Wanted (A Private Investigator Series of Crime and Suspense Thrillers, Book 1)

by Nick Stephenson

  Mary sighed. “I’ll think about it, mom. But no promises.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  “Listen, I’ve got to go, I’m running late.”

  “Okay, hon. Love you.”

  “You too.” Mary heard the line go dead.

  Feeling the caffeine start to take hold, she got to her feet and gathered up her suitcase, glancing around for instructions on where to find the pickup zone. After ten minutes peering at her cell phone’s translation software, she drummed up the courage to ask one of the airport concierges for help. Directed toward the far end of the building, Mary found the exit that led out onto the main concourse, where a rabble of jet-lagged passengers stood waiting for taxis. It was nearly nine P.M. but the sun was still shining and there was at least an hour of daylight left, meaning plenty of opportunity to get into the city and find a nice terrace bar, have a few drinks, and get something to eat. She glanced around for her ride, but could only make out a long line of cabs.

  Pulling out her cell phone, Mary dialed a number from memory and waited for the call to go through. She was greeted by a pre-recorded message.

  “This is Leopold Blake. Please leave a voicemail.”

  Dammit. She made a mental note to make him pay for dinner. She made another mental note to make sure she ordered the most expensive thing on the menu. Slipping the handset back into her pocket, Mary glanced around and wondered how long she’d have to wait before giving up and getting a taxi.

  In the distance, she noticed the rows of hotel blocks just beyond the outer perimeter of the airport and wondered whether it might just be easier to grab a room and hope for better luck in the morning. Squinting at the closest building, Mary could make out a slight glimmer on the otherwise featureless roof – a tiny pinprick of light that was just bright enough to draw her attention.

  Chapter 14

  REINIGER PEERED THROUGH the rifle scope and lined up his shot. Having swapped out the barrel and changed ammunition, even if the police did recover the round they wouldn’t be able to match it with the earlier targets, which would keep them guessing long enough for him to complete the mission.

  He lay on his stomach atop the Charles De Gaulle Hilton Hotel, a little over one thousand meters away from his target and well within the rifle’s effective range. The wind had picked up considerably since Notre Dame and the airport forecourt was a lot busier than he had anticipated, which was an added challenge he could do without. Still, he had made much more difficult kills, so this should be a walk in the park. Concentrating, he watched his target closely and felt himself fall into sync with her movements, just as he had done countless times before.

  Just a little further, he willed his target to take a few steps forward, away from the steel railings that blocked a clear shot to her chest. Reiniger briefly considered switching positions to get a better angle before noticing the woman was looking straight at him. His eyes seemed to meet hers. The assassin’s finger brushed against the trigger, ready to fire. His pulse quickened, momentarily.

  A gust of cool air whipped past his head, ruffling his hair and whistling through his ears. The wind speed felt like at least twelve knots, which meant a head shot was out of the question. She would have to venture away from the relative safety of the taxi shelter to allow a clear shot to the torso.

  Just a little further.

  Through the scope, Reiniger watched a bus pull up, blocking his view. He saw the doors slide open and a rabble of elderly holidaymakers pour out onto the asphalt, dragging their hand luggage behind them. The driver rushed ahead, pulling open the baggage compartments at the side, heaving suitcases out on to the forecourt.

  The assassin swore, his profanities lost in the wind. Earlier in the week he had spent the best part of a day staking out the airport’s numerous pick up zones, and not once had a tour bus ventured anywhere near. This particular driver must have gotten lost somewhere in the maze of one way systems and given up, presumably eager to unload and move on to the next job.

  Goddamn amateurs.

  A moment later his suspicions were confirmed as he saw an irate airport official march toward the huddle of pensioners with a walkie-talkie pressed to his lips. He and the bus driver proceeded to argue, their arms flailing. The assassin couldn’t tell what they were saying, but the body language was universal and neither seemed in any rush to back down.

