AL01 - Murder in the Marais

Aimee hoped her surprise didn't show. 'When was this?'

'Are you from the police? Show me your ID again,' said Solange.

Aimee kept her smile businesslike. This woman could have been the last person to speak with Hecht before his accident. 'I'm a private detective, investigating the murder of the Jewish woman near here.'

'Of course I want to be helpful, but how is it related?' Solange said. She pulled a lace mouchoir from her pocket and blew her nose loudly.

'My job,' Aimee said, frustrated that Solange Goutal was the curious type, 'consists of eliminating coincidences to find solid clues and build a case.'

Solange's eyes crinkled. 'I see.' But Aimee could tell she didn't. 'Vandals set fire to our Star of David last week. Les Blancs Nationaux didn't claim responsibility, but it wouldn't surprise me if they had.'

'Hard to say.' Aimee gritted her teeth but kept smiling. She wanted this woman to answer her questions, not pose other questions. 'Why don't you tell me about Hecht.'

'Well, he needed assistance down the stairs because of his arthritis.' She indicated the curved marble stairway. 'I helped him with his coat. I always helped Soli if I could. His work is so important.' She smiled sadly.

'Did you see the accident?'

She sniffled, holding back tears. 'My back was turned, deactivating the security system,' she said. 'I heard brakes squeal, then a thud. I ran outside but. . .' She closed her eyes.

'You deactivated the security system after Soli Hecht left?' Aimee said. That didn't make sense. 'Why?'

'If Soli is involved with a project, he works here any time. We close at noon Fridays for Shabbat. However, today, for the deportation memorial services I came in to finish up some work. Sometime after three Soli buzzed the office so I deactivated the alarm, then let him in. I reactivated the alarm but he only stayed a short time. To let him out I had to deactivate again. In doing so, I forgot to disarm his office alarm code.'

'But I just walked in,' Aimee interrupted.

'My mistake.' Solange shook her head. 'I was supposed to activate the process again. But it's so hard to remember.'

'He has special access?' Aimee asked.

'Of course!' Solange sounded surprised. 'Soli got the grant from the 4th arrondissement for this building space. His foundation maintains an office upstairs. Since the Jews lived and died in the Marais, he always said, their history should be shown here. But this week was the first time I'd seen him in several months.'

Startled, Aimee realized that this information fit if his recent contact with Lili involved his work at the center. Keeping her excitement in check, she asked, 'What was he working on?'

'That's confidential information,' Solange said. She glanced at her watch. 'I need to close the center.'

'Is there anyone in his office whom I can talk to?' Aimee asked.

'Only Soli could tell you that. There's no one else in today.'

Why wouldn't Solange talk? Supposedly there'd been an attempt on Soli's life, so why worry about confidentiality?

'Solange, I need to know about this work he's involved in.'

'I told you it's confidential,' she snapped.

Hecht had slipped her fifty thousand francs to find Lili Stein's killer and now he'd been hurt. There must be a connection to Hecht's foundation, but she wouldn't find out if this braided lackey kept blocking her way.

'Your director better be more helpful.' She leaned close to Solange.

'She's involved in the memorial at the deportation monument today, but she'll be in Sunday.' Solange backed up against the highly polished wood reception desk.

'What if Soli doesn't make it until tomorrow and you've obstructed my investigation—would you like that on your conscience?'

Solange's chin quivered. 'I don't make the rules, I'm sorry.'

'Answer me this.' Aimee crossed her arms. 'Did Soli act differently today than before?'

Solange paused, knotting her fingers. 'His rheumatoid arthritis had become worse. He was in constant pain,' she said, then sighed, 'That's why it seemed unusual.'

'Unusual?' Aimee said, alerted by the change in Solange's tone.

'That he was at a bus stop,' Solange said matter-of-factly. 'He told me he was going to take a taxi home.'

Aimee willed her face muscles to stay put, hiding her excitement. Her suspicious feeling about Solange evaporated. 'Did you report the accident to the police?'

'They didn't even respond when I called. Told me to dial SAMU, the emergency. Soli's a special man. This doesn't seem fair.'

Outside, Aimee stared at the now dull brownish spot on the cobblestoned street. It didn't make sense for Hecht, in constant pain, to wait at a bus stop when a taxi stand was a few meters away. Especially since he'd said he would take a taxi. Somehow she'd unearth this mess, cobblestone by cobblestone if need be.

Late Friday Afternoon

'YOU SAY SOLI HECHT is in a coma?' Aimee asked Morbier as she stood across from his desk. 'Is he going to wake up?'

'Severe trauma, internal injuries.' Morbier shrugged. 'Then again, I'm not a doctor.'

'If he wakes, can you arrange it so I talk with him?' she said.

France 2 droned above them on the TV in Homicide. On the screen, angry demonstrators at the Elysee palace gates paraded near a newscaster who vainly attempted to interview them.

'A big if. He's in his eighties, amazing that his heart is pumping at all. Round-the-clock surveillance, too,' Morbier added.

Her heart raced. Something was very off here.

'Wait a minute, weren't you calling this an accident? Not even investigating when I called you. . .'

Morbier cut her off. 'Not me. Word came down the pipe.'

'Meaning what?' she asked.

'From above. Not my dominion anymore. My men and I have been ordered clear of this investigation for safety and precaution. You, too.' He stared at Aimee.

'Hold on.' She hated being told thirdhand. 'Does this include Lili Stein's case?'

'BRI has been assigned to the 3rd and 4th arrondissement,' he said.

If Solange Goutal's emergency call had been ignored but Soli Hecht was abruptly put under hospital surveillance, a lot more was happening than met the eye. Her eye, anyway. 'You're no longer handling this case?'

He shook a nicotine-stained finger at her. 'Stick to your computer, Leduc; that's all you need to know.'

'What about getting me the phone numbers dialed from Les Blancs Nationaux's office?'

He shook his head. 'I can't help you.'

Typical Gallic evasion, she thought; the French had perfected the art of sitting on the fence. He cupped his palm and took a deep drag of the Gauloise stub held between his thumb and middle finger. His bushy eyebrows lifted high on his forehead.

'Talk to me, Morbier,' she said. It came out more intimately than she meant it to.

'First time in twenty-six years I've had a case taken away.' He regarded his desk with a sour expression and ignored the tone in her voice. 'For what it's worth, I don't like it either.'

She felt her temper erupting, but she thanked him and walked out.

Late-afternoon traffic had choked to a standstill on rue du Louvre as she walked to her office. Morbier's comment spun in her head and she longed for a cigarette.

Instead, she bought a baguette at the boulangerie next to her building. In the small supermarche wedged on the other side, she picked up chevre cheese, local tapenade