Clarisse: Sorry to disappoint you, but it’s over. I lost the match. The doctors can’t do anything. I’m alone. My father left the hospital. He said he needed to think. About what? He can return those plane tickets to the US. We won’t ever use them. You know what? I kissed a boy once. On the cheek. It was in fourth grade. I would have loved knowing what it’s like to kiss on the lips… To love someone. Now I’ll never know.
Kokillette: I’m thinking of you.
Clarisse: Dad came to get me. I won’t be going back to the hospital. He promised. He says there is still hope. One day we’ll go to the US, like we planned. He’s the best dad.
Le Marec looked up. Her colleagues were all still.
“And here we are,” Nico said finally.
26
The irony of life. He would have laughed about it, but the moans he heard felt like daggers in his heart. He would have given anything to be the one lying on that bed, twisting in pain, breathing his last breaths. In her place. If only going into forbidden territory, playing apprentice sorcerer, and spilling blood had been enough. Fate was horrifying. How could you fight it? You couldn’t. You had to accept it. No fortune or power could change that. Everyone was equal in the face of death. How nauseating.
The sound of clinking flasks made him jump. What good would it do to continue?
“We’ve made progress, great progress,” a deep voice said.
It was nothing but a farce.
27
It was Friday. It had been a month since Bruno Guedj’s murder and the arrival of his body in Marcel’s cold room. An anniversary. Three sharp knocks at the door put an end to Alexandre Becker and Nico Sirsky’s reflection. A secretary led Dr. Christine Sahian into the magistrate’s office. The two men stood up and shook her hand.
The doctor looked incredulous, as if she still couldn’t believe that she had been summoned to the courthouse. The two men had chosen to have the meeting on their turf, obliging the woman to play by their rules. Without her white coat, she had lost just a bit of the stature that went with her position. Dr. Sahian ran the Hematology-Oncology Department at Saint Louis Hospital, and her statement would be pure gold.
“I’m having trouble understanding what you want from me,” she said in a tone that Nico imagined she used on recalcitrant patients.
She was thin, almost skinny. She wore her long brown hair in a ponytail. Her dark eyes had an untamed look. Despite the rigors of her job, the strength of character she needed to do it, and her maturity—Nico thought she had to be in her forties—she came off as almost childish. Faded jeans and a turtleneck underscored that impression.
“Sit down,” Magistrate Becker said, ignoring the remark.
“I don’t need to tell you that my department is in shambles. The mystery and your investigation surrounding the death of our colleague, Dr. Parize, is taking its toll on all of us.”
“We understand,” Becker said. “But this is a criminal investigation, and you, too, must understand what is at stake. I assure you that we want this to be over as much as you do.”
Dr. Sahian sighed. “You seem to be advancing a theory that is, well, inconceivable.”
“Inconceivable for doctors who have integrity and keep the Hippocratic Oath,” the judge replied.
“An oath doctors take to relieve suffering,” Nico said, trying to provoke her.
“Indeed, but we also swear that we will not do anything that exceeds our capabilities,” she said.
Nico was seated next to Dr. Sahian in front of Becker’s desk. He leaned forward in his chair and turned his side to the magistrate so that he could face the doctor. Putting his elbow on the desk and his chin in his hand, he stared at her. Staging. Dr. Sahian gave a nearly imperceptible shiver.
“The line separating good and evil blurs on occasion,” Nico said. “We see that all the time in our jobs. Some people cross the line despite themselves. Dr. Parize held the whole world responsible for not being named department head. You stole his spotlight.”
“His private problems had destabilized him for several months. The board didn’t think it was a good time to give him the responsibility,” Sahian said, looking ill at ease.
“You just confirmed that Christophe Parize was going through a bad patch,” Becker said. “Sometimes that’s all it takes to make a bad decision, to get pulled to the dark side.”
Nico held out the letter that Parize had written to his son. The woman reached for it. She licked her lips, a gesture that betrayed her anxiety. She read the letter attentively. Nico heard her curse under her breath. Her face paled.