  Unexpected wind speed. Unexpected obstacles. A forecourt full of witnesses. If Reiniger had learned anything from his long and brutal career, it was that uncertainty leads to mistakes. And mistakes lead to getting caught. Or killed. More often than not, a simple twist of fate could make all the difference between a successful job and a botched one, and this was one mission that had to go off without a hitch.

  Frowning, the assassin adjusted the lens and zoomed in, right up to the maximum possible setting. Through the bus’ windows, he could still make out his target; she was on the move, heading straight for the line of waiting taxis. He watched her pull her police badge from her pocket and wave it in front of her as she walked, mouthing something he couldn’t make out. The line of people moved out of her way as she made a bee line for the nearest cab. He made a mental note of the license plate as she climbed inside.

  Taking his eye from the scope, Reiniger took a moment to consider his options. This was not necessarily a reason to abort. He knew where the target was headed, and could make a pretty good idea what she would do once she found out why her ride hadn’t showed. There was only one building in Paris where she would go and Reiniger already knew the layout. It would be simple enough to wait for her to come to him. Instead of risking a tricky shot from long range, he now had the opportunity to indulge in a more intimate approach, something up close and personal.

  Yes, this could work out very well indeed.

  With excitement welling up inside him, Reiniger quickly disassembled the rifle and packed it back into the carry case. Pulling out the KA-BAR knife, he checked the edge against his thumb and suppressed a grin.

  Very well indeed.

  Chapter 15

  “HOW MUCH LONGER?”

  Leopold had resisted the urge to shout for the guards, but Sophie’s tireless questioning was beginning to grate. For the last few hours, he and Jerome had been locked in a holding cell and after almost thirty minutes of arguing, Sophie had convinced Captain Rousseau to let her sit with them. Leopold was regretting that decision already. She was now sat on a wooden stool, watching the two men through the steel bars that separated her from the tiny cell. Jerome lay serenely on the bed, while Leopold paced the floor in irritation.

  “We’ll be in here until they can move us over to the main prison,” he said. “Which should be in the next couple of hours. Only a judge can grant us bail at this point, and I doubt Rousseau’s in any hurry to get the paperwork done.”

  “I thought you had connections?” said Sophie. “Isn’t there anything you can do?”

  “My lawyer can suppress anything said during the interview, up until the point where Rousseau officially arrested us. Like he said, I’ve got a right to a lawyer, but I can’t force them to rush the process. They haven’t even given me a phone call yet.”

  “Okay, okay, don’t get upset. I can make a call for you, as soon as I go back outside. What do I tell your lawyer?”

  “You tell them to send someone down here immediately. Call Cotty, Vivant, Marchisio & Lauzeral – tell them I’ll only need them to handle the transfer. I’ll get my usual defense attorney on an airplane when I get a chance, and he can handle the difficult stuff.”

  “Why did they charge you with conspiracy to murder?” she asked.

  Leopold smiled. “It’s a fallback position for the prosecutor. Believe me, whoever planted that evidence at the scene isn’t going to keep me off the streets for long. You can count on it.”

  “Still, until then you’re stuck in here. I believed you when you said you had nothing to do with Jean, but… Je ne sais pas, I don’t know.”

  “What is
it?” Leopold looked at Sophie. For the first time, he sensed something else underneath her cool exterior. Fear.

  “Someone planned this. If Jean was mixed up in all this, now I am too. God only knows what they have planned for me.”

  “But that doesn’t –”

  “You have to get out of here,” she grabbed hold of the steel bars with both hands. “Do whatever it takes. They’ve killed people already, they won’t think twice about coming after me. Who’s to say they aren’t already waiting outside? Or at my apartment? I can’t survive without help.”

  He held her gaze. “I’ll be in here a couple of days, that’s all. Is there somewhere you can go?”

  “They’ll send people after me, don’t you see? What kind of chance do I have? There must be something you can do.”

  “Mary.” Jerome sat up. “Mary was due to land an hour ago. You were supposed to pick her up. If Mlle. Bardot is right, she could be in danger too.”

