Cold Plague

by Daniel Kalla

  “I will save a table.”

  Noah finished his second glass of wine and then headed for the door. With his hand on the handle, he had a sudden twinge of suspicion and went back to grab his jacket and the notebook tucked inside.

  By the time Noah reached the bar, Elise had already claimed the corner table. A bottle of red stood on the tabletop and an empty glass awaited him on the other side. Wearing jeans and a black blouse, she sat holding a wineglass that was down to its last drops. He noticed her flushed cheeks and the uncharacteristic carefree sparkle in her eyes. He assumed she was beyond her first glass.

  She raised the glass to him. “Welcome.”

  He smiled as he dropped onto the stool across from her. A waiter arrived and refilled Elise’s glass and, with a nod from Noah, filled his, too. They toasted silently. Noah had a sip of the subtly dry wine. Elise cleared her throat. “I am sorry, Noah.”

  He shook his head. “I was the one who overstepped my bounds.”

  “And I was the one who overreacted.” She smiled disarmingly. “You just…touched a nerve…. Is that the right expression?”

  Noah nodded.

  She looked away. “Javier and I do have a history,” she said quietly.

  “Elise, you don’t have to—”

  “It is so common, it is almost expected for people of his standing,” she continued as if Noah had never spoken. “Affairs here are more…accepted…than in America. But I never saw myself as being someone’s mistress! Javier and I worked so many long hours together. I wish I could blame him for what happened. The truth is that it was as much my fault. I broke my own rules.” She smiled down at the table. “I know that he is a politician inside and out, but he is also a charming, caring man. And we fell in love.” Her smile faded and her voice dropped. “Or, at least, I fell in love.”

  Noah fingered the stem of his glass. “Is it over now?” he asked gently.

  Elise shrugged. “I thought so. He has a young family. We both knew it was for the best that we stop. And for months we did, but then that night in Paris, before our meeting, he came to my room to talk….” She shook her head. “It should never have happened.”

  Noah finished the last of his glass. “It’s never easy, is it?”

  Elise looked up at him, her eyes slightly reddened but still burning. “You wanted to know why I was not ‘more assertive’ at our meeting. I think it was maybe because I was confused, distracted…and a little embarassed.” She drained her glass again and placed it gently on the table. “I hope that doesn’t make you uncomfortable, but I felt I needed to tell you. I want you to be able to trust me again.”

  Noah met her stare. “And I want to trust you.”

  “You do not, though,” she said with matter-of-fact frankness.

  “I think there’s a leak on our side.”

  She viewed him impassively. “And I am it?”

  “Not necessarily. But somewhere in the chain of command in the E.U., I believe, sensitive information is getting out to the wrong people.”

  The waiter came by and refilled both of their glasses. After he left, Elise leaned forward in her chair and spoke in a quieter tone. “I agree, Noah, that is one possible explanation.”

  “One?”

  “Has it occurred to you that the leak might be on your side?” she asked.

  Noah straightened, taken aback. “At the WHO?”

  “Why not?” she said. “You have been keeping Jean abreast of our investigation, have you not?”

  “Jean?” Noah laughed at the thought. “I would trust my life in his hands. In fact, I have.”

  “And you are probably right to do so,” she said. “Surely, Jean reports to others in the WHO. Your information would be shared, non?”

  “Jean does not have to report to anyone at the WHO. And he’s extremely discreet,” Noah said with an edge, but even as he spoke the words he realized she had a point. He could not disregard the possibility that the leak could have happened through the director’s office. Troubled, he drained the rest of the glass.

  She studied him. Her smile was as warm as any he had seen from her. “Noah, I am not the enemy,” she said.

  He sighed. “There is so much left unexplained here in Limousin.”

  “We are making progress, non?”

  The waiter arrived again and poured the last of the bottle into her glass. Wordlessly, Elise nodded for a new bottle, and the server picked up the empty one and headed off to replace it. Already buzzed from the wine, and longing for someone to vent to, Noah said, “Dr. Charron was trying to reach me.”

