The first time he’d seen him, Kanarack had been alone, so hopefully he did not make it a habit to leave work in the company of co-workers. If, for some reason, he did on Friday night, Osborn’s contingency plan would be to follow him in the car until he separated from whomever he was with, and then take him at the most convenient place thereafter. If Kanarack walked with someone all the way to the Metro, then Osborn would simply drive to his apartment building and wait for him there. That was something he did not want to do unless it was absolutely necessary, because there was too much chance Kanarack would run into people he was in the habit of greeting as he came home. Still, if that was the only option, Osborn would take it. What he wished more than anything was that had more than one night for the run-through, but he didn’t so whatever happened, he’d have to make the best of.
“Hi.”
Osborn looked up, startled. He’d been in such deep contemplation he’d not seen Vera come in. Quickly he stood and pulled out a chair for her and she sat down across from him. As he went back to his own chair he saw a clock behind the counter. It read 8:25. Looking around he realized the cafe had all but emptied out since he’d gotten there.
“Can I get you something?”
“Espresso,
Getting up, he crossed to the counter, ordered an espresso and stood there while the counterman turned to make it. Glancing back at Vera, he looked past her and then away, concentrating on why he was there, why he’d asked her to meet him when she got off her shift at the hospital.
The succinylcholine.
Twice already that morning he’d tried to have his own prescription for it filled at local pharmacies, but both times he’d been told the drug was available only at hospital pharmacies, and both times he’d been warned he would need authorization from a local physician to get it. A call to the closest hospital pharmacy confirmed it. Yes, they had the succinylcholine. And yes, he would need authorization from a Parisian doctor.
Osborn’s first thought was to call the hotel doctor, but asking for succinylcholine was not like asking for an everyday prescription. Questions would be asked; it could become awkward. A nervous doctor might even call the police to report it. There might be other ways, but finding them would take time and time was now his enemy. Reluctantly, his thoughts turned to Vera.
Right away he dialed the pharmacy at the Centre Hospitalier Ste. -Anne where she was a resident. Yes, the succinylcholine was available, but again, not without local authorization. Maybe, he thought, if he played it right, Vera’s verbal okay at the pharmacy would be enough. He didn’t want to involve any doctor she knew because that person would want to know why. He had a story for Vera, but making anyone else buy it would be complicated and risky.
Hesitating, thinking it through once more, he’d called her at the hospital at 6:30 and asked if she would meet him in a cafe nearby for coffee when she got off work. He’d heard her pause, and for a moment he was afraid that she was going to make up an excuse and tell him she couldn’t see him, but then she’d agreed. Her shift finished at 7:00 but she had a meeting that wouldn’t be over until just after 8:00. She would meet him after that.
Osborn watched her as he carried the espresso back to the table. After a thirty-six-hour shift without sleep and an hourlong meeting following that she was still pert and radiant, even beautiful. He couldn’t help staring at her as he sat down, and when she caught him she smiled back, lovingly. There was something about her that put him some of where else, no matter what he was thinking or what else he was involved in. He wanted to be with her and consume her and have her consume him, always and forever. Nothing either one of them could ever do should be more important than that. The trouble was he first had to take care of Henri Kanarack.
Leaning forward, he reached across to take her hand. Almost immediately she pulled it away and slid it into her lap.
“Don’t,” she said, her eyes darting around the room.
“What are you afraid of? Somebody might see us?”
“Yes.”
Vera looked away, then picked up her cup and took a sip of the espresso.
“You came to me, remember? To say goodbye . . . ,” Osborn said. “Does he know about that?”
Abruptly Vera put down her cup and stood up to leave.
“Look, I’m sorry,” he said. “That wasn’t the right thing to say. Let’s get out of here and go for a walk.”
She hesitated.
“Vera, you’re talking to a friend, a doctor you met in Geneva who asked you to meet him for a cup Of coffee. Then you walked up the street together. He went back to the U.S. and that was that. Shoptalk between doctors. Good story. Good ending. Right?”
Osborn’s head was cocked to the side and the veins stood out on his neck. She’d never seen him angry before. In a way she couldn’t explain, it pleased her and she smiled. “Right,” she said, almost girlishly.
Outside, Osborn raised an umbrella against a light drizzle. Dodging around a red Peugeot, they crossed the street and walked up rue de la Sante in the direction of the hospital.
In doing so they passed a white Ford parked at the curb. Inspector Lebrun was behind the wheel; McVey sat in the passenger seat beside him.
“I don’t suppose you know the girl,” McVey said as he watched Osborn and Vera walk away from them. Lebrun turned the key in the ignition and he eased the car off in the same direction.
“You are not asking if I know her, but if I know who she is—correct? French and English expressions do not always mean the same.”
McVey was incredulous that a man could talk with a cigarette always dangling from the corner of his mouth. He’d smoked once, for the first two months after his first wife died. He had taken up smoking to keep from drinking. It didn’t do much good but it helped. When it stopped helping, he quit.
“Your English is better than my French. So yeah, I’m asking if you know who she is.”
Lebrun smiled, then reached for his radio microphone. “The answer, my friend, is—not yet.”
18
THE TREES along the boulevard St.-Jacques were beginning to turn yellow, getting ready to drop their leaves for winter. A few had already fallen and the rain made walking slippery. As they crossed the street, Osborn took Vera’s arm to steady her. She smiled at the gesture, but as soon as they crossed, asked him to let go.
Osborn looked around. “You worried about the woman pushing the baby carriage or the old man walking the dog?”
“Both. Either. Neither,” she said flatly, purposefully being aloof, but not quite sure why.” Maybe she was afraid of being seen. Or maybe she didn’t want to be with him at all, or maybe she wanted to be with him completely but wanted him to make that decision for her.
Suddenly he stopped. “You’re not making it easy.”
Vera felt her heart skip a beat. When she turned to look at him, their eyes met and held there, the way they had that first night in Geneva, the way they had in London when he put her on the train to Dover. The way they had in his hotel room on avenue Kleber when he’d opened the door and stood there with nothing but a towel around his waist. “What am I not making easy?”
Then he surprised her.
“I need your help and I guess I’m having a hard time figuring out how to ask for it.”
She didn’t know what he meant and said so.
Beneath the umbrella he was carrying for both of them, the light was soft arid delicate. He could just make out the top of her white medical tunic raising up under the blue anorak she wore. It made her look more like a member of a mountain rescue team than an urban doctor in training. Small gold earrings clung to the base of each ear like tiny raindrops, accenting the narrowness of her face and turning her eyes into enormous emerald pools.