  “Sophie, I need you to call someone for me,” said Leopold. “A friend of mine called Mary Jordan. She’s a cop.”

  “And what about me? What am I supposed to do?”

  “She can help.”

  “Fine. Give me the number.”

  Leopold recited the number from memory. Sophie nodded and made her way to the exit. She knocked on the door and the guard let her through.

  “I suppose you’ve got a plan,” said Leopold, turning to face Jerome.

  “Don’t worry about that,” he said, lying back on the mattress. “Worry about the guys that did this to us.”

  “And if we can’t find Mary?”

  The bodyguard smiled. “Then we’re going to have to get out of here a hell of a lot sooner than we planned.”

  Chapter 16

  “HE’S BEEN WHAT?” Sat in the back of the taxi, Mary pressed her cell phone to her ear and tried to concentrate.

  “Ma’am, I checked the report myself.”

  “Call me ma’am again and you’ll be sorry, Detective,” replied Mary.

  “Sorry m – I mean, sorry, Sergeant Jordan.”

  “Read it out for me again. Your signal’s breaking up a little.”

  “Yeah, sure. I ran Blake’s name through the Interpol database over here in New York. I got quite a few hits, but the one that stood out was an arrest registered today, just a few hours ago. In Paris, France.”

  Mary sighed. “I was afraid I’d heard you right the first time. Where’s he being held?”

  “Gimme a minute.”

  The taxi sped up a little and Mary turned to look out the back window. She spotted a black VW Passat just two vehicles behind her, keeping its distance. The car had followed them ever since they left the airport.

  “You still there?”

  Mary snapped out of her thoughts. “Yeah, what you got for me?”

  “He’s being held at…” the detective paused. “Erm, the Commisariat Central police headquarters just a little south of the river. I’ll text you the address.”

  “Thanks. Listen, can you do me one more favor?”

  “Whatever you need.”

  “Can you run me a license plate?” She turned to look out the rear window again. “Keep it quiet, though. I just need to check something out.”

  “No problem, Sarge.”

  “Thanks, I owe you one. Can you run it now?”

  “Yeah, shouldn’t take a minute. What’s the number?”

  “Hang on.” She leaned forward to speak to the taxi driver. “Hey, you speak English?”

  The cabbie grunted. “Un peu.”

  “I need you to move into the other lane.”

  “Porquoi? Why? This is the fastest lane.”

  “Just do it.”

  The driver muttered something incomprehensible and moved over, letting the traffic stream ahead on the left. The black VW cruised past and Mary read out the license plate.

  “Okay, got it,” said the detective. “Anything else?”

  “No that’s it; just run the number for me.”

  “Sure. Just let me put you on hold a few minutes.”

  “No, don’t put –” she began, but the Muzak had already started. Switching the headset into speaker mode, she dropped the phone on to her lap and tried to think about something else.

  This was Mary’s first vacation in years, but it was already starting to feel like just another day in the office. And not a good day, either. On reflection, she was beginning to regret getting out of bed already.

  Chapter 17

  “I COULDN’T GET through,” said Sophie, walking back into the holding room. “I’m sorry. Her phone is either turned off, or she’s using it. I tried calling a few times, but no luck.” She sat back down on the stool.

  “She might be trying to track us down,” said Leopold.

  “Or someone got to her already,” said Jerome, getting to his feet. “And unless you’ve got a genetically engineered clone running around shooting people, somebody’s gone to a great deal of trouble to make sure you wound up in jail tonight. The only chance you got of getting out of here early was if Mary pulled some strings with the local P.D. and got you a bail hearing. You think whoever’s behind this is going to take that chance? We need to make a move. Now.”

  Sophie fidgeted and looked toward the door. “And how do you expect to get out of here?”

  “Leave that to us,” said Jerome.

  “Sophie, we’ll need your help,” said Leopold.

  “Me?”

  “It’s the only way we’re going to pull this off. Otherwise, they ship us off to the prison and God only knows what could be waiting for us there.”

