The Blood Promise: A Hugo Marston Novel (25 page)

Which begged the question: If the Caprons hadn’t teamed up with Natalia to acquire the necklace, who had?

“Last question. When you ran from me at the store, you called her.”

“
Oui
.”

“Why?”

“To tell her she was in trouble. To warn her, I suppose, in case she didn’t know the necklace was stolen. Or to hide if she did.”

“Very noble.” Hugo thought for a moment. “Where was she when you called?”

“I don’t know.”

“Anyone with her?”

“How am I supposed to . . . Wait, when she answered, she told me to hold on and spoke to someone else. But I don’t know who.”

“Man or woman?”

“I couldn’t tell. I didn’t hear the other person speak. She just said, ‘I have to take this,’ or words to that effect. That’s all, I promise.”

Hugo rose. “Thank you for your time, I’ll talk to the lieutenant about cutting you and your father loose tonight.”

Bruno grunted what may have been thanks as Hugo left. He slipped back into the observation room where Lieutenant Lerens was waiting.

“He’s not our killer, is he?” she said.

“No, I don’t think so. Doesn’t seem like the type, and it doesn’t make much sense.”

“I agree. In better news, I got a call from the officer assigned to find Alexandra Tourville.”

“Don’t tell me she’s blocking the search.”

“She couldn’t for long, and I’m guessing she knows that. But the officer said she’s in shock over Natalia’s death and is happy for us to go over the place.”

“That’s a relief. She signed the consent form?”

“Yes. There’s one slight complication, though.”

“She wants to be there,” Hugo said.

“Precisely. And in the interests of keeping my job I plan to play along, at least to some degree. I’ll let her unlock the door and then stand there while we go in first.”

“Actually, having her there might be good, we can do a more thorough interview with her.”

“Good idea,” Lerens said. “And since you did such a good job with young Monsieur Capron, I’m nominating you.”

“I work for you now, is that it?” Hugo smiled.

“
Bien sûr
.” Her face was serious but there was a smile in her eyes. “In fact, earlier this evening I heard you on the phone with your ambassador asking to do precisely that.”

“Fine, but let me do one thing before I interview her.”

“What’s that?”

“Let me walk through the place.”

“Profiling?”

“It’s not just people themselves who can tell you about a crime or criminal. It’s the things they own, the places they put things, the state they keep their home.”

“I think you should teach courses in this, Hugo. I would be a diligent student.”

“Be happy