"I've been researching the exact type of paint this killer used. I even called the pathologist's offices so that they could give me their input. And I've found out what brand it is."

  "What is it?"

  "It's a type of top quality body and face paint used by the theater, generally. They have a lot of colors and gold is one of them. The gold looks to be an exact match."

  "And have they had any big orders? Where can you get it in Paris?" This could be a seriously strong lead. She felt excited.

  "Several different shops. And online. I've called around all the shops and none of them have had any big orders. But here's what's interesting."

  "What is that?"

  "The company sales manager, who I spoke to just now, said they've sold about double the amount of gold paint that they usually would in the past two months. So, someone's been sneakily buying it up."

  "Is that so?" Juliette felt worried by this, mostly because it showed the level of cunning and preplanning that they were up against. This killer looked to be a meticulous planner.

  And the quantities equated to a lot of gold paint. How many victims, exactly, was he planning to kill? She remembered the paint cans in the empty apartment. He'd stockpiled there, too, so maybe he was doing the same here.

  "We need to investigate that. He must have either ordered online to a French address, or else flown here sometime in the past couple of months, and bought up some stock. Maybe both.”

  "I've asked all the shops to send me any information they have. Unfortunately, there's no camera footage in any of the shops that goes that far back, and very few of them take any customer details. They’re getting the online orders for me, but that might only be ready tomorrow, as it’s done through a different company. But I guess we keep trying?"

  "I guess we do," Juliette said. "If you're done there, do you want to meet us here?"

  "When I wrap up here, I’m going to stay with a friend tonight," Sierra said. "One of my university friends lives in Paris, so I'll go and have a drink with her and then sleep over."

  "Okay. I think you can probably head off now, and we'll touch base tomorrow," Juliette said. There was nothing further for Sierra to do tonight. Already, the stores were closed and they would need to wait until tomorrow to get any further information.

  She headed out of the back room, and came face-to-face with Wyatt and Lucien. Both looked disappointed.

  "The alibi checks out," Wyatt said.

  "Unfortunately, we have confirmed it beyond any doubt," Lucien agreed.

  At least they were briefly united in their disappointment, she thought. The questioning had brought the two men together. But this was a huge blow. She'd felt they were so close to catching the killer, but now they were back to square one. It was late at night, and they had no leads apart from the paint.

  "Sierra is researching the stores that sell the type of paint he uses," she said. "She might have more information on that tomorrow. But for now, I guess there's nothing we can do."

  It felt frustrating to say that, as if she was admitting defeat, but Lucien nodded.

  "I will go home, in that case."

  "You live in Paris?" she asked.

  He nodded. "I have an apartment just outside of the 11th arrondissement."

  "Wife? Kids?" Wyatt asked. “Anyone special in your life? Or not?”

  "I have a cat," Lucien replied defensively, with a flash of resentment in his eyes.

  Wyatt raised his eyebrows. "Better get home to her, then. My wife and I have one of those. They don't like it when their humans arrive late."

  “What kind of cat do you have?” Juliette asked, wanting details.

  “She is a tortoiseshell called Mona Lisa, because I found her near the Louvre,” he explained. “She’s three years old. I rescued her when I was at a crime scene. She was a kitten then, stuck up on the roof of a deserted building and crying loudly,” Lucien said. “We had to get a ladder to bring her down. She was starving and infested with fleas.”

  For the first time ever, Juliette saw tenderness in his eyes.

  “That’s exactly what I do!” she said. “I also rescue animals. I’ve found a cat and a dog when I’ve been out on crime scenes. I’m so glad you did that.”

  Finally she could say something genuinely positive, and speak from the heart. She saw, again, the surprise in his eyes as he looked at her.

  “That is good,” he said, sounding warmer.

  “We’d better get going,” Wyatt reminded them, checking his watch, and bringing the conversation about rescues to a close.

  "We can regroup tomorrow," Juliette said. "First thing? Say, seven a.m. at this police station?"

  "Okay. Speak then," Lucien said. “You can take the keys to the unmarked, seeing your bags are already in it. Use it from here. I will take the Metro back home, and use my motorcycle tomorrow.” He handed her the keys before turning and striding away.

  Juliette felt suddenly tired. It had been a long, exhausting day.

  "Where are we staying?" she asked Wyatt.

  "I'm looking here. I see they made the arrangements. We got booked into a hotel not too far from here. Looks like quite a nice place," he said approvingly.

  They headed back to the car, and drove to the hotel, which was a couple of miles away, and on the outskirts of Paris. She guessed that was a sensible decision, because there was convenient parking in a lot behind the hotel, and the place was bigger and more comfortable than the tiny hotels and apartments she'd seen in the city center. A spacious hotel in central Paris was only for the wealthy, and not those on a police budget.

  Walking into the hotel, wheeling her bag behind her, she noticed a bar to the left.

  "Hey, they have Budweiser in here! Look, there’s the logo!" Wyatt sounded amazed, as if this was the best thing to have happened to him all day. "The hotel bar has Bud? What a find! Look, I’ll meet you here in half an hour? Want a drink and a bite of food?" he asked.

