The Paris Librarian (28 page)

On Tuesday morning the sun was shining again, but the rain had worked its magic on the temperature and the Paris air was ten degrees cooler than it had been for weeks. Hugo opened his windows wide to air out the apartment as the coffee pot gurgled in the kitchen.

When it was ready, he poured himself a cup and went into his bedroom, opening that window, too, and sitting at his desk as the morning breeze drifted through the room. He started his computer and e-mailed his secretary and the ambassador to let them know he was working from home still. He then wrote a second e-mail to the ambassador, giving him a short update on the death of Alain Benoît over the weekend, and the possibility that an English woman, Miki Harrison, may have been involved.

The update was short because, in truth, Hugo was uneasy.

At that very moment Miki Harrison was being questioned by Camille Lerens at police headquarters. He'd called Lerens the previous evening to let her know immediately what Miki Harrison had admitted. When she showed up to Hugo's apartment, they spoke alone in the downstairs lobby and the police lieutenant had not been pleased.

“You interrogated her here?”

“No, we were talking generally and a few things fell into place,” he said.

“Hugo, if you knew something, you should have told me.”

“About what?”

“About Harrison and Benoît being the ones who stole the dagger.
Merde
, about the fact they even knew each other.”

“I'm telling you, Camille, I basically figured most of this stuff out just now.”

“Most of it,” she said, suspicion in her voice.

“Look, I told her to cooperate, that she couldn't leave. And then I called you, straightaway.”

“
Bon
, I'll take it from here. She has a lot to answer for.”

“You think she killed Benoît?” Hugo asked.

“I don't know, I've not questioned her yet.”

“OK, calm down, Camille, I told you I wasn't playing cop here today, I was hosting pizza.”

“And in doing so, made yourself a witness.” She gave him a meaningful look.

“Wait, no,” he began. “Don't tell me that. I want to be there when you interview her.”

“You know that's not possible now. She made admissions to you, and that puts you in the witness box.”

“No,” Hugo said emphatically. “If she makes admissions to you, you get to stay in the investigation so the same applies to me.”

“If she makes admissions to me, Hugo, they will be in an interview room, under full caution, and they will be digitally recorded on film and audio. They will not be made over pizza in my apartment. See the difference?”

Hugo did, and he knew she was right. But he was less than happy at being kept out of Harrison's interview, mostly because he had more questions, but also because Merlyn had begged him to protect her. The most he'd been able to do, though, was call his counterpart at the British embassy and let him know what was going on.

Hugo jumped when his phone rang at ten o'clock, and he was pleased to see Lieutenant Lerens's name on the display.

“
Bonjour
Camille. Are you done already?”

“She came in at eight, just like she said she would.”

“And?”

“And it seems like she's my best suspect.”

“What did she tell you?”

“Pretty much what she told you, I think. But she said it was Benoît who stole the dagger, not her.”

“She did?”

“According to her, it was his idea to go out there and talk to Isabelle Severin, she just went along with it, and while they were there he spotted the dagger and took it. She claims she didn't even know until they were in the car on the way home.”

“Do you believe her?”

“Not really. When I told her we didn't find anything like that at his apartment, she said he'd given it to her for safekeeping.”

“What's wrong with that?”

“Come on, Hugo, seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. We know he was prepared to steal for this book, he broke into Paul's apartment and helped himself to a dead man's keys, so he could then break in somewhere else, the library at the dead of night. That enough criminal activity for you?”

“Maybe someone was pulling his strings.”

“She's a criminal mastermind now?”

“She may not look like one, but I do find it odd that Harrison claims not to have known about the theft of the keys and the library break-in, yet she's the one who winds up in possession of the keys. Then she claims she didn't know about Benoît stealing the dagger, yet she has that, too. And it's not her who shows up floating in the Seine, is it? No, it's Alain Benoît, and not only was she the last person to see him alive, but she has a pretty good motive to kill him.”

“I can't argue with any of that,” Hugo conceded. “But do you really think she did it? Why at that moment?”

“Maybe he snagged some other piece of prize information and wouldn't share it. She said she thought he was holding out on her over the book.”

“Yeah, she told me that, too.”

“There you go. She saw him about to disappear into the wind and take all the glory himself and decided not to let that happen.”

“If that was his plan, why would he leave the dagger with her? That makes no sense.”

“Maybe she took it in the first place. Or after she killed him.”

“Possibly. What did she say about the last time she saw him?”

“That she stayed with him after picking him up from the library, but left after midnight and got a call very early that morning to meet him at a café. He'd received a text from someone, he didn't say who because he wanted to talk to her in person about it. Anyway, he didn't show up, so she waited an hour and then went home.”

“She have any guesses as to who texted?”

“She says she doesn't know.”

“It might explain why his phone was missing,” Hugo said.

“What do you mean?”

“If someone sent him a message, and maybe insisted on meeting him early on a Sunday morning before he saw Miki Harrison, that person might want to destroy that message, which likely would mean also destroying Benoît's phone.”

“And someone would lure Benoît that way because a phone call would be traceable, but a text isn't.”

“Right.”

“My head's spinning, Hugo. Are all these deaths related or is Benoît's nothing to do with the other two? I mean, we can't even be a hundred percent sure that Gregory and Rogers didn't both commit suicide. Maybe there's just one murder, and even that one might have an alternate explanation.” She spread her hands wide. “Maybe there are three suicides here, or two suicides and an accident.”

