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“If I had murdered the man myself, I would hardly be running to you now, telling you all that I know. ” Javet shrugged. “I usually have a sense for certain things, Malone. And I sense that you are telling me the truth, and that you are not a murderer. But the village, and perhaps all of Paris, will be in great alarm.
They will be demanding an arrest, so that they can sleep tight in their own beds at night, unafraid. There may be many as well who think that you should be arrested on the spot. ”
“Are you going to arrest me?”
“Not at this moment. Every word you spoke rang true when we came to the crypt. The coroner says that you must have come straight here upon finding the body as the man had been dead so short a time.
You couldn’t have hidden any riches or done away with a decaying body so quickly. For now . . . no, you are not under arrest. ”
“Ah. ”
“And what does that mean?”
“I’m assuming you’ll be watching me. ”
“You assume correctly. ” Javet hesitated for a moment, as if he considered his next words carefully.
“There is a sense of unease rising in the city center as it is. ”
“Oh?” Brent frowned. He’d been so totally concentrated on the work in the crypt that he’d paid attention to little else. “Have there been other murders lately?” Javet had been carefully watching him for his reaction. He shrugged. “It is probably all unrelated. We’ve had reports of missing persons. But you know . . . people sometimes disappear because they choose to do so. ”
Brent leaned forward. “And sometimes they disappear because something has been done to them. How many missing persons?”
Again, Javet hunched his shoulders. “Five—in my files. One was a British tourist . . . a young woman of about twenty-five. ” He pulled open a drawer in his desk and produced a file, flipping pages. One young man, four young women in total. Two were prostitutes. . . the man and the other two were tourists. All three tourists possessed rail passes, so they could be almost anywhere, backpacking through Europe. As to the prostitutes . . . they worked the seediest streets of the city, had drug habits, and . . . well, they were young, but defying death on a daily basis. “
“A prostitute murdered by a John or a pimp would
most probably be discovered in an alley somewhere, don’t you think?“
“We’ve not found a single body in an alley, and as I said, the other young people might be anywhere—you know, children will forget to call home, and nervous mamas will call, and become more nervous. So, we have taken the reports, and the files and pictures are all across the entire metropolitan area. ”
“I haven’t seen anything on the news, or in the paper. ”
“You must not read past the first page. There has been mention. ”
“Perhaps there should be more mention made. ”
“Paris is the City of Light. We need visitors from around the world. We try not to panic the public irresponsibly. ”
“Warning them might be nice as well. ”
“Perhaps you should walk out before I do decide to arrest you. ” Brent leaned back. “You’re not going to arrest me, because you actually believe that the disappearances might have something to do with this murder. And you do know that I didn’t kill Jean-Luc, so there is an unknown murderer out there. He—or she—might be afraid that I did see something, and therefore, on the streets, I might be bait to lure the real killer. ”
Javet shrugged. “Perhaps. ” He kept staring at Brent as if he could read something from watching him.
Brent stared back.
At last Javet lifted his hands. “You are free to go. As long as you do not go far, of course. ”
“Well, I can hardly ask you to trust a stranger, but I am as anxious to see his murderer brought to justice as you are, sir,” Brent said, rising.
Javet rose as well and shook his hand. Brent was aware that he spoke very softly to one of the men who came by his desk as Brent started out. The inspector was aware that his French was fluent, and he didn’t want Brent knowing that he was to be followed.
Even if he hadn’t heard the whisper, Brent knew that men would be sent out to watch his movements.
He left the station, lit a cigarette on the street, and then paused.
There was something . . .
A strange sensation touched him again.
He had felt it before, coming from the crypt, onto the street When he had insisted that Tara Adair get in her car and leave quickly.
Now . . .
For a moment, the feeling was strong.
And close, very close.
Looking back, he frowned. The station suddenly seemed to rest in a large shadow. Down the block and across the street, there was still much police activity around the outer entrance to the dig.
He looked back at the station, and went over his conversation with Javet again. He considered everything he had seen and sensed regarding the man.
It didn’t make sense.
And yet it was there, the feeling of unease. That something wasn’t quite right here.
