Zacharié pulled it from the back of jeans. “It’s dirt on people. Reports filed on prominent officials, industrialists. People like Jules use the dirt as leverage when they want a cut of the pie or need a favor.”
She flipped through the pages. Her eyes popped. “Explosive stuff.” She skimmed the addendum closely enough to see it contained details of covert Ministry surveillance and operations abetted by the police judiciaire.
“Looks like corruption at the top: the Ministry running operations with no oversight and the préfet de police sweeping any fallout under the carpet.” She swallowed hard, thinking again of Morbier’s corruption investigation.
“Knowing Jules, he’s left some detail implicating me,” said Zacharié, his face clouded. “That happens and I’ll lose my shot at gaining Marie-Jo’s custody.”
Her nerves jingled. And her? She’d gotten too involved already. Tangled in this web when her only goal had been to save Zazie from the rapist.
Merde. “I never saw you, never met you, compris?”
He nodded. “My parole officer wants an update on my job search. It’s imperative for the custody hearing.” He sagged into a doorframe, anguish in his eyes. “I can’t lose Marie-Jo again. Can’t go back to prison.”
“May I see that file?” asked Saj. After reading the pages, he looked up. “You know what they say, use it or lose it.”
“So I should sell it to the highest bidder, like Jules planned to do?” Zacharié clenched his fist. “Get mired in that muck?” A sigh of despair. “But I already am.”
“Did I say that?” Saj ran his hand, henna’d with a Hindu symbol, over the addendum pages. “Interesting. Remember how we handled a similar doc-sca issue last year, Aimée?”
She shot Saj a glance. He was making this up as he went along. But he had used their code for portable scanner. So he had brought his bag of tricks. His ultra-thin scanner, as usual, in his cloth meditation bag.
He raised his eyebrow.
She nodded. “Bien s?r.”
Zacharié’s fist unclenched. “What do you mean?”
“Give me a minute to go over this,” said Saj, “explore less incriminating options. A way for you to get around this.”
“Another reason I like you, Saj,” Aimée said. “You have a twisted angle to everything.”
“That’s why you pay me the big francs, Aimée,” said Saj.
She wasn’t the only one, either. After Saj had hacked into several Ministry systems, they’d found him too valuable to lock up in prison. So he consulted on an as-needed basis, constructing firewalls designed to keep those like himself out.
Saj winked at Aimée.
“Try to relax, Zacharié,” said Aimée with more confidence than she felt. “I think Saj has an idea.”
SAJ PAID THE taxi driver and got out in front of the café on rue du Louvre. He bent down to the open passenger window, readjusting his orange meditation bag so it completely concealed the ax.
“Zazie, time flows and cycles in our journeys.” He gestured to the café. “Avoiding confrontation only prolongs the circle of Samsara …”
“You go see your parents, Zazie,” Aimée said, interrupting Saj.
Saj nodded to Aimée. “I’m off to that consultation in Sceaux. I’ll send you the scans later.”
“Good work, Saj.” Maybe she could figure out how to inform Morbier without implicating herself. Maybe she would regain her figure someday. She doubted both.
Saj’s dreadlocks bounced on his muslin-shirted shoulder as he headed to the Métro.
“I tried to do the right thing, Aimée.” Zazie’s shoulders slumped. “We followed a red herring.”
Aimée shrugged. “You got sidetracked. But what’s fish got to do with it?”
“A detective term. Don’t you know?”
She did. But Zazie seemed so wilted. “See? You know more technical terms than I do,” she said, trying to make her feel better.
“I’m not a good detective.”
“Practice, Zazie. You’re bursting with talent. You left clues so I could find you. If you hadn’t chalked that X …” Her throat caught. Then she pulled Zazie toward her and hugged her hard. “Just never do this again, tu promets?”
“Now you sound like a maman,” Zazie said.
Aimée sucked in her breath. “I have to practice too, don’t I?”
“I’m in big trouble, Aimée.”
Aimée bit her tongue before saying she’d earned it. “Your parents love you,” she said. “Now you’re home, and that’s what’s most important. Tell the truth, Zazie.”
“Everything, Aimée? I mean … I don’t want to get Marie-Jo’s papa in trouble. And I was so frightened you’d get hurt.”
Aimée brushed Zazie’s red curls from her eyes. Cradled her face in her hands, then pulled a café napkin from her bag and wiped at Zazie’s brimming tears. “Better to keep to the truth, but some parts … bien, say you’ll talk more about it when you’re ready.”
Zazie nodded and shot her a knowing look. “Like you do when you don’t really want to lie.”
“Did I say that, Zazie?”
“But I can’t get her papa in trouble,” said Zazie. “And we still haven’t found the rapist …”
“Who might have been caught,” Aimée interrupted. She’d left out Mélanie’s mother’s murder and the shooting last night. Zazie had enough to worry about already. “For now, concentrate on that class report that’s due.”
“Will you come with me?”
Aimée nodded. “But the café’s full. Why don’t we enter through the back?”
In the café, Virginie absently rocked Lucien on her hip and stared at the télé, which was showing the news. Pierre clutched a bag of oranges with a phone wedged between his shoulder and ear. “What do you mean?” he shouted. “My daughter’s—”
“Back home,” said Aimée.
He dropped the bag. Oranges rolled over the floor, and the phone fell onto the counter.
“Thathee,” lisped little Lucien and clapped his hands. “Thathee!”
Amid the hugs, tears and squeals of delight, Aimée stepped back.