“Allow me to summarize,” Nico said. “A sixteen- or seventeen-year-old girl is treated in your department for late-stage lymphoblastic lymphoma, a worst-case scenario, with chemotherapy, a bone marrow transplant, and relapse. There is no hope. The teen is given a death sentence. And that’s where things go wrong. The father is rich and powerful, and he decides to take her out of the hospital. He cannot accept watching her die. In secret, he gathers doctors capable of finding an innovative alternative solution and testing it on his daughter. What do you think?”
“It’s impossible and entirely illegal!” the doctor shouted.
But her final ramparts were tumbling, and Nico jumped on the opportunity to push her. “Exactly our point. What specialists would that good father hire to get what he wanted?”
“You think Edward Quere put this scheme together, don’t you? It’s completely crazy,” the woman insisted.
“We are just asking for your insight, were that to be the case,” Becker said.
The two men stopped talking, letting her do battle with her conscience.
“He would need an immunologist,” she finally said. “A lymphocyte specialist.”
“A man like Professor Janin?” Nico asked.
“He has the right profile, doesn’t he?” Becker added.
“Yes, he would have been an excellent choice, but you forget that he was lost at sea.”
“That’s another subject. Who else?” Nico continued to press her.
“He would also need a doctor who worked in a biotechnology lab and had the equipment necessary to create the right antibodies.”
“That doctor would still need to be at his job?”
“Absolutely.”
“Who else?” Becker asked.
“A hematologist to inject the antibodies and follow the patient step-by-step.”
“Such as Christopher Parize?”
“In effect.”
“In such a professional configuration, who would be the team leader?” Becker asked.
“The immunologist. He’s the only one who could steer the whole thing, but in an endeavor such as this, he would have to be on the cutting edge of clinical research.”
“Can you think of anyone else who would be part of the team?”
“A nurse for daily care, monitoring, and blood tests.”
“Such as Danièle Lemaire?”
“Dear God! What are you imagining?”
“The unimaginable, doctor,” Nico said.
Nico and Becker concluded the meeting with small talk to relieve the pressure and make the doctor feel better. She was very sorry that she hadn’t discerned just how stressed Christophe Parize was. But his attacks and aggressiveness had made it impossible to feel any compassion for him. And that was probably what he needed the most.
After she left, Becker turned to Nico. “I know perfectly well what you have in mind. Have you thought out the consequences?”
“I know what I have to do,” Nico responded, sounding much calmer than he actually was.
“I can’t give you a warrant. You realize that, don’t you? We have nothing but circumstantial evidence, nothing solid. All he’d have to do is make one phone call, and his lawyers would drag me through the mud.”
“I understand. You don’t have to justify yourself.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Engage in hand-to-hand combat. It should be sweet, as Dimit
ri would say.”
Nicole Monthalet challenged him with her look. “Do you know what you’re walking into?”
“I am perfectly aware of that, Commissioner,” Nico said.
“Edward Quere! What next? The president of France?”
“If necessary, ma’am, yes.”
“You’ve got some nerve, Chief Sirsky,” she said, smiling.
“And lots of doubts every day, but that’s not going to get us anywhere, is it?”
“I get the feeling you’re ready for anything.”
“I just want to have a conversation with him. A simple conversation.”
“I don’t believe that for a minute, Sirsky! You’re going to provoke him, because Magistrate Becker cannot sign a warrant. Quere’s cohort of lawyers would fight it. There’s no evidence. What the daughter wrote online would carry no weight at all.”
“Exactly, but I’m sure he’s behind this whole thing.”
“Was Bastien Gamby able to contact Clarisse and get some information out of her?”
“She’s nowhere to be found. Gamby thinks they cut her means of communication off—too dangerous.”
“That would make sense. Quere is far from stupid, or he wouldn’t be where he is.”
“His daughter is going to die. He wouldn’t hesitate to buy God’s services in person.”