He walked back in. The sergeant at the desk stopped him. “Sir?”
“I need to see Javet again. ”
“He has just left with another inspector. You’ll have to come back. ” The sense of unease remained. And yet. . .
It was as if something had been . . .
And even as he stood there, it faded . . .
And was then gone.
He could do no good, standing there, arguing with the desk sergeant on duty.
He walked down the block to the cafe, took a table outside, and ordered coffee with a whiskey, neat.
He paid when his drinks arrived, then pretended to linger, staring at the crime tape around the crude stairway that led down to the excavation site from what had been a garden square area before the church. The front of the new St. Michel was also cordoned off now, around the door he had broken down.
He waited, then spoke to his waiter about the toilet facilities, and rose. Once inside, he followed an employees only door out a hallway to the delivery entrance in the rear.
He was not followed.
His car was on the street. He chose to leave it while he walked on to another bar. Once inside, he used the pay phone, though he had a cell phone in his pocket.
He wasn’t certain that the phone even rang. He heard the deep voice answering almost instantly.
“Hello?”
“I need you,” he said.
“I know. I’ve felt it coming. It was today . . . tonight for you. ”
“I should have known. I suspected. I—failed,” Brent said flatly.
“There is no blame. Unless I were to take it myself. ”
“One is dead. That I know of—for certain—so far. I’ll be on the prowl. ”
“We have tickets already. You’ll get us at Orly?”
“No, I’ve been to the police. I’ll explain when you arrive. ”
“We already have tickets on the overnighter. ”
“Tomorrow then. I’ll do what I can tonight. But. . . it’s a big city. ”
“I’ll do what I can as well. ”
He hung up, walked outside, and made certain that he wasn’t being followed.
He stood very still, feeling the breeze, listening.
There was nothing. Nothing on the air. Nothing in the wind.
Not even a sense of direction.
Still, he had to move.
Five disappearances. Five that were official. Paris was a transient city. People coming and going all the time.
There could be more. Many more.
And now, this girl in the tomb, if she had been seen, if they knew that she might even begin to suspect. . .
He considered taking his car, then decided against it.
For a moment, he closed his eyes, and saw her as she
had stood in the tomb. Slim, blond, erect, beautiful features, intelligent, suspicious, and determined eyes. Unnerved, but not a coward, dignified even in fear. He had barely seen her, barely spoken with her.
And yet. . .
A sudden urge to protect and defend her gave him new direction. It was, of course, because he was pretty certain of just who she was.
And because he was fairly certain that the disappearances had plenty to do with the murder that had occurred tonight, he had good reason to worry about her.
The night was long. He need only see that those in the greatest danger were secure. And then the hours of darkness would stretch on.
And there were, of course, those things which must wait until dawn.
Determined on his course, he started out of the center of the village, seeking the darkness of the roads in the more rural region beyond. He walked and looked up at the sky. Not a full moon . . .
A waning moon. But it was riding high in the heavens.
He moved more quickly, ever searching the village, and those now stopping to gawk at the police activity at the dig site.
More and more, he became certain of the reason that the girl had been there. There was so much she didn’t know, and still. . .
She would.
He knew the address of where she was staying.
He knew where she lived.
They did not; not yet. And still, that sense of danger remained.
He began to run.
In seconds, he was swallowed up in the darkness.
Tara jerked the car to a halt in front of the chateau and went flying in, noting that Ann had not come from work. She rushed through the hall to the library, but her grandfather wasn’t there.
She raced up the stairs to his room.
With pillows piled behind his back, he had been sleeping. The sound of her arrival woke him, and he opened his deep blue eyes, staring at her intently.
She had never been disrespectful to her grandfather, and she didn’t really mean to be so at that moment, but words spilled from her lips before she could stop them. “What the hell did you send me into?” He stiffened, all attention, rheumy eyes as sharp as tacks.
“What happened?”
“A murder. ”
“A murder? You’ve got to be explicit. Exactly what happened, who was murdered, and where did it happen?”
His determined calm forced her to breathe a little more slowly, but she could be as stolid as he was, and she meant to understand what was going on.