Chapter 32

CHAPTER 32

P ARIS

When politely asking for the underground parking garage's CCTV footage hadn't worked, Gibert had used an emergency terrorism provision to fast-track a warrant.

While he waited for the magistrate to sign off, he had left two of his most intimidating officers on-site to make sure no "accidents" befell the server in his absence. He also didn't want anyone else touching the doors that led from the Métro tunnel into the electrical/mechanical room, as well as into the garage's stairwell.

Gibert didn't necessarily think any of the employees had anything to do with Jadot's killer getting away, but there was a fierce antipolice sentiment that ran through certain segments of the French population. He wouldn't have put it past any of them to destroy evidence if they knew it could hurt the cops.

Once the warrant came through, the garage dithered until their lawyer arrived. But as soon as he saw the paperwork, he told his client to hand over everything the police had asked for.

Gibert had his cell phone out and was dialing Brunelle before he'd even hit the sidewalk.

They went back and forth over whose office to use, ultimately agreeing that her equipment was better. He joked that if he used lights, sirens, and sidewalks, he could probably be there in two days.

Paris traffic had always been a nightmare but had only grown worse in the last ten years. Being on the ?le de la Cité, a stone's throw from Notre Dame Cathedral, la Crim's offices were right in the heart of Paris. The DGSI, on the other hand, was in the northwest suburb of Levallois-Perret.

It was only about four miles from the center of Paris, but at certain times of day, if you didn't have a helicopter, it might as well have been on another planet.

Gibert had been taught about the area as a little boy. It was popular with impressionist painters, particularly the northern part of ?le de la Jatte, an island in the Seine. What had most captivated him, however, was that Levallois-Perret was where Gustave Eiffel had his factory. And from that factory came two of the most iconic landmarks in the world—the Eiffel Tower and the Statue of Liberty.

Parking his vehicle, he passed through a series of security checkpoints, presented his credentials at the main desk, and waited for Brunelle to come downstairs.

The building that housed the DGSI was sleek and modern. The lobby was lined with polished granite and expensive seating areas. All the staff moved with purpose. No one dawdled. There were no T-shirts or shirt sleeves. No neckties had been loosened. No upper shirt collar buttons unbuttoned. Everyone was dressed in perfectly pressed business attire. It looked more like the headquarters of a fancy international investment bank than a domestic security agency. It was also a far cry from the cramped, centuries-old building that housed the Brigade Criminelle.

"Want anything from the café?" Brunelle asked as she signed Gibert in and led him toward the elevators.

"Are you buying?" he asked.

"Seeing as how you made the drive, sure."

They ordered two coffees to go, during which Gibert joked about the DGSI being the only law enforcement department where the employees didn't make their own.

When he added that they probably didn't clean their own guns either, Brunelle responded, "Of course not. That's why we have armorers."

He couldn't tell if she was joking, as he couldn't see her face. She had already picked up her coffee and was headed toward the elevator.

Upstairs, she invited Gibert to leave his bag in her office as they took the portable hard drive with the security camera footage from the garage down to MoMo.

"No coffee for me?" the young man asked as Brunelle arrived at his desk and set the drive down.

She ignored his remark and introduced her guest. "MoMo, Inspector Gibert. La Crim. Vincent, this is Mohammed Motii. He's a digital forensic specialist for our Computer Analysis Response Team."

The two men shook hands. Then, looking at the drive, MoMo asked, "What do you need?"

"Our man with the limp. The one who disappeared down an airshaft shortly after leaving the National Archives. We think someone was waiting for him in a nearby parking garage and helped smuggle him out. The drive has the garage's CCTV footage," she replied, tapping it. "We want to see what it captured."

"That's it?"

"For the moment."

"Plug and play," he stated, attaching a cable to the drive. "This'll be the easiest thing I do all day."

The drive whirred to life and on one of his monitors, MoMo displayed a security grid with the garage's multiple camera feeds.

