The French Widow

by Mark Pryor

  “I wish I knew. What else do you want to do on the case?”

  “I’ll head back to the unit. We have the call detail records for all the family’s phones. I’m meeting with our analyst to see who’s been where over the past week. She’s a genius at spotting not just where people’s phones hit cell towers but also this new thing called call pattern analysis.”

  “I read about that,” Hugo said. “Something about looking at a person’s pattern of how and when they use their phone, and spotting anomalies.”

  “Right. Like in this case, if someone’s phone was turned off around the time Fabien disappeared, when it looks like it normally wouldn’t be.”

  “Sounds useful, if not determinative,” Hugo said. “And probably doesn’t make for enthralling meetings. If you don’t mind, can you drop me at the embassy and I’ll do some work there? I want to call our victim Tammy and see how she’s doing, whether she remembers anything more.” He grimaced. “I should probably tell her about Fabien, too.”

  “The finger? I’d prefer that not get out right now.”

  “Your investigation,” Hugo said. “I’ll hold off on giving her that information, just a general update.”

  “Merci bien, I’d appreciate that.”

  Back in his office, Hugo dialed Tammy Fotinos to check in on her. She was recovering well, she said, and remembered nothing more that was helpful. She was worried about Fabien, though, and made Hugo promise to call her the moment he found out anything, and he felt a pang of guilt at withholding the fact he was most likely dead.

  That responsibility complete, he wandered over to Mari Harada’s door and knocked.

  “How goes it?” she asked him. “I heard about the finger in the box. What’s that about?”

  “No clue just yet, but seems likely it’s a taunt of some sort. So, a question for you.”

  “Fire away,” she said.

  “On the Tuileries shooter, do you—”

  “Lemme stop you right there, Hugo.” She held up a hand to cut him off. “You know you can’t be in on that investigation.”

  “Oh, you didn’t hear? Marchand let me tag along for the raid.”

  “I heard all right,” she said with a chuckle. “And I saw the headlines. But I take my orders from the ambassador, not any of your French police buddies, and last I heard, his orders were that you’re walled off.” She cocked her head. “By the way, how did the ambassador respond?”

  “Not well at first, as you might imagine. It’s more about the optics for him than any real concern about me being involved in the investigation, the politics rather than the practicalities. But I get that. Anyway, we talked and he agrees that now we know the shooter wasn’t an American I’m pretty much in the clear.”

  “Maybe so, but I’m still not sure I need to be telling you anything from my end of things,” Harada said.

  “Then I’ll keep my question general. If I wanted to observe the grounds of the embassy and surrounding streets, would I be able to easily access video surveillance footage from my computer?”

  “No.”

  “We stopped recording our surroundings?” Hugo asked, surprised. “Who ordered that? Last I heard—”

  “Hugo, take a breath,” Harada said, amusement in her eyes. “You used the word ‘easily’ and given your technological deficiencies, the answer is no. But it can be done, and I can make it easier. What are you looking for?”

  “Not what, but who. Or whom. I can never get those straight.”

  “No one cares. Who or whom are you looking for?”

  Hugo winked. “Let’s just say I’ll know them when I see them.”

  “One of your famous hunches, eh?”

  “Something like that. Two other questions—do you have a list of suspects for stealing the gun? And do you know when it was stolen, a time frame?”

  “Yes, and yes.” She wagged a finger. “And that’s all I’m telling you.”

  “I could solve this for you, you know.”

  “This is where I make a comment about an able-bodied white guy riding in on his white horse and playing the hero, and then roll my eyes so hard my head falls off.”

  “Fine, don’t tell me then. Wait, don’t you work for me?”

  “We both work for the man upstairs,” Harada reminded him.

  Hugo turned at the sound of Emma’s voice behind him.

  “Let me guess,” she said. “You left your phone in your office.”

  “For two minutes,” Hugo said. “To discuss important matters with a colleague.”

  Harada leaned around him to smile at Emma. “And we’re all done. You can remove him from my presence.”

