The Paris Librarian (22 page)

“Paul Jameson. Nice to meet you, sir.”

Hugo shook his hand. “You're English?”

“God no,” Jameson said with a wink. “Scotsman.”

Hugo laughed. “Sorry for the offense.”

“Just don't let it happen again,” Jameson said. He checked his mirrors and looked over his shoulder before pulling away from the curb.

Hugo was curious about his driver, and asked, “How does a Scotsman become a Paris policeman?”

“Always loved the city, used to come here as a kid with my dad and brother. Served ten years in naval intelligence, where I learned French, Italian, and some Mandarin. Once I got out of the forces I thought I'd spend some time over here, work in a bar or something. Then I met a beautiful woman, fell in love, and she wanted me to have a real job. I'd thought about being a cop back home in Toryglen, but she suggested I apply here. They're all about diversity and really welcomed a French-speaking Scot, so here I am.”

“You like the job?”

“Aye, love it. Started working for Lieutenant Lerens about two months ago, best officer I've ever met. Tough, smart, and treats her people well.”

Jameson had clearly learned to drive as well as speak three foreign languages, and had probably spent years behind the wheel of a car. He weaved expertly through the nighttime traffic, not using lights or sirens but quick signals and even quicker lane changes. In less than ten minutes, Hugo was following the policeman up to the Rogers apartment and shaking hands with Camille Lerens. They got straight down to business.

“Who reported it?” Hugo asked.

“Madame Rogers, actually.”

“She was up here?”

“No, she thought she heard footsteps and, of course, knew the place was supposed to be empty. She called the police and we got lucky. It took a little while, but the operator connected this address with the Gregory and Rogers investigation, sent units as soon as she realized.”

“Smart operator.”

“Right, I wouldn't have put money on her making that connection. You can bet she'll be getting some praise from me in her file.”

Hugo recalled Jameson's words:
She treats her people well.
He looked around, but the apartment looked almost exactly the same as the last time he'd been here. If this was a burglary, it was a targeted one, not a ransacking. “When did Madame Rogers call this in, exactly?”

“Not even an hour ago. The first responding officers cleared the place, then staked out the front and back entrances to the building and waited for me.”

“Good. Do you know what was taken?”

“No. I don't know whether anything was, actually. It could be the intruder heard sirens and fled.”

“No, I don't think so. There would have been several minutes between him getting in here, Madame Rogers calling the police, and the sound of sirens. If it was a random burglar, the place would be at least partially wrecked. But I think he knew what he was looking for, and most likely went straight to it.”

“You said
He
.”

“Yes.” He bounced on his toes. “These floors were redone a couple of years ago, they're not the old, creaky originals. For Madame Rogers to have heard footsteps, they'd either be from a man or from a woman wearing loud shoes.”

“And women don't wear heels to a burglary.”

“They might, but I've never seen it.”

Lerens smiled. “I know I wouldn't. So if this was a targeted burglary, what was he after?”

“It has to be related to either the deaths, or the Severin collection. Or both.”

“Evidence of one or access to the other,” Lerens said.

“Well put.” Hugo walked over to the fireplace. On the floor lay a broken plastic orb. “Is that a camera?”

“It was. Mine, actually.”

“Explain,” said Hugo.

“I've begun a habit of putting motion-sensing cameras at crime-scenes like this, ones that are supposed to be secured. According to a paper written by someone I consider an expert, around ten percent of criminals return to the scene of the crime, either for the thrill of it, or to remove or plant evidence. This seemed like a good candidate for a camera like that, wouldn't you say?”

Hugo was grinning. “You consider that guy an expert, eh?”

“I understand he had a pretty good clearance rate for his cases and, given my broken camera, it'd be hard to argue that he's wrong.”

“Well, I'm flattered.” And impressed. Hugo had written that paper almost ten years ago for a conference in Milan. It hadn't been particularly revolutionary, more a synthesis of his and his colleagues' experiences, combined with interviews of captured criminals and an application of logic. But the fact that Lerens had read it and then acted on it showed a willingness to learn, to think outside the normal parameters of police work. “So how does it work? Any chance it caught the intruder before he destroyed it?”

“A good chance, yes. I'm waiting to hear from my people. Saturday night isn't the greatest time to get the techies on the phone. But unless he's wearing a mask, the camera should've caught him coming through the front door.”

“Great. I assume it was locked?”

“We're not sure. We assume so, too, but I've not figured out who was the last person here to check. It would be pretty bad police work to leave it unlocked, but sometimes, as you know, one cop assumes another cop is taking care of it.”

“So either he had a key or he found himself an open door.”

“Right. I'm thinking he had a key anyway, though.”

Hugo thought the same thing, but he was curious to know if Lerens's reasoning was the same. “Why?” he asked.

“Whether he was here because of the murders or the Severin collection, this is a murder scene, it'd be a huge risk coming here. I doubt someone would take such a risk on the off chance that the door would be left open.”

“Agreed.” Hugo thought for a moment. “Speaking of keys, have you found any?”

Lerens shook her head. “No, but I've not looked specifically for them. What are you thinking?”

“Let's check, see if we can find a set. Paul's keys would've been given to Sarah, right?”

“That's right.”

“And she died here, so hers should be somewhere in the apartment. We need to find two sets of keys, at least.”

“
Bon
, let's look.” Lerens gestured for Jameson to help them, and the three pulled on latex gloves and began methodically searching the apartment. Hugo stayed in the living room, the Scotsman went into the kitchen, and Lerens tackled the bedroom. They worked quietly, just the thunk of furniture being moved, the scrape of drawers being opened and closed. Hugo started in the most obvious places, the clay pot on the stand beside the front door, followed by the drawer underneath it. Both were empty, except for the thin spider's web in the pot that told Hugo it wasn't a place they kept keys, or anything else.

