The Blood Promise: A Hugo Marston Novel (24 page)

“For sure. You confirmed that she’s right-handed?”

“We managed to think of that.”

“Sorry, just being thorough.”

“We are too, don’t worry.”

“Did the medical examiner recover the bullet?”

“Yes. And it looks like a .32, the same caliber as the one that killed Raul.”

“We’re assuming the gun went into the water?”

“We are. If it did, it’s as good as gone.” She sighed, her voice tinged with sadness. “Fifty bodies a year. That’s roughly how many are found in the Seine, did you know that? It’s convenient, of course, and with the boat traffic, the currents, and the thousands and thousands of people who live nearby, it’s a great way to destroy evidence. Human and otherwise.”

“That’s a lot of people,” Hugo agreed. “So, what’s next for us?”

“Right, next.” Lerens’s voice stiffened. “One of the reasons I called is that we have the Caprons en route to the prefecture. Should be here in thirty minutes or less.”

“I’ll leave right away.”

“Thanks. And bring your friend Tom.” She chuckled. “When we mentioned him to the Caprons at the store, you should have seen their faces.”

Hugo laughed. “Tom can have that effect, no doubt. But he’s out right now. I’ll call and see if I can get him.” Hugo paused, but figured Lerens had a right to know as she was trusting them to be a part of her investigation. “Look, he’s a bit of a lone wolf sometimes. He’s used to operating on the fringes, of the law and of decency. Don’t get me wrong, he’s the finest human being I know, it’s just that sometimes he forgets which set of rules he needs to play by.”

“I know. Raul told me about both of you, which means I have an idea of what I’m getting into by inviting him to
play
, as you put it.” She lowered her voice. “Look, I want to make sure the person who killed Raul Garcia is caught, and if it’s Natalia Khlapina I want to be able to tell Raul’s wife that I’m one hundred percent sure that his killer is dead. But I also want to be able to tell Madam Garcia why Khlapina killed him, why she wanted to kill you. For her, this has to make some sense, and for me, too. What I’m saying is, if I have someone on my team who can help get me those answers I don’t care, not in this case, if he upsets a few people to get them.”

“Especially people like the Caprons.”

“
Exactement
. I’ll see you within the hour?”

The Caprons were in separate interview rooms, and both looked terrified. Hugo was able to walk the narrow hallway from one observation room to the next and he did that several times, gauging each man’s demeanor. The two rooms had one-way glass that looked into the cramped, windowless rooms where both Caprons sat fidgeting in plastic chairs.

“You want to do this?” Lerens asked. She’d been disappointed that Tom wasn’t there, as was Hugo. They knew he could be an effective weapon this evening, though Hugo couldn’t help but feel a measure of relief. These interviews would be recorded and any deviation from textbook interrogation could easily find itself in Ambassador Taylor’s hands or, God forbid, the hands of someone more inclined to damage his or Tom’s career.

“Sure. But tell me what they’ve said so far.”

“Very little. We offered them a lawyer but it turns out they trust lawyers less than cops, so we have that going for us.”

“Interesting.”

“I thought so. All we know is that the son, Bruno, bought the necklace from Natalia Khlapina.”

“Who wound up dead last night.”

“Correct.”

“Does he know she’s dead?”

“No.” She gave a wry smile. “Unless he killed her.”

“Let’s see if we can find out. It’s possible the murder–robbery had nothing to do with the Tourvilles, more than possible. Maybe these two are neck-deep in what happened near Troyes and nothing more. Though it’d be some coincidence.”

“Agreed.” Lerens handed him a manila folder. “Some photos of Khlapina from last night, they might rattle him.”

Hugo glanced through them, barely recognizing the bedraggled, sodden body of the girl he’d met at Chateau Tourville. Her face was set like wax, sallow and bruised. Her teeth looked unnaturally white, perfectly so, contrasting starkly with the equally fake-looking bullet hole in her head. The pink streak in her hair looked ominous now, like diluted blood. He closed down any emotion, telling himself he could hate her for killing Raul later, or feel sorry that she was just a victim once her killer was behind bars. “If he’s just a thief, or fencing stolen goods, these pictures should do exactly that.”

