by G. K. Parks
“So who did?” Ryan asked, sliding the chair out and flipping it backward before sitting down. “Abelard?”
Jean-Pierre looked from me to Ryan but didn’t speak.
“It must have been your idea to put Clyde Van Buren’s name on the wire transfer,” I said. Ryan and I might just be getting into the groove of things. “You wanted to fake your death and pin the art crimes on your Evans-Sterling teammates. Was that so you could ride off into the sunset with Abelard?”
“Sounds like you’re his bitch,” Ryan commented matter-of-factly.
Jean-Pierre swallowed but remained silent.
“Didn’t you think scattering suspicion onto the Evans-Sterling team would make Clare our number one suspect?” I asked, pausing briefly before interjecting, “Oh wait, she’s working with you and Abelard. I keep forgetting that.”
“Clare has nothing to do with this,” Jean-Pierre said.
“Oh, come on.” I found his pressure point and planned to squeeze as hard as I could. “At first, I thought someone so incredibly upset and distraught couldn’t possibly be involved in the murder of her lover, but then, it turns out you weren’t dead. She makes one hell of an actress though, almost had me completely convinced.” I glanced at Ryan. “Did she have you convinced, too?”
“It’s always the girlfriend,” he replied automatically. “If they aren’t the killers, they’re the accomplices.” I nodded in agreement. “We brought her in. Maybe if you’re lucky, we can place you in adjacent holding cells, so you can say your goodbyes.” Everything Ryan said was total bull, but he said it so convincingly I was tempted to double-check the facts with Reneaux.
“Ali,” Jean-Pierre tried to appeal to my morality, “Clare is not involved. She doesn’t even know I’m alive.” His expression was genuine and his voice sincere. I believed him. The suspicions Ryan and I had concerning Clare were based on Jean-Pierre being dead and someone else on the Evans-Sterling team being responsible for the thefts.
“I told you not to call me that,” I hissed, refusing to acknowledge any of what he just said.
Ryan interrupted before I could go on a tirade. “Do you have information regarding the whereabouts of Louis Abelard?” he asked sternly. I could see the play he was about to make. I just hoped Jean-Pierre didn’t see the same thing. “We might be willing to drop the charges on Clare if you help us locate Abelard.”
“How can there be charges against Clare? She isn’t involved.” He spoke rapidly in French, and I knew we had him. Once his dithering ebbed, I interjected before Ryan could say a word.
“Think logically, Jean-Pierre. Clare is your lover. She worked with you at Evans-Sterling. She knew the location of one of Abelard’s warehouses. Hell, she gave me the address herself, in her own handwriting. She covered up your involvement.” Before I could continue, Ryan put his hand on my forearm.
“That’s enough, Parker.” There was a slight glint in his eye. “I can’t have you discussing unrelated evidence with a suspect. Take a break.”
I made a pretense of being pissed off and slammed my chair against the table for effect. “Fine.” The officer opened the door, and I exited into the hallway. Who’s emotional now, asshole? I mentally retorted to Jean-Pierre. His game didn’t go the way he hoped.
Another police officer entered the interrogation room as I exited. Reneaux was waiting for me in the hallway.
“I believe you failed to mention anything about your American threats,” he said. I told Ryan about it, but I guess he didn’t fill in Reneaux, probably because it didn’t seem pertinent at the time. We went to Reneaux’s office where I gave him my account, starting with the retrieval of the painting to O’Connell tracking down Ramirez and making the gang connection. “How may I contact your detective friend?”
I gave him O’Connell’s number and waited as he called Nick. The report was faxed over, and Reneaux would add it to the ever-growing list of charges against Abelard. Maybe he would find a connection that hadn’t been discovered yet. I also told him everything Interpol had on the case and gave him Delacroix’s number. The two of them could argue over jurisdiction.
“Did Interpol find anything useful?” Reneaux asked once he finished reading the American police report.
“Not that I’m aware of. Agent Farrell, the OIO liaison, was helpful in providing specific details on the video footage of Gustav’s supposed car bombing, but Delacroix probably couldn’t find his way out of a paper bag even if he had a pair of scissors and a map.”
