by Mark Pryor
“Do you know what happened to her?”
“There’s an irony,” Hugo said. “He sent her away. He wanted her gone from the city so she’d be safe. Bhandari had said something about Leo being less involved in the furniture business. I think that was on purpose, her design. Even so, he found out about the trafficking but couldn’t say anything because by then she had that video of him. And I’d bet a million dollars she also convinced him that Los Matadores was real. That he couldn’t escape them, and that his wife might also be in danger. He didn’t even dare tell us.”
“No wonder she was successful in business; she was quite the saleswoman.” Claudia stirred her coffee. “So, tell me this is none of my business if you want, but Tom said something about you and her . . .”
Hugo leaned over and took her hand. “Yeah, for a moment there, it was close. She was . . . alluring, and knew how to use her charms.” Hugo grinned. “Plus, a man has his needs, and when the girl he’s really interested in isn’t available . . .”
“Oh, Hugo, tell me you didn’t sleep with that psychopath!”
“I’m teasing you, of course I didn’t.” Of course? Hugo thought. It was much closer than that. “I was trying to rule her out. I needed to see if she’d been injured climbing out of Castañeda’s window.”
“Looking for cuts, eh?” Claudia said, a skeptical look on her face.
“Honestly,” Hugo said. “That’s all it was.”
“I believe you. I think.” She took a sip of coffee. “So what about the storage unit?”
“I’m not sure yet. I think probably Rubén rented it as a sort of safe house, in case he was right. A place to hide that was cheap and wouldn’t require dealing with a landlord. Pretty good idea, to be honest. Anyway, that’s why he gave the keys to his sister, just in case.”
“But Bhandari found out?”
“Seemed she was good at that.”
“And you’re sure that matador stuff was made up?”
“The police here couldn’t find any evidence of a gang so, yes, I’m betting it was the same as the kidney removal. Pure manipulation and distraction. Clever, too.”
“You think?” She grimaced. “To me, it’s just sick.”
“It is that, for sure. But if she’d been arrested and taken to trial, it would have given her lawyers something else to point at. Several somethings, like gang wars and organ trafficking.” He held up a hand. “I know, it sounds crazy, but I’ve been in courtrooms, I’ve seen jurors buy dumber theories than that.”
They sat in silence for a moment. “It just doesn’t make sense,” Claudia said eventually. “How one person can decide that another human being is just an object. A piece of meat to be bought and sold. And not care about the misery they put that person through, their families.”
“You remember what I said about psychopaths having no empathy? It’s almost like it’s not their fault. I mean, of course they can help their actions, control those, but they don’t know the pain of losing someone. They don’t feel fear the way we do, nor anxiety or stress. So for you and me, it’d be impossible to treat a person like that, but for someone like Nisha Bhandari, it really was the same as shipping furniture.”
“Just more lucrative.”
“A lot more lucrative. And slavery has been going on since the dawn of time. It’s not like she was doing something that had never been done before. As horrible as it is, human slavery, in particular sex slavery like this, has been alive and well for thousands and thousands of years.”
“What about Gregor Freed?”
“Ah, see, that’s more interesting to me. I don’t think he was a psychopath, just very greedy and somewhat delusional. Maybe in love with Nisha Bhandari, maybe he deluded himself about what they were doing. I’ll try and ask him.” He took a sip of coffee. “She had him build a little room at his shop, next to the office. I’m guessing it was to hold people like Amy until they shipped them out. A slaver’s mini prison.”
Claudia shuddered. “Well, you put a stop to a couple of slavers, whether he was delusional or psycho.”
“Yep, with a lot of help from my friends.” Hugo thought for a moment, then pulled out his phone. “I need to call Camille Lerens. Do you mind?”
“Only if I can eavesdrop.”
“Sure thing.” Hugo dialed and waited for the French policewoman to pick up. “Camille, it’s Hugo.”
“Salut. What’s up, is Tom in jail again, need bail money?”
“Maybe, I have no idea where he is.”
“That’s a bad sign.” Her voice softened. “I heard you found your friend Amy. I knew you would, Hugo, I’m so happy for you.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that. And it’s kind of why I’m calling.”
“Oh yes? What can I do for you?”
“Other way around,” Hugo said. “Did you solve that murder yet, the girl in the river?”