“I think so, too.”

Hugo paused. “Before I go in, did you find out where she lives and search the place?”

“Yes and no. She had an apartment but technically it’s leased by Alexandra Tourville. I have an officer getting her written permission to go through the place, and once we have it, I want to do that myself.”

“I wondered if there was more jewelry in there. And when you do the search, I’ll come with you, if that’s OK.”

“
Mais oui
.”

“Thanks,” Hugo said. “Last question: The fingerprint from Lake’s room and the murder scene, did they match Natalia?”

Lerens grimaced. “Having a hard time with that. She was in the water for long enough that a quick comparison isn’t possible. The scientists have some techniques for dealing with it, and they have instructions to call me when a comparison is done.”

“But nothing yet.”

“
Non
.” She turned and looked through the one-way glass at Bruno Capron. “So, this one first?”

“Definitely. He’s the one with the penchant for stolen property and running from cops. Even if his dad knows something, he’s still a dad and will keep his mouth shut to protect his son. Kids, in my experience, are more interested in saving their own skin.”

“
Alors
, go get him.”

Hugo moved to the door then stopped. “Are you sure it’s OK for me to be doing this? You won’t get in trouble with your superiors?”

Lerens shook her head. “I can go in there and scream in that man’s face. I can lie to him and try and trick the truth out of him. I can make him bored, cold, and uncomfortable. I’m pretty sure I’m allowed to subject him to an American, too.”

Hugo smiled. “In that case, I’ll get to work.”

When he breezed into the little room, Bruno sat up straight, his face a mask but his eyes wary.

“
Salut
,” said Hugo. Bruno just watched him, so Hugo went on. “You comfortable? Need anything?”

“To see my father. Take him home.”

“Right, apart from that. Something I can actually do for you, I meant. Coffee, a cigarette, something like that.”

“A cigarette.”

Hugo sat down in the chair opposite Bruno and frowned. “Oh, I just remembered, I don’t like to be around people who smoke. I don’t mind them doing it, I just don’t think I should have to inhale their fumes. Know what I mean? In America hardly anyone smokes any more. Very different here, I’m always amazed how many young people still light up.”

The slightest hint of a sneer. “We’re not in America.”

“No, lucky for you, too,” Hugo said. “In America we still have the death penalty, at least in some states. If we were in mine, Texas, you’d be looking at having a needle stuck in your arm. After ten years of solitary confinement, of course, which isn’t much fun either.”

“No, I wouldn’t. I haven’t done anything.”

“Is that right? See, here’s how I look at it, and follow along so you can let me know where I’m stating things incorrectly. We know you bought stolen property from Natalia Khlapina. We know that property was taken after its owner was murdered. We also know that once you were confronted you ran away, and that within an hour a police officer investigating the robbery was himself killed.” Hugo paused and looked Bruno Capron in the eye. “And then we know that Natalia Khlapina was murdered last night, likely shot with the same gun that my colleague was killed with.”

A shadow passed over Bruno’s face, a flicker in his eye as he tried to stay composed and hide whatever emotion he was feeling. With a leisurely hand, Hugo flipped open the manila folder and spread four photos of the dead Natalia Khlapina across the table. Bruno’s eyes turned slowly downward, his brow wrinkling as he struggled to recognize the person displayed in front of him. The moment he did, his jaw clenched and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, the merest shake of his head, almost a shudder, told Hugo plenty.

“Which makes me wonder,” Hugo continued softly. “Where were you last night?”

Bruno Capron dragged his eyes up to meet Hugo’s. “I was . . . with my father.”

“You two,” Hugo tapped a photo of Khlapina. “Do everything together, do you?”

“We didn’t do this. We are not murderers. I didn’t even know that necklace was stolen.”