Reneaux nodded sympathetically. “I’ve dealt with Monsieur Delacroix on a few occasions. We are supposedly working the Abelard case in a joint venture. It hasn’t quite gone the way I hoped.” It was my turn to be sympathetic. I gave Farrell’s information to Reneaux, figuring it couldn’t hurt. “Is this everything? I don’t like surprises, Madame Parker.”
“That should be it. I’m sure Donough has already given you the relevant Evans-Sterling information.”
He nodded. “Thank you very much for your assistance. My department is indebted to you. If there is anything I can do for you, just ask.”
“Actually, I need a favor.” I felt a bit stupid asking. “I left my rental car parked on a meter a few blocks from the warehouse.”
“It will be taken care of and returned to your hotel by morning,” he promised.
Finding my way to Ryan’s desk, I awaited his return, hoping to find out how useful Jean-Pierre had been. As the minutes passed, I slid further down in the chair and propped my legs up, only seconds away from sleep.
“Need a ride?” Ryan asked.
“Are you finished for the day?”
“Yes, and it’s about bloody time,” he sounded exhausted. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” I followed him out of the police station and to his car. We were on the way to my hotel when I asked about Jean-Pierre’s interrogation. “We’ll have to wait and see where it leads. We have a few of the higher-up inspectors running with it. For now, I’m off duty. And you, my dear, look like you’re in need of some much needed rest.”
I snorted. That sentiment felt like the understatement of the year. “I’m done?” I asked skeptically.
He looked uncertain. “Seems that way. You got us the raid, even if it didn’t turn out quite the way we hoped. Gustav’s statements should lead to even more concrete evidence and Abelard’s location.” He turned with a grin. “Smile, you’re going to make that flight on Friday.”
After what happened last time, I was a bit too paranoid to celebrate.
Twenty-two
I wasn’t asleep nearly as long as I should have been when the hotel phone rang. I reached over and pulled the receiver from the cradle and held it to my ear.
“Hello?” My voice was hoarse. I tried to clear my throat, but it didn’t help.
“Madame Parker, there are a few men from Interpol here to see you,” the front desk informed me. “A Monsieur Delacroix.” I shut my eyes and hoped I was in the midst of a horrible nightmare. “Madame Parker?” the woman repeated.
“Wait ten minutes and send them up,” I croaked. I got out of bed, dressed quickly, and just finished brushing my teeth when there was a knock. I checked the peephole and unlocked the door.
“Delacroix,” I greeted, unenthused.
“Is that your boudoir voice, or are you just happy to see me?” he asked, nodding to the other Interpol agent to wait outside.
“What do you want?”
“I got a call from Reneaux this morning, seems you were playing ball with the Police Nationale and left me and my men in the dark.”
“You have issues sharing.”
“Seems they have issues protecting their assets,” he countered, staring at the cut and burn marks visible over the neckline of my shirt. “If you would be so kind as to grace us with your presence,” he looked at his watch, “in say, two and a half hours. I’m on my way to meet with Reneaux and form a joint task force for the apprehension of Louis Abelard. Your insight might be valuable,” he sounded skeptical, bu
t I ignored the jibe.
“Interpol offices or Police Nationale HQ?”
“HQ, and maybe you should try some tea with honey for that throat of yours.” He let himself out of my room, and I picked up the plastic ashtray and threw it at the closed door. Since I wasn’t a smoker, I was happy to find some use for the hotel-supplied object.
Delacroix had a way of getting under my skin. I crawled back into bed. If Reneaux wanted me at the meeting, he’d call. Since I was still exhausted, I hoped to go back to sleep, but I was too pissed off. I lay there, fuming.
The phone rang again. I picked it up, expecting the front desk to say Delacroix refused to leave. Instead, it was Ryan.
“I’m sorry to wake you,” he sounded half-asleep. “We need you for the joint task force briefing.”
“Delacroix already stopped by to personally deliver the good news.”
“Are you okay? Your voice sounds off.”