  “We are not done,” Hugo said. “I need—”

  “To answer your office phone,” Emma interrupted. She pointed down the hallway. “And right now, young man!”

  Harada grinned and rubbed her hands together. “If there’s gonna be a spanking, I wanna watch!”

  “That’s unprofessional,” Hugo protested weakly, trying not to smile.

  “Seriously, though,” Emma said. “Hurry. Camille Lerens is trying to reach you. Something’s happened to one of the Lambourds.”

  “Which one?” Hugo asked, starting down the short hallway.

  “Here’s an idea,” Emma said. “Answer your phone and find out for yourself.”

  Hugo strode into his office and grabbed the receiver from his desktop. “Camille, this is Hugo. What’s going on?”

  “We’ve had another little twist with our friends the Lambourds.”

  “What is it?” Hugo asked. “Or should I say, who is it?”

  “Our princess has been assaulted.”

  “Erika Sipiora? What happened?”

  “In Parc Monceau, attacked from behind, she didn’t see who did it.”

  “Is she all right?” Hugo asked.

  “You’ve met her, right? Tough lady, and so yeah, she’s all right.”

  Hugo sank into his chair. “Was it a robbery?”

  “Looks like it,” Lerens said. “Obviously I’m headed back to the Lambourd house now. I can swing by the embassy if you’re free to go with me.”

  “At this rate, we should just set up an office there to work out of.”

  “I know—all this driving is giving me a bad back.”

  “That’s age,” Hugo joked. “And I am free. I’ll wait in the usual spot. Try not to run me over.”

  “Maybe. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  Hugo grabbed his jacket and walked to Emma’s desk. “I’m going out, and don’t worry—I’ll keep my phone on and with me at all times.”

  “As you should,” Emma said without looking up.

  “Don’t you want to know where I’m going?” he asked, and began to walk away.

  “I can track your phone, Hugo. I’ll figure it out.”

  “Wait, you can do what?” He pulled up short. “You’re joking, right?”

  “Me?” Emma gave him her most innocent look. “You know I never joke. Now, off you go.”

  Hugo set off again and called over his shoulder. “You better be joking—that’d be a violation of my privacy!”

  In Lieutenant Lerens’s car, Hugo texted Tom to ask if he could use his police sources to find out who the embassy suspects were.

  I’ve worked that favor off, Tom replied.

  That’s my call. And not quite.

  Jerk. You want names or more?

  Just one name, actually, but . . .

  What? Which one?

  I don’t know.

  Jesus.

  Gimme all names and dates of birth. That’ll tell me who’s guilty.

  Just that????

  Thank you.

  How can you tell from that?????????

  Gotta go. With Camille.

  Jerk.

  Twenty minutes later he was sitting on a sofa in the Lambourds’ living room, with Erika Sipiora in a chair opposite them. The left side of her face was slightly swollen, and the makeup she’d applied to the black eye was barel
y disguising it.

  “You didn’t make a police report?” Lerens was asking.

  “No. There’s no point.”

  “Why not?”

  “There were no witnesses, I didn’t see his face, and I’m pretty sure there are no cameras in the middle of Parc Monceau, right?”

  “That’s true.”

  “And, to be honest,” Sipiora said, giving Lerens a doleful look, “my confidence in the Paris police is not at an all-time high right now.”

  “Given everything that’s happened, I would have thought it even more important to report this,” Hugo said.

  “I thought you should know, yes.” Sipiora turned to him. “For this investigation maybe, but there’s no need for you or your men to get sidetracked on some completely unrelated and most likely unsolvable crime.”

  “Did the person take anything from you?” Lerens pressed.

  “A broach and my wallet, so he got some cash.”

  “Credit cards? And how much was the broach worth, do you know?”

  “I keep my credit cards in a separate wallet,” Sipiora said. “And if I had to guess, the broach is worth very little.”

  “Do you have a photo, or can you describe it for me?”

