by Rickie Blair
“What are you talking about? I made an observation. A pertinent observation, too.”
“Well, don’t make any more observations to the police, pertinent or otherwise. You don’t realize how serious this is, Ruby.”
She stared at him.
“I don’t realize how serious this is? How can you say that? I was the one who found—” She swallowed hard. “I’ve never seen a ... d-dead b-b-body ... like that.” She rummaged in her purse for a tissue as tears splashed onto her hands.
Hari pulled the car over, reached into the glove box, and handed her a rumpled tissue.
“I’m sorry, Ruby. That was an awful experience and I shouldn’t be scolding you.”
She sniffled, then wiped her eyes and crumpled the tissue into a ball.
“Wait a minute.” Hari gaped at her. “What do you mean, you’ve ‘never seen a dead body’? What about those dead Russians at the marina in Toronto last year?”
“Oh. I guess I forgot about them.”
“I guess you did,” he said with a snort.
“I was right, though. Keller didn’t kill his girlfriend.”
“Really? And how do you know that?”
“Why would he call her and leave a message to meet him if he intended to kill her? Wouldn’t that be stupid?”
“Maybe he didn’t intend to kill her. Maybe it was a crime of passion.”
“There was no sign of a struggle, or torn clothes, or anything that would indicate a crime of passion.”
“And you know this from your vast experience reading crime show scripts?”
“Yes, smartypants, but that doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”
With a shake of his head, Hari turned over the ignition and pulled out into traffic.
“Well, right or wrong, it doesn’t matter because we’re done with this case. I’ll send a report to TradeFair, along with an invoice large enough to cover being shot at, and knocked out in my own home, and robbed. And then we’re done.”
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
He glanced at her suspiciously.
“Like?”
“Benjamin Levitt. Don’t you want to find him?”
“The police are looking for him now. They’ll find him faster than we could.”
“You can’t give up on him.”
Hari stared silently at the road ahead. At the next stoplight, he turned to her with a grimace.
“We have to face the fact that Ben could be dead. I don’t know if Keller killed his girlfriend. In fact, I agree it’s unlikely. But somebody did. We have to leave this to the police.”
Ruby made a face. First she had been suspended from the play and now their fraud case was evaporating. This was turning into a bad week.
“I guess you’re right.”
Hari swerved onto Route 1-9 and headed north. He glanced at her.
“Are you able to perform tonight? Maybe you should call the theater—”
“Not necessary. They gave me two weeks off after the break-in on Wednesday. And it wasn’t voluntary.”
“I didn’t know, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” She sat up with a start. “Since I’m not due back at work for eleven days, and you intend to drop our only paying case, why don’t we take a trip?”
“To where?”
“Paris.”
“Paris? Why?” Hari tilted his head, looking blankly at the road ahead. Then his jaw dropped. “Oh, no. No, Ruby. We’re not going to Paris.”
“Why not? Some sightseeing and a nice meal or two would make me feel better. I’ve had quite a shock.” Her lower lip quivered.
“Stop it. You had no such idea. You want to check on that investment bank from the statement Mrs. Keller gave us.”
“Oh, right. I’d forgotten about that.” She nodded. “We could do that, too. If you think it’s a good idea.”
Hari tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, sighing heavily.
“No.”
“How can you say no? Your friend Ben is missing, and that poor woman back there is dead. Whoever her killer is, he’s on this side of the Atlantic. We won’t be in any danger. In fact, we’ll be safer in Paris. The police are investigating Brigitte Perrine’s murder, but they won’t bother with an empty investment account in France. It’s our best lead.” She turned to the side window and crossed her arms. “But if you don’t want to go, I can go by myself.”
Hari swerved the car over onto the shoulder and stopped. He snapped on the hazard lights and turned to her.
“You are not going to Paris by yourself.”
Cars and vans whooshed by and the Fiesta’s windows rattled with each passing vehicle. Ruby stared into the distance as the hazard lights clicked on, off, on, off, on, off…
“You’re not going to let it go, are you?”
She shook her head.
“All right. I will go to Paris. You will stay here. I will check on the investment bank and then I will come back.”
“That doesn’t make much sense, Hari.”
“Why?”
“Because between the two of us I’m the only one who speaks French, remember?”
He glared at her over the rim of his glasses.
“We’ll go together.”
“Great, I’ll book the tickets. We can go tonight.”
Hari flicked off the hazard lights.
“Not yet. Let me find out who owns that French bank first. Then you can make us an appointment with the principals. Besides, I have a date tonight.”
“Has she forgiven you?”
He checked traffic in the rearview mirror with the trace of a smile on his face.
“Maybe.”
“I’ll book tickets on the red-eye tomorrow night. That will give you time to,” Ruby waggled her shoulders, “investigate.” When he didn’t reply, she added, “I know we’re doing the right thing, Hari.”
“Well, that makes one of us.” He swerved the Fiesta back into traffic and headed for the Lincoln Tunnel.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Gregory Keller glanced around the low-rent motel room where he had fled after finding the love of his life lying on her kitchen floor with a hole in her head. He looked at the door, where a simple chain latch and one surface deadbolt stood between him and an unknown killer, and at the bulging suitcase beside it. There should have been two suitcases here, his and Brigitte’s. A sob caught in his throat and he slumped on the bed. The mattress sagged under his weight.