  "Sure," Juliette said. She was starving, and after the stress of the day, she could use a drink. It would be nice to sit down, recharge, and get to know her investigation partner a bit better.

  *

  Half an hour later, Juliette was sitting at one of the wooden tables in the now busy and bustling hotel bar. She had a glass of white wine in front of her. French wine. She wasn't a connoisseur of wine, but enjoyed red or white, as long as it wasn't too sweet. Sitting opposite her, Wyatt had a Budweiser in a tall, frosted glass.

  "Well, what a day," he said. "Cheers!"

  "Cheers," she replied, taking a welcome sip of her wine as the barman brought menus.

  "Interesting day. Pity we didn't get further, but I guess that's the name of the game. I mean, you can't win them all on the first day."

  "No, you can't." Wanting to dig down a little more into his experience, she asked, "How many murder cases have you been involved in?"

  "A few,” he said cagily. “I've been more involved in the policing and security side, with my background in the army, so you could say I've been tangentially involved in a few. And you?"

  "I've been investigating serious crimes ever since joining. I went straight into the BAU unit," she said.

  He nodded. "I guess with your psychology background, that was a fit," he said.

  "Yes," she agreed.

  "And you've traveled around the world?"

  She nodded. "My dad was a diplomat. So, yes. I had a nomadic childhood."

  "Where's he now? Retired? Or still in that line of work?"

  A thorny question. She sipped her wine feeling suddenly sad.

  "He's dead," she said.

  She saw a flash of sympathy in his eyes. "I'm sorry about that," he said. She thought he was about to ask her more, but then sensed that it was a painful topic and gave a small shake of his head.

  They sat in a slightly awkward silence for a few moments, and then Wyatt’s phone beeped. Looking down at it, his face warmed.

  "That's my wife, checking in," he said. "Suzy's a Pilates instructor. She's heading out now to teach her afternoon classes. Mind if I message her back?"

  "Of course. You don't even have to ask," Juliette said. She watched him key in the message, still with that tender smile on his face.

  As Wyatt texted his wife, who he clearly adored, Juliette felt glad the subject had veered away from her father’s death. It had been terrifying and traumatizing, and she thought it had been the pivotal event that had set her firmly on a course in law enforcement. She’d wanted the power to find answers.

  Her dad had been murdered, brutally, and she herself had narrowly escaped death, or so she always believed. Thinking back on that tragedy again, she felt sure her dad had taken secrets with him to his grave.

  She’d never know what had really been going on in her father’s life, although she resolved that, one day, she would find out. But she felt a shiver as she remembered how events had played out, and how that terrible crime had occurred - a crime that there were still no answers to, and no explanation for.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  What had her father been involved in, Juliette wondered, as she glanced at the menu while Wyatt texted his wife, looking at the words without even taking them in, because her mind was totally elsewhere.

  Her diplomat father had definitely seemed distracted that day, worried about something, when he'd met her on the platform, after she'd come through to Munich via train.

  Away on a break from university, she'd been pleased to have some vacation time with her dad, and explore the sights of the city with him, but he'd definitely seemed withdrawn and preoccupied, as if something was wrong.

  The journey from Oxford to Munich had taken a full day, and by the time the train arrived it was late - already after nine p.m.

  "Let's get some rest," he'd said, "and go sightseeing tomorrow."

  "Okay," she'd said, feeling disappointed, because last time they'd gotten together late, in Milan, her father had taken her for drinks at one of the area's trendiest bars, and then they'd walked a mile in the dry, cold darkness, chatting and catching up and taking in the sights and sounds of the city at night.

  But this time, he clearly wasn't in the mood. She'd gotten into the cab and they'd headed off to the hotel.

  "I guess you want your own room?" he'd asked at the reception desk. "There is a two room, shared suite available."

  "I want my own room," she'd insisted. She didn't want the suite. It was more fun to be totally on her own and able to call or text her friends late at night, and to stay in the bathtub or the shower for an hour if she felt like it without feeling she was being rude or selfish.

  It chilled her to think that decision could have saved her life.

  "There you go.” He handed her the keycard. “See you at breakfast tomorrow. Eight a.m.?"

  "Perfect, Dad," she'd replied. "Thanks!"

  Once in her room, she'd done exactly what she'd been looking forward to doing. She'd gotten into the shower and stayed there for half an hour, giving herself a mini beauty treatment with the free gels and lotions. She was a student on a budget, after all.

  Then she'd gotten into bed and spent the next hour or so chatting and messaging friends. She must have fallen asleep around midnight, and woke up with a jolt the next morning. Checking the time, she saw it was after eight a.m. She'd overslept horribly.

  And her dad hadn't come knocking?

  She'd scrambled out of bed, feeling bleary from her deep sleep, pulled on her clothes, and rushed down the stairs to the breakfast room.

  Looking around frantically, she saw several surprised tourists and business people staring back at her. But she couldn't see her dad there.

  Had he had a phone call or some urgent business to sort out? She'd run back down the corridor and up the flight of stairs to his room.

