True to his word, Agent Pierre Menard met them on the tarmac at Geneva International. He was a short, neat man with graying temples, wearing a beautiful charcoal three-piece suit.
Some bulldog, Nicholas thought. Well, they’d soon see.
He bustled them into a white Toyota Land Cruiser with POLICE stenciled in blue on the side and bright orange stripes around the back, and started into the city.
Nicholas hadn’t been to Geneva in several years, but the city hadn’t changed. The architecture was eclectic—hypermodern buildings mixed in with classic French and medieval churches, side by side. The city still housed the world’s finest watchmakers, with twenty-foot-high signs clinging to the sides of the buildings. Rolex. Patek Philippe. Montblanc. Hermès. Every luxury a discerning shopper could need was headquartered and built here in the city of time.
Mike watched the scenery flow by, entranced by the modern glass buildings and huge parks buttressed by neoclassic lines. It was her first time in Europe, and she felt straight off the boat, stepping onto a strange shore.
Menard wasn’t much of a talker, though his English was quite excellent. Nicholas wanted details, but Menard shook his head. “I am sorry, Inspector Drummond. All I know is what we have already spoken of. We are going directly to the bank. When there is news of a sighting on the cameras, they will call. Who is this woman you’re chasing?”
“The Fox.”
The name perked him up. “The art thief? Mon dieu. No wonder you are here. The Fox is a legend. But you say he is a she?”
“Yes. Tell us what you know about her.”
He was driving with his right hand, the left hand hovering by the edge of the window, two fingers together as if he normally smoked and flicked the ashes out of the crack. “There are many warrants, of course, across several countries. She steals very valuable paintings both from private collections and museums, does not matter which. But she is also known for stealing very valuable jewels, some priceless, like the Koh-i-Noor. We have never managed to track her down, of course, because she is very good.”
Mike said, “You admire her. Why does everyone admire her so much? She’s a common thief.”
Menard shook his head. “Non, she is an uncommon voleuse de bijoux. To be a jewel thief of this magnitude, never identified, hunted for so long, but never caught? The Fox is magnifique. And to think, she is a woman.” He grunted a very French sounding, “Huh.”
“I plan to put the handcuffs on her myself,” Mike said.
Menard mumbled something she thought was “Good luck,” and she shot Nicholas a look. He shrugged and rolled his eyes.
Menard said, “You will see the Koh-i-Noor theft is dominating all the news channels. It is pervasive, even to the villages in the Pyrenees. The FBI is being given big pokes in the eye, yes?”
“Yes,” Mike said. Menard didn’t sound all that upset about it.
“I have even read blogs about the theft, although the idiots writing the blogs are writing fiction, since they could not possibly know exactly what happened. Your British news stations are foaming at the mouth. Ah, it is a terrible thing, is it not?”
Nicholas only nodded. “Has the Fox ever been accused of killing people for money, or does she only steal?”
Menard again flicked his fingers out of habit. “I remember a rumor of an assassination—maybe ten, fifteen years ago—some Italian gun manufacturer near Milan, but there was nothing proven. It remains an unsolved case, and I have not heard of anything since. And now she has stolen the Koh-i-Noor.”
He sounded so intrigued, Mike wanted to punch him.
Menard continued. “The media is also playing up many nefarious plots regarding your British Inspector York’s role in the theft.”
Nicholas’s voice was cold. “The Fox might be involved in her murder.”
“I must say this surprises me. Ah, we arrive.”