Hugo looked up as Jameson appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. “
Monsieur. J'ai trouvé des clés.
” He jerked a thumb toward the kitchen.
I found some keys.

Hugo and Lerens converged on the kitchen, looking into the open drawer separated by compartments. The keys sat in a compartment between an empty one and one filled with rubber bands and coins. Lerens pulled out her phone and took pictures before picking up the keys and inspecting them.

“Given the pink key ring, I'd say these were Sarah's,” Lerens said. “And I'm wondering if that empty compartment was for Paul's.”

“Let's keep looking. If we don't find them, I'll be inclined to agree with you,” Hugo said.

The three went back to their search, more painstaking this time, less urgent. But after thirty minutes they met in the living room, no more keys found.

“
Voyons
,” Lerens said.
Let's see.
“Did either of you find anything else disturbed or obviously missing?”

“Not me,” Hugo replied. They looked at Jameson.

“
Rien
,” he said.
Nothing.

“In that case,” Lerens said, “Assuming he had a key to this place already, I think I know why he needed Paul's set.”

“His key to the library,” Hugo said, and Lerens nodded.

Jameson caught on quickly. “I'll get on the radio and have a unit sit outside, keep an eye on the place.”

“Good. And let me just check something.” He took out his phone and dialed Michael Harmuth, who answered quickly.

“Hugo, is that you?”

“Yes, sorry to bother you. A couple of quick questions.”

“Sure, fire away.”

“I'm assuming Paul had keys to the library, yes?”

“Of course.”

“Do you know whether the library ever got his keys back after he died?”

“I don't know, to be honest. I can check on Monday, but I'd be surprised if we did now that you mention it. It wouldn't have been a priority for anyone.”

“Who else has keys?”

“Well, I have a set. Paul did, of course. Michelle might, I don't know.”

“What about Nicole Anisse?”

“I doubt it. But it sounds like I should do an inventory.”

“The sooner, the better,” Hugo said.

“Did something happen? Why are you asking about his keys?”

“I can't really say at the moment, sorry.”

“Do I need to worry about the library being secure?”

“We're taking care of that right now,” Hugo said. “Do you have an alarm system?”

“Yes and no. We do for the basement but not for the main level or upstairs lounges.”

“Can I ask why not?”

“You saw the sloping glass roof over the teen lounge area?” Harmuth asked.

“I did.”

“For some reason, pigeons like to fly into it. Through it. Once a month we're replacing broken glass and responding to the alarm going off. In fact, they told me that two years ago someone from the neighboring apartment threw himself out a window and went through our roof.”

“Quite the mess,” Hugo said.

“Right. And we've not had permission to get a real wall and roof put in. Partly it's a money thing, but since it's the outside of the building, we need permission from seven different bureaucracies and you know how that goes. So for now we're stuck with cleaning up glass every so often. Paul had the upstairs alarm disconnected because of that and, when we talked about it at the time, he pointed out that anything worth stealing is either in the safe, which no one's moving without a crane, or in the basement.”

“That sounds reasonable enough,” Hugo said.

“What's going on, Hugo? Will you please level with me?”

“I can't right now, I'm sorry.” Hugo thought for a moment. “Do you know Alain Benoît?”

“No, I don't think so. Why, is he suspect number one right now?”

Hugo chuckled. “I'm not at liberty to say. Just, if you run into the guy, and there's no reason why you would, be careful. I'm not accusing him of anything, but . . . enough people have been hurt, I'd prefer folks to be careful.”

“Sure,” Harmuth said. “Will do.”

“Thanks for the help, Michael. I'll come see you on Monday morning; we should have more information to share then. Oh, if we need to go into the library during off-hours, do we have your permission?”

Harmuth hesitated. “Why would you need to do that?”

“I don't know that we would. But if we do, and we don't have permission, it might invalidate any evidence we find.”

“I guess so, then. Can't see why not. You need a key?”

“Not right now, but I'll let you know if that changes.”

“Okay, sure thing. Let me know how else I can help.”

When Hugo hung up, Lerens was on her phone, a serious look on her face. A moment later she disconnected but held the phone in front of her, looking at the screen. “That was my tech guy. They got some footage from the surveillance cam; he's forwarding it to me now.”

“Could he tell who it was?”

“No, he doesn't know the players. But you were right, it was a man, and from the description, I think I know which one.” She glanced up at Hugo, a mischievous smile on her lips.

“You're gonna make me wait, aren't you?” Hugo said.

“Wouldn't want to make wild accusations and defame someone's good name, now would I?”

“No,” Hugo said, resigning himself to wait, “That wouldn't be very nice at all.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

When the video came in, Hugo and Camille Lerens hunched over the screen with Paul Jameson edging in behind to look over their shoulders. The action began with the opening of the apartment's front door, but for a full minute they could see nothing, just the vague shapes of furniture in the room. The time stamp in the bottom left corner told them the break-in happened at around 7:15 that evening, but even though it was still light outside, the apartment had been shuttered up after Sarah's death and the August sun was all but blocked out.

Hugo shifted, his eyes glued to the little screen.

“There,” Lerens said, and he saw it, too, a figure moving into the room, nothing more than a silhouette. “Come on, turn on a light,” she muttered.

The figure didn't, just moved carefully between the pieces of furniture, slow and sure.

“If he gets up close, we'll be able to see his face,” Hugo said.

And then the figure moved forward, finally coming into view, a tall and handsome man, eyes darting left and right as if looking for trouble, finally settling on the camera, a look of surprise on his face turning to dismay when the penny dropped. He turned his back the moment he did, but it was too late. The backward walk to mantelpiece and the shirt pulled over his face were good countermeasures, but they were too little, too late to save Alain Benoît from being captured by the little device that cut off a moment after he reached it.