“No, we’re still looking for a boyfriend. We know she wasn’t married.”
“While you’re looking, keep your eyes open for a human-trafficking ring.”
“Oh, merde, you think that’s what happened to her?”
“I do. The marks on her body—they weren’t cigarette burns, it was someone’s way of branding her—and her physical condition. I’d say you’re having trouble finding her boyfriend because she doesn’t have one.”
“Just a pimp.”
“Or two, but yes. If your people are anything like the evil woman down here, they’re targeting foreign women, either bringing them in or picking them up in Paris. That way, fewer people notice when they go missing.”
“That’s pretty devious. But thanks, Hugo. We’ll start looking in that direction, work with the gang people. When are you coming home?”
“A couple of days,” Hugo said. He held Claudia’s eye. “I’m hanging out with a pretty girl, might try and take some time off and see what develops.”
Claudia covered her mouth, her eyes wide as if scandalized.
After a few more words, Hugo rang off and sat back in his chair. All around them, the café was filling up, and Hugo felt a moment of great happiness. He was in a beautiful city just waiting to be explored, he was with Claudia and, now that Amy was safe and Tom was leaving, he could enjoy her company without distraction. If, of course, that’s what she wanted.
They enjoyed the silence for a minute, watching people come and go. After a while, Hugo asked, “So, what do we do now?”
“I was thinking about that.” Claudia played with her spoon. “I’m in no hurry to get back to Paris, are you?”
“Not really.”
“Then, if you’d like, we can go to your bachelor pad, pack your things, and head to my hotel. Spend a few days in Barcelona together.”
“Now that’s what I call a great plan.” Hugo said with a smile. He dropped some money on the table and stood. They stepped out of the café and started walking hand in hand.
“This is more like it,” Hugo said. “Some peace and quiet, a pretty girl, and nothing on my schedule.”
“Well, I’m no psycho,” Claudia said, nudging him with an elbow. “But I’ll try and keep you entertained.”
Hugo laughed. “One psycho per trip for me. It’s a very firm limit.”
“Well then, if that’s the case, we’ll be just fine.”
“Yes,” Hugo said. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’d like to thank the usual suspects, and some new ones. First, my wife, Sarah, and the kids for making my research trip to Barcelona the most wonderful family vacation. Er, research trip. My thanks, also, to the people who willingly loaned me their names to be characters—what a fun game that has been, and long may it continue. Especially when I bump you off in future books.
Sincere thanks, also, to Craig Carlson, owner of the Breakfast in America restaurants in Paris, for giving Hugo a place to satisfy his pancake cravings. And to George Farris, of Above and Beyond Aviation here in Austin for your advice on how to crash a plane in the rig
ht way. Thank you, too, Bill Hensel, for the information about ports and containers, which was invaluable. Thanks to my Spanish translator, the real Rosario Figueroa, not just for your quick responses but also for the time and thought you put into the help you gave me. And on the gory side of things, thank you, Dr. Satish Chundru, for advising on organ removal and other such delights. And also for acting like my questions weren’t weird. And for not notifying the authorities about them. . . .
To my friends at Seventh Street Books who continue to work hard to make my journey as an author so wonderful, and to the thousands of dedicated book sellers across America, nay, throughout the world, who provide shelves for authors and new delights for readers. I could name dozens, but let me pick out Scott and Raul at BookPeople here in Austin; Brenda, John, Dean, and McKenna at Murder by the Book in Houston; Barbara at the Poisoned Pen in Arizona; and Pete at McIntyre’s in North Carolina. To my agent, Ann Collette, my thanks always. Sorry for the dearth of chocolate last year; that will be remedied.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Mark Pryor is the author of The Bookseller, The Crypt Thief, The Blood Promise, and The Button Man, the first four Hugo Marston novels, and of the true-crime book As She Lay Sleeping. An assistant district attorney with the Travis County District Attorney’s Office, in Austin, Texas, he is the creator of the true-crime blog D.A. Confidential. He has appeared on CBS News’s 48 Hours and Discovery Channel’s Discovery ID: Cold Blood.
Visit him online at www.markpryorbooks.com, www.facebook.com/pages/Mark-Pryor-Author, and http://DAConfidential.com.
Table of Contents
Copyright
Dedication
AUTHOR'S NOTE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