His cellphone rang. About time. He walked over and picked it up from the floor, where he’d hurled it after his call to de Montagny the previous day.
“Where are you?” Fulton’s voice was brusque and impatient.
“Like I’m going to tell you.” Keller put the call on speaker and flopped back onto the bed.
“Why did you call Paris? What do you want?”
“You know what I want. My money.”
“I told you, that will take a few days.”
Keller walked to the window and spread two slats apart on the closed venetian blind. He squinted through the gap at the vehicles parked outside the motel. The three cars that dotted the lot had been there since yesterday.
“I want it in cash. Today.”
“Impossible. Come into the office and we’ll arrange something.”
“You forget how much I know.”
Fulton’s voice turned cold.
“Don’t threaten me.”
The prickles on the back of Keller’s neck told him he should hang up and be content to escape with his life. But then he saw Brigitte’s vacant eyes again, and felt her limp body in his arms. He snapped the venetian blind shut and it clattered against the window.
“I could call the police.”
Fulton gave a snort of derision. “And tell them what?”
“That you had Brigitte killed.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. No one touched your girlfriend, least of all me.”
“She’s dead, you bastard. Stop pretending you don’t know.”<
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“Why did you phone Paris to bother de Montagny with this nonsense? I’ll look into it, if you insist, but I doubt it’s true. Tell me where you are and we can discuss this face to face.”
Keller walked to the bed and switched off the phone’s speaker.
“You’ll check into it?” he said, holding the phone to his ear. “It’s too late for that. I want my money.”
“Come into the office and we’ll get it for you.”
“Not there. Somewhere public.” Pacing with the phone in his hand, he considered the options. “Grand Central, under the clock, one hour.”
“That’s not enough time to arrange that much cash. Two hours.”
Keller glanced at the bedside clock. He still had to arrange his flight, ditch his car, and make his way to the subway. Then he had to pay some filthy homeless person twenty bucks to collect the cash for him.
“Okay, two hours. Put the money in a gym bag and come alone.”
Keller clicked off his cellphone. With any luck, by this time tomorrow he would be strolling along the Seine.
* * *
Raymond Fulton hung up the phone in his office. Put the money in a gym bag and come alone? Did that idiot think he was in a movie?
Shawn, the khaki-clad technician from IT, hunched over Fulton’s computer.
“Did you get it?” Fulton asked.
“Of course.” Shawn shrugged. “You hardly needed me for this, you already had the guy’s passwords. All you had to do was sign into his computer at Global TradeFair and click on the ‘Find my phone’ app. Child’s play.” He swung the monitor so it faced Fulton and pointed at a map on the screen. A red circle flashed in the center.
“Is that where he is?”
“His phone, anyway. Like I said, child’s play.”
“And the address?”
Shawn clicked on the mouse a few times.
“It’s a motel, in Jersey.”
* * *
Keller dragged his suitcase to the bed, unzipped the outside pocket and pulled out a rolled-up nylon gym bag. He yanked the cord of the bedside lamp from the wall socket, unscrewed the lightbulb and shade, and wound the cord around the lamp’s heavy metal base. Then he grabbed a pillow from the bed and wrapped it around the lamp base. After stuffing the pillow into the gym bag, he zipped the bag up, slipped the handles over his palm, and tested the weight. Not ideal, but it would do.
His plan wasn’t bad, considering he came up with it on the fly. A homeless man would pick up the cash from Fulton at the meeting place, walk around the corner, exchange the real bag for the pillow-stuffed one Keller had left under a bench, and continue on his way. Fulton’s thugs would follow the homeless man, while Keller snatched the real bag and strolled casually onto a train. Easy.
Time to go. He set the gym bag next to his suitcase and moved to unlatch the chain.
A thunderous hammering on the door made him jump back with his heart in his throat. What the hell? The venetian blinds rattled against the window with each blow.
“Open the door!”
Keller froze, staring at the door. Should he open it and make a run for it?
“Who is it?” he called.
The hammering stopped, followed by a thud. Then another thud, and another. The doorframe cracked, the chain latch fell off, and the surface deadbolt sagged to one side. Keller stared in horror as the door swung open.
Terrell Oakes, that useless punk who worked at Global TradeFair, yanked up his saggy gray track pants with both hands.
“Asshole,” Oakes said, “why didn’t you open the damn door?”
Keller’s throat tightened as he remembered that Oakes also worked for Raymond Fulton. He took a step back.
Oakes raised his right foot off the ground a few inches and pointed at his trainer. He shook his foot and the toe of the rubber sole flapped.
“Somebody’s going to pay for this. Nobody said to wear work boots for this job.” He stepped into the room and slammed the door shut behind him. The blinds rattled again and the loose deadbolt fell to the floor.
“What do you want, Oakes?”
“I hear you’ve got trouble.” Oakes wiped the back of his hand across his nose, snuffling. “Dead girlfriend? That sucks, man.” He glanced around the room. “What happened? You two have a fight?”
