The Sketcher's Mark (Lara McBride Thrillers Book 1) (9 page)

Lara felt her flesh break out as chills ran up her arms.  She looked around the square, seeing people everywhere, many of them talking on cell phones.  She scanned as many faces as she could to spot any of them looking at her.

“I saw you yesterday at Notre Dame.  The Police were…harsh.”

“I’ve been told you guys do things differently out here.  So why don’t you?  Meet with me.  Get up close and look me in the eyes not across some bullshit crowd.”

“Come to the Quay d’Orsay at eight.  Bring the money.”

“You’ll bring Janelle?”

“I’ll think about it.  But I will be there.  No Police, just you.  Let’s keep this personal,” he said and hung up.

Lara took off, racing past a group of sketch artists perched above the square, drawing portraits for tourists.  Guillotine was sat among them, sketching a pretty young Japanese girl. He smiled at her and said,

“This one’s my pleasure, Madam.”

Chapter Fifteen

She sat in the back of the unmarked Police van as the Tactical Team Brouchard had assembled geared up.  Big, hulking men in body armor, pistols on their belts and semi-automatic rifles and shotguns being locked and loaded.  They smelled of cologne and body odor.  She’d seen the SWAT teams in Los Angeles. They were professionals but often struck her as having something to prove.  The French team moved with a mechanical nonchalance that came across as though tonight was just another day at the office- that made her feel like she was in safe hands.

The Tactical team’s leader, a tall, tanned man with close cropped hair and an impeccable moustache, was briefing his men.  Lara understood little of it since her French hadn’t improved in the last few days.  Brouchard sat across from her, chewing on a bag of pistachios.  He offered one to her but she was already nauseous and shook her head in polite refusal.

The Kevlar vest they had given her was uncomfortable, cutting up in to her chest.  A small price to pay if it saved her life.  The Tech Officer finished attaching a button camera to the front of the beige overcoat they’d given her to help hide the body armor better.  He had also fixed a small mic to her lapel.  They were thorough and she appreciated not having to tell them what needed doing.

“I’d like a gun,” she told Brouchard.  He smiled and shook his head.

“You won’t need one.  This is the best armed response team in Paris.  They have plenty of guns.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.  We need to take the suspect alive.  If he dies, we might never find out where he’s holding Janelle.”

“They know, Detective.  Shoot to wound, not to kill.”

“No shooting at all if possible.”

“This is not our first rodeo, ma’am,” the Team Leader said.  She looked at him- he had piercing brown eyes that were trained on her like weapons.  She didn’t doubt his commitment and she needed to keep him and the rest of the team on her side.

“Just be careful.”

“Of course.”  The Team Leader stepped over to the Comms Officer, sat at his station checking the visual feed being relayed from Lara’s button camera.  He had two screens, one showing her feed, three other small windows showing the real time view of the CCTV cameras in the area whose lines he had cut in to. 

“And the GPS on her phone?” the Team Leader asked.  The Comms Officer gave a thumbs up.  The Team Leader turned to Brouchard. “We’re set, Inspector.”

“Ready, Detective?” Brouchard asked her.

“Ready.  But I’d still like a gun.”

Lara opened the back door of the van and stepped out in to the cold, wet night.  Brouchard was right behind her.  It was raining hard and they were parked across the street from the Quayside.  Traffic raced by, headlights blinding.  The van door closed behind them.

“I have eyes on you.  Where’s your earpiece?”

Lara tapped her right ear where the Tech Officer had gently placed an ear receiver, flesh colored so as not to draw attention.  From a distance it would pass but up close the game was up.

She saw two of the Tactical Team members get out of the front of the van.  They were wearing raincoats, plainclothes, but she assumed they had an arsenal concealed beneath.  These were to be her guardian angels.  They crossed the street and took up position overlooking the river.

“Off you go, Lara.  You’re going to be fine.” Brouchard assured her, then started walking down the boulevard.  She crossed the street, hurrying past the oncoming cars, hearing horns blare at her.  Damn, the drivers here were crazier than back home.  At least they could drive in the rain, though.  Somehow, when it rained in Los Angeles, traffic stopped in confusion and came to a crawl, everybody losing their minds.

She looked down at the river, the rain spattering across the water in a crazed dance.  The tall street lights and those of the pleasure boats drifting in both directions along the river provided pools of amber light here and there.  The walkway below was covered in a sheet of flowing water flooding back in to the Seine and she saw people running to get out of the downpour.  Some had umbrellas.  She didn’t.  She was soaked already.  She felt incredibly vulnerable without her pistol.

“If I tell you I’m nervous would that destroy your image of me as an American hero?” she asked Brouchard in the lapel mic.  There was nobody around to hear her and anyone who was close by would think she was talking to herself.  Another crazy woman in Paris.

“No, it would make me think you’re actually human.  Which, I was beginning to have doubts about,” Brouchard responded through the earpiece.  She was glad to hear the voice.  She never liked doing this, going out there, being the bait.  She’d done it once before on a hunt for a rape suspect in Griffith Park at night.  It was so dark there it seemed like the world had ended.  She knew the man they sought was out there watching her in her tight shorts and cut off vest.  She also knew there were SWAT team snipers with infra red night vision goggles watching her and anyone who came near her.  She had jogged, her eyes scanning the trees.  She got a warning from one of the snipers about a man in the trees up ahead.  When he’d made his move, she was so jacked up on adrenalin and fear she broke his wrist, nose and three ribs as she took him down.  It had taken her an hour to stop shaking afterwards.

