AL05 - Murder in Clichy

broken doll.

“Commissaire,” she said, “he told me someone was following him. And I know he waited for my call in a cafe. Perhaps his phone was tapped. On top of that, my partner Rene Friant has been kidnapped.”

“Mademoiselle Leduc, that’s the first I’ve heard about it.”

“The kidnapper wants this.” She showed him the fifty-thousand franc check. “They said Thadee owed them. If I didn’t pay, they’d dismember my partner.”

“Did Thadee Baret say something to anger you?”

Why was he obsessed with that?

She shook her head. From the walls dampness emanated through the rectangular office. Goosebumps went up her arms.

“You yourself admit you pushed him into the line of fire.”

“Don’t you understand?” she stood up, paced closer to the diagram. “I’d never even met him. If I planned on killing Thadee, I wouldn’t lure him into a crowd to be the target, too. But if someone wanted to stop him talking, it was the perfect way to eliminate him and throw the blame on me.” She stared at the commissaire. “You know that as well as I do.”

She watched his face. Did a flicker of understanding cross it? She figured right now he had no other leads so he’d jumped on her.

“Au contraire,” he said. “A witness heard you threatening him. Saw you push him.”

How convenient. She wondered if they’d find this witness again. She was glad she kept the information about the jade to herself.

“Like I said, I told him to duck, but too late. What can you do about my partner, Rene Friant? Commissaire, I’m not a civilian.“ She walked to the wall, pointed to the photo of a tall man, with a gray mustache and sharp eyes. “That’s my grand-pere. He left the Deuxieme Bureau, as they used to call this section, and started Leduc Detective.”

Commissaire Ronsard would listen to her now, wouldn’t he? He pulled at a loose thread from his jacket, then looked away.

“Mademoiselle, how do you explain Baret’s ex-wife Sophie’s disappearance?”

“Disappearance?” Aimee asked. “That’s a question for you to answer, Commissaire,” she said. “She had been assaulted in her home and tied up. I cut her down from the toilet pipe, otherwise—”

“Attendez.” He opened a folder, took out more Polaroids. “A courtyard resident called last night and said he saw you carry a struggling Sophie to a taxi.”

The graphic artist.

“But I was helping her.”

“Then where is she?”

Should she tell him? But he didn’t seem to believe anything else she said. And she worried for Sophie’s safety.

“Sophie checked into a clinic to rest, she seemed distraught.” A small fib.

“We need to question her.”

Sleet silvered his office window, sheeting the barges in the Seine in a gray mist. The office temperature matched the dampness outside.

“Commissaire, that’s for you to arrange.”

“I can keep you in garde a vue until you cooperate,” he said. A garde a vue would smell of unwashed socks, vomit, and urine, on a good day.

“Clinique Parc Monceau,” she said. “At least I dropped her off there.”

She knew someone would check. That’s why she’d made a reservation there on her cell phone from the taxi the previous night.

“Why didn’t you help her register at the clinic?”

“Commissaire, she didn’t want my help,” she said.

“We found this in the gallery,” he said, slapping it on his desk. “Does this look familiar?”

Aimee’s black wool scarf.

Great.

“Merci, this must have fallen when I helped her,” she said.

“But Sophie Baret never checked in. We consulted all the registers at clinics and hopitals. Standard procedure. Found a reservation but Sophie Baret didn’t check into the clinic. Matter of fact, her name appears on an Orly flight manifest to London.”

“London?”

“On an Air France flight. How do you explain that, Mademoiselle?”

Wasn’t she still at Morbier’s? “That’s news to me.”

“So you took her to the airport,” he continued, “or made it appear that way.”

“Commissaire, I had no idea—”

“Did you silence her, too?” he interrupted.

Aimee didn’t like the look in the commissaire’s eye. Or his attitude. She thought fast. “This is the first I heard she went to London. All I know is what I’ve told you. Commissaire, I could have been a victim, too. What if I was the target? Aren’t you pursuing that line of inquiry?”

“So tell me about your enemies, anyone who would shoot at you,” he said. “Work related issues?”

“My partner and I do computer security,” she said. ”As I told you, I got a call. He has been kidnapped.”

“So you say.” Ronsard stared at her.

“You think I’m making this up? Have you investigated Baret’s drug connections?”

“You sound quite familiar with him,” he said. “I feel you’re holding something back, Mademoiselle Leduc.”

What good would it to do to tell him about the jade; he wouldn’t believe a word she said.

“Aren’t you going to write this down? Rene Friant, 19 rue de la Reynie, missing since Wednesday evening.”

“How did these alleged kidnappers make contact?” He pulled out a notebook.

“They called me on my cell phone from Rene’s.” She punched in Rene’s number now but the only response was his voice mail message.

“How many times have they called you?”

“Just the once,” she said.

“They’re waiting for somebody.”

She agreed.

“Or something. What do you think that would be?”

She shook her head.

“I’ll alert the Groupe d’intervention de la Gendarmie Nationale unit,” he said.

The supposedly elite group that dealt with terrorism? Leo’s help was more promising.

A look crossed Commissaire Ronsard’s face that she couldn’t decipher.

“If Sophie Baret gets in touch, we expect to be informed,” he said, his tone dismissive. “You can go.”

That seemed quick. Too quick. Was he letting her go so they could follow her, see if Sophie got in touch? Or, Aimee shuddered, if she’d lead them to Sophie’s body?

She walked to the door.

“Mademoiselle Leduc?”

She turned.

“I’m sure you’re aware we have the right to keep you in garde a vue,” he said. His small eyes never left her face. “We can hold you for forty-eight hours. Think of it this way; it’s secure, no enemies could shoot at you.”

“I’m aware of the law and the legal system, Commissaire,” she said, buttoning her coat. “Matter of fact, I took an oath when I obtained my detective license. Like you, we’re sworn to uphold the law. But thanks for refreshing my memory. I thought it was seventy-two hours.”

She wrapped the scarf around her neck, hitched her bag onto her shoulder.