“Well, he went to the wrong counter. He’s paying the devil.”
Nico nodded, and Commissioner Monthalet picked up her telephone. “The police prefect, please,” she told her secretary. She pushed the speakerphone button.
“Commissioner, it’s always a pleasure to talk to you. What can I do for you?”
“I’m calling about the molar mystery, sir.”
“Hmm. The newspapers are having a field day with it. And the story’s bound to get bigger once everything gets out. I expect the Criminal Investigation Division to control all aspects of the investigation.”
“That is the reason for my call, sir.”
“I’m listening.”
“My team needs to meet with Edward Quere.”
“You’re joking. Edward Quere? He’s a friend of the president.”
“Which does not put him above the law,” Monthalet said.
“I didn’t suggest that. I’ll be damned. This case could cost me my job. It’s worse than the jewelry heist. Who would have thought?”
“Life is full of surprises.”
Nico gulped, and the commissioner winked at him. It was a close game. He admired this woman. She had a lot to lose.
“I suppose the magistrate has agreed to look the other way, as long as there isn’t a fuss?” the prefect said.
“That about sums it up. If we want our investigation to move forward, we’ve got to do it.”
“Commissioner, I don’t know how you come by your powers of persuasion, but I can’t seem to refuse you anything.”
She smiled at Nico, and the tension drained from his shoulders.
“And remind Sirsky that he’s not untouchable,” the prefect grumbled. “Tell him this: ‘Even on the highest throne in the world, you’re still sitting on your ass.’ That’s Michel de Montaigne. He’ll appreciate it.”
“I’ll do that, sir.”
He hung up.
“We have the prefect’s blessing, but don’t let this come back to bite me, Sirsky.”
28
Situated between the Place Vendôme and the Opéra Garnier, the Rue de la Paix was the most expensive real estate on the French Monopoly board. Paris’s Boardwalk. As Nico parked his car, Commissioner Monthalet’s words bounced in his head, along with a song by Zazie that Dimitri was always singing. Lots of drumming.
Nico shivered. Was it from the outside temperature or the glacial chill deep inside him? How far would he go to save his son?
Kriven pressed the doorbell. A man wearing an impeccable black suit and polished shoes answered the door.
“I’m Chief Sirsky of the Criminal Investigation Division. This is Detective Kriven. We’re here to see Mr. Quere.”
“May I see your badges?”
It wasn’t a question. It was an expectation. The two detectives obliged.
“Are you armed?”
A second person appeared. He was scowling. Nico and Kriven looked at each other.
“We don’t have to answer that question. Show us to Mr. Quere,” Nico said tersely. They were off to a bad start.
“I regret, but Mr. Quere is absent at the moment.”
Nico looked the butler straight in the eye, then pulled out a card and handed it to the man. “Please tell him we stopped by.”
The door had closed on them, and Nico and Kriven stood there for a moment.
“My gut says he’s here and just doesn’t want to see us,” Kriven said.
“I agree, with more than my gut. Look, his car is parked on the street. And I’d say that’s his chauffeur right there waiting for him.”
Nico and Kriven headed back to their vehicle. “Let’s take a ride around the block and get ready to follow. You drive,” Nico said.
Five minutes later, a well-dressed man left the house, followed by two men dressed in black.
“Keep a safe distance,” Nico said.
Kriven knew the drill and eased away from the curb to follow the black Mercedes with tinted windows. As Nico focused on the car, he felt his pulse quicken.
“Damn it, they’re stepping on it,” Nico said.
“They’ve made us, Chief.” Kriven picked up speed, swerved to the left to pass a Peugeot, and veered back to the right lane to keep the Mercedes in view.
“Watch out,” Nico said.
A delivery truck pulled out of an alley, nearly hitting them. Kriven slammed on the brakes. Nico saw Quere’s car turn right several blocks farther along and disappear.
“We lost them,” Kriven said.
Nico pulled out his phone and dialed headquarters. “Claire, what do we know about Quere’s properties?”