  She tilted her head. “When?”

  “The night he died. Within an hour and a half of his death.”

  Her forehead creased into a deep frown. “Wasn’t he drunk when he died?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Did he leave a message?”

  Noah shook his head.

  She put down the glass and touched the tabletop gingerly as if it might be too hot. “Then how do you know he called you?”

  Noah told her about the missed calls on his cell phone. And then he said, “You never met him, Elise, but believe me: He was not the kind of guy to call unless he had something important to share.”

  She nodded. “Maybe he wanted to tell you about his conversation with Michel Dieppe, and how he discovered the relationship between the two male victims?”

  “Maybe,” he said gravely. “Or maybe he had uncovered something else.”

  Her mouth parted in surprise. “Dr. Charron’s accident? You don’t think that someone might have…”

  “I don’t know.”

  Her hand trembled slightly as she brought the glass to her mouth.

  “Elise, I am going to the police with what I know.” He realized it might have sounded as though he defied her to stop him, but he did not qualify the remark.

  “I think we have to.”

  Her unexpected agreement relaxed him. “Maybe we are on the same side, after all.” He laughed.

  Her frown gave way to another grin. “I have been trying to tell you that.”

  She raised her glass, and they clinked rims. “To new beginnings,” she said.

  “Salut,” he replied.

  Elise’s cheeks burned redder. “You mentioned that you and your wife separated last year. I know it is none of my business, but I was wondering—”

  “Another woman,” Noah said.

  “Oh,” Elise said with surprise. “And have you and this woman—”

  “I wasn’t the one who left for the other woman.”

  Elise squinted in confusion. Then her eyes lit with understanding and she fought back a laugh. “I—I am sorry,” she stammered. “I don’t mean to make light of it. I just did not expect that.”

  “You didn’t expect it? How do you think I felt?” Noah said, and after a pause, they exploded in uproarious laughter.

  As they finished the second bottle of wine, their conversation drifted toward more drunken confidences. They exchanged horror stories of previous romances gone awry. And Elise’s Belgian accent grew more pronounced as she began to slur her words slightly. “You know that evening when Javier came to my room in Paris?” she said with a conspiratorial tone. “I phoned him.”

  “Oh?” Noah lowered his glass.

  “I had seen Duncan and you in the bar earlier.” She looked down. “You had not invited me. And I was feeling a little left out.”

  Noah reached across and patted the back of her hand. “We were discussing heavy family issues. I don’t think you would have wanted to join us.”

  She grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze.

  Noah squeezed back before releasing the grip and pulling his hand back. “Listen, Elise. It’s late. And we’re drunk.”

  She nodded. “And tomorrow is a big, big day. C’est ça?”

  “Oui.” Noah looked up and pantomimed signing to the waiter, who hurried over with the already printed bill. With a drunken squiggle, Noah left a generous tip.

  On the way
to the elevator, Elise swayed slightly on her feet. A couple of times, she leaned into Noah before she regained her footing. The elevator was empty when they stepped inside, but Elise stood very close. Noah pressed the buttons for the fifth and sixth floors. The doors closed. As the elevator jerked into motion, she stumbled forward and caught herself bumping against him. But rather than step back, she leaned even closer. Her wine-scented breath tickled his cheek. And when her eyes found his, they were inviting. She parted her lips a fraction and then pressed them against his.

  Noah returned the kiss, enjoying the warm wetness and the sweet taste of her lips. Her tentative pressure gave way to a deeper kiss, and her arms wrapped around his back.

  The implication of their contact hit Noah with a start, as sudden sobriety descended on him. He pulled his face away from hers and gently wriggled free of her embrace. Holding her arm in his hands, he said, “Elise, this is not…” But he ran out of words.

  She backtracked two steps and stared at the floor. “Of course,” she said softly. “It would be inappropriate.”