  “No, I can’t,” she said, frustration in her voice. “Look, can you please focus on what happened to Fabien? My brother is going out of his mind with worry and no one cares about a stupid broach.”

  Lerens nodded that she understood, and when she spoke her voice was calm and reassuring. “I promise, looking for whoever attacked you won’t detract from this investigation, but on the off-chance it’s related, we need to pursue it.”

  “I wasn’t even hurt really,” Sipiora protested, weakly this time. “Fine, it’s a Georgian design, with a square faceted rock crystal in silver bezel, with scrolled black enamel band with my daughter’s name on it.”

  “It’s the one you wore to the party?” Hugo asked. “Gold, right?”

  “Yes, that’s the one.” Sipiora raised an eyebrow. “I’m impressed, Monsieur Marston, there’s about one man in a million who would notice, let alone remember something like that.”

  “Very true,” Lerens said, smiling. “But Hugo is special that way, trust me.”

  “Sentimental value rather than monetary,” Hugo said, ignoring the gentle jibe.

  “Yes. But I can have another one made. As I keep saying, the important thing is finding Fabien.”

  “Agreed,” Hugo said. “But if it takes no extra resources the police should look into your assault. If nothing else, because we don’t want it happening to anyone else.”

  The three of them turned to the living room doors as a voice reached them from upstairs, the muffled word repeated over and over.

  “No! . . . No! . . . No!”

  Lerens and Hugo glanced at each other and at the same time leapt to their feet and hurried to the doors. Hugo followed Lerens out to the landing and up the stairs, taking them two at a time to the top floor. They looked to their left, where the voice had come from, and hurried down the long, wide hallway to an open bedroom door. Inside, Marc Lambourd knelt on the floor at the end of an enormous and antique four-poster bed. Stretched out on the floor, with her head in his lap, was his sister Noelle Manis.

  Marc Lambourd turned as he heard them enter, his face pale and streaked with tears. When he spoke his voice was thick and disbelieving.

  “She’s dead. My God, she’s dead.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Lerens moved quickly into the room and to Marc Lambourd’s side, knelt down, and put her fingertips on the motionless woman’s wrist. She glanced back at Hugo and he saw in her eyes that Lambourd was right.

  Noelle Manis was dead.

  Hugo stepped out of the bedroom at the sound of approaching footsteps. Édouard Lambourd and Erika Sipiora were approaching, worry on their faces.

  “What’s going on?” Édouard asked. “I heard Marc cry out.”

  “Please, don’t come any closer,” Hugo said. “If you can wait for me down in the living room, we’ll be right there.” They didn’t move. “Please, go get your mother and I’ll be right down to talk to you.”

  “Is everyone all right?” Sipiora asked. “Just tell us that.”

  “No, everyone’s not all right.” Hugo stepped further out into the hallway to block any view they might have. “Please. I’ll be there in a moment.”

  The siblings glanced at each other, then made a slow U-turn and headed back down the long hallway. Hugo watched until they started down the stairs, and then moved back into the bedroom, where Lerens had a hand on Lambourd’s shoulder.

  “Monsieur, we need to step outside for a moment, can you do that?”

  “Outside?” Confusion wracked Lambourd’s face. “Yes. Leave Noelle here just for a moment while we attend to . . . things we have to do.” Her voice was still soft, and Hugo was impressed with how calm, and calming, she was. “Just for a moment, please.”

  Lambourd stayed where he was, and he looked down at his sister. “Ma chérie” he whispered. My darling. “What happened? What happened? Please, come back to us.”

  Lerens stood, keeping a hand on his shoulder. “Just for a minute or two, Monsieur Lambourd, come with me.” Her voice and grip were strong enough to persuade him, and Hugo hurried to an armchair, picked up a cushion, and handed it to Lambourd to place under Manis’s head. He stood, and Lerens steered him out of the bedroom.

  “Find someone to be with him,” she said quietly to Hugo. “I’ll get a team in here.”

  “Of course, but I want to look around first,” Hugo said.

  “Then find someone to take care of him fast.”