“We’ve got the list here. It’s pretty long.”
“Narrow it down to Paris and the surrounding area. Anything pop out at you?”
“Still long. Wait, we’ve got a residence in Marnes-la-Coquette, where neighbors reported some suspicious activity.”
“What kind of suspicious activity?”
“A lot of trucks going in and out. Disturbing the peace. It’s usually a very quiet residential neighborhood, I guess.”
“That’s it. Give me the address. And send a team.”
As they sped toward the posh west Paris suburb, Nico called Becker.
“I don’t have enough to get you in,” Becker said. “You’ll have to be diplomatic.”
“Diplomatic, my ass. His goons lied to me, and then he took off.”
“I can’t issue a search warrant for a wounded ego, my friend. But I’m sure you’ll find a way.”
It was only a six-mile drive from Quere’s home in Paris to his property in Marne-la-Coquette, but they hit traffic and it seemed to take forever. Nico could barely contain his impatience.
“We’ve got him now. I can feel it,” he said, checking his gun, hoping he wouldn’t need it.
Kriven could feel his boss’s determination and didn’t say anything. He knew he could trust Nico’s instinct. He was ready.
They stopped in front of the monumental wrought-iron gates leading to the Queres’ luxurious mansion. A millstone wall topped with closed-circuit cameras protected the villa. So much for the calm neighborhood. Kriven pulled up, and the gates opened before he had a chance to ring the buzzer. He started down the driveway lined with skeletal trees, the gates closing behind them. There was no one in sight. They pulled up to the house. The door to a glass-enclosed vestibule was open.
“I don’t like this,” Kriven said, getting out of the car to follow Nico.
Nico had just made it in the door when he heard gravel crunching behind him and footsteps on the marble floor in front of him. Then came the characteristic snap of a holster opening and the brush of meta
l against leather. Kriven grabbed his gun and made a quick half turn. He and Nico were now standing back to back.
“There are two of them between us and the car, Chief.”
Nico kept his eyes on the person three feet in front of him who was pointing a Unique DES 69 at his chest. He recognized him immediately from the composite picture of the man who had threatened Bruno Guedj at the pharmacy.
“Chief of Police Nico Sirsky, with the Criminal Investigation Division,” Nico said, raising his arms above his head. “This is Commander Kriven. We don’t want any trouble. We’re here to see Mr. Quere.”
The man didn’t say anything but tightened his grip on the gun. His forehead was sweaty.
Nico’s body tensed. He calmed his breathing as his training kicked in. He needed some information. “Kriven, I believe our welcoming committee would like you to put your weapon down. Can you do that?”
“Sure, boss. The two kind men outside are just standing there, arms crossed.”
Good, Nico thought. They’re not armed.
The man cleared his throat. “Have him do it now,” he said.
“Kriven, I suggest you do as he says. Put it on the floor, and kick it over to your left.”
“Are you sure, boss? Right now?”
Kriven was buying his chief some time. Nico stabilized his center of gravity, bent his knees slightly, getting ready to shift to the right. His arms were still up above his head. He spread his hands out and waved them as if he were nervous. He was creating a distraction in his attacker’s peripheral vision.
“The man has a gun pointed at me, Kriven, so yes, now.”
Nico heard the standard issue SP 2022 slide across the marble as Kriven veered out of the way. The man’s eyes shifted, following the weapon. Nico had a split second to react. He swung his left arm down and grabbed the man’s right hand, then twisted his wrist until the weapon was pointing at his assailant’s throat. At the same time, he used his right arm to immobilize his attacker’s other elbow with a lock. He applied pressure to the wrist until the man’s grip loosened. Nico slid his hand up to grab the weapon.
Two clicks. Guns cocking. Gravel crunching. Nico turned his head and saw the two other heavies, weapons trained—one on Kriven, one on him. Straightening up to his full six-foot-two height, he kept the elbow lock, until the man howled. Nico hung on and swung the man around, shielding himself from the others.
Crossing the Line Page 18
