The Sorbonne Affair
Page 26
Hugo felt a lightness in his step, a wash of relief. “That is good news.”
“I like it here too much. And there’s a lot of baggage waiting for me down there.” She wiped a hand over her brow. “Maybe one day, but not now.”
“That’s great for me and the entire city of Paris. Plus, who would Tom punch if you left?”
“He’d find someone,” she said with a laugh. “And in case-related good news, Helen Hancock’s lawyer is preparing a proffer today.”
“A proffer?”
“It’s a document in which Helen Hancock fills in the blanks, provides information through her lawyer—but she doesn’t sign it so we can’t use it against her in court.” Lerens skipped over a small dog that bounded across their path. “It’ll help when it comes to sentencing; it’s kind of an early admission of guilt.”
“That’s great news, it really is. She’ll admit to everything? The legal scheme, Silva, Maxick . . . ?”
“Eventually she will, yes.”
“Fantastic,” Hugo said, and gave Lerens a high five.
“Anything specific you want to know?” Lerens asked.
“Yes. The hotel,” Hugo said. “Did she pay for her room?”
“No, you were right. Not a penny, all comped by Maxick. How did you know?”
“I didn’t. Lucky guess, is all.”
“Did you figure out why Maxick hit you over the head?” Lerens asked. She took a sharp left turn, leading them onto the Allée de Diane.
“Yeah, but it’s just another guess. I remembered that when Tom came to get me at the hotel, when he thought he’d seen Rick Cofer, she had followed us out of the building. He had burst into her office, and to smooth things over I briefly mentioned that he thought a bad guy from our past might be up to no good in Paris. She must have overheard the details when Tom and I were arguing on the front steps.” He smiled guiltily. “I don’t know. Maybe I am getting rusty like Tom says. It’s possible that she tailed us to the café. When we got there and Cofer was nowhere to be found, things got a little heated between Tom and me outside. I was distracted. An easy target.”
“But why hit you?”
“Like planting a second spy camera at the hotel, it was yet another distraction. The fact that she didn’t need to attack me was the point,” Hugo puffed. “You can’t keep asking me questions without slowing down a little.”
Beside him, Lerens laughed. “It’s part of the training regime.”
“Whatever. Anyway, by hitting me like that, she sowed a little more confusion and doubt. Maybe she hoped we’d start focusing on Cofer and not Baxter’s murder. I guess we’ll never really know. That’s the frustrating thing about this case. With Baxter, Silva, and Maxick all dead, there are some details we can only speculate about. Maybe that proffer will give us some clearer answers, though. At least I hope so.”
“Stretch break?” Lerens asked, and stopped beside a park bench before Hugo could respond. She lifted a leg and rested her heel on the back of the bench, leaning forward to stretch out her hamstring. “Speaking of this Cofer, why did Tom go to Holland when he said he’d seen him here?”
“He didn’t see him—he just thought he did. We both knew it. I just knew it right away. But this is about exorcising demons as much as the threat.”
“What do you mean?”
“If Cofer is here in Europe, his ingress and egress point is Amsterdam. Tom knows that city; Cofer doesn’t. That means Tom has a huge advantage, and you better believe he’ll use every resource at his disposal to find out whether or not Cofer is coming—and, if so, when.”
“You don’t seem worried,” she said.
“I was at first, and maybe still am in the back of my mind. But the man is playing in Tom’s backyard and, of course, this is Tom we’re talking about. He’s dealt with people a hundred times more dangerous than Cofer since their paths crossed, which I’m guessing Cofer has no idea about.”
“True. So he’ll take care of it in Holland?”
“If he can,” Hugo said.
Lerens smiled and switched to stretch her other hamstring. “And that’s kind of the main point, isn’t it?”
Hugo stood on one leg, stretching his right quad, and looked at her. “Meaning?”
“You told me what happened,” she said kindly. “At least, enough that I got the gist of it all. He’s taking care of it in Amsterdam because you’re here in Paris; you know that, right?”
“You give him too much credit,” Hugo said. “He asked me to go with him.”
“Yeah, but he’s taking care of it anyway, isn’t he? I give him credit because sometimes he deserves it, and I think he doesn’t want you involved again. He’s protecting you after what happened last time.”
Hugo stared at her for a moment, a small smile on his lips. “You know, that didn’t occur to me.”
“He’s a good friend, Hugo. He can be a jerk; he will always be a jerk. But he knows what he did, and he’s putting this right for you.”
“As best he can.”
“Precisely. That’s about all you can ask of him at this point, isn’t it?”
“He could have told me.”
Lerens laughed. “Tom? Tell you that he’s protecting you? Good one, Hugo.”
Hugo nodded, and thought for a moment. “Fair enough. I guess it’s OK to be a little deceptive with your friends, if it’s for a good cause.”
Lerens cocked her head. “I suppose, but why do you say it like that?”
“No reason. . . . But I’m glad you agree.” Hugo gave Lerens a smile and put his foot on the back of the bench beside her new running shoe, leaned forward to stretch out his muscles, and quickly undid her shoelace. “Last one to the Place de la Concorde buys lunch.”
Without waiting for an answer, he turned and sprinted away from her, his own brand-new sneakers spitting up gravel behind him, his arms pumping, and the warm morning air filling his lungs. A sense of exhilaration propelled him forward, as did the lieutenant’s protests behind him, and he strained to put distance between them. He kept running, as fast as he could, even when his lungs started to burn and his legs began to weigh heavy. He felt confident that he could win, but more than that, thrilled that he was in Paris, living here and now running here, the sordid chapters of his recent and not-so-recent past about to be closed forever.
Thanks, Tom, he thought, I need to appreciate you more. He angled left, off the path and onto the soft grass, ignoring the lieutenant’s renewed cries of “Cheat!” and fixed his eyes on the exit to the Place de la Concorde two hundred yards ahead. And thanks to you, too, Camille. I’ll definitely appreciate today’s lunch.
The lieutenant may have been grateful for him, too, but when she caught up to a panting and bent-over Hugo, she showed her appreciation by kicking him in the rear and promising him a meal of the most inexpensive pizza and the thinnest wine she could find.
“That’s OK,” Hugo said between breaths. “We’re in Paris, Camille. Even the cheap pizza and rough wine here make for a fine lunch.” He patted her on the back. “And you can bet I’ll be ordering dessert.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My cadre of loyal, super speedy, and wonderful readers: Jennifer Schubert, Nancy Matuszak, Bob Mueller, and JoAnne Bagwell. I truly appreciate your enthusiasm and your honesty. You make my books better, and I am grateful for the time and attention you give them.
Many thanks to Heather Bond at the Austin Spy Shop, for educating me as to the whats and wherefores of some very cool spy cameras and gadgets.
I’m always grateful to the professionals in my life—my agent, Ann Collette, and the amazing people at Seventh Street Books: Dan Mayer, Jill Maxick (the real one!), Jake Bonar, and possibly the best editor on the planet, Jade Zora Scibilia.
And last but first, my wonderful family who continue to support my writing endeavors and forgive my frequent disappearances to the library and coffee shops. I love you.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Mark Pryor is the author of the Hugo Marston
novels—The Bookseller, The Crypt Thief, The Blood Promise, The Button Man, The Reluctant Matador, and The Paris Librarian—as well as the psychological thriller Hollow Man and its forthcoming sequel, Dominic. He has also published the true-crime book As She Lay Sleeping. A native of Hertfordshire, England, he is an assistant district attorney in Austin, Texas, where he lives with his wife and three children.