“Perhaps, but I don't think so,” Hugo said grimly.

They disconnected and Hugo sat quietly for a moment, thinking. His head was also swimming with the possibilities, although there were several things that especially bugged him, things that suggested he swim in a particular direction. Nothing concrete, but a few coincidences and inconsistencies had started to pile up along the way and, sitting there, Hugo decided that the pile was now large enough to warrant closer inspection.

He opened the folder containing Paul Rogers's book-checkout history, then picked up the phone and called the main number at the library.

“Nicole Anisse, please,” he said.

A moment later, she came on the line. “This is Nicole, can I help you?”

“Hey, it's Hugo Marston. Quick question for you.”

“Oh, hi. Sure, whatever you need.”

“I'm looking at Paul's book history that you gave me. Is there any way to tell exactly who physically checked out a book, as opposed to whose card was used?”

“I'm not sure what you're asking. You have to have a library card.”

“But people can borrow other people's cards, right? Or you could sign out a book under another library employee's name?”

“I suppose so, yes. Sure.”

“Good to know, thanks,” Hugo said. “Hey, would you put me through to Michelle Juneau?”

“She just left the building, sorry. Anything else I can help with?”

“I was just wondering about the funeral arrangements.”

“Oh, then I can help you. Well, kind of. I think she got Michael to help with that. I heard them talking about it. Want me to see if he's here?”

“No, that's OK. But I just thought of something else.”

“Fire away.”

“I need a peek at someone else's checkout history, would that be OK?”

“I don't know,” Anisse said, her voice hesitant. “I could get in trouble for that, if it's someone who works here or is a current patron. Paul's was different because . . . well, obviously.”

“I know, but it'd be our secret,” Hugo said, coaxing her. “No one would ever know, I promise.”

She relented with a gentle laugh. “I suppose it's OK to be naughty once in a while. For a good cause.”

“It certainly is that.” Hugo gave her the name and Anisse promised to e-mail the information right away. She ended the call playfully, saying, “You owe me big time, Hugo. Big time.”

Two minutes later, her e-mail arrived and Hugo opened the attachment. He scanned the list of books, and when he saw one in particular a shot of adrenaline made him sit up straight.

“So why would
you
need that book?” he muttered to himself, and sat back in his chair as the pieces started to edge toward each other, not slotting into place as yet, but aligning themselves enough that he thought he could finally see a face.

But he needed more. More evidence, more proof, and if there was one thing guaranteed to help him get a new, and hopefully clarifying, perspective, it was a trip out of town. But before he could make any arrangements, his phone rang.

“Hugo, it's Merlyn.” She sounded breathless, panicked. “What the hell is going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“There's a frigging police car outside our apartment. Miki's been told not to leave Paris. Jesus, Hugo, she was interrogated by your cop buddy this morning.”

“Interviewed, not interrogated,” Hugo said calmly.

“She's a suspect?” Merlyn said, incredulity in her voice.

“Not for me, no. But right now I'm not the one who matters.”

“The police. Hugo, they're staking us out. What the hell is that?”

“Merlyn, calm down. Remember when we were charging around England looking for a murderer? We weren't quite sure who or what or why, remember?”

“Yes, I do. And you ended up in the trunk of his bloody car at one point.”

Hugo laughed. “Yeah, I'm gonna try and avoid that situation again. But listen, I'm just saying you need to stay calm. I'm a few hours away from being sure what this is all about. Just be cool in the meantime, ignore the cops, and stay where you are. Watch some movies or something.”

“They're all in French.”

“That happens when you go to Paris. So read a book.”

“You have to clear her, Hugo,” Merlyn insisted. “Miki may be headstrong but, my God, she's not a cold-blooded killer. That's ridiculous.”

“I know, but right now she's the best suspect the police have. They've got motive and opportunity for Alain's death, at least.”

Merlyn was quiet for a moment, then asked, “What are you going to do?”

“The less you know, the better.” That wasn't true, not really, Hugo just didn't want to explain, answer questions. And he didn't even know if he was right. Not yet. When they disconnected, he called Lerens back. “Quick favor.”

“What is it?” she asked suspiciously. “Related to this case?”

“No,” Hugo said. “At least, I can't say it is right now. I need you to get me access to a very old file in another jurisdiction.”

“Only if you promise to tell me what you're up to.”

“As soon as I know, I will. Call it a hunch for now, and I know how you hate acting on those instead of firm evidence.”

“
C'est vrai.
” Lerens laughed gently.
That's true.
“But I'm more than happy to let you act on one of yours. Tell me what you need.”

She listened quietly as he explained, and she agreed to make some calls for him.

“Are you still convinced Miki Harrison is responsible?” Hugo asked.

“It doesn't look good for her. I know she's got an excuse and an explanation for everything, but she's neck-deep in all of this. I forgot to tell you, during the interview I asked her where she was around the time Sarah Gregory was killed. She said she was with Alain Benoît.”

“Not much of an alibi,” Hugo agreed.

“That's the thing. I can't verify any of the stories she's telling me. Of course, as yet I can't disprove any of them, either.”

“You have people watching her, I gather.”

“How did you know?”

“My friend Merlyn called, less than happy.”