They completed the short commute, less than four kilometres, to Dominique’s small but efficient fourth floor, one bedroom apartment on rue Pastourelle in the 3rd District in roughly fifteen minutes where Dominique prepared a picnic lunch while Leslie unpacked and changed. They were then back out onto the streets of Paris, stopping only long enough at Dominique’s place of employment to surrender the automobile in exchange for her scooter before whisking off to the Eiffel Tower.
The day flew by quickly with their visit of the tower, a stroll and picnic on the Champ de Mars, a cruise along the Seine and a scoot-about around the picturesque city with Dominique pointing out ‘must see’ attractions for the coming days. By five o’clock, Dominique suggested they return to her apartment to relax a little and Leslie, who hadn’t slept in twenty-eight hours, wholeheartedly agreed.
“You look tired, chérie,” said Dominique as she joined Leslie on the couch and handed her a glass of wine.
“I am burnt,” Leslie confirmed. “Fini, Brûlé.”
“So, I guess you do not want to go dancing tonight?” Dominique teased.
“Are you nuts?” Leslie asked. “You’re not serious, are you?”
“Not completely, but Corinne will be disappointed,” Dominique replied, referring to her younger sister. “She is quite excited about meeting you and had suggested we might go out with her this evening to a new club she’s discovered near her place.”
“I look forward to meeting her and would love to go dancing,” said Leslie before stifling a yawn, “Just not tonight. This glass of wine is already knocking me out.”
“Of course, I understand, mon amour,” Dominique reassured her. “I had told Corinne to not get her hopes up for a big first night party. I’ll suggest we do it next week.”
“Maybe even tomorrow,” Leslie offered, “But for now, I need to sleep. In fact, if you don’t want to completely disappoint Corinne, why don’t you go?”
“Mais non,” Dominique disagreed. “What kind of host would I be if I abandoned you on your first night in Paris?”
“You’re not my host, silly,” said Leslie. “You’re my partner and lover. I certainly won’t be interesting company, snoring all evening. Go out and have fun.”
“You don’t snore,” Dominique replied then smiled as she added, “Well, not all the time. Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“Baby, I’m just trying to gather enough energy to drag myself to bed and I swear I’ll be sleeping within a minute once I get there. Really, I’ll feel guilty if you just sit around here because of me.”
“Okay, I’ll go,” Dominique agreed as she stood and held her hand out to Leslie. “Come. I’ll tuck you in, grab something to wear and call Corinne.”
Chapter 6 – Saturday, May 26, 2012
Leslie awoke, squinting at the rays of sunlight peeking between the slats of the partially open horizontal blind. Rolling over, she slid her hand across the mattress… and found empty space. Surprised, she propped herself up on an elbow and peered at the clock radio on the opposite nightstand. 6:12 a.m. She examined the bed and was quickly convinced the other half had not been slept in. Dominique had not come home.
Puzzled, and a bit concerned, she slid out from between the sheets and slipped into a short silk kimono Dominique had left for her as she made her way to the bedroom door.
“Bonjour, chérie?” she called out as she entered the open L-shaped space which made up the rest of the apartment.
Her words were met with silence. A few steps were all she needed to confirm the tiny kitchen and bathroom beyond were empty. She scanned the counter which separated the kitchenette from the dining/living area then glanced at the small bistro-style table, searching for a note of sorts but found nothing. Picking up her mobile phone which she’d left on the counter, she checked for messages. None. No blinking light on Dominique’s answering machine for the landline either.
To lessen her growing concern, she reasoned that perhaps Dominique had slept at her sister’s. She had, after all, mentioned the club they were going to was close to Corinne’s apartment. In all likelihood, the two sisters had headed to the closest place to crash following an evening of drinking and dancing.
Somewhat assuaged by this line of thought, Leslie turned on the coffeemaker, which Dominique had thoughtfully prepared before leaving, and went for a quick shower while she waited for her morning brew.
Thirty minutes later, she was showered, dressed and well into her second cup of coffee as she paced back and forth, waiting for some news. She considered calling Dominique’s mobile but put the idea aside as she noted it wasn’t even seven o’clock yet. Attempting to remain occupied, she familiarized herself with the small apartment, rummaging through the kitchenette then examining artwork and photos hanging on the walls. Several of the photos included Dominique, one obviously accompanied by Corinne and another presumably with her parents. Noticing a small address book amidst a pile of papers by the television, she flipped through it and busied herself by entering potentially useful numbers such as those of Dominique’s sister, parents and employer into her phone.
Growing impatient and anxious as the minutes dragged by, she left the apartment and summoned the elevator to the fourth floor, looking inside once it arrived to make sure Dominique wasn’t in there, passed out or injured. No such luck, she continued her search, descending by the stairs and peering down the hallways as she went. Into the closed courtyard, she noted Dominique’s scooter was where she had parked it upon their arrival the previous afternoon. A reconnaissance walk out onto the street and in the immediate neighbourhood resulted in nothing but a bit of time killed as she waited.
Back into the apartment by 7:45, she could wait no longer and called Dominique’s mobile. She sighed with relief as she heard the first ring, the phone was on, then frowned when the call went to voicemail.
