Kill Shot

Chapter 25
PARIS, FRANCE

THE bodyguard did his best, but chivalry got the better of him - that and the fact that the woman called out his boss's name with such intimacy that he was disarmed. Francine Neville stepped around the fit DGSE sentry and offered her right cheek to Fournier. She knew that would put him in an impossible situation. Part of Fournier's carefully constructed image was that he was both a ladies' man and a gentleman. Neville knew she was still a desirable woman, and in front of this well coifed crowd, the spook would have no choice but to greet her with a kiss.

Fournier was startled, but managed to hide it by pretending to plant a kiss on Neville's right cheek and then the left. "Francine," he said enthusiastically, "how nice to see you."

"And you as well, Paul." She grabbed the back of a chair and asked loudly enough for a third of the restaurant to hear, "May I join you?"

In a voice barely above a whisper, Fournier said, "I would love for you to join us, but we are in the middle of a rather private matter."

Neville waved her hand in the air to dismiss any concern and said, "Don't worry. I won't overstay my welcome." She pulled out the chair and sat. She then motioned to the last available chair for Simon to join her. "Paul, this is Martin Simon, one of my top people." Before Fournier could respond, Neville turned her delicate brown eyes on the foreigner sitting to his right. "Hello." She extended her hand across the table, palm down. "I'm Francine."

Vega smiled warmly and took her hand. "Very nice to meet you, Francine. I'm Max." He intentionally ignored the mousy-looking man who was with her.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything important," Neville said.

"My dear, the business of the Directorate is always important," Fournier said, not bothering to hide his irritation. "But obviously the security of the Republic is not so important to you."

"Unfortunately, we don't all agree on the best way to keep the Republic safe." Not wanting to give Fournier a chance to reply, Neville turned to Max and said, "I detect a slight accent. Are you Spanish?"

He nodded.

"CESID?" Neville asked, wondering if he worked for Spain's main intelligence agency.

Vega laughed. "No, I am a simple businessman."

Neville returned her gaze to Fournier, not believing a word that came out of the Spaniard's mouth. Her smile vanished. "I thought you would like a quick briefing on the investigation."

Fournier glanced uncomfortably at his guest and then returned his attention to his old conquest. "Now is not such a good time. Maybe we could talk later. Why don't you call my office and set up an appointment."

"I've been trying to reach you all day. Your office hasn't been much help."

Fournier wondered how she had found him.

"No worries, though. This will only take a few minutes, and then I'll be on my way." She took great joy in seeing the pained expression on Fournier's face. "Yesterday you offered to help with the investigation and my superiors were thrilled. They asked me to see if you could help with a little problem."

"If it is within my power, I would love to be of assistance."

"Good. I am told you have a very cozy relationship with the Libyans." Neville smiled in a humble way. "Being local law enforcement, we have no such contacts, so I was wondering if you could ask them why these supposed bodyguards were never seen in public with the Libyan oil minister."

Fournier blinked several times before responding. "I'm not sure I understand your question."

"The four dead men who you referred to as Tarek's bodyguards . . . We can't find a single witness who saw them. Tarek checked into the hotel with his assistant, who told one of my officers that they were traveling without bodyguards."

"That seems a little strange," Fournier said.

"What seems strange? You telling me they were Tarek's bodyguards or Tarek's assistant telling my officer that they were traveling without protection?"

"Francine, my dear, I assumed they were Tarek's bodyguards, just as you did. I have no information that would say otherwise."

She nodded. "Well, the assistant is now at the Libyan Embassy. They won't let us interview him."

"I'll see if I can change their minds," Fournier offered in a helpful tone, even though he had no such intention.

"There's another interesting tidbit. We have been unable to locate five of the hotel guests."

"I'm not totally surprised. The place was crawling with cops and reporters. They probably left and checked into other hotels."

"No," Neville said, shaking her head. "Their bags are still in their rooms and you wouldn't believe the coincidence," she said in mock shock. "Four of those guests match the descriptions of the four dead bodyguards."

"Really?"

"Yes, and we found a room down the hall from Tarek's that was loaded with surveillance equipment."

"I thought that was the room where Tarek's bodyguards were keeping watch."

"That's what we thought, but according to Tarek's assistant he didn't have a security detail with him."

Fournier pursed his lips into a thoughtful expression and then in a helpful tone said, "This assistant was probably scared out of his mind when your officer interviewed him. Maybe he left out a rather important detail."