“She’s not here, if that’s who you’re looking for.” He could outsmart Oakes. The key was to act confident. “Do you have my money?”
“Money? I don’t have any money. I was told to collect you. Old man wants you to leave town.”
“Why?”
“He didn’t say. ‘Collect the guy and escort him out of town,’ he said. That’s all I know.” Oakes looked at the suitcase. “This yours?” He picked it up.
“Put that down. I’m not going anywhere with you.” Keller narrowed his eyes. “You can take a message for me, though. With my demands.”
“Your demands?”
“Yeah. I want double what’s owed me, and I want it today.”
“Or?”
“I go to the authorities.”
Oakes took off his ball cap, scratched his head, and replaced the cap. He walked to the mirror by the door and adjusted the brim.
“Well, that wouldn’t be too smart. They’re lookin’ for you.”
“Who is?”
“The cops. For killing your girlfriend.”
Keller’s stomach lurched and he struggled to keep his face neutral.
“So what? I’ll straighten them out. I’ll tell them everything.”
“I don’t think the old man would like that. He told me not to let you talk to anyone. He was kinda particular.”
“Then tell him to pay me. I’m not leaving the country with nothing.” Keller walked to the bed, sat on the edge, and crossed his arms.
“Stand up.”
“What?”
“Stand up. I’m gonna frisk you before we go.”
“No, you’re—”
Oakes tugged a handgun from his waistband and pointed it at him.
Keller rose to his feet and raised his hands in the air. His neck flushed hot and sweat trickled under his collar. As Oakes patted him down, Keller studied his face. Was this punk even old enough to shave?
“How much does the old man pay you?” he asked.
Oakes’s lip curled as he stepped back with Keller’s wallet in his hand.
“You think I’m stupid, don’t you?”
“Not at all. You’re smart, actually. I mean, look at you. You’ve gone from watering plants to carrying a … is that a Glock?” Keller had no idea of the gun’s make, but he had heard Glocks were popular.
“Kel-Tec. Made in America, man.” Oakes rifled through the soft calfskin wallet and pulled out a photo of Brigitte. “This her?” He whistled. “That’s some primo stuff. No wonder you’re broken up about it.”
Primo? Keller suppressed the urge to punch him.
“May I put my hands down now?”
“Sure. But then we gotta go.”
“May I have a few minutes to collect myself?”
“Why do you talk that way, man?” Oakes scowled. “What does that even mean, collect myself? You’re such a dick.”
“Can I use the washroom?”
“Whatever.”
Keller walked into the bathroom, trying to be nonchalant. No way would he get into a car with Oakes and drive to some quiet spot where that dumb-ass could blow his brains out. He remembered a droning public safety lecture the executives at TradeFair had suffered through. Never leave crime scene A to travel to crime scene B.
“Leave the door open,” Oakes called.
Keller nodded and pushed the door partly closed. The tiny room held the usual tub, sink, and toilet. But there was a casement window over the toilet. Not big, but big enough for a trim man like him to wiggle through. He’d have to be quick, though. Step onto the toilet, push the window open and go through, head first. Land on his hands, roll, jump up and run. Like those parkour guys in the movies. Easy.
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And then, he would up his demands. Triple what they owed him. Assholes.
He turned the tap on full and then stepped onto the toilet and reached for the window.
“Hurry up, man.”
“Just a minute,” he shouted, struggling with the rusty lock. The window popped open and he shoved the glass as far as it would go. He put both hands on the sill and wriggled through. Almost there. When he reached his waist, he bent his knees for one last kick off the toilet to propel the rest of him through the window.
“What the hell are you doing?”
For a second Keller froze, halfway out the window, his hands gripping the vinyl siding on the outside motel wall.
“I said, what the hell are you doing?”
Keller scrabbled at the siding, pulling himself through. Almost there.
A loud crack rang in his ears and a blow hit his leg like a baseball bat. He toppled out of the window. As he hit the ground his shoulder snapped, and as he skidded across the pavement the skin on his cheek came off, but those injuries barely registered. His thigh was on fire. Keller twisted around and felt with his hands for a wound. He stared at the blood that gushed from his inner thigh, splashed over his hands, and spilled onto the ground. How could there be so much blood?
Footsteps echoed across the pavement and stopped beside him. Squinting against the sun, Keller tried to make out a face. He released his leg and sank back against the asphalt, unable to speak. His head lolled to one side and his hand stretched out beside him, covered in blood. With a sigh, he closed his eyes for the last time.
“Shit, man,” Oakes said. “Why’d you have to be such a dick?”
Chapter Thirty
Paris
At one o’clock Sunday afternoon, Hari and Ruby stood in the main concourse at Charles de Gaulle airport with no place to go.
“What do you mean, he cancelled?” Hari asked.
“They said a family emergency came up and he can’t come into the city today.”
Banque de Roche Noire had called Ruby’s cellphone to tell her Monsieur de Montagny could not meet them for lunch as scheduled. Ruby was disappointed. She had been looking forward to meeting the soft-spoken banker in person. He had been charming on the phone, and delighted to help with their inquiries.