"Where do you want to start?" he asked.

"Let's start with vehicles exiting the garage shortly after our man disappeared," she replied, giving him a time frame to search.

"Busy morning yesterday," MoMo stated as he scrolled through footage of at least fifteen cars leaving. "Any parameters to help narrow it down?"

Brunelle thought for a moment. "Get rid of any hatchbacks. They would have hidden him in a trunk."

"Okay," he replied. "That takes out two, which means we're left with thirteen vehicles."

Gibert leaned in closer. "Do any of the cameras provide more of a profile view? Having someone in the trunk might cause the car we're looking for to ride lower."

MoMo shook his head. "What you see on the screen is what we've got."

"Maybe we should take a closer look at the comings and goings of the drivers themselves. It'll take a while to match them to their cars, but I don't see that we have much choice."

The young man looked at Brunelle. "Hypothetically, there might be a faster way."

Brunelle nodded. "Do it."

"Do what?" Gibert asked.

"You'll see," she responded.

Within moments, MoMo had used the AI software to match the drivers with their vehicles and to pinpoint when they had parked and walked out of the garage on foot, and when they had come back.

Brunelle then said, "Jadot was murdered Sunday evening. How many of the cars arrived during that day and then left on Monday morning?"

"Four," MoMo responded, isolating the vehicles, along with footage of their drivers walking in and out of the garage.

"What about gait recognition? Do any of the drivers match our suspect—with or without his limp?"

The young man typed in a command for the AI, but then shook his head. "No match."

Gibert smiled when he recognized what software they were using. "None of this will ever be admissible in court."

"It's never going to see a court," she responded. "The minute we step away from this desk, it's all going to be deleted."

"We just don't have the storage capacity to hang on to these training simulations," MoMo said grinning as he tried something else. "If our suspect snuck into the garage via the Métro tunnels, maybe that's how he snuck out in the first place."

"Meaning someone might have driven into the garage with him in the trunk, left the empty car there, and then drove back out with him once the job was finished?"

"Exactly."

Brunelle and Gibert watched as the young man accessed the network of street cameras and zeroed in on the feed showing the faux fa?ade airshaft on the Rue de Chapon. MoMo then pulled up the footage from Sunday and set the AI loose.

The moment he engaged it, the AI got a match. Their suspect could be seen exiting the little blue door. MoMo's hunch had been correct.

Now that they knew how the suspect had traveled to and from the National Archives, they only needed to figure out which vehicle was his.

"This one," said MoMo, enlarging an image of a chalk-colored Peugeot sedan. "And here's the footage of the driver."

"Can you get a better shot of his face?" Gibert asked.

The young man shook his head. "Nope. He paid close attention to where the cameras were and made sure we wouldn't get a good look."

"Just like his partner at the archives," Brunelle stated. "These people knew what they were doing."

"Like I said," Gibert remarked. "Professionals. Can you zoom in on the license plate?"

MoMo did and Gibert texted the number to his office. And though la Crim wasn't using AI, yet, he received an answer back rather quickly.

"The vehicle was stolen sometime early Sunday morning. It was discovered last night in Seine-Saint-Denis. Torched. It took longer than it should have to extinguish the flames. Firefighters believe some kind of special accelerant was used. I wouldn't hold out much hope for recovering any evidence."

"Think there are any witnesses?" Brunelle asked.

"In Seine-Saint-Denis? Who will talk to the police?" Gibert replied, shaking his head. "Less than zero."

MoMo chuckled.

"Why are you laughing?" the cop asked.

"Because you're wrong," the young man answered. "It's not that the people from Seine-Saint-Denis don't want to talk with the police. It's that the police don't know how to talk with the people from Seine-Saint-Denis."

Gibert looked at him. "How would you know?"

"Because I'm from Seine-Saint-Denis. If there are any witnesses there, you need the right person to get them to talk."

"And who would that be?"

Dead serious, MoMo responded, "Me."