“Yeah.” Hugo sat back. “We’re not buying that. We’ve had numerous reports of stolen property going through your little antiques store, and based on this murder and the one in Troyes I’m betting the cops will shut the place down and spend a few months tracing the history of pretty much every single thing you have for sale.”

The threat struck home, as Hugo knew it would. Call a thief a thief and he’ll act outraged, but threaten to take away his ill-gotten gains, and thereby his income, he’ll do pretty much whatever it takes to hang on to them.

“
Non
, monsieur, my father is an old man. He’s not well and if you shut down his business it’ll kill him.” Bruno winced as he used the word
kill
, his eyes almost apologetic. “
Alors
, it’s true that sometimes I buy things from people with . . . questionable occupations. Sometimes maybe I suspect the items they sell are not legitimate. But if there’s a crime here, it’s mine and not my father’s.”

Hugo didn’t believe for a second that André Capron was as innocent as his son made out. At best he was being willfully blind, turning his back as Bruno stocked their display case with the heirlooms of other people, making a profit from crime while pretending he was just like any other businessman.

“Oh, there’s a crime here and he’s in it as deep as you are. Possession of stolen property, theft, why not robbery and murder?
Qui vole un œuf vole un bœuf,
isn’t that the saying?”
He who steals an egg will steal an ox.

“Stealing is not killing.”

“Very true. But you’re not denying any of my facts. What some might say are suspicious coincidences, people getting killed around you, and I’ve still not heard anything resembling an alibi.”

“I told you, I was with my father.”

“Where?”

“At his apartment.”

“Do you own a gun?”

“
Non
. I never have, and neither does my father.”

“When did you last see Natalia Khlapina?”

“When I bought the necklace from her. She came in off the street, I’d never seen her before and I didn’t see her after.”

A hitch in Bruno’s voice told Hugo that the young man was lying, or at least shading the truth. Hugo ran the sentence back in his mind and thought maybe Capron had emphasized the word
see
.

Hugo guessed. “You didn’t see her, but we do know that you spoke to her.”

“How . . . ?” Capron sat forward. “How could you know that?”

“Tell me about it.”

“The store. After I left, I called her.”

“Why did you have her number if this was a one-off deal?”

Bruno slouched in the chair, the breath leaving him in a long sigh. “When she came in, I liked her. She was . . . pretty. And it didn’t seem like she did this for a living, at least that’s what I thought. That’s why I didn’t think it was stolen, she didn’t seem like the sort of person who would do that. She was nice.” His eyes slid to the pictures and his head twitched away, recoiling. “I told her I needed to see identification and have her phone number for tax reasons, or for legal reasons. I can’t remember which, but I said we did it for all customers. I wrote her name and address down and her phone number. I tried calling it once but it was fake. I used an online service to find her real number, using her name and address, it was easy.”

“How sweet. Did she tell you where she got the necklace?”

“I think she said something about a relative leaving it to her in a will. I wasn’t listening too closely.”

“Because you don’t care where things come from, just how much you get for them.”

Capron shrugged. “Think what you want.”

“Don’t worry, I will. So what else did she sell you?”

“Nothing else, just the necklace. As far as I could tell she didn’t have anything with her to sell.”

Hugo nodded slowly while he thought. The Caprons were small-time crooks, thieves who had no compunction about acquiring other people’s treasures and turning a profit from them. But Hugo wasn’t convinced they were involved in murder, not Raul’s or Madam Bassin’s and, if he was right, that meant they were also innocent of killing Natalia. Hugo would never claim to be able to recognize a killer just by exchanging a few words, but he felt confident he could recognize some signs of an innocent man. On a practical level, someone prepared to kill three people wouldn’t be so lazy, or stupid, as to sell items stolen from a robbery–murder in his own store. The police had turned up no other connection with Natalia, either, and he hoped a search of her computer hard drive would show she’d hunted online for places to sell the necklace.