Chapter Six

Six

"T hat's Gervais's car," Daniel said, frowning as they reached Delphine Matisse's bed-and-breakfast in Reims.

"That's his car, so where's Gervais?" Jeannette murmured.

"Inside?" Daniel suggested, looking at her and arching a brow.

"Quite possibly. As you noted, there could be dozens of keys out there. But..."

"Yep, a tourist leaves with a key, you just charge them for it and get a few more old-fashioned keys cut. But as far as Gervais having one... Let's assume he's seen Delphine Matisse in our absence, and she gave him a key. Which means, of course, that while it may be confusing to her as it is to other people in France, she now knows that we're law enforcement," Daniel said. He hesitated and turned to her. "Thank you. Seriously. I knew forever that there was something I couldn't quite touch. Then with the Krewe... But thank you for thinking we could find help today. I guess I'm not really there yet."

She smiled. "As far as a partner goes," she assured him, "you're there."

"Thanks," he said softly. He wanted to linger longer. To say more and he wasn't sure what. But they couldn't. In fact, if Gervais was in the house, they needed to move.

They headed on in with Daniel using his key to open the door. As they suspected, Gervais was sitting on the sofa in the parlor.

"You're here," Gervais said, "at last."

"And you're here. I thought you were meeting with the medical and forensic teams and Mason Carter and—"

"I did. Then I quickly drove back out here," Gervais told them, shaking his head. "We did our best to keep the new discoveries from hitting the media, and I'm not sure we did it well at all. And once this goes on the air, with the things that were done..."

"Autopsy results aren't until tomorrow, right?" Daniel said.

Gervais nodded dully. "But one of our people took a long look at the bones and...remains from the first field. It's impossible to tell time of death but...there are cuts on the bones. Many, many cuts. And—" he paused, shaking his head "—I spoke with Dr. Domini, one of our head people. He said he suspects that the cuts were done while the woman was alive, and death would have been slow and miserable. No fingerprints, obviously, but they were able to get a dental impression. And while I just started going through files here, it looks like three months ago, a young woman named Michelle Andre went missing. She was an orphan and grew up in a home. She left when she was eighteen and lived on the streets. Yes, Paris has many homeless, tens of thousands, I fear. She was finally reported missing by friends when they hadn't seen her in any of her usual haunts for a week. Naturally, her disappearance wasn't considered red-letter—such young women easily move on to other places. And when one such person disappears, well it's legal for an adult to move on to another city. But now..."

"You think the remains we discovered belong to Michelle Andre?" Daniel asked.

"I can't help but wonder," Gervais said. "After the meeting I heard about your discussions with the magician and drove out here to catch up with you."

"Did you rent a room from Madame Matisse?" Jeannette asked him, confused.

Gervais smiled. "No. I thought you might have gotten here before me." His smile faded and he frowned. "The door was open."

"Open?"

"Yes."

Daniel looked at Jeannette, arching a brow.

"Gervais, give us a minute, will you?" he asked. "We left a locked door. We'll just check our things."

He and Jeannette looked at one another and split from the parlor, walking to their separate rooms. He had left shirts and pants folded in different ways in his bag.

And it was obvious. Someone had been through his luggage.

He met Jeannette back in the hall. She looked at him and nodded. They returned to the parlor where Gervais was standing, frowning as he looked at the two of them.

"Someone has been in here in our absence," Daniel told him. "They must suspect something—they went through our luggage."

"Then this isn't safe!" Gervais said. "I have a room in a hotel in Reims. You must—"

"Stay here," Jeannette said firmly.

"But we do not want to lose the lives of American and Scottish investigators while searching for this killer," Gervais said.

"We're fine," Daniel told him. "We will tag team."

"Tag team?" Gervais said.

"Sleep in shifts, watch. We have already been very careful," Jeannette assured him.

"We suspected someone might come in, that there were many keys out in the world somewhere. Madame Matisse is not a hotelier—there is no security. And while Shelley is the only one of the four friends who met on the tour that day who is still with us, she was staying at this bed-and-breakfast. There may be an answer here. And if someone does come in the night, we'll be ready," Daniel said.

