C'est la Vie (Raja Williams Series) (3 page)

“Yes. You have my word, and my deepest gratitude.”

“We shall see. I will make arrangements to be in Paris by tomorrow. I can reach you at this number?”

“Yes. Should I arrange to pick you up at the airport?”

“No need. I will see you day after tomorrow. I’ll call you once I’m on the ground in France. Meanwhile, stay in your hotel in case Margaret contacts you there.”

“I’m getting quite tired of hearing that, but I will do as you say.”

Raja called Gloria to make preparations for his trip to France. That included notifying Mickey, his pilot. Mickey O’Toole had been flying food and medicine to the needy in Africa when Raja first met him. Now he worked full-time for Raja flying his custom Hawker 1000 wherever a case required. When Mickey wasn’t taking Raja somewhere he ran paid charter flights on the side and maintained the jet.

“Gloria, can you find out where Mickey is? I’m going to need him.”

“Already spoke to ’im, bwoy. He just got back from a charter to British Columbia. He will have the plane serviced and fueled for a flight to France by early morning.”

Raja laughed. “So you knew I would take the case.”

“What me see, you see,” said Gloria, which was her way of saying they think alike.

Next Raja called the one person he wanted with him on all his cases. That is, if she wasn’t off on some crazy adventure of her own.

She answered right away. “Yo.”

“Vinny, it’s Raja. You busy?”

“Always, boss, you know that.”

“We have a case.”

“Tell me it’s in London. The Olympics are happening there as we speak.” Vinny was partial to athletes, having dated a few, and having a martial arts black belt herself.

“Sorry. Paris, France. You ready?”

“Born ready, you know that, Raj. When do we go?”

“Daybreak if the plane’s ready. But, I do have some research you can start on tonight, if you are willing.” Vinny had amazing computer skills, and was a top hacker who had once worked for the U.S. government until she purposely made herself more trouble than they could handle so they would cut her loose. Now she was a valued partner on all Raja’s cases.

“You know I can go all night if you need,” said Vinny. She also had the good fortune of being one of those rare individuals who only need two or three hours of sleep a night to regenerate completely.

“Come by the house,” said Raja. “I’ll give you what you need.”

“That’s what she said.” Vinny loved to push Raja buttons with the hipster lingo she was constantly picking up on the internet.

“Let me rephrase that. Come by and I’ll have the information you’ll need for your research.” With his Oxford education, Raja’s language sensibilities were an easy target. Despite her teasing, Vinny was his best friend.

Later at his
home on the north end of Clearwater Beach,
Raja
outlined what they knew. “Professor Browning has lost his wife Margaret. There was a murder coincident with her disappearance. My contact in Paris also says there is a manhunt underway for a cop killer.” He handed Vinny his notes.

“I’m on it, boss.” Vinny insisted on calling Raja boss, despite the fact he saw them as equals. She pulled out her iPad. Despite its small size, it gave her access to everything she needed, including the customized cloud computing programs she had designed.

Raja could still not get his wits around the revolutionary nature of cloud computing. Although he had purchased a state of the art computer setup for Vinny, including a huge interactive screen with all the bells and whistles, she preferred her iPad.

Raja made one more call. He left a message, as always, saying he would be in Paris on a case within twenty-four hours.

Gloria came in to report that Mickey would have the jet ready an hour before dawn. “You gonna take care a dat man, okay bwoy?”

“We will do our best,” said Raja.

“Make sure your best be good enough.”

Chapter Three: Rude American

Raja, needing more sleep than Vinny, had gone to bed at midnight. Vinny worked through the night on her computer, researching everything she could find on the scene in Paris. She woke Raja well before daybreak and they drove to the St. Petersburg - Clearwater Airport where Mickey was waiting with the jet.

A sling shot takeoff got them airborne. The grueling twelve hour non-stop flight gave Vinny time to brief Raja on what she had discovered.

“What did you find out about the Brownings?” asked Raja.

“They seem like a nice couple, and I found no reason for either to be involved in anything illegal. Financials are clean, no skeletons I could find. Whoever grabbed Mrs. Browning had their own fish to fry.”

