Queen of the Trailer Park (Rosie Maldonne's World Book 1) (24 page)

69

Just then, Borelli arrived.

“Miss Marion Rosenberg?”

“That’s me.”

“Follow me.”

He glanced at me and asked in a gruff tone, “What are you doing here, huh? You have something to tell us?” Then his voice softened. “That was wonderful yesterday, Maldonne. I can see you’re bearing the scars of all your hard work. You don’t mind waiting a little?”

“How long exactly? I have my babies with me. I just wanted to”—I searched in my purse—“give you this. I wanted to make sure you got it personally.”

I handed him Véro’s letter. He read the signature and gave me a smile.

“Thanks. I’ll call you if I need you, OK?”

“Also, I think you should know there’s been something running through my mind. I can’t quite . . . Yesterday, I think that guy said something . . .”

Jérôme emerged from the end of the corridor. He managed to give me a smile under the watchful eye of Borelli, who added, “Well, if you have some sort of gut feeling, I’m all ears, Maldonne, OK? Anything could help us at this stage. This guy hasn’t confessed to anything yet. It seems this case isn’t going to be as straightforward as I would have liked. And we’re still searching for Pierre . . .” His eyes clouded over. “I don’t hold out much hope, and the more time that passes . . .”

“OK, listen. This is just a feeling I have. I don’t really know . . . I can’t get it quite right in my head . . .”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m always here, Maldonne. Look, here’s my cell number. I have to go. See you soon.”

He handed me a piece of crumpled paper with his cell number on it. Jérôme gave me a subtle wave of his hand.

As I left, I realized how flabbergasted I was by Borelli’s attitude back there. He’d been so nice. What the hell was going on?

The worst thing was I’d been nice back. I swear. Life can throw you some curveballs sometimes, that’s for sure. But then, I already knew that.

As we left the building and made our way down the street, me with a smile on my face, we suddenly heard sirens behind us. We turned around to see two cop cars coming toward us. The first one shot right past, but the second one screeched to a halt.

Borelli opened the car door. “Get in, Maldonne. I owe you that much.”

“With the kids?”

“Sure, I think they’ll love it.”

He filled me in on me everything as we drove. “I was in the middle of reading the letter from your friend when I was called out on an emergency. A man filed a report about a woman. His neighbor. It seems she’s quite young. Apparently she’s been seen with the little one. The witness thought her behavior was a bit off. He knows she doesn’t have any children. She suffers from depression and attempted suicide at one point. Anyway, he heard a baby crying at her place. At first, he thought she was just watching TV. But the crying didn’t stop. He works nights and goes home to sleep during the day. Turns out, he couldn’t get to sleep because of this kid. He knocked on her door and she opened it, just a crack, but he could see she had a baby in her arms. She said she was sorry for all the noise. If he’d managed to watch some news, he’d have known a small child had been kidnapped, but his TV was broken and he was too tired to watch it anyway. But something was eating away at him. A kid had turned up out of the blue, and this woman had no clue how to take care of it. He saw a photo of the child this morning in the paper and immediately recognized Pierre. To think I almost stopped the press from publishing those pictures yesterday. Can you imagine? I thought it was already too late. That’s how I saw it.”

When we arrived at the building, there was already a crowd in the lobby. A young woman was crying, two female cops hovering over her. I heard a babbling sound and turned my head, and that’s when I saw him.

My Pierre.

He was so gorgeous, so cute, in a spanking-new pair of Levi’s, playing with some toys on the ground. No one was watching him.

Simon and Sabrina ran toward him. I went over and picked him up. He recognized me immediately, of course, and smiled. I squeezed him as tightly as I could and discreetly walked toward the exit, followed by my two older ones. I didn’t want him ending up in the hands of child services.

But Borelli, the all-seeing eye, called out to me. He hadn’t even turned around. He was still focused on the young woman. “Where are you going with that child, Maldonne?”

I turned to him, a pleading look in my eyes. “He knows me—and I’m already taking care of his big brother . . .”

His lack of response pissed me off.

“You got a better idea? The amazing nursery down at child services, I suppose?”

He laughed. “You sure have a short temper, don’t you? Go and sign a form with my lieutenant.”

His lieutenant was Jérôme. He made me sign a paper, then handed me some forms already signed by Borelli.

Before leaving, I looked at the young woman. I whispered, “So that’s her? Who is she?”

“You’ll never guess. Her name’s Laure Berger!”

“Berger? As in . . . ?”

“Yes. As in Alexandre’s wife. Not bad, huh?”

Incredible. So she was the one who’d taken the little one.

Laure. I remembered.

“Who’th mommy ogre?” asked Sabrina.

“The Lord . . .” said Simon.