"I will get patrol out here!" Gervais said.

"No, no, Gervais. We need any chance we might get to find out what is going on," Jeannette said. "Please, we have weapons. We know how to use them. And we know how to work as a team."

Gervais shook his head. "As you wish. And the plan—"

"Tomorrow, we will take the early tour and see if anything whatsoever pops out from it," Daniel told him.

"I think that you call them throwaway people ," Gervais said, shaking his head and staring blankly ahead. "The lost...homeless, those..."

"You're upset that the disappearance of Michelle Andre didn't bring about a bigger investigation?" Jeannette asked him quietly.

Gervais nodded. "It's just that...I had people working the case. And what they learned was tragic, heartbreaking. Her parents died when she was five. She was shuffled from household to household, and there were allegations of abuse at the last home where she lived. Her friends admitted she was surviving as a prostitute and that she dabbled in drugs. She'd talked about going to America, Canada or Australia. We questioned dozens of people. And in the end..."

"Gervais, that is not on you," Jeannette told him. "No one could have known they needed to go through every field in France to try to find her. And..."

She glanced at Daniel.

"You're afraid there are more. You believe that this murder spree began a long time ago, but the killers started with the homeless and the down and out?" he asked Gervais.

"Two bodies. Today, we discovered two more bodies. As you said, these fields are endless, yes. Most of the fields are worked for the product that makes this region so famous. But as you saw...not every stretch of earth is used for growing at all times. And just as in all major cities—" Gervais paused, looking frustrated "—we have people who become lost in the fringes of society and they become vulnerable, easy prey for those with cruel intentions!"

"You said you have teams out searching the fields," Daniel reminded him. "If there are more bodies out there, your people will find them now."

He nodded. "I don't suppose there is a country in the free world where such people do not exist. And in other countries, sometimes, the lost and hopeless are openly considered fair game!"

Jeannette walked over to the man. Gervais LaBlanc had a flawless reputation. Daniel knew that Jeannette had been given the man's résumé just as he had. LaBlanc had a faultless service record through the years. He had entered law enforcement because he cared and he had risen through the ranks. That this was happening and had happened on his watch was appalling to him.

"Gervais," Jeannette reminded him gently. "There is a truism that we hear in my country which I believe embraces the world. We cannot control the actions of others—we can control our reactions to them. And you, monsieur, respond and react in the best way possible. When you know something, you react. That is what we do now. We can't change the past. We can't bring the dead back to life. But we can find justice for them. You have a small army behind you, and you have us. We have a motto in the Krewe—we don't stop until a case is solved."

Gervais LaBlanc looked at Jeannette and grimaced, nodding slowly. "It just appalls me that this has been going on beneath our noses!"

"But we know now," Daniel reminded him.

Gervais stood suddenly. "I am off to my hotel room. Take your tour in the morning. Then, I believe, it will be time to speak with the small vineyard owners near the fields where the dead have been found. Someone knows something!"

"And we'll have a sketch and video surveillance," Daniel reminded him.

"I can, at the least, see that a patrol car drives by through the night. Cars do patrol Reims, you know," Gervais reminded him.

"That will be fine. And we have your number on speed dial," Jeannette said.

"Of course," Gervais said. "Then, you must get to sleep. In shifts!"

"In shifts," Daniel said.

They walked Gervais to the door. When he was out, Daniel looked around the room. There was a heavy armchair in the circle of furniture central to the parlor.

He pulled it over to the front door; someone would have to create a great deal of noise to get the door open and push the chair back far enough to enter.

"Good. Back door?" Jeannette asked.

"Let's find something."

They did. They rigged the back door with a cord that stretched to the refrigerator.

"We'll need to undo all this in the morning," Jeannette murmured. "And the windows. There are windows everywhere."

He nodded. "I'll take first shift."

"All right. But first," Jeannette murmured.

"First?"

"We have towers. Let's see what we can see."

"All right," he agreed.

She headed back out to the parlor and the stairs that led to the home's observation tower toward the west.

The night was quiet. The view of the lights and the city with its amazing architecture and skyline was beautiful, even in the night.