“Ransom?”

“No way.”

“But why her?”

“W-P-W-T.”

“What?”

“WPWT. Wrong place, wrong time. I think she was completely non sequitur to whatever is going on. She’s a red herring, boss.”

“Okay, what else?”

“The murdered shopkeeper and his two employees could be a robbery gone bad. Margaret Browning was in the vicinity and may have witnessed something. However, I think the cop killer is our best lead.”

“How does that tie in?”

“That’s just it. I don’t know yet, but a report mentioned a woman fitting Margaret Browning’s description at the scene where the policemen were killed. I pulled that off a local media interview, but the police are keeping the report under wraps.”

“Good work, Vinny.”

“True dat, boss.” Vinny explored more of the data she had gathered and began modifying the Venn diagram program she used during their investigations. Afterward she and Raja both grabbed a nap.

Landing in Paris required clearance through the customs service and the Gendarmerie, the French military police. The Le Bourget Airport was small and served private jets and planes almost exclusively. However, even with Raja’s connections it took two hours, thanks to the new international bogeyman, terrorism. It was already after three in the morning Paris time when they got to the parking garage where Raja kept one of the many sports cars he owned. He never met a classic sports car he didn’t like, and kept them in many cities. No one else knew how many he owned, and he had lost count at twenty-five. He and Vinny climbed into the burnt orange 1969 Porsche 911S that he called Napoleon and headed to Paris. The car’s throaty hum eased the headache that told Raja they were heading straight for trouble on this case. Vinny shook her hair out of the Rays baseball cap she often wore, letting the wind blow through. Certainly pretty enough to be a runway model, she preferred hacking computers to haute couture.

They arrived at 33 Quai Voltaire where Raja maintained a flat on the top floor. Simply decorated, it provided a base of operations. A wide bay window looked out over the Seine River and the Louvre Museum stood visible to the right across the river. After settling in, they talked about the case.

“I’ve got a line on the inspector who is handling the investigation, if you can call it that,” said Vinny. “Most of the police and media attention is on finding whoever killed three French policemen. Mrs. Browning has been lost in the shuffle.”

“We will change that,” said Raja. “What’s the inspector’s name?”

“Pierre Gilliard.”

The next morning Raja called the British Embassy to grease the wheels with the Paris police. Although no police force likes outside interference with their business, the French were particularly insular. Raja had earned a little sway with the British Royal family, having pulled one princely ass out of a nasty fire a couple of years back. It was a story he had sworn not to repeat, but one which got him a direct order from London into the British Embassy in Paris instructing them to use their pull to open the door to the French police, a notoriously tight-lipped bunch. God save the Queen. While giving the British Embassy time to push the message through proper channels and down the chain of command, Raja called the professor at his hotel.

“Hello,” said Professor Browning.

The dull lack of expectation in Browning’s voice told Raja he was rapidly losing hope. “It’s Raja Williams. I’m in Paris. I’m already working on finding your wife and I wanted to meet with you.” Raja didn’t think the professor had any more pertinent information, but it would certainly raise the professor’s spirits if he felt useful. There is nothing like the feeling of helplessness to drive a man into apathy.

“Yes, yes. Where should I meet you?” said Browning. He sounded better already.

“I’ll pick you up at your hotel. Wait out front. Bring any pictures you have of Margaret. Give me about fifteen minutes.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Waiting was another thing that could sink a man emotionally. After hanging up, Raja made a mental note to leave promptly. “Vinny, I’m heading to Professor Browning’s hotel. Then to the antique shop. After that I’ll go to the police station. Get me the addresses, would you?”

Vinny knew that going to see the professor was an unnecessary side trip, but she said nothing. No matter how intent Raja was on solving a case, and he could be very intent, he never lost sight of the client’s feelings. It was a characteristic Vinny admired.

“I’ll download the addresses to your GPS,” she said.

“Next we need to find some sign of Margaret Browning. Right now she is a ghost.”

“Don’t use that word with the professor,” said Vinny.