  The pleasant taste of her breath still lingered on his lips, but in his mind, Noah pictured Gwen’s alluring smile, eyes brimming with desire and her upper teeth gently biting down on her lower lip. Confused, he mumbled, “I think it might look different for both of us in the morning.”

  She viewed him almost wistfully. “Lately, I have come to dread the mornings.”

  30

  Limoges, France. January 20

  The sky couldn’t decide between snow and rain, so instead flip-flopped between both. The wet flurries clung to Avril’s coat and soaked through to her skin. Oblivious to the cold, she stood at her husband’s grave and stared at the white lilies that lay by his headstone. Antoine had never had much interest in flowers, but the lilies were her favorite; she brought them with her every visit, regardless of the season.

  Avril was grateful for the miserable weather. It kept everyone else away from the sprawling cemetery, located on the western outskirts of the city. For the first time since Frédéric’s abduction, she felt safe to speak her fears aloud.

  “This is my fault, Antoine. If I hadn’t interfered in his life, Frédéric would have not broken up with Stéphane. Then that awful woman wouldn’t have been able to lure him away like she did.” The detective in her realized that the kidnappers would have probably found other means to get at her son, but the insight didn’t diminish her crushing guilt. Avril glanced over to the empty plot beside her husband’s grave. “I would crawl in there right now beside you, Antoine, if I knew they would only let him go, but—” The words caught in her throat, and a tear joined the icy streaks coursing down her cheeks. “Once I do everything they need of me, they will kill our boy and then they will come for me.” She swallowed. “And if I don’t do as they ask…” She could not even finish the sentence.

  Avril wiped the wetness from her cheeks. “I will find him, Antoine, but I need time. It’s the only way. I have to stall. If I can somehow keep those E.U. investigators around here, then maybe…” Kneeling lower, she touched the lilies’ already soggy petals and let her fingers brush over the muddy grass of the grave. “Someone told them I was investigating those missing women. Perhaps it was one of the people I interviewed in Montmagnon about Pauline? Perhaps even Yvette Pereau’s husband or her former lover?” She shook her head so hard that drops of precipitation sprayed from her hair. “No. It must have come from somewhere within the Gendarmerie. Only another policeman could have known what I was up to. What threat I might pose.” She recalled André Pereau’s description of his wife’s concerns. “Yvette Pereau wanted to go to the police, Antoine,” she whispered. “Perhaps she did! Maybe that was why she ‘disappeared.’”

  Avril touched the grass over his grave again. “Our boy…” She looked up to the heavens, but she was done praying. She straightened up and wiped the dirt from her fingers. “I don’t know whom to trust. I will have to do this alone.”

  She blew the headstone a kiss and then turned away. She hurried across the grass to the parking lot, her boots noisily sinking in the sleet and mud with each step. Her foot had barely touched pavement when she heard the Chopin melody from her pocket.

  “Maman.”

  Her pulse shot up. “Frédéric, are you all right?”

  “I am okay.” His voice was calmer than before. “The phone booth at the corner of the rue Jean Jaurès and rue du Temple, Maman.”

  “What about it?”

  For a fleeting elated moment, she thought Frédéric might be waiting there, but the hope was dashed as quickly as it rose. “Be there in five minutes, Maman.” His tone verged on detached, and Avril feared that he was in a state of shock.

  “Listen to me, Frédéric,” she said. “Everything will be okay. Just do as they say, and you will be home soon.”

  “Five minutes,” he repeated emotionlessly, and then the line clicked.

  Sliding on the sleek pavement, Avril sprinted for her car. At the door, she fumbled with the keys before dropping into the driver’s seat. She started the engine and hit the accelerator. The tires skidded a moment before the car lurched out of its parking spot.

  As she wove and dodged through the mercifully light traffic, Avril understood why the kidnappers had sent her on this wild ride. She had intended to trace her own cell phone to pinpoint the source of the calls, but they must have thought of that. By giving her an impossibly tight time frame, she had no time to organize a trace on the pay phone, either.

  She checked her watch. Six minutes. Merde!