"And what about the hotel staff and guests we interviewed? Tarek left the hotel at least seven times and no one remembers seeing a security detail with him."

"Well," Fournier said, trying to come up with a logical explanation. "Maybe Tarek didn't want them with him in public. Maybe he preferred a low profile."

"The room with all of the surveillance equipment in it . . . the hotel computers had it blocked off. The computer said it was being renovated even though it was renovated only a year ago."

Fournier frowned. "That doesn't make any sense."

"No, it doesn't." Neville could see through the act. "Do you know what else doesn't make sense?"

Fournier got a bad feeling that he wasn't going to like the answer to this question. "No."

"My officers say that while you were in Tarek's suite with me, one of your men made a little visit to the roof."

"I had several men with me. I don't know where they were specifically. I instructed them to spread out and see what they could find out."

"I'm sure you did," Neville said, her tone changing from congenial to suspicious. "A rope was taken from the roof." She wasn't going to tell him how she knew. "Any idea what happened to it?"

"Surely you are not trying to say one of my men tampered with evidence." Fournier acted as if he was offended by the accusation.

Neville kept her eyes locked on him. "Paul, I know you better than most. I know you are an extremely deceptive man who is involved in all kinds of nasty things that, God forbid they ever came to light, might possibly destroy our country, so please don't act offended. Deny all you like, but we both know you are capable of transgressions far worse than interfering with my investigation."

Vega cleared his throat and grabbed his phone. "I have other business to attend to. If you'll excuse me."

Fournier placed his hand on Vega's wrist and kept his gaze on Neville. "Francine and I have a long history. I fell in love with her, but she broke my heart. One should never mix business and pleasure. I'm afraid our history is complicating matters."

Neville tossed her head back in fake laughter. "Actually, Max, I found out he was cheating on me, and I told him I never wanted to see him again. Lying comes very easy to Paul, so you have to be very careful in dealing with him."

"Come now, Francine," he said with a pouty grin.

"Don't worry, Paul, I got over you a long time ago, but I did learn some valuable lessons. For instance . . . that you are an incredibly selfish and deceptive man." She turned to Simon. "What would our profilers call that?"

"Narcissistic."

"Yes . . . thank you. That is the right word."

Fournier held his hands up in mock surrender. "I should have treated you better. It is one of my great regrets. Now if you'll excuse us, Max and I have some important business to attend to."

Neville turned to Simon. "We seem to have worn out our welcome."

"It appears so."

Neville stood and, looking at Fournier, said, "You will of course make your men available for me to interview?"

"Anything I can do to help," he said with a playful grin.

Neville took one step away from the table and then turned back. "I forgot to mention that we are looking for that fifth guest. He fits the general description of the other four men who were killed . . . the supposed bodyguards. You wouldn't happen to know where we could find him?" Neville asked with a provocative smile.

Fournier pushed his glass forward and stood. He walked around the table and put his hand on Neville's shoulder. With his mouth only a few inches from her ear he said, "Darling, I don't know what you are up to, but I would suggest you run back to your husband and children. This is a dangerous game you are playing, and if you are as smart as you think you are, you should know that I am not someone to be trifled with."

Neville jerked away from him, slapping his hand off her shoulder. "Do not touch me!" she snapped, loudly enough for most of the restaurant to hear. "This mess has your smell all over it, and don't think that just because you work for the Directorate you are above the law."

Fournier's bodyguard stepped in and grabbed Neville by the elbow.

She responded by pulling out her badge and shoving it in the man's face. "Take your hands off me." Wheeling back to Fournier, she said, "I have already spoken to the inspector general's office. We have a meeting in the morning where I am going to fully brief him on my investigation, and my fears that your department is somehow involved in this. I will also inform him that you threatened me."

"I did not threaten you, Francine." Fournier sighed as if the idea was preposterous.

Neville composed herself. "I'm on to you, Paul. You show up at the scene of the crime at practically the same time as I did, one of your men is seen going to the roof, and now we're missing a crucial piece of evidence. You float this idea that these four dead men were Tarek's bodyguards, but I can't find anyone who says he had bodyguards protecting him. This entire mess is beginning to smell like one of your dirty little operations."

"Francine, you should be very careful about throwing around such wild accusations."

"They might sound wild to the average person, but anyone who is familiar with your work will understand that this is right up your alley. In fact," Neville said, just realizing something, "I'd be willing to bet an entire year's salary that Tarek was on your payroll."