The yard below them was clear.

"We need sleep," Daniel reminded her.

"We do. You're sure—"

"Go to sleep. I'll be right in the parlor. You'll keep the door open."

She nodded, looking at him for a moment, and then telling him, "Make sure you wake me to give yourself at least four hours!"

"I promise," he told her.

She nodded and started to head into her bedroom. But she paused and looked back at him. "Actually, wouldn't it be too easy if someone tried to break in, knowing who and what we really are, to kill us in our sleep? Easy solve since, of course, they'd never get past the chair!"

He grinned. "Easy solve. Go to sleep."

She walked on in, and he looked around the room as he wondered what he could do to stay awake. He flicked on the television and was surprised to discover it was set on a British channel that was giving the news in English.

Of course, the strange murders in the Paris environs were taking precedence. He listened; it was suspected there were more dead than the three young women so recently discovered, but the anchor did not have verification of that fact. There were a few shots of Gervais, speaking with reporters, begging people to love Paris—but to do so carefully. To enjoy the wine region and all the environs—but to be careful. Then, as reporters began to surge at him, voicing questions in many languages, he put his hand up. Surrounded by officers, he moved on into the offices and labs where he was meeting with Mason and the forensic and medical teams.

The footage had been taken just before dark.

"Gervais, we will not let this rest!" he murmured aloud.

He thought about gun laws in France, something he had, of course, studied as soon as he'd become a Blackbird agent and known about the assignment. Not that any of the victims appeared to have been shot, but as UK law enforcement, he had learned you didn't need a gun to kill.

France was a combination between the "Wild, Wild West" laws of the United States and handguns not being available to the average citizen in some other countries. Special indications that a person needed to protect one's self were needed for the possibility of that kind of carry. But hunters were allowed to have shotguns and rifles. They had to be licensed, and the person could not be guilty of a felony and had to be mentally stable.

The victims had not been shot—not as indicated so far. But that didn't mean a gun hadn't been used to force them into the situations in which they had been killed. It was strange, enough to make him wonder if they were after different killers. It appeared the first bodies had been ravaged with cuts, tortured. And the last three...

He shook his head.

He heard something; he wasn't sure what it was, just something that wasn't the TV. He didn't know if it had come from inside or outside.

He got up, standing dead still, listening. He heard his own heartbeat.

But Jeannette came hurrying out of the bedroom, looking at him with a frown.

"You heard it?" she said.

"I heard—something. No clue what!" he told her.

She nodded. She had changed into a long flannel nightgown—but she was carrying her Glock and was ever ready.

"I'm going to move the chair," he said quietly.

He did so, moving it as quietly as he could. And then they waited, both ready for whoever might have arrived.

The door opened. While there was a light at the entry, it didn't help much. They saw a figure in black, masked, stunned, and dead still as he stared at the two of them, waiting for him at the entry.

But then he ran.

Daniel took off after him, aware that Jeannette was running at his side. He was fast and he knew it—but so was the black-masked figure running down the street, who veered into another yard and disappeared around a house.

"Left!" he shouted to Jeannette.

"Right!" she called back, veering around. If they were lucky, if there was a fence or a wall in back, the person would be caught between.

They were out of luck.

No wall, no fence. Daniel gritted his teeth as he ran, dismayed to see the rear of the house led back into darkness—and an overgrown field—right into the city.

But he tore into the darkness, certain he saw the black-clad figure just ahead.

And he wasn't mistaken.

Plowing through the foliage, he was able to take a single leap and bring the intruder down.

Jeannette was right behind him, her Glock out and aimed.

Daniel stood, dragging the person up, warning, "Don't! Don't fight!"

He went still. Daniel reached over, pulling the mask off the man's face. It was dark, but he knew he'd never seen the man before. He was late twenties or early thirties, dark-haired, light-eyed, clad in a black long-sleeved knit shirt and black trousers—and he was now minus the mask Daniel had removed. "Qui êtes-vous?" he demanded.

The man started to laugh. "Bad French!" he said.

"Fine, who are you and why were you breaking into the house?" he demanded.