  Sophie sighed. “What do I have to do?”

  Leopold leaned in closer. “Make enough noise to get those three guards in here, and we’ll do the rest.”

  “Make enough noise?”

  “You’ll know what I mean when it’s time.” He turned back to Jerome. “You ready?”

  “Ready.” Jerome smiled and shoved both his giant hands into Leopold’s chest, throwing him against the steel bars. As the consultant crumpled to the floor, Jerome grabbed his collar and threw him onto the bed.

  “This would be the part where you make a little noise, if you wouldn’t mind?” said Jerome, wrapping both hands around Leopold’s neck. “As much as I’m enjoying myself, I don’t think he’s going to last long.”

  “You’re hurting him!”

  “It needs to look authentic for the cameras. Just make some noise.”

  “Okay, okay.” Sophie took a deep breath and let out a scream.

  After five long seconds, the holding room door burst open and three guards stormed inside, shoving Sophie out of the way. The shortest of the officers fumbled with a set of keys before finally wrenching the metal gate open, sliding the bars to the side.

  “Arretez!” he shouted, raising his baton above his head as he and the others stepped into the cell.

  Jerome shook Leopold violently and drew back his fist. The three guards panicked and rushed forward, the shorter one grabbing hold of the bodyguard’s thick forearm while the others stood ready at the rear.

  Jerome moved fast, kicking the shorter man in the stomach and wrenching the baton from his hand. The guard sailed backward into one of his companions, sending them both tumbling to the ground. The remaining officer froze, clearly unsure of how to react without his partners backing him up. Without waiting for an invitation, Jerome stepped forward and landed a roundhouse punch to the guard’s jaw, knocking him down with an unceremonious grunt.

  “Move, now!” said Jerome, stepping over the pile of incapacitated police officers.

  “Quick, this way.” Sophie waved them forward, holding the door open.

  “We’ve got less than thirty seconds before they figure out what’s happened and sound the alarm. You get the keys?”

  Leopold nodded, unhooking a keychain from one of the guard’s belts. “We’d better hope one of these works.”

  “No time for second thoughts now,” said Jerome, stepp
ing through into the corridor. “Twenty-five seconds. Keep up.”

  The trio bounded down the hallway toward the door at the end and Leopold fumbled at the handle. Locked. He fished out the key ring and stared blankly at the dozen metal keys before giving up and selecting one at random.

  “Fifteen seconds,” said Jerome.

  “Okay, okay, I get it. Just let me try this one.” The key didn’t even fit in the hole. He tried another. “No good. Hang on.”

  “Ten seconds.”

  “Thanks for the reminder.” He rattled a third key without success. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Five.”

  “Hang on…”

  “Four.”

  “This one’s going to work…”

  “Three, two…”

  “Okay, maybe the next –”

  “One.”

  “Oh mon Dieu, just give them to me,” said Sophie. She slipped one of the keys into the lock and twisted. The door opened with a satisfying clunk. “After you, gentlemen.”

  “That was the one I was going for next,” muttered Leopold. As he stepped through, the piercing sound of alarm bells filled the corridor.

  “Looks like the security boys have finally caught up,” said Jerome, breaking into a jog. “Follow me.”

  The bodyguard led them down the hallway, toward the exit doors at the far end. “The doors out to the street will be sealed by now,” he said. “If we can make it to the roof, there’s a chance we can find a way onto the next building. Or maybe a fire escape.”

  “What did he just say?” asked Sophie, quickening her pace. “The roof?”

  “If you’ve got any better ideas, now’s the time.” Jerome reached the exit and burst through without breaking his stride.

  Two police officers rounded the corner ahead and barreled towards them, batons raised. Jerome lowered his shoulders, just as the officer in front drew back his weapon. Grabbing the man’s forearm, he pivoted and threw the policeman over his shoulder, thrusting out his elbow and catching the other officer in the temple, toppling him to the ground. He snatched both officers’ radios and tossed them into a garbage can.