AL07 - Murder on the Ile Saint-Louis

That’s how she paid her rent. “I should know, it’s my bread and butter.”

Claude stared at her. “As a reporter?”

She had a big mouth. But it was too late.

“Actually, I do computer security, Claude,” she confessed. “I’m sorry to have lied, but I needed a cover.”

She searched his dark eyes, detecting a flutter of hurt. She didn’t want it to end with this man. She hadn’t met anyone like him before.

“I’m trying to help Nelie, but I can’t explain any more,” she said, attempting to recover. “It’s a lot to ask, but can you just trust me?”

“And if I do?” he asked.

She leaned against his leather jacket, felt the warmth from his body. “Wait and see.”

“Do you have a better idea, Claude?” Krzysztof interrupted. He didn’t wait for Claude’s answer. “Give me your phone, Aimee.”

She wrote down an address on a scrap of paper and showed it to him. “Give Gabriel this information.”

They would arrange to meet him on the corner by the boiler room of her old lycee. The safest place, just across the Seine. And she knew the door code.

She punched in Gabriel’s number, which started with 06, indicating it was a cell phone, and thrust the phone at Krzysztof. She leaned close so she could hear.

“Oui?” a deep voice answered.

“Bring Nelie to rue du Petit Musc at Quai des Celestins,” Krzysztof said, reading from the paper Aimee had given him. “Wait on the corner.”

There was a pause. They could hear loud talking and music in the background.

“Who is this?”

“The Alstrom reports make interesting reading,” Krzysztof improvised. “Especially in the right hands. I’ll exchange them for Nelie.”

“How did you get this number?”

“From la rouquine,” said Krzysztof.

“She’s a naughty girl.”

“Thirty minutes. Bring Nelie,” Krzysztof said.

“Why should I?”

But Aimee could hear curiosity in his voice.

“Otherwise I’ll give the flics your number,” said Krzysztof. “They can trace a cell phone in thirty minutes. Or less.” He hung up.

“I think we’ve got him,” Aimee said. She searched her pockets for some money. Paying Jules and the taxi had tapped her out. She turned to Claude. “Mind giving us a ride?”

He switched on the ignition and started up the bike.

“I’ll open the gate and meet you outside,” she said.

She hurried to the street, taking out her cell phone and dialing, while Claude turned the bike around.

“Morbier,” his tired voice answered at the other end of the line.

“I’m baiting the wolf, Morbier,” she said, keeping her voice low.

“The wolf responsible for blowing holes in the Seine?” He sounded more awake now. “Disrupting river traffic for hours?”

Her heart lurched. How could she confess that she’d been responsible?

“About time you found Krzysztof,” he said.

“Wrong. I’m after a mec named Gabriel,” she said. “But there’s one condition.”

“Always a condition with you.”

“Bon, if you’re not interested . . .”

“Difficult.” Morbier sighed. “The terrorist brigade is involved, so there’s not much I can do.”

“What you do is take this Gabriel in. He works for Halkyut. Question him about the bomb he placed in the Hotel Lambert kitchen.”

“Why do I think you’re hiding something?”

“You’ve got a suspicious mind, Morbier. You have to learn to trust.”

“Every time I do. . . .” Another sigh.“ You’ve infiltrated MondeFocus, right?”

She turned to make sure she was alone. She saw Krzysztof putting on a helmet and climbing into the motorcycle sidecar.

“Halkyut’s the culprit.”

“Eh?” Morbier was silent for a few moments. “No one can touch them with a barge pole.”

“If they plant bombs, you can.”

Claude’s motorcycle engine sputtered and roared. She had to hurry.

“Afraid to take on the big guys, Morbier? You’d let them get away with this?”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m only sure of death and taxes. As for the rest, I hedge my bets.”

Even if Gabriel had Nelie, she doubted he would bring her with him. But with any luck, he’d come. He’d be curious. And if Morbier cooperated and netted him, Gabriel would provide them with the link to Halkyut itself.

“How reassuring!” Morbier said. “Now I feel better. And you want me to stick my neck out?”

“Don’t blow my cover. Bring just a few men. Say you’ve got a witness to his bomb purchase, and that this witness also places him in the Hotel Lambert’s kitchen. Keep it intimate and question him in the back room. I’m sure you’ve done that before.”

“Do you have such a witness?”

“Only on condition that he gets immunity for his testimony.”

“Not if he’s an ax murderer.”

“He’s not.”

“Let’s get going,” Krzysztof shouted from the gate.

She kept the phone between her shoulder and her ear and leaned against a wall. “Wait a minute, there’s a rock in my boot.”

If Krzysztof knew the flics would be waiting, he’d flee. She wouldn’t even have time to tell him she’d gotten him immunity. She whispered into the cell phone crooked next to her ear, “Is Nicolas still working the cameras at France2?”

Nicolas had been on staff there since her father’s time.

“You want a camera crew, Leduc? Forget it.”

“Non, Morbier. Ask him to pore over footage of Monday night’s MondeFocus march to l’Institut du Monde Arabe. The outtakes, raw footage, the whole thing.”

Claude revved the engine; the noise echoed in the narrow street. “Aimee, you ready?” he asked.

She made a show of shaking her boot and putting it back on.

“France2 sent the tapes to the terrorist brigade,” he said. “Sounds like a motorcycle there with you. You a biker now?”

“They can’t have sent all the raw footage, Morbier,” she said. “I saw a video made by a documentary filmmaker, but it’s not enough.”

“Eh, who’s that?”

“Claude Nederovique. But it’s too blurred. Just ask Nicolas. Deal or not?”

She put her finger in her other ear to hear better, heard his chair scraping over the floor and a sound like the snapping of fingers. If she wasn’t mistaken, he’d stood, grabbed his coat, and signaled to some of his men.

“Better be worth my while, Leduc. Where?”

She’d hooked him. She took a deep breath.

“Ecole Massillon, the corner of Quai des Celestins and rue du Petit Musc.”

HER TUXEDO TAILS flew behind her as she rode clutching Claude’s waist, her knees clamping his hips. Those wonderful hips.