  She took the corner hard onto rue du Temple. Her car slid, bounced off the curb, and almost slammed into the lamppost beside it. As soon as the wheels straightened, Avril punched the accelerator and the car fishtailed down the street. She swerved up to the designated intersection and hopped out of her car, leaving the key in the ignition.

  The phone was already ringing when her hand gripped the receiver. “Yes?” she spat.

  “Detective Avars?” It was the same electronic voice as the previous call, but Avril had no way of knowing whether the person behind the voice changer was the same.

  “Yes,” Avril puffed.

  “Have you told anyone else about our situation?”

  “No.”

  “You are a smart woman, Detective Avars.”

  You will learn just how smart, Avril thought. “Frédéric did not sound right when I spoke to him just now.”

  “He is fine.”

  “He better be.”

  “Detective, you are in no position to threaten.”

  “Think of it as a promise,” Avril said through clenched teeth.

  “No need,” the tinny voice soothed. “Frédéric will be home soon.”

  “When?”

  “Within a day or two.” The caller paused. “Unless, of course, you try to find him. In which case, he won’t come home at all.”

  Avril swallowed away the sudden lump in her throat. Be calm, she told herself. Think.

  “Have you completed your investigation into the missing women?” the voice asked.

  “I have.”

  “And?”

  “There is no evidence of foul play in Pauline Lamaire’s disappearance,” Avril said. “Perhaps she got lost on a walk and fell into one of the rivers, lakes, or gullies near her home. Perhaps she has traveled off somewhere in search of a miracle cure for her arthritis. Regardless, it is no longer a police matter.”

  “And Yvette Pereau?”

  “Is not missing at all. She merely ran away from her husband to meet a lover in Amsterdam. She told me as much when I interviewed her yesterday.”

  “Will your colleagues now consider the matter closed?”

  “They already do.”

  “Good,” the caller said. “Now we need you to stay close to the Gendarmerie.”

  “Why?”

  “We believe your visitors will arrive soon.”

  “Who?”

  “An American doctor, Noah Haldane, and a Belgian wo
man, Elise Renard,” the caller said. “When they come, you are to ensure they end up in your office.”

  “And how do I do that?”

  “Be resourceful, Detective. Think how it will expedite Frédéric’s release.”

  Avril exhaled slowly, considering her next move.

  “Remember, Detective, you are to convince the visitors that there is nothing out of the ordinary in Limoges.”

  “What if they have evidence to the contrary?”

  “They will not. At most, they will offer you a few coincidences.”

  Avril’s thoughts raced. “If I dismiss them too easily, that might make them suspicious, true? I will at least need to appear to follow up on their information.”

  There was a pause. “If it is necessary, but you will do it quickly and convincingly.”

  “Of course.” It was the opening she sought. “Meantime, I need guarantees.”

  “Guarantees?” the voice rattled.

  “Frédéric is to call me twice a day, at eight A.M. and eight P.M.,” she said. “If I do not hear from Frédéric at those times, I will assume…” She swallowed again. “The worst. And I will take all that I know to anyone who will listen, including the visitors.”

  “Listen, Detective, you are toying with your son’s future—”

  “I will speak to you at eight o’clock,” she cut the caller off in midthreat. With a trembling hand, she deposited the receiver back into the cradle.

  “It’s the only way, my love,” she whispered.

  31

  Limoges, France. January 20

  The doors to the elevator opened, and Noah spotted Elise, legs crossed and reclining on a couch while reading a magazine. His head throbbed and he still could taste the wine in the back of his throat. The memory of their sensuous kiss also reminded him of how abruptly their night had ended, and the self-consciousness he felt grew with each step nearer.

  Elise lowered her magazine and rose to greet him. There were slight bags under her eyes, but her cheeks held a healthy flush and she looked otherwise as fresh as her citrus fragrance smelled. Her polite smile didn’t hint at any of the discomfort that Noah was experiencing. “Did you sleep all right?” she asked pleasantly.