The girl in the blue dress had turned to look with her friend. I said flatteringly, staring at her, “Charmant.” She smiled and blushed. The expression of her friend in the black leather miniskirt was more provocative, a challenge to follow up on my flattery. I knew it wouldn’t be long before she did a lot more with those legs than just walk. Experience however, told me the girl in the blue dress was the keeper.
When I continued toward the building they hooked arms and walked faster, more confident in their charms than a moment before. Ah, Seth Halliday, assisting the pretty girls of Paris through their passage of youth. Why should American girls be the only ones to benefit from my magnanimity?
The moment I stepped inside the big building I could not mistake where I was. Hospitals, rest homes, and the offices of coroners and Medical Examiners all feel the same, because they all deal with death at various stages — the sick, the elderly, the dead, and the slain.
The Chief Medical Examiner’s name was Benoît Alméras and I was surprised by his age. Perhaps because I knew from Athea that he had been the one to look at the body a decade ago I had automatically assumed it would someone more mature in years. Alméras was in his early thirties. I almost wondered if he wasn’t the assistant, and Benoît had been called away.
As he shook my hand, he saw my surprise and laughed. “I bet you were expecting some old fossil weren’t you? When your attorney called she asked if I was around back then.” He extended his hand toward the leather seat on the other side of his desk.
His office wasn’t what I’d expected either. If the rest of the building was cold and clinical, scented of death and murder, suicide and tragic accidents which had cut someone’s life short, damaging those they’d left behind for life, his office was full of life, and the living of it.
A big window allowed light into the room and the walls were soft white, rather than the dark office motif so endemic of public offices the world over. He had a couple of big plants thriving behind the desk, some big-leafed variety that helped give the room a tropical look. The smell was different from the rest of the building as well. Probably some continually released air freshener, a flowery, fragrant one. The walls were lined with enlarged high definition photos of a voluptuous model posed sensually in various exotic-looking swimwear or lingerie. I thought for a split second that he was a big Penelope Cruz fan until I realized it wasn’t Cruz. But it could have been.
“My wife,” he said with a grin, noticing my second take of the gorgeous photos. “It’s alright to stare, I want people who stop by to know I go home to that every night. It makes me feel like I’m ten feet tall.”
“Well, I guess I would too. She’s lovely.” She was sex on a stick, a big, juicy pleasure-flavored popsicle. I didn’t tell him that.
“You married?”
“Yes, she’s wonderful.”
He took a deep breath and nodded. “Awesome. You know how I feel then. Every morning when I wake up to come down here, I think to myself, ‘Wow, I slept with her last night’ and it makes looking at dead bodies all day bearable.”
“If you don’t like the work, why do you…?” He cut me off.
“Oh, the money here is great, and I like to treat my wife right. She deserves it. I could make as much in private practice, I am a doctor, but after you figure in the hassle of dealing with people who talk back, and all the insurance coverage, I’m better off here.”
His body language told me he was ready to get down to business.
“I assume you’ve looked at my findings in the police report?”
“Yes, I viewed it all a couple of hours ago. Forgive me if I’ve drawn the wrong conclusion, but I got the impression after reading it that you had reservations about calling it a suicide.”
“Damn right I did,” he said angrily. It wasn’t directed at me, however. “René Baumé.” He did not say the name with affection. I recognized it as the cop who had signed off on the case.
“I take it you did not agree?”
“No, but he sort of bulled his way through and did what he wanted. Baumé retired a couple of years ago, thank God.” He seemed to want to qualify what happened, lest I get the impression he could be bullied. “I was young. I’d just got here, in fact, taking over from someone who had been here his entire career.”
“So you didn’t put up quite as much fuss as you would now, after years on the job, with your own reputation to back it up.”
“Exactly. Still, I made him leave in my opinion that the abdomen wound was inconsistent with suicide. If I had to guess, I’d say it was from a knife. But with no evidence to the contrary, and Baumé being a senior officer with quite a bit of clout, I couldn’t force him to call it murder. I didn’t cover for him, though. He was the first officer at the scene. He searched the body but missed it. I told him it went in the report or I was going over his head.” He sighed. “He was pissed about having to reopen it so quickly after confirming it as suicide. I even called downtown to make sure he’d followed up. He said he’d spoken to her and it was a dead end.”
“I’m sorry, I must be missing something.” I was a bit confused, but very alert.
“You know, the note among her personal effects. It was in her coat with the passport, but he’d missed it. Probably because it was wet and clinging to the fabric. I even added it to the list. Had to drive over there to give it to him personally so he couldn’t say he hadn’t received it.” He smiled. “I even added it to the effects list in the official record. Dated it, too, to show it was found later.”
“The list in the file has an item crossed off at the bottom,” I said softly.
His face went blank and then he slammed his fist on the desk. “Fils de pute!”
I only knew a few easy words from having dated a Cajun girl in my youth, but I think the corresponding expletive was son of a bitch.
Then his expression changed as he realized the implication.
“He never questioned the girl, did he?” he said sadly, more a statement than a question.