“Tell me about something good, Inspector,” she asked.

“Pick a subject.”

“I don’t know.  The first thing that comes in to your head when I say think of something good.”

“My wife.”

“That’s sweet.  What was her name?”

“Elodie. The most beautiful woman I have ever seen.  No offence meant to you, of course, you are also very stunning..”

“None taken.  Maybe one day some guy will say the same thing about me.”

“I’m sure many have said it already, you just don’t want to listen.”

“Psycho analyzing me?”

“It would take a braver man than me to do that,” he chuckled.

“Tell me about Elodie,” she asked, her eyes scanning the boulevard.  She began walking, the rain coming down at an angle as the wind picked up.

“Every morning when I woke up and saw her face it felt like Christmas.  That was always the best part of the day and I knew it would never get better than that.”

“You’re breaking my heart over here.  You’re in the wrong business.  You should write romance novels.”

“Perhaps once this case is over I will.”

“I’d buy one.”

Her cellphone began to ring.  Restricted number.

“Here we go,” she said and hit Answer.  “Lara McBride.”

“Good evening, Detective.  Did you come alone?”

“That’s what you asked.”

“But that doesn’t mean you did.  See the public restroom up ahead?”

She looked down the boulevard and saw the grey square shape of a public toilet, the kind one has to pay to use.

“I see it.”

“Go to it.”

She jogged through the rain to the restroom, passing the Tactical Team members in the long raincoats.  They didn’t turn to watch her, just remained standing there like two men talking.  As she approached the toilet, she saw a man in his forties, unshaven, a band aid on the side of his cheek, his eyes almost exploding from his skull wearing old sneakers, frayed jeans and a souvenir jacket for the Olympics.  A transient homeless man, probably a tweaker looking for his next fix.  He held a gym bag out to her.

“Americain?” he shouted at her.

“Yes,” she said, not sure if the man was involved in what was happening here or if he was just going to ask her for change.  He dropped the gym bag at her feet and ran off, not wanting to be involved any further.

“Did you get the bag?” came the voice over the cellphone.

“Yes,” she said, realizing he didn’t have eyes on her right now or he wouldn’t be checking to make sure she had received the drop off.  But he could still be nearby.

“Go inside the bathroom, change in to what I left you and take the phone. I give you one minute.”

The line went dead.

“Pick up the homeless man, he could give us a description of our man.”

She went inside the toilet, the door closing out the rain.  It smelled bad in here.  She ignored it, opened the gym bag and saw there was a set of mechanics overalls and a cellphone inside.  She pulled off the coat and her jeans and pulled herself in to the overalls as fast as she could, counting down the seconds in her head.  The cellphone began to ring.  She zipped the overalls up as far as they would go.  The edge of the Kevlar vest could still be seen, but she was willing to roll the dice he would not see it in the rain and the dark until he’d made a move, which, hopefully, by then would be too late.  She pulled the lapel mic off the overcoat the Tactical Team had given her and fastened it to the coveralls, but the button camera would stand out and he’d spot it in a second.

“He’s given me a change of clothes and a cellphone.  I had to ditch the camera but I’m taking the mic.”

“Understood,” Brouchard said, calm and collected.  She could have kissed him for that.

She answered the new cellphone.

“I’m here,” she said.

“I hope they fit.  Not very flattering but I want to make sure you don’t have any surprises for me.  Go outside and walk down to the river.”

She opened the restroom door, tossed her own cellphone on top of the clothes she had left behind and hurried to the stone steps leading down to the walkway by the river.  Water flowed down the steps making them slippery.  She clung to the guard rail with one hand, the other pinning the cellphone he had left for her to her ear.

“Where are we going?”

“A nice little walk to the Eiffel Tower.”

“The Eiffel Tower?” she said, loud enough to make sure Brouchard received the destination.

“Yes, I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t get the full tourist experience.  It’s a bit of a walk but don’t worry.  I’ll keep you company.”

On the street level, Brouchard signaled to the Tactical Team van and it took off up the boulevard, headed for the lights of the Eiffel Tower a mile further down. Now it was just him and the two men in raincoats on the street level.  They couldn’t risk going down to the walkway at this delicate point or it might blow the whole operation.  He felt the anger of frustration rising in his stomach, but at least they could trail Lara from the street as she headed for the city’s most famous tourist spot.  The only time they would lose visual would be when she went under the bridges.  But that would only be for a few moments.

Lara made it down to the lower level and already felt disoriented from the sound of the rain on the river and the gushing of the water around her.  Pleasure boats sounded their horns, adding to the confusion.  She didn’t like this.  Not one little bit.

Chapter Sixteen

“You’ve got me at a disadvantage.  You know my name but I don’t know yours,” Lara said as she approached the Pont Neuf bridge.

“You can call me Luc,” he said. “I’ve been reading about you.”

“I’m flattered,” she said, wondering if he had read one of her books or been researching her on line.  Either way, it made her feel uncomfortable. “And what did you find out?”

“It must be lonely work, doing the things you do.”

“I wouldn’t have to do them if there weren’t people like you in the world.”

“I was particularly fascinated with what happened with that family in San Gabriel. How did you know they were all involved in killing those children?”

She wasn’t ready for this.

“I don’t know how I knew,” she said.

“Of course you do.  You put them all in jail.  Except the daughter.  You shot her in the face.”

She saw the woman’s face in her mind, a quick flash as her memory triggered.  The teeth exposed as she ran toward her like an animal, snarling and screaming a high pitched shriek which she would never forget.

“What I did was justified.”

“Because she helped cut up the little children?”