  There, she'd knocked on the door.

  No answer. She'd taken out her phone and called him. No answer.

  It was at that time she heard his phone from inside the room, trilling loudly in the silence.

  Already, Juliette had suspected something was wrong, but the sound of that ringing phone had cemented it in her mind.

  Something was very wrong. The fear that had settled in her stomach had been like no other.

  And even so, she had never, ever expected to see the terrible sight that awaited her when the reception staff sent somebody up with an access card and opened that door. The blood that had soaked the bed. The wounds in her father’s neck and chest, that had cut and sliced the life out of him. The rust colored handprint on the wall that spoke of a desperate but futile struggle.

  Juliette shook her head, letting out a deep breath, shaking the terrible memories away.

  Wyatt glanced up from his phone apologetically. “Sorry about that,” he said. “There was a lot to update Suzy on.”

  “It was no problem at all,” Juliette said, feeling glad to be able to immerse herself in the present again. Conversation with her partner was a comforting option compared to revisiting the ghosts of the past that had surfaced again, despite all her efforts to keep them at bay.

  “You looked like you were thinking about something serious there," Wyatt said, more perceptive than she had expected.

  "Yes. I guess I was just going over a few memories, in my mind," she told him.

  "Yell if you want to share any of your thoughts," he said.

  She didn't. It was time to lock them up tightly again.

  "I’d rather not dwell on them for now, but thanks for the offer," she said.

  "Any time," he said agreeably. "What do you feel like eating? I think I'm going to risk the burger. I'm distrustful about eating burgers outside of the States, but let's give it a whirl. I think I have my anti-diarrhea tablets in my bag."

  Juliette had to suppress a laugh at that. Really, her partner couldn't be more all American. She was sure he'd be pleasantly surprised by the quality of French food, but less sure that he'd admit to that.

  "I'll have the onion soup," Juliette said. French onion soup, rich and sumptuous, had always been one of her favorites, and this one came with bread and cheese. That would do perfectly for her.

  They placed their orders, and then Wyatt’s phone beeped again.

  “One last message,” he grinned, looking down and texting a quick reply before putting his phone down. “That’s it for tonight.”

  "How long have you two been married?" Juliette asked.

  "We met when I was discharged from the army. She was in the apartment next door to mine. That didn't last long," he remembered with a grin. "We got to talking one day, outside the front door, and within about three weeks, we were a couple. We moved in together a month later and it's all been happiness since then."

  He beamed with pride as he spoke, and Juliette felt warmly glad on his behalf.

  "You're a lucky man," she said.

  "I am. I'm grateful for every day I have with Suzy," he said, and Juliette couldn't help but smile. It was nice to know that true love still existed in the world, even after all the darkness and violence she had seen. Even if it didn't exist in her world which, right now, she had to acknowledge was better that way.

  She felt a sense of relief that of the two men she was working with, at least one was very happily married; the other was a man that she still strongly disliked, although the cat conversation had redeemed him slightly, and who had clearly loathed her on sight. At least that meant there would be no emotional complications, she thought wryly. It was always simpler that way.

  They had enough on their plates, after all, with hunting down this killer.

  *

  The next morning, early, Juliette was yanked out of a deep sleep by an insistent trilling sound.

  Was it her alarm, she thought, surfacing from the troubling, but intense, dream she'd been having. Opening her eyes, she saw that her hotel room, all the way at the end of a quiet corridor, was still fully dark.

  No. It wasn't her alarm, she realized. Her phone was ringing insistently. Feeling worried now, she grabbed it up, trying her best to sound wide awake even though she was still far from it.

  A ringing phone at this hour? Her stomach curled in anticipation as she took the call, struggling into a sitting position.

  "Juliette Hart here," she said. Despite her best efforts, her voice sounded hoarse and sleepy. She dreaded what the news would be, at this time. It was very early. Her exhausted body and mind were telling her so.

  The crisp voice on the other side sounded wide awake, intense, and very stressed. It was Lucien, she realized. And as he spoke, she felt the last vestiges of sleep fall away, and her heart start to pound fast.

  "Juliette. There's been another body found. He's killed again, and we need to get to the scene. Now."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Katarina Rodic was immersed in thought as she headed along the quiet roadway that led from the study center to the flat she shared with three other girls. The only good thing about this tiring walk was that it gave her a view of the Eiffel Tower, brilliantly lit, in the distance.

  She'd found tonight difficult. Computer programming was the future, which was why she'd signed up for this evening course. After all, she didn't want to be a café waitress her whole life long. But she'd always thought she'd go for something different, like the arts. Theater called to her. She wasn't one for mathematical problems and cold, hard logic.

  So she was struggling in this course. It just didn't make sense and she couldn't wrap her head around it.

  She sighed, the tension in her shoulders so great it felt like she had a hundred pound weight on her back, instead of just her laptop bag. Perhaps it was time to give up, she thought. But then again, she was already so close to the end of the course, perhaps she could just push through and get the certificate.

  If she could only figure out exactly how the lecturer had reached his conclusions today in the example he’d given. But it was a mystery to her.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18