Lord. Laure. Now I got it.

But I had to get a move on. “I’m in a hurry here. I have to pick up the babies. You’ll tell me everything later, won’t you?”

And that’s how I got my fifth kid.

70

I managed to get Pierre in the same stroller as the twins, and we ambled toward the trailer. We felt so relaxed. As we walked, my cell rang. The familiar sound of crickets.

It was Jérôme. He asked if I wanted to have a drink with him so he could fill me in on everything. He said he’d missed me and that it had been a while since we’d last seen each other, really
seen
each other—and that so much had happened . . .

It was nice. As I was already on a bit of a high, it seemed like a good omen.

“Has Véro been told? I wanted to see her. She needs to be notified.”

“Yes, Borelli is with her as we speak. And the girl has been arrested.”

I thought about Laure for a couple of seconds. She’d been crying in silence and hadn’t looked up once. But I quickly shooed her out of my mind. I had the feeling that everything was going my way for once. To hell with all the others and how they were feeling. To hell with the one hundred and fifty grand. To hell with that weird feeling in the pit of my stomach that I’d forgotten something important. I mean, we all know what Rosie Maldonne’s intuitions are like by now, right? They’re hit-or-miss, to say the least.

“OK. I’ll ask Mimi to watch the kids.”

“No need,” said Jérôme pleasantly. “I love your kids. Tell Sabrina to bring her toys, her dolls, everything. They won’t bother us if they’ve got something to play with, will they? What do you think?”

I was thinking how gorgeous he was and that he didn’t even know it. I was also thinking that, toys or no toys, crib lizards will always bother you. But he could keep his illusions. I didn’t want to take them away from him.

The kids and I made our way to Jérôme’s place. Just as we arrived at the door of his building, we heard the growl of his motorcycle. He removed his helmet and gave us all an enormous smile. Standing there in the low angle of the sun, he looked stunning.

When we got inside, he set about making us hot chocolate and then asked Sabrina, “Have you brought all your odds and ends for your princess?”

He played with the kids awhile, and I watched as they ran between the kitchen and the living room. He told me to settle myself down on the couch, that I wasn’t to do a thing. I felt like a queen. I could tell he liked all the kids, but it was clear he had a special weakness for Sabrina.

When the hot chocolates were ready, he came and sat down in the armchair opposite me. We chatted awhile. He wanted to know how things were going—and I had to admit, they weren’t too bad.

He told me all about the girl who’d kidnapped Pierre and the story they’d got out of her. She’d been in on it with Alex/Luc.

Kidnap
was a big word. This was more a sorry tale than drama. A third failed artificial insemination. Abject despair. After her suicide attempt, she’d spotted Véro and her kids in a garden one day and fallen head over heels for Pierre.

She sent Luc to go and find out about him. So he gave himself a fake name. He must have felt guilty and afraid that she’d try to kill herself again and actually do a better job of it the next time. He was also probably attracted to the sweet and lovely Véro. Understandable. Plus, he had the blessing of his wife. He kept his eye on the baby the whole time. It seemed that at no point did he forget his mission. He played Véro, played the big love story, so she’d give him free reign with the little ones.

Laure said he used to bring the baby to see her and that she’d play with him.

He must have believed he was buying himself time. It was like Pierre was a gift to his wife. They weren’t hurting anybody. Playing with the baby, pampering him, what harm could it really do? It was clear he only wanted to help her get better.

But then it became so much more than that. It was no longer just a game. She started calling him “my baby,” “my little sweetheart,” and so on.

Then she made a ton of purchases. Everything they’d need for a baby: clothes, diapers, jars of baby food, a stroller. She was done for. She was stuck in the game now. Inevitably. Irretrievably. Indefinitely. She wouldn’t give him back—he was hers. She told Luc Berger to bring him to her, but not in the clothes that had come from Véro. She wanted all trace of the mother removed. So he must have folded them and left them on that bench. And this time, he obviously didn’t return Pierre to his real mother.

When I thought about my five nippers and how she couldn’t even have one, I realized life is unbelievably unfair.

Jérôme started asking me questions. He was very insistent. His voice was urgent, almost aggressive. He wanted to know what I had tried to say to Borelli earlier.

“Nothing—I can’t remember wanting to say anything in particular. Just a feeling, that’s all. Luc Berger—he mouthed something to me, but I don’t know what it was . . . I couldn’t make out the words.”

“Could it have had something to do with what went down at city hall? Or something about the Russians?”

“Well, yes. Must have been about the Russians. Nothing new had happened with the mayor.”

“But the Russians. They were looking for something. What was it? You must know where it is? Where
is
it? Why all the secrecy with you?”