“Maybe I’m catching a cold.” Or I spent a good portion of Tuesday night screaming in pain, but I didn’t feel the need to share that tidbit of information.
“I’ll pick you up on the way.”
Why could I never catch a break? I was still unnaturally pale and completely drained. Maybe I should have gone to the hospital just to get some rest and fluids without police and Interpol agents knocking on my door. As if on cue, Ryan knocked.
“It’s Ryan,” he announced, saving me the effort of looking through the peephole. He assessed my appearance. “How’s the cold?” he asked, playing along, even though he knew I wasn’t sick.
“I’ll live.” I grabbed my room key, and we left the hotel. On the way to the front door, I was told my rental car had been returned, along with the keys that had been found in my purse. However, the bankroll of Euros hadn’t been recovered. I wasn’t surprised.
“Here,” Ryan handed me a cup of coffee once we got into his car, “thought you could use the caffeine.”
“I would have preferred sleep.”
* * *
The roll-call room had been turned into the meeting place for the joint task force. Here, both Paris police and Interpol were briefed on the information uncovered yesterday. Apparently, Gustav provided enough information that a few warehouses full of illegal gambling equipment had been seized overnight. The only issue left was tracking down Abelard. From what I could determine, there were mounds of physical evidence and numerous corroborating testimonies implicating him. The case was solid. They just needed to find him.
“Louis Abelard has countless numbers of safe houses, vast resources, and enough underlings to make his apprehension a difficult endeavor.” Reneaux gave the speech to the room. It was in French, but Ryan whispered the translation in my ear, along with his own commentary.
“Abelard is a dangerous sociopath. While we will try to make every effort to bring him in alive, do not put yourself in any undue harm.” Ryan added, “When in doubt, shoot first and ask questions later.”
I gave him a sideways glance. “I’m guessing you’re not working Abelard’s arrest.”
He shook his head. Reneaux continued running through the facts on Abelard’s last known location. He then informed the room of Ryan’s undercover work and officially welcomed him back from the cold. I was dazing off when Ryan nudged me.
All eyes were on me, waiting expectantly. Ryan leaned in and whispered I was supposed to give a description of Abelard’s appearance, demeanor, and anything relevant I learned from my experiences with him. I blushed slightly and began a discourse over the bar setup, my initial impressions of him as aloof but in control, and his sadistic tendencies.
“Abelard has the classic sadist personality. He surrounds himself with people he can easily control, whether it’s due to his commanding personality or outright blackmail. It’s about manipulation. Emotional, physical, or even financial. He convinces those under him to follow orders or face the unfortunate consequences, not unlike dons in the mafia.” I paused and took a sip of water. My voice was barely above a whisper as I continued. “He doesn’t care to get his hands dirty. In fact, he relishes in it. When I was taken, he had his minions present, likely for his own safety or maybe as a way of conveying a warning to them not to cross him. Either way, he gets off on the torture, making people scream.” I stopped and looked at Ryan, hoping he’d chime in. I didn’t prepare anything for this meeting. I was just reiterating the few facts I personally experienced.
“Thank you for your assessment, Madame Parker,” Reneaux said.
I nodded and slid down in my chair. Public speaking was not my thing. Ryan caught my eye and winked. At least someone was amused.
Delacroix delivered a speech, dealing specifically with the art thefts and smuggling which linked back to Abelard’s numerous resources. “The man has fine taste in all things. If the trail turns cold, keep this in mind.” How many asses did Delacroix kiss in order to get to the position he held? Bureaucratic brown-noser.
Agents and police were assigned to teams, and each was given a different location to raid. The raids would be conducted simultaneously in order to ensure Abelard would not be tipped off and able to flee again. The warrants were signed and ready to go. Ryan and I remained seated as the groups scattered. My head was in my hand, and I fought to remain in an upright position.
Reneaux walked over to us. “I didn’t expect such a prolific psychological workup,” he said.
“Neither did I. But you put me on the spot, and the words just came out. I’m certain it’s accurate, given everything I know of Gustav’s involvement and everything I endured at the warehouse. There’s something to be said for firsthand experience.”