“Dominique, where are you?” she said once prompted by the beep. “Please call me on my cell phone as soon as you can. I’m worried about you.”
Cutting the line, she proceeded to call Corinne’s home number, only to be greeted by a recorded message once again. Corinne’s mobile led to similar results and Leslie left messages at both numbers, pleading for a prompt call back.
Wishing introductions could be made under better circumstances, she next dialled Dominique’s parents’ number, hoping they were home and already awake.
“Oui, bonjour?” a woman’s voice answered the call.
“Bonjour, Madame Petit?” Leslie replied.
“Oui,” Dominique’s mother confirmed. “Qui parle?”
“Leslie Robb,” said Leslie, continuing in French. “I’m so sorry to disturb you this early in the morning, Madame Petit.”
“Bonjour, Leslie!” exclaimed the woman, also in French. “Please call me Monique and no, it is no bother at all. I’ve been up for hours. I’m so happy to finally speak to you, but wait. Is something wrong?”
“I’m not sure,” Leslie admitted and went on to recount the circumstances which had led her to place the call.
“So I might be worrying for nothing,” Leslie concluded, “But this isn’t like Dominique, at least not from what I’ve seen since I met her.”
“You are right,” agreed Monique, concern evident in her tone. “Dominique is much too responsible to act this way. If she decided to not go home, she would have called to leave you a message at the very least.”
“Maybe she had a bit too much to drink,” Leslie suggested, “And felt it was safer to sleep at Corinne’s. Dominique doesn’t usually drink very much.”
“It’s possible,” Monique replied, “But that just isn’t like her. Something is wrong, Leslie.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of too,” said Leslie. “I’m not sure what we should do at this point.”
“Where are you now?” asked Monique. “At Dominique’s?”
“Yes,” Leslie confirmed. “What do you have in mind?”
“I would like you to come here,” Monique replied. “I can send m
y husband, Henri, to pick you up.”
“If you want to give me the address, I have GPS and can use Dominique’s scooter,” Leslie suggested. “I’d prefer having my own means of transportation available.”
“That will save some time,” Monique agreed then gave Leslie the address in the 8th District. “We will see you soon and find out what is going on with my daughters.”
* * * *
Upon arrival at her destination on rue de Monceau, minutes away from the Arc de Triomphe, Leslie found an attractive, familiar looking couple in their early fifties waiting on the sidewalk. As she slowed to a stop, the man approached and beckoned her off the scooter. She had only time to set the stand and remove her helmet when he gave her a warm hug accompanied by a kiss to each cheek.
“Enchanté, Leslie,” he said. “I am Henri, Dominique’s father. Go up with Monique and I shall park the scooter.”
Without another word, he mounted the bike and zoomed off, disappearing around the corner at the nearby intersection.
“Hello, Leslie,” said Monique, offering a hug as Leslie joined her on the sidewalk. “You are even more ravishing in person.”
Leslie blushed. “Merci. I can see where Dominique got her looks as well.”
“Boff, from her father, no doubt,” Monique replied with a wink. “Come inside. Henri will join us in a moment and we will determine what we need to do.”
They entered the spacious ground floor apartment and Monique ushered Leslie to the breakfast nook in the kitchen, relieving her of the helmet she carried and hanging it on a nearby coat tree.
“Have you had any breakfast?” Monique asked, gesturing towards a tray of croissants and preserves on the table.
“I’m not very hungry,” said Leslie. “I’m worried, Monique.”
“I’m worried too, my dear, but you must eat something. I can make you some eggs if you prefer, or some fruit and yogurt.”
Leslie surrendered. “A croissant will be fine.”
“Café, oui?” Monique offered, a coffee pot and mug already in hand.
“Oui, merci,” Leslie accepted with a smile.
“Bon, voilà,” said Henri as he entered the kitchen, sat on the bench opposite Leslie and slid the scooter key across the table to her. “It’s parked just around the corner by my car.”
“Thank you,” Leslie replied.
“The pleasure was mine. I cannot resist helping pretty ladies,” said Henri. “Now, down to this business with my daughters. While you were on your way here, we tried their phones once again but only reached their voicemail so we left messages as well. Do you happen to know where they were going last night?”
“No,” said Leslie, her dismay evident. “I should have asked.”
“Nonsense,” Monique reassured, sitting beside her. “Dominique should have told you.”
“I don’t even think she knew,” replied Leslie, thinking back. “She told me Corinne hoped we could go with her to a new club near her place. I was just too tired to go.”
“A new club near her place?” Henri repeated. “That is good information. Let me make a call.”
He rose from the table and left the kitchen and could soon be heard speaking on the telephone.
“Who is he calling?” Leslie asked.
“I’m not certain but Henri has many close contacts with the police and government offices,” Monique explained. “My husband is the Director of Security at the Louvre.”
“Wow,” Leslie exclaimed, surprised and impressed.
Henri returned momentarily and announced, “It may take a couple of hours since it is Saturday but I’ll be receiving a list of all clubs and bars which opened in the Pigalle-Montmartre district in the last six months.”
“Magnifique,” Monique approved. “Did you speak with the police?”