“Good catch.”

Professor Browning stood at the curb when Raja pulled up. He climbed into the Porsche and presented Raja with a folder.

“What’s this?” asked Raja, looking at the thick folder.

“It’s every picture of Margaret that I could find on the computer. I had to get them printed in the hotel office, so the quality could be better.”

Raja flipped through the pictures. The professor had gone overboard, which Raja knew he would in his frazzled state. There were at least thirty pictures of Margaret Browning, enough to make a whole picture album.

“If you need more I could have someone back home email them.”

“I think these will do. Good work. You should pick out three recent shots we can use for identification.” He handed the folder back to Browning. There was nothing like purpose and contribution to raise a man’s spirits. “Now I want you to show me the spot where you last spoke to your wife.”

“In front of the antique shop?”

“Yes. I’ve got it in my GPS. Hang on.” They drove to Rue des Écoles and parked. The crime scene tape no longer blocked the sidewalk, allowing Professor Browning to lead Raja directly to the entrance of the shop.

“There was a marker right there. I think it was where Margaret dropped her phone when she was talking to me. I know it was.”

Raja looked up the street in both directions, noting which way the police van must have been heading to arrive at the location where the three policemen were killed. He noted the packed rows of vehicles parked on both sides of the narrow street. He looked at his watch.

“What exactly did your wife say?” asked Raja.

“I’ve been going over that in my mind. She said only,
‘
Oh, dear Lord.’ That’s it, nothing else. Like she had been startled by something bad. Something shocking. It’s the only circumstance that would cause her to take the Lord’s name in such a way. She is an extremely pious woman.” Tears welled in the professor’s eyes.

“I understand. Anything else?” asked Raja.

“No, that’s all.” After a long pause Browning said, “She didn’t deserve this.” Now he sounded angry.

“You are right,” said Raja. “Okay, that will help. Next I will be going to see the inspector.”

“Let’s go,” said Browning.

“No. I’m going alone once I drop you off.” Raja knew that bringing the professor along would put too much pressure on the police inspector. “I have other work for you.” On the way back to the hotel, Raja had to come up with something to keep Browning busy. He called Vinny at the flat.

“Do you have that list of television stations covering all the investigations?”

“I can put one together.”

“Good. I’m going to need that for the professor. He’s going to help us.”

Vinny understood. “I’ll have it in three minutes. You should also have him map out his wife’s possible routes on the day she disappeared. That will keep him busy.”

“Perfect.”

“I’ll send the data on the media to your phone.”

“You’re the best.”

Vinny smiled. She knew she was.

When his phone trilled, indicating a message, Raja had the professor copy the list of TV stations.

“I need you to watch the news and note any details on your wife’s case or the case of the three murdered policemen.”

“Do you think they are linked?”

“Perhaps. That’s what we will determine. I also want you to draw a map of all the possible routes your wife could have taken the day she went missing, including any possible stops along the way.” Raja gave him an email address and asked him to send the map when he was finished. That would keep him busy, at least for a little while.

After dropping off the professor Raja drove to the police station alone, parking in front of a massive stone building that housed the Paris police and other government offices. The building oozed government authority and red tape. Raja hoped he could find a good guy to work with inside. In any government bureaucracy there are always a high proportion of stoppers—people who see their primary job as getting in the way and preventing action. The trick is to find a helper—someone who has not lost sight of the true government function of helping people to get on with their lives. Raja called them “good guys.”

Once inside Raja informed the officer at the front desk who he was. After two phone calls and a lot of chatter back and forth, the officer sent him through to the next layer of bureaucrats. He was about to repeat his story when a tough looking man in plain clothes interrupted him.

“Monsieur Williams?”

“Yes.”

“This way.” The man turned with no further communication and walked toward a hallway expecting Raja to follow.

Raja followed down the hall and into a small office containing an old wooden desk that was cluttered with stacks of folders and a small, very old computer monitor. The policeman pointed to the solid wooden chair in front of the desk and Raja sat down. They exchanged a few awkward sentences in French about Mrs. Browning and the antique shop murders.