It was Simon who reached out and touched his boss this time. "Francine, we need to go." Simon, looking at the exchange from afar, realized that Neville had more than likely hit uncomfortably close to the truth. It would be a legal nightmare trying to get the DGSE to open the files they kept on Tarek.

"I am not afraid of you, Paul. I know how you like to do things in the shadows. You can't stand being exposed in the open like this. Mark my words, you will regret your decision to involve yourself in this mess." Neville turned and marched through the restaurant, Simon in tow.

When they reached the lobby, Simon said, "Well, that wasn't exactly what I expected."

"It wasn't what I expected either," Neville snapped.

"Boss, do you know what Tarek did before he became Libya's oil minister?"

Neville stopped in the middle of the lobby and faced Simon. She searched his face for a clue. "What?"

"The word is he worked for the Mukhabarat . . . Libyan Intelligence."

"Shit," Neville mumbled under her breath. She grabbed a clump of her black hair, shook her head, and in a voice filled with desperation, said, "This just keeps getting worse."

"We need to be careful."

She looked back toward the restaurant. "That's what he wants us to do. He wants us to be afraid of our shadows. Move slowly . . . that's why I made that scene in there. He can't stand the thought of his dirty little secrets being made public. If we want to get to the bottom of this, moving cautiously is the last thing we should do. We need to expose him and do it quickly."

Simon grimaced. "Francine, this is very dangerous. We have nothing that ties him to any of this."

"You think he just showed up before the bodies were cool because he was out for a walk? His man just wanders onto the roof while we're all focused on the room? I don't buy any of it."

"I know it doesn't look good, but none of this is solid enough to implicate him."

"Then we'll have to find something. The crime scene should be wrapped up by tonight. We will have plenty of manpower available, and I want to find out who that man was . . . Max."

"Francine," Simon said with caution, "he is more than likely a source for the Directorate. I'm telling you, this is dangerous."

"Yes, and we work for the National Police. The Directorate can play all of the games they want when they are abroad, but not here in Paris. We are the law." She could see that the always-rational Simon did not like this turn of events. Like many, he feared the reputation of the Directorate. Neville knew their only hope in getting to the bottom of what really happened was to ignore the fear and push forward. Any pause would give Fournier the time he needed to pressure the people who could relieve her from the case. "Just trust me . . . we need to move fast. Don't worry about Fournier. He put himself in the middle of this by showing up at the crime scene and sending his man up onto the roof. I want answers. I want you to start with this Max guy and then get me the name of Fournier's man who was on the roof. I want to question him myself."

Simon knew there was no dissuading her from this path, so he nodded. This was part of what made her so good at her job. If a case became personal, she was tenacious. Maybe he could talk some sense into her in a day or two. That was if they had that much time. Fournier and his type would not play fair. As they stepped into the late-afternoon light an ominous feeling clutched at him. Would Fournier and his faceless minions be so brash as to harm his boss? Simon shuddered at the possibility. He couldn't let that happen. As he opened the rear door of the sedan for Neville he took a quick look up and down the street. There were all sorts of men standing about - assistants, drivers, and bodyguards for the affluent who were inside the hotel. Undoubtedly one or more belonged to Paul Fournier. Simon made a mental note of each face. He'd been a police officer for sixteen years. He'd started out walking the narrow streets of the Marais Quarter. Early on, he learned he had a gift for faces. He hoped that gift hadn't left him.

Simon settled into the backseat next to his boss and paused for a second before saying, "I think it would be wise to give you and your family a little protection until this has blown over." He knew she wouldn't like it, but he said it anyway, mostly because it was the right thing to do. Neville didn't speak for a long moment, and when she did it was what Simon expected.

"I'm not afraid of Paul Fournier."

Well, you should be, Simon thought to himself, but he didn't dare say it. "I never said you were. This is a very high-profile case that is going to attract a lot of attention. I think it would be a wise precaution."

"Nice try. This is about you being spooked by a spook from DGSE." Neville shook her head. "I'm not afraid of the man. He's a coward. He can't intimidate and use his dirty tricks in the bright light of day, and he sure as hell isn't going to harm a ranking detective of the Judicial Police."

He knew her well enough to know that at least for now it would make little sense to try to pursue the matter. He nodded his agreement, but silently he began exploring the various precautions he could put into place. As long as Neville never knew what he was up to, there would be no harm done, but if she found out, he cringed to think of how she would react. Simon looked out the window and decided he would simply need to be careful. To ignore the threat would be foolish.