AL01 - Murder in the Marais

cobblestones slippery with blood amid broken glass in the Place Vendome. Her father would angrily demand that she hurry and piece his charred limbs together so he wouldn't be late for his award dinner. 'Vite, Aimee, quickly!' he'd say out of his melted, burned mouth. 'I have no intention of missing this!' She'd wake up terrified and run through her dark, cold apartment.

Only once, after too much Pernod, had she told Rene about her nightmares and the bombing. Right now, she had to talk with someone she trusted.

'I need a sounding board,' she said. 'Got an ear?'

He nodded and left his laptop unopened. 'I thought you'd never ask.'

She told Rene most of what had happened since Soli Hecht had hobbled into their office. She'd already told him about finding Lili Stein.

'I wonder if Foborski attends Temple E'manuel Synagogue, the ones who supposedly hired me,' Aimee continued. 'Or if Abraham Stein does.'

'So?' Rene said. 'I can't see Stein asking a fellow synagogue member to deny you a tax extension.'

'No, of course not.' Aimee shook her head. 'It's just strange that Foborski didn't have those forms.'

'Let me help you.'

She shook her head. 'I'm reserving you for computer work.' His hacking skills were the best she'd ever seen besides her own. Even better than her own. She saw the rejection in Rene's downcast eyes.

'Because I'm small?'

'Stop that. I dealt with your size long ago. You're my best friend.'

'And tact is not your strong suit, Aimee,' Rene said. 'Even though you're my best friend, too. Do you think if I were tall I'd be able to help you?'

'Alors! This has nothing to do with your size, Rene. Lili Stein's homicide isn't our usual corporate crime.'

'Don't count me out, Aimee.'

'I swore on my father's grave.' She put her head down. 'Now I've blabbed to you.'

'You swore to deliver something to Lili Stein. You did. Remember, I'm a black belt.' He nudged her proudly. 'And a good backup.'

She sighed. 'You keep reminding me.'

'What about Soli Hecht?'

'He said no contact.'

'Come to the dojo with me. You need all the self-defense kicks you can master.'

'Merci.' She squeezed his hand. 'I'm going to see Morbier. He should have the forensics report by now.'

'What is that stuff on your fingernails?'

'Like it? It's called Urban Decay,' she said. 'I'm going to Les Blancs Nationaux meeting tomorrow.'

'Why?'

'If they murdered Lili Stein. . .'

He interrupted. 'You need backup with those types, Aimee.'

She hesitated. That might not be a bad idea. But if it was a setup. . .She decided against exposing him to danger.

'If I need you I'll call you.' She kissed him on both cheeks. 'Pressure Eurocom's accountant, make him sweat. See you later at the office.'

LE COMMISSARIAT de Police seemed quiet for an early Friday afternoon. Few desks were occupied and the television blared an old American rerun of Hunter. As Aimee approached, Morbier's head appeared from under his desk.

'Lost the grip that holds up my suspenders,' he said with a sheepish grin.

'Try this.' Aimee plucked a safety pin from her jeans and passed it to him. 'I've got plenty.'

Morbier hitched up his trousers and pinned them.

'Just for that, I won't comment on your appearance.' He smiled and sat down heavily at his desk.

Her father would have said something like that.

'Look, Morbier,' she began. 'I need a favor.'

'You're a big girl now, I know,' he said stiffly. 'Our investigation will remain professional.' He winked.

She controlled her impulse to stuff the cigarette dangling from his mouth down his throat. One minute he played hard-line and by the book. The next, he became a paternalistic old coot who couldn't express his feelings. She wished he'd decide on the role, then play it.

'I'd appreciate Les Blancs Nationaux's phone records, calls made and calls received,' she said. 'I want to know who Rambuteau talked with when I was in the office.'

'Back up here. Who's Rambuteau?'

'A born-again Nazi who could be setting me up.'

'Why?'

She hesitated. 'I'll know when I infiltrate Les Blancs Nationaux's meeting.'

His eyebrows lifted. 'How did you manage an invitation? They don't let just anyone in—the scum level is high.'

She told him.

'Maybe you shouldn't go.'

'It's a bit late now.'

He whistled. 'Could be a trap.'

'Exactly. Can you get me the phone numbers?'

Morbier's mouth hardened. 'Before I do anything, hit me with the real reason you're mixed up in this Stein pot-au-feu.'

'Maybe if you believed in community policing and made friends with the rabbi at Temple E'manuel'—her shoulders tightened—'he wouldn't have called me about Lili's shoplifting.' She paused, realizing she had to be more careful. . .what if Morbier contacted the rabbi? She shifted the conversation's focus. 'I'd like to see the forensics report.'

'Me, too.' Morbier scowled. 'Somehow it's lost in the shuffle between the Brigade de Recherches et d'Intervention, the Brigade Criminelle, and the Commissariat,' he said. 'You know, the usual rivalry in our three- pronged justice system. Either of the other two would sooner let someone escape than let us at the Commissariat grab them.'

To avoid him venting his frustration on her, she tried being sympathetic. She sighed, 'Why don't the branches work together?'

'Our squad car radios can't even communicate with each other. Napoleon's theory of divisiveness still prevents us from ever getting together to overthrow the government.'

She grinned. 'An interesting idea that makes for lousy police work.'

'Supposedly, the feds at BRI have a covert operation.' He rolled his eyes.

She could tell he was warming up, testing whether to toss a few morsels her way.

'Far as I'm concerned they're all clowns. But you never heard that from me.'

'In other words, be careful not to step on anyone's territorial toes?' she said.

'That's one way to put it,' he said. He opened his desk drawer and pulled out the crime scene photographs and a clear plastic Baggie which he dangled in front of her eyes. Jumbled inside were dirt, scraps, and leaves.

'Voila.'

She reached up but he slipped the Baggie behind his back.

'My commissaire has become extremely interested in this case.' He shook his thick finger at her. 'Share and share alike, Leduc?'

He'd make her pay for every particle of information. She bit back her nasty reply. 'D'accord.'

He pulled out two pairs of tweezers, gauze masks, and sterile plastic bags. Aimee put on a mask. He wiped his arm across the top of his computer terminal, laid down newspaper, and dribbled the Baggie contents.