“The note isn’t in the file, either, so unless you have an excellent memory…”
“I can do better than that!” he said with venom on his tongue. “Wait here.”
He stormed out and returned in a couple of minutes with a copy paper size sheet. He handed it to me, grinning. He’d made a copy of the note before he’d turned the original over to the detective. As I looked at it he said, “It took me hours to raise and restore the words to where they were readable. I was sort of proud of myself, thinking I might have helped with a vital clue to a possible murder.”
“You did,” I said, “it’s just that no one paid attention. May I take it with me?”
“Oh, sure, that’s just a copy of the copy I made.”
I smiled. “Covering your bases in case I don’t check?”
“No, I keep everything like that. Do me a favor?”
“Sure.”
“If you do find out anything, give me a ring and let me know?”
“You’ll be the second person I call.”
“Laura Garner?” He was puzzled until it hit him.
Very softly he whispered, “You think it might be her sister, Susan, and not Holly Carmichael, don’t you?”
“I think I need to talk to this Amélie Chabert and see if she can give me a clue.”
“Either way, at least one girl is dead.”
“Yeah, that’s the terrible part.”
“It always is.”
Thirty-Two
The late afternoon sky over Paris imparted a softer glow to the city, hinting in a lover’s whisper to be patient with her, because the romantic heaven of Paris by night was only a few hours away, and would be worth the wait. But I had hold of a twisted thing now, and I was near to finding out something important. I could feel it. Paris would have to wait.
“What’s up?” asked Sonny as I leaned on the driver-side door, hoping I wouldn’t crush the little piece of garbage the French considered a car. Caroline looked eager, as though she cou
ld feel my barely tempered elation.
I told them briefly what I’d discovered. I handed Sonny the paper.
“Ten years is a long time, Seth,” Katarina said doubtfully after reading the note.
“I know. That’s why I need to call Athea.”
Caroline reached into her pocket and took out her phone. I took it and dialed the number. She picked up on the second ring.
“Hello?”
“Athea, it’s Seth. I have a lead, but I need your help.” I explained what I had discovered. “I’m heading over there now, but it’s a safe bet she’s not working at the café a decade later.”
I told her Amélie Chabert’s name.
“Probably easier for you to be my liaison with the cops. I don’t want them to know how I discovered the name.”
“Of course not, it makes them look dirty, or lazy, when it was probably just that one member of the Sûreté back then. But they needn’t become involved, if I heard you correctly. You did say Amélie Chabert?”
“Yes. You actually know her?” I could not calculate the odds of such a thing.
“Oh, not personally, no. I know of her. In certain circles, she is quite well known.”
“Benoît didn’t seem to associate her name with anyone. She was simply a girl who needed to be questioned.”
She laughed. “No, he would not. First of all, it is my understanding that he is happily married. I checked into his background before putting you in touch with him. Second, though he makes good money, he cannot even smell the tax bracket of those who would know the name, Amélie Chabert.”
“Are we talking call girl, here?”
“Once, no doubt, but Madam now. She runs the most exclusive maison de tolérance in Paris, perhaps in all of Europe. Her clientele is very exclusive, and includes women, though they are naturally fewer in number than the men. It is very refined, I hear. Almost a Gentlemen’s Club type of atmosphere, with a few select ladies as members.”
“So, do they have a card, like Diner’s Club?”
“You joke, but I would not at all be surprised. It is operated with that sort of atmosphere, I am told. Not everyone rich or powerful can get in.”
“She runs male hookers as well as female? Doesn’t that creep the gentlemen out, having a bunch of bare-chested gay guys in leather strutting around?”
Athea laughed. “No, her prostituées are exclusively female.”
“Well, that’s a little less icky, I suppose.”
“But you have no problem with the rich male bordel habitué?”
“As long as he isn’t married, probably not as much.”
“At least you are honest in your prejudices. I find most people are not.”
“So do I. Can you get me in?”
She thought about it a moment. “I would like to say that I could facilitate your entry, but I doubt that I could. The person who told me about her in confidence was a client. One of her girls was his alibi, so he was forced to in order to save his skin.”
“Do you have an address?”
“Yes, but gate crashing is ill advised. Though I am certain you are capable, it could prove to be messy. Security is provided by her very rich and very powerful clientele. Some of them are off-duty members of the Police Nationale, or the Gendarmerie.”
“Wow, I didn’t realize she was working out of the Vatican. Should I kiss her hand when I meet her and tell her I love socialism and illegal immigration?”
“I doubt it would be helpful. And I believe you are thinking of the Swiss Guard. I do, however, have Amélie Chabert’s private number. I believe you will find her quite charming. I did.” She rattled off the number.
I said, “If Caroline wasn’t listening, I might ask you to marry me, Athea.” Caroline smiled.
“A May-December romance in Paris would have been lovely. But alas, we are both very happily married.” Her voice was playful, yet warm.
I waited.
“It will mean a lot to Laura if you discover one way…or the other. She needs closure, Seth. Since you’ve met her, I don’t have to tell you what a special person she is.” Her affection for Laura Garner came across loud and clear.