  Hugo nodded and led a catatonic Marc Lambourd down the stairs to the living room. When they entered, his brother and sister moved quickly to his side and guided him to a large, wingback leather chair.

  “Thank you,” Hugo said. “Where is your mother?

  “Probably in the kitchen or maybe her bedroom,” Sipiora said. “I texted her but she’s not responded, which is normal. What the hell is going on?”

  “I’m really sorry,” Hugo said. “There’s no easy way to tell you this, but your sister Noelle is dead.”

  Silence filled the room for a moment, and then Édouard said, his voice cracking, “Dead? How is that possible? What happened?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Hugo said.

  Marc Lambourd turned his head slowly and looked up at Hugo. “What’s going on here? Why is all this happening?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Hugo said. “But I will find out.”

  “Please.” Lambourd sank back in the large chair, defeated and deflated, his eyes staring at the floor in front of him, his face as white as a ghost. Hugo glanced back at him as he left the room, and then hurried downstairs to find the widow who ran this household. The only person he found, though, was Karine Berger, who was in the huge kitchen preparing a tea tray. He introduced himself and she nodded a friendly, if somewhat reserved, greeting.

  “Is that for Madame Lambourd?” he asked.

  “Oui, monsieur, it is.” Berger picked up a knife and sliced the crusts off some thin sandwiches, her movements nimble and deft. “She spent a lot of time in England and likes their tradition of tea and sandwiches. Cucumber in particular.”

  “Not something I ever got used to,” Hugo said. “All that bread and cake before dinner. Do you know where she is?”

  “She doesn’t eat much at night, not anymore. So this is good for her.”

  Hugo was surprised by Berger, whom he’d not met before. Family members talked of her as if she were someone delicate and emotionally fragile, and maybe she was, but the woman Hugo was talking to seemed at ease, capable, and not in the least in need of protection from a few questions.

  “I see. Where is she right now?”

  “Dans sa chambre, or she should be,” Berger said. In her bedroom. “Sometimes it’s hard to know in this place.”

  “Well, would you have time to make an extra c
up of tea and take it to Monsieur Marc?”

  She stopped what she was doing and looked at Hugo. “Normally, if he wants something he will text me.”

  “I see. He’s in the living room right now, and I think he could use some tea. Maybe for everyone.”

  “Yes, well. I suppose I can do that. He’s been good to me, Marc, especially lately. And with all that’s going on with him.”

  “You mean with his son?”

  “Oui, bien sûr. And his fiancée breaking it off yesterday.”

  “Right, of course, very sad,” Hugo said, but his mind was racing. When, why, and how did that happen? And of course no one in the family thought to tell us! “How did you come to find out about that?” Hugo asked gently.

  She shrugged. “This family, they talk when I’m there because sometimes they don’t see me. It’s not that I’m one of them, not in that way, no. That would be impossible.”

  “Was Noelle one of them?”

  Berger’s eyes narrowed. “Was?”

  Hugo gave her his most disarming smile. She didn’t need to know the news about Noelle just yet. “I’m sorry, I meant is.”

  Berger seemed to consider the question, staring at the teapot on the tray. “I suppose, yes. She doesn’t always think so, if you ask me. But Madame Charlotte does, I know that much.”

  Hugo very much wanted to ask about the adoption, find out how and why someone as unmaternal as Charlotte Lambourd would take on another child. But he wanted to inspect the room where Noelle had died before the crime scene team got there.

  “I heard Noelle wasn’t well this morning?” he asked.

  “I don’t know anything about that,” Berger said. “I didn’t see or hear from her.” Behind her the kettle bubbled and steamed wildly. “The best tea is made from water that is just about to boil, but hasn’t yet. Did you know that?”

  “I don’t think so, no.”

  “Well, it is.” She turned and poured the scorching water into a mug. “I’ll take some to the family. They like the way I make tea.”

  “Thank you,” Hugo said. “And please, would you wake Madame Lambourd and have her join everyone in the living room? I promise, it’s very important.”