again, I’m going to hurt you.”
“Don’t be so sensitive. I didn’t get much sleep last night, so I can’t remember which of your ex-boyfriends I can still refer to as your exes and which ones I must call by their first names. It’s all very confusing.”
“What else do you have?”
“A second DGSE agent in the hospital. He’s in critical condition. And a deceased unidentified Caucasian.” Simon opened the file on his desk and showed her the crime scene photos.
Neville gave them a quick glance. “So this guy shoots these two DGSE agents and the wounded agent shoots back and kills him.”
“If only it were that simple. This guy,” Simon said as he pointed at the corpse in the street, “was shot in the back of the head at point-blank range . . . less than a foot away. Gun powder residue was all over his head, but his hands were clean and his gun was not fired.”
“So he didn’t shoot the two DGSE agents.”
“That’s the assumption so far.”
“Have you talked to the wounded man?”
Simon gave her a bitter laugh. “What do you think?”
Neville thought about it for a second. “They won’t let you anywhere near him.”
“You got that right.”
“I’m so sick of this bullshit. Was Fournier there last night?”
“He was there briefly to issue some orders and then he disappeared.”
Neville folded her arms across her chest and studied the crime scene photos. She tapped the photo of the man in the street. “No wallet . . . no ID. Nothing.”
“No, but I just left the morgue an hour ago and our people found something very interesting. They think his dental work looks American, but the big break came when they inspected the body. They were using the UV black light to check for gunshot residue, and they found faint traces of a tattoo that the man had had removed.” Simon found the photo and showed her.
Neville read the words aloud. “Rangers Lead. What does that mean?”
“Rangers are U.S. Army Special Forces. Rangers Lead is their motto.”
“Ballistics?”
“That’s where things get really interesting. We found shell casings from four different weapons, only one of which was recovered at the scene. It belonged to the deceased DGSE agent, and he only fired one shot. The rough count on shell casings is sixty-two.”
“Sixty-two,” Neville repeated, not really believing the number.
“And we found five different types of blood at the scene.”
“Three bodies and five different types of blood.”
“So we can assume at least five people were involved, and my guess is more than that.”
“And the DGSE isn’t telling us a thing.”
“That’s right.”
Neville shook her head in disgust. “Anything else?”
Simon glanced down at the file. “There is one other slightly odd piece of information. The first two witnesses on the scene were Americans. I’ve already checked them out. One of them is a network TV correspondent and the other one is his cameraman. When they showed up there was a man delivering first aid to the wounded DGSE agent. He yelled at the two Americans to help and then he ran off to get help.”
“And he never came back?”
“That’s right.”
“Was he French?”
“They think so.”
“Have the Americans given us a description of the man?”
“Yes, but it’s pretty generic.”
Neville shrugged and said, “Could be nothing.”
“Or it could be the key to everything.”
“The key is to get in and talk to that DGSE agent before Fournier has him shipped off to Polynesia.”
“Good luck with that.”
The thought of having to butt heads with Fournier again was enough to make her decide she would assign the case to someone else. They had their hands full. She looked at Simon and said, “We need to get upstairs for the meeting with Mutz.”
Simon pictured Michael Mutz, the newly appointed prefecture of police. He had a high, sloping forehead, a hook nose, and an ample body that was soft in all the wrong places. “And why would I want to go see Mutz with you?”
“Want has nothing to do with it. I’m ordering you.”