The chickies ran all over his apartment like wild things. Jérôme glanced at them, increasingly irritated. It made me nervous. He was a bachelor. Single guys who live alone with no kids often react like that. His voice got a little louder. The kids went into his gym room, and after a couple of minutes, we didn’t hear another peep from them.

Then Jérôme’s cell started ringing.

71

Jérôme picked up and put the phone to his ear.

He turned to me with a grimace and whispered, “It’s Borelli.” He put his ear back to the phone. “Yes . . . No, I was checking out Véronique Lambert’s apartment. There were a few points I wanted to ver— . . . Fine. I’m on my way . . . No . . . OK.” Then to me, “I have to leave. Sorry to kick you out like this.”

“You didn’t tell him you were with me.”

“No, I’m supposed to be working. You know, I fucked up big-time yesterday.”

“How’s that?”

“Well, when I . . . when I shot Berger . . . I didn’t give any warning . . .”

“Why
did
you take him out?”

He looked at me, the hint of a lovesick puppy about him.

His eyes said:
I did it because I love you, because I was afraid for you, because I panicked.

But he said sheepishly, lowering his head, “Borelli’s right, I lost my temper. And that’s something that should never happen to a good cop. They’re probably going to fire me. There’s an investigation going on as we speak. When I think about everything I went through to get to where I am today . . .” He shook his head. “I haven’t even taken my police exam yet. I’m such a fucking loser. But I should have expected it. This is how it always pans out. Something always comes up at the last minute to stop me from getting what I want, stop me from moving forward.”

Whoa. What was wrong with my Jérôme? He sure got down in the dumps pretty fast.

I wanted to take him in my arms, but I stopped myself. I groaned, trying to make light of the situation, to make him feel better about himself. “You’re kidding, right? This stuff happens all the time. The papers are
full
of these stories. They’ll probably end up giving you a medal. You deserve one, that’s for sure. And you’re my hero, aren’t you?”

He didn’t answer. He was clearing away the cups.

Maybe he had a touch of OCD. Then I got to thinking that something wasn’t quite right. Why was he so depressed?

He’d just shot a guy. It was a big deal, I knew that. But all he could really think about were the repercussions it would have on his career. That was a bit mean, wasn’t it? He hadn’t said a word about the man he’d shot. The guy was still in a coma, and we didn’t even know if he was going to pull through.

I went to find the kids and immediately understood why they’d been so quiet.

Sabrina and Simon had found the computer and, with Emma and Lisa looking on delightedly, they were tapping on the keyboard, bringing up bright images. They’d been able to connect to the Internet. The page was partly white, loading something, but they were still pressing all the buttons. Lots of ads had already loaded on the page . . . and then the rest of a homepage . . . Antwerp . . . Amsterdam . . . Images of diamonds. The heist of the century. The Pink Panther gang. What was this, a rock group? Antwerp diamonds?

Sabrina said, “Look, Mom, look at the printheth necklatheth. Like mine.”

My heart did a triple somersault in my chest, alarm bells ringing in my head. A shudder went through my body. Usually, reactions as strong as these destroy the reflexes, but not with me.

He was just a normal cop, right? Studying for his exam? That’s why he’d been looking at sites like this.

But in a fraction of a second, my whole universe turned upside down. Just like that. No control.

It was as if the ground was shaking, swerving violently, the sky shattering and falling down. What was my reasoning here?
If in doubt, just do it
, as my mother used to say. I was going to follow her advice to the letter.
He can’t know we’ve seen this.

There wouldn’t be time to properly shut down the computer before Jérôme got back from the kitchen, so I ducked under the table and straight-up unplugged it. I know you’re not supposed to do that, but what choice did I have? Just as I stepped away from the computer, pretending to look at the photos on the shelf by the wall, Jérôme walked in.

“Everything all right?” he asked.

“Sure. Here we all are,” I replied in a high-pitched tone, letting out a tiny nervous laugh.

“What happened?”

“Oh, nothing . . . Sabrina was clowning around. She’s been making me laugh.”

He had several of Sabrina’s dolls and accessories in his hands and was shoving them all into a plastic bag.

“OK, guys, outta here. Move your butts. I have to leave now!”

“OK, I get it,” I said, noticing with relief that my voice had almost returned to normal.

Jérôme looked flustered and muttered, “Come on, come on, we have to go . . .”

He pushed us toward the exit and closed the door behind him. I noticed he didn’t have to lock it. The door couldn’t be opened from the outside without a key.

The children were hanging around in the corridor, and I said to him, “Go ahead. No need to wait for us. We know the way out. Borelli’s going to kick your ass if you don’t hurry!”

“You’re right. I’m outta here! See you soon.”

He disappeared down the stairwell.