bicycle bell, then shouts as a bicyclist shook his fist at a Renault and pedaled away. A near collision averted. Like yesterday. She gave an inward sigh of relief.
“I owe you, Aimée,” he said.
She nodded. “I might take you up on that one day.”
“And your friend Saj. For a Rasta hippie, he’s a genius.”
“Glad you followed his advice.” She neglected to mention Saj’s scanned addendum copy she’d messengered anonymously to Morbier this morning. Or the description of the Corsican she’d supplied to Beto.
Women with shopping bags stood fanning themselves in the heat at the bus stop. Freshly watered red geraniums from the iron-railed balcony above the café overflowed and trickled onto the pavement, sending out a humid vapor.
“The subbranch in the Ministry offered me a job like the one I did before,” he said. “In Belgium, with a flat and international school for Marie-Jo.”
Close enough to watch, but not close enough to cause trouble.
“You worked a deal,” she said.
The price of his silence.
The 67 Pigalle bus approached, wending its way across rue de Rivoli. Zacharié pulled a carnet of bus tickets from his pocket. “Deep down you’re thinking I’m wrong,” he said. “That it’s all wrong. But I can protect my daughter now and obtain full custody. That’s all that means anything to me.”
The bus shadows blocked out the lozenge of light playing on his face. Ripples of hot air laced with diesel exhaust and lime-blossom scent filled her nose. She felt a flutter as the baby kicked.
“I understand.”
“You’re just saying that, Aimée,” he said, joining those in line for the bus. Then he paused, turned to her, letting people file past, and took her hand. “But I can’t live with Marie-Jo like a fugitive. I won’t.”
For the first time, she really did understand. “Bonne chance.”
He enveloped her in a hug and patted her stomach.
On the corner she saw Beto shutting a taxi door, patisserie box in the other hand. He was staring at her. At them. Zacharié boarded the bus. And when it took off, the taxi had gone and so had Beto.
Acknowledgments
THANKS GO TO so many: Dot, Barbara, Max, Jan, always Jean Satzer, Jeffrey Phillips, Ken the Judge, Pascaline Lefebvre of Alliance Fran?aise de Portland.
In Paris, Carla Chemouni-Bach; Alex Toledano, Ph.D; Anne-Francoise and Cathy Etile; Gilles Thomas; Beno?t Pastisson; Agnès Chauvin at the Conservation Régionale des Monuments Historiques; Jean-Pierre Gauffier; Thierry Cazaux of the Conseiller d’Arrondissement et Délégué au Patrimoine et à la Culture Mairie du 9ème; Valérie Vesque-Jeancard; Marie-Claire, detective privé; Daniel Catan. Boundless mercis to Annie-Laure Assis and Claude Etienne for sharing music, walks and their ’hood; Jean Abou, partymaster; dear Joanna Bartholomew; Denise the photographer; Valérie Mayer-Denarnaud; Areski Garidel of Pigalle; Thierry Boulouque, Commissaire Divisionnaire Chef de la Brigade de Protection des Mineurs; Maryse Leclerc-Joly, Commandant Fonctionnel de Police Chef de la Section des Enquétes; Céline Plumail, Commissaire de Police, Brigade de Protection des Mineurs; Commmissaire Central Laurent Mercier de Police Judiciare 9ème arrondissement; Peter Olson; Monsieur X at H?tel Drouot.
Nothing would happen without Dr. Terri Haddix, medical pathologist; Dr. Laurie Green, who saves lives; James N. Frey without whom; the Soho family: Rudy Martinez, Rachel Kowal, Janine Agro, Paul Oliver, Bronwen Hruska, who helms our ship, and my whipsmart editor extraordinaire, Juliet Grames; and always to Jun and my son, Tate.