“Oui,” Henri nodded with a frown. “It is too soon for any formal missing person reports to be filed but I have been assured word will be put out. At his request, I emailed Prefect Dubois a photo of the girls. He told me there have been an unusual number of women going missing in the last several months, most of them young and attractive.”
“Oh, Henri, we must find them,” Monique exclaimed as her eyes filled with tears.
“We will, ma chérie,” her husband replied, bending down to hug her. “We will.”
“But, what if we don’t?” Monique sobbed, her emotions getting the best of her.
“We will, Monique. I promise.” Leslie declared then looked at Henri. “The first thing we should do is go to Corinne’s. Do you have a key?”
“Yes, I have a key to both girls’ apartments,” Henri confirmed before turning to his wife. “You can come with us if you prefer but I think it would be best if you stayed here, in case they call.”
Monique nodded. “I will stay here. Call me when you get there, no matter what you find.”
“I will, mon amour,” Henri replied. “Please try not to worry.”
“Go,” said his wife. “We have no time to waste.”
Once Henri and Leslie reached the sidewalk, he asked, “Will you ride with me?”
Leslie shook her head. “We don’t know what we’ll find at Corinne’s. Perhaps some clues, perhaps something we don’t even want to think about. I think it’s best if we have the car and scooter in case we have to split up for any reason.”
“I like the way you think,” he replied. “Will you follow me?”
“Yes, but you should give me the address just in case we lose each other.”
He recited Corinne’s address in the 18th District, watching as Leslie quickly entered it into her smart phone which she then attached to her inner forearm with a solid Velcro strap.
“You’re well equipped,” he commented, a look of curiosity in his eye.
“I like to be prepared for any occasion,” Leslie replied. “My helmet has Bluetooth connectivity to hear the GPS directions or take and make calls on the go.”
“I can already see what Dominique sees in you,” said Henri.
Leslie gave a wistful smile. “Thanks. Let’s go find her.”
* * * *
Leslie found parking easily enough for the scooter on rue Lepic in the Montmartre district. Henri made the task seem even easier by pulling his Audi A8 into a ‘delivery only’ zone and hanging a special permit on the rear-view mirror before exiting.
“It is useful to have friends in high places,” he said to Leslie as he joined her on the sidewalk. “Corinne’s apartment is this way.”
They made their way along the increasingly busy sidewalk and as they neared their destination, Henri pulled Leslie over.
“Perhaps you wish to wait down here while I go in?”
“Absolutely not,” Leslie replied. “I’m going in with you.”
“Leslie, I’m hoping the apartment is empty,” said Henri, “Or better yet, that my daughters are in there sleeping after a night of partying. However, there is a chance that something has happened to them, possibly in Corinne’s apartment.”
“I’m aware of that, Henri,” Leslie stated. “Maybe you should wait here while I go investigate.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Henri exclaimed. “I’m simply trying to protect you from any possible shock.”
“In that case, you’re wasting both our time. Trust me when I say I’ll handle whatever we find in there. Let’s go.”
They entered the building and Leslie motioned for silence with a finger to her lips. Henri looked surprised by the gesture but nodded and pointed to the stairs leading upwards then raised his index to indicate one storey. Leslie nodded then peered down the dim ground floor hallway before leading the way soundlessly up. As the hallway on the next floor came to view, she hand-motioned Henri to stop while she scanned its length then nodded and continued. She slowed at the top of the stairs and gave Henri an expectant look to which he responded by holding up three fingers and pointing to the left side of the hallway.
Creeping forward, she made her way to the door of the third apartment, ducki
ng below the peephole as she passed. Bringing her ear close to the door, she listened for a moment but heard nothing and signalled Henri over. Approaching to the opposite side of the door, his expression was quizzical as he watched Leslie palm a switchblade she pulled from the inside of her leather jacket.
“Unlock the door, quietly,” Leslie mouthed.
Henri nodded and slowly slid the key into the lock then turned the deadbolt with a barely audible click.
It was Leslie’s turn to be surprised as Henri pulled a Walther P22 from a holster hidden by his jacket. Motioning Leslie to remain where she was, Henri reached for the doorknob with his free hand, twisted it and shoved the door open.
Not a sound emanated from inside the apartment. After fifteen seconds or so, Leslie crouched to the floor as she pulled a compact from her jacket pocket. Opening it, she edged the mirror past the door frame and scanned what was visible of the interior of Corinne’s apartment. Rising back to her feet, she glanced at Henri and shook her head.
Nodding, Henri turned and peered inside then entered. It was easy to see that the apartment, an open air space of under three hundred square feet, was unoccupied. With his pistol in a two-handed grip, he moved cautiously to the bathroom at the end of the small kitchen but found it empty as well. Neither friend nor foe hid behind the lunch counter which separated the kitchen from the living and sleeping area.
“Doesn’t look like anybody’s been here,” said Leslie as she closed the door behind her.
“No, the bed hasn’t been slept in,” said Henri as he holstered his handgun.
“Do you always carry?” asked Leslie.
“Usually only when I’m on the job,” Henri replied. “Do you always carry prohibited weapons?”
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