The man started to move, and Jeannette warned him, "Don't—I'm permitted to carry this Glock and my aim is damned good. Since you understand English so well, I'm sure you're understanding me."

"I'm not... Fine. You're Americans... Well, she is. I don't know what the hell you are," the man said.

"Scottish," Daniel told him.

"Oh, now that's even funnier!"

"Jeannette, cover him, please."

She was in her flannel nightgown. He had his phone in his pocket. He called Gervais and told him, "Caught a guy trying to break in," he said.

"Really? They're going to believe a foreigner over me? I was minding my own business when you suddenly attacked me!"

"No, I don't think it's going to go that way," Daniel told him with a shrug.

Almost instantly, they heard sirens.

The man didn't look so cocky. Officers came out into the field; they'd obviously spoken with Gervais and immediately cuffed the man despite his furious protests in raging French.

"Monsieur, mademoiselle, Chief Inspector LaBlanc will meet you at the station at your convenience," one of the officers told them.

"Thank you," Jeannette said. "We'll be right there. I'll just, um, get dressed!"

The officer nodded, then he and the others left with the intruder. Daniel realized he was still holding the man's black ski mask—if that's what it was. It had covered his head and his face with just the openings for his eyes, nose and mouth.

Daniel looked at Jeannette.

"This is not really professional attire," she said dryly.

He laughed, and then his laughter faded. Not professional, but sweetly stunning. Her hair was free, waving around her shoulders. She wore a long flannel gown well. She was the perfect...partner. He knew that more with every minute spent with her. But strangely, at that minute, he also wanted to draw her closer. Physically. And he had to shake the thought. He wanted to be the best possible agent, the best possible man, but he was human. It was impossible not to be drawn to her, more so as they worked so closely together, as they learned to instinctively take cues from one another...

"Daniel?"

"Right. Let's get back to the house and then onward to the station."

"So much for spotting one another," she murmured. "This sleep thing seems to be fairly elusive."

"I think we'll spend tonight with our team," he told her. "We will need sleep."

"I would like to think I could go forever—but I'm afraid you're right. We will have to sleep!"

They returned to the house. Jeannette was fast; she wasn't in her room a full five minutes before she was dressed and ready to meet him in the parlor.

He spoke with Gervais. The masked man they'd arrested was being held at the station, and he was waiting alone in an interrogation room. So far, he'd spent his time cursing, swearing he'd been minding his own business when Daniel had started chasing him and his "girlfriend" had pulled a gun.

When they arrived at the station, or commissariat , they were led down a hall to where Gervais stood in an observation room, watching the man from behind a two-way mirror. He nodded in acknowledgment when they arrived and indicated their would-be intruder. "I've never seen him before. He was carrying identification. His name is Claude Chirac and he's from Paris. No criminal record—I have people researching him now. I walked in and assured him that he was being held by the French police, that he is in police custody. And even though you were foreigners, you were authorized by our government to detain him. The officers read him his rights and offered him legal counsel—so far, he doesn't want representation. He went off on me. He speaks English. I'm not sure what we might get from him, but we can hold him for twenty-four hours. We can then ask for an extension, but max is forty-eight hours. Then a judge determines the next steps. Our legal system is a good one, but—"

"We understand there are laws everywhere—and the French legal system, like most in the free world, allows only so much. We all need to be grateful we can't be held forever without proper legal procedure," Jeannette assured him.

"Of course, he is under what we call garde à vue , but especially since he can claim he was minding his own business and you hunted him down..." Gervais said glumly.

"Once he's out, he can be followed?" Daniel asked.

Gervais nodded. "Precisely."

"And we do have something more," Daniel said.

"What's that?" Gervais asked.

Daniel produced the black mask he had taken from the man.

"Yes, strange way to dress to mind your own business!" Gervais said.

"I'll pay him a visit," Jeannette said. Daniel nodded at her, and she turned to head into the interrogation room where Chirac was waiting.

Places might have different names, actions might have different names, and yet it was true: laws were similar in the "free" world. Daniel wouldn't have wanted it to be different—except that sometimes it did make the truth something incredibly difficult to find.

Especially when the bodies of the innocent continued to stack up.