“Where do you want us?” Ryan asked. I was amused how we somehow became a team. Maybe that was just my exhaustion keeping me a few steps behind.
“In a couple of hours when the teams move in, I’ll need you to coordinate from tactical,” Reneaux said.
“I can go back to my hotel and get out of the way,” I volunteered happily. Both men looked at me.
“I think it’d be best if you stick around here until we capture Abelard,” Reneaux replied, frowning.
“You think he’s looking to finish what he started?” It didn’t occur to me until now.
“Seems like a possibility.” Reneaux excused himself, so he could coordinate with Delacroix. I looked at Ryan, waiting for some elaboration.
“You never know,” he responded casually. I put my head on the table. This was too much to deal with. “We’ll bring him in tonight, and you fly home tomorrow. It’ll be okay. You just have to get through today.”
“I’m counting the hours.”
* * *
Most of the day was spent camped out on the couch near the locker rooms. The anxious energy permeating throughout the police station seemed anticlimactic, probably since I was thankfully sitting on the sidelines. Ryan did all he could upstairs in tac ops, and when he was finished, he came to find me. I sat up, allowing him to occupy half the couch in exchange for a sandwich and a bottle of water. It seemed like a fair trade.
“When are the fireworks going off?” I asked, wiping my mouth with a napkin.
He glanced at his watch. “An hour or two. Everyone should be moving into position now.” It was obvious he wanted to be in the field.
“Sorry, you’re stuck babysitting. I would have been fine at my hotel.”
“I wasn’t allowed on this anyway. I don’t know how things work at the OIO, but here, we’re expected to be thoroughly debriefed and work the desk for a couple of weeks before getting back on the street in any capacity.” He wasn’t happy being stuck inside.
“At least you’re back.”
He gave me a brief grin. Ryan had an attractive rough and tumble quality I didn’t notice until now. “I can’t argue with that.” We sat on the couch for a while, eating our sandwiches. “Clare’s in protective custody. We picked her up this morning and moved her to a safe location. It was one of the terms Gustav negotiated. A few inspectors are checking into her
alibi and reviewing Interpol’s surveillance logs, but as far as we can tell, she isn’t involved.”
“I never believed she was, but everything pointed to her. Hell, it still does to a certain extent.” I searched my memory for anything that might definitively establish her guilt or innocence, but I came up blank. “Either way, she could become collateral damage. Clare is Gustav’s Achilles heel,” I surmised. “There’s a possibility Abelard knows this and will try to exploit it.”
“We better bloody well find him then,” Ryan concluded, standing up and returning upstairs.
I remained for a few minutes, giving him time to get situated before following. I might as well make myself useful in the event they needed another set of eyes to coordinate the tactical assaults.
Twenty-three
Ryan worked throughout the night, coordinating raids and assigning locations for evidence and suspects to be held. Delacroix opened the Interpol offices to help deal with the overwhelming amount of evidence and suspects being brought in. Reneaux was on the radio with the team leaders, making sure the timing and coordination went down flawlessly. Whatever else happened tonight, I was sure of one thing; Paris would have one less crime syndicate to deal with in the morning.
I had been little actual help, other than filing paperwork and organizing each raid into its own evidence folder. I also had the important task of keeping the coffeepot filled. I waited all night for confirmation of Abelard’s capture. Unfortunately, no positive identification was made.
“I’m sure we got him,” Ryan reassured me as we stood near the coffeepot. “They grabbed so many people tonight. He’s probably lost in the throng of it all.”
“Yeah.” I looked anxiously at my watch. I had a plane to catch in three and a half hours. “Maybe I should stick around just to make sure.”
“No. You’re leaving today, even if I have to drag you kicking and screaming.” Ryan offered a friendly smile. Things had died down as everyone cataloged evidence, booked skels, and filed reports. “Let me tell Reneaux we’re leaving. I’ll take you back to your hotel to get packed and then to the airport.” He wouldn’t take no for an answer. “In the meantime,” he filled a paper cup from the water cooler, “drink this. You look like you’re about to hit the floor.”
