AL05 - Murder in Clichy

“Or his conversation with the RG?”

“I’m not privy to Professor Dinard’s conversations.”

Shadows lengthened from the trees casting a dim light in the room. Tessier wiped his brow.

“Tessier, you’re wasting my time,” she said, heading for the door.

“Wait.” He took a deep breath. “Dinard’s on the way out,” he said. “Museum politics. They offered me his post, but only if I perform like a seal.” He wiped his brow. “My life’s devoted to art. Why should my education and expertise be wasted?”

“I had the collection, then it was stolen. But I still have this.” She held up the jade disk.

Tessier’s eyes widened. He took a magnifying glass from the desk. “May I examine this, please?”

“Tell me about the jade,” she said. “Then I won’t bother you. Tell them anything you want. I’ll leave you in peace.”

His eyes shone. “The first Emperor of China waged war for some jade beads. We call them disks. They symbolize the sky and the earth, hence the round shape. Jade’s more than a stone, it’s an integral part of an ancient system of worship, essential in the ritual propitiation of the gods and in the performance of homage. There’s a cultural parallel with our discipline of philosophy; it had both a political meaning and a practical function.”

He studied the disk, then shrugged. “But I don’t know if this small disk decorated jade astrological figures or belonged to another, older piece,” Tessier said. “The original disks were small. And sacred. It’s so hard to tell.”

“You’re saying these disks could be older than the zodiac animals they were attached to like halos.”

“I’m speculating,” he said. “The original meaning of the Chinese word for “ritual” was “to serve the gods with jade.”

Tessier pulled a small book from his pocket and translated from Chinese:

Shamans, represented by the earliest Chinese character (wu), used tools to draw circles superimposed at right angles. From this we may deduce that shamans monopolized the technology for making circular bi disks or beads, and thus had the exclusive power to present sacrifices to the gods and ancestral spirits. The round shape of the bi is said to derive from the circular path that the sun follows in the sky. According to accounts from 283 B.C. we know an unblemished bi disk was not only worth the price of several cities but that a king would ceremoniously feast for many days upon receiving the disk.

Aimee gasped. Was this disk such a rare ancient ritual object?

She pulled out the creased page from the auction catalogue and looked closer at the photo illustration. She hadn’t been able to understand why a Vietnamese emperor would have entrusted the jade figures to the Cao Dai for safekeeping. She’d assumed the emperor would only have Buddhist objects. But how clever it would have been to disguise the ancient disks by using them as part of later figurines—using one treasure to mask a much more valuable one.

Footsteps on the creaking wood came from the hallway.

“You still haven’t explained why Dinard’s being so secretive,” she said. “Why did the RG visit him?”

“They’re not CNN, they don’t broadcast continuous updates,” he said. “I don’t know.”

The footsteps stopped. Fear shone in his eyes and he put a finger to his lips. What was he afraid of?

She went to the peephole in the massive door and peered out. All she could see in the dim hall was the spherical body of a dark suited man.

“He’s shadowed me from the museum,” he said.

“Is he from the RG?”

“Who knows?”

If she left now she’d be recognized. It would be better to have Tessier owe her. Or think he did.

She opened the oval window and set a chair under it. “You’ve seen this disk, now find out who the jade belonged to, Tessier, and who would want to steal it,” she said. “Otherwise, your new job’s in jeopardy. Call me from a public phone, later.”

She swung her leg over the windowsill and climbed outside into the chill air.

AIMEE PUNCHED in Leduc Detective’s number on her cell phone and listened for messages. One. The reception wavered and cut out as she passed the high voltage lines by the railway.

“I thought we might have a late lunch.”

Guy? Had he reconsidered and forgiven her? But his voice sounded different.

“Place des Ternes. I’m in the bistro across from Villa Nouvelle.” She recognized him now. It was de Lussigny, from the Olf meeting. “I know you were going to call me, but I hoped you could fit it in today. Forgive me for not confirming with you beforehand.”

Merde! She should have checked her messages earlier. Olf was a big account. She looked at her Tintin watch, and called the bistro.

“Please tell Monsieur de Lussigny that I’m en route for our lunch appointment,” she said.

Aimee hailed a taxi and jumped in behind the driver. “Count on a nice tip if I make my lunch date.”

He grinned, ground into first gear, and took off.

She tried Rene’s number. Again no answer. Why hadn’t the kidnappers called back? What was happening to Rene? If only she knew what to do. But what else could she do but wait?

In the taxi mirror, she slicked down her spiky hair with gel, reapplied mascara, and touched up her traffic- stopping red lipstick. She pinched her cheeks for color, dotted them with lipstick, and rubbed it in. Thank God she wore a black leather skirt and silk top underneath her sweater. She pulled out a gray silk scarf, knotted it several times and looped it around her shoulders, then found a hip-hugging thin silver chain belt in the bottom of her bag and hooked it on.

Seven minutes later and thirty francs poorer, she was seated in a dark wood-paneled bistro amidst gleaming mirrors, vases of flowers, and the hum of discreet conversation.

De Lussigny, in a black suit, his hair carelessly brushed back, looked younger than she remembered. Soigne, with an effortless air. The small bistro was understated yet the attentive waiters who hovered made her self-conscious. People like nearby resident Jeanne Moreau and cabinet ministers ate here.

“Smells wonderful,” she said.

“And with a wonderful wine list from Languedoc,” he told her. He ordered for them both and requested a demi-bottle from the reserve cellar.

“First, let me apologize again for not helping you when the minister put you on the spot, Mademoiselle Leduc.”

“Please call me Aimee,” she said.

Better watch out, she told herself, lest she run off at the mouth. A man with his corporate power didn’t need to wine and dine her. What was the real purpose of this lunch?

The wine arrived. He sipped and complimented the sommelier who poured the dark red liquid into Aimee’s glass. A Cabernet, full-bodied, tart and a bit pebbly. Nice.

“I realize, after checking with your other accounts, that this Olf project is routine for you,” he said. “Of course, it didn’t hurt for the board to hear it, too.”

“I understood you were testing our firm.”

She placed the napkin on her lap, took a piece of bread from the basket and tore off the crust. “Forgive my directness, but I get the feeling this meeting concerns something else, Monsieur . . .”

“Julien, please. The consortium has an agenda that you should be aware of.”

“I don’t understand. Which hat are you wearing right now?”

He smiled. His large eyes were reddened with fatique.

“Everyone wants the inside track. I’ve attended so many meetings in the past few days, I can’t keep my head straight.”