“No, you don’t. I’ll call her the second I’m certain for myself.” I added, “One way, or the other.”
“I will keep my fingers crossed, and if the news is bad, I will go by Saint Joseph’s and light a candle.”
As I hung up, I realized Athea was probably Catholic. Yet she hadn’t taken offense to my observations about the Pope. Perhaps secretly in her heart she agreed with me. Or maybe she was simply a fabulous woman. Probably both.
I handed the phone back to Caroline. “You’re not going to call her yet, Seth?”
“Not from a mobile. I want a phone where she can call me back and get a fine hotel, and a room number. A suite, so she’ll know it’s genuine, and not someone trying to bust up her party.”
I smiled. “C’mon, honey, you can ride with me in my fancy French car.”
Caroline hopped out. “It’s going to be a big comedown.”
“I know, but we can’t take the ‘Cuda across the water.”
“Oh, I meant the company.”
I chased her laughing to the car. When I caught her I kissed her in the lengthening afternoon shadows of Paris.
Thirty-Three
Caroline and I kissed and made out on the bed for a few minutes before I got around to making the call. For some reason I felt like I was slighting her. Even though the previous night’s dinner followed by a carriage ride through Paris had been almost magical, we might be leaving Paris soon. But there was nothing I could do. I made the call with Caroline draped over my back as I sat on the edge of the bed. We’d never taken off our clothes.
“Hello?” Her voice was feather soft, and very French.
“Hello, is this Amélie Chabert?”
“Yes, to whom am I speaking?”
“My name is Seth Halliday. I’m a detective working for Laura Garner.”
“Oh yes, I saw her conference on the news. And I heard about the incident at your hotel. But why would you be calling me? And may I ask how you came to have this number?”
“I’d rather not say how I got your private number, but I’m calling you because a detective in the Holly Carmichael case was supposed to have spoken with you ten years ago. I understand you used to work at a café not far from the bridge.”
A pause.
“Yes, many years ago. I believe they questioned the owner, who asked me about it later. I had not seen Holly that day, however.”
“Then she was in there from time to time?”
“Yes. Look, I have an appointment in ten minutes. A special request. Can I meet you later in the evening?”
“That would be terrific.”
“It would be very late.”
“The later the better.” I told her where we were staying, and the suite number. “I’d like to walk around Paris a bit with my wife. So if there is a specific time and place, that would be fine.”
“Let me call you back.”
“Sure.” She wanted to check. If she was smart, and she probably was, she’d get the hotel number herself, in case I’d given her a dummy. Caroline kissed my neck, happy that we might have time to see Paris at night again. She went to change clothes.
Five minutes later, Amélie called back.
“I’m sorry, but you understand I must be careful about my livelihood.”
“Certainly. I don’t want to cause you any trouble at all. In fact, I’m hoping you can help me, and by proxy, help Laura Garner.”
“Well, I don’t see how, but if she’s as nice as her sister, I hope that I can.”
“You knew her sister?” I asked, suddenly very alert.
“Yes, and no. We can talk about it when we meet. How about midnight, at Place de la Concorde?”
“That sounds fine. That will give my wife and I plenty of time to enjoy the evening.”
“I will be wearing a backless emerald green dress and my hair
will be down. It is light brown.”
“Thanks. I will be wearing jeans and a salmon colored shirt so that you can’t miss me.”
I heard a nice little laugh, soft and French, like her voice. She said, “I doubt anyone could miss a man wearing a salmon colored shirt. I bet your wife thinks you are handsome when you wear it, though.”
“I hope Caroline thinks I’m handsome all of the time, but that’s probably a fantasy.”
“I’ll let you in on a secret before I rush to dash on perfume. If she has told you that you look good in it, you should wear it as often as possible. It means she thinks you’re sexy in it and it makes her want to make love with you.”
“Thanks. I guess ridicule from my fellow neanderthals is a small price to pay, then.”
“Cheers.” I heard echoes of the little laugh again as she hung up.
So, Amélie had known both women well enough to recognize them on sight. I had a lot of questions which would have to wait until midnight.
I reloaded the clip in the Glock, having retrieved it from Sonny in the elevator. I traded the ankle holster for the shoulder holster, got it adjusted until I was comfortable, and slipped the weapon into its sheath.
Caroline came from the bathroom looking and smelling like a girl. Her face was bright and open, her eyes a receptacle for all the wonder she would take in with them and file in her heart. And just in case, she would write a few highlights down, so that she could not forget, at least not completely.
Her dress was sleeveless and solid white. What I believe they call a cage hung over it, loose where it needed to be for comfort, snug where it needed to be for effect. The cage was sheer with white lacy flowers scattered across it. It had a neckline but was also sleeveless. Standing there in her pretty white dress, her sandy blonde hair and bright smile, she was a vision. There always existed a nice-girl sweetness about her, exemplified by her propensity to blush. Caroline was refreshing.
Somehow, I always saw her in tattered high-tops and bell-bottom jeans too big for her, eating a stale sandwich. Maybe I always would, because it was the moment I fell in love with her.
The Long Gray Goodbye: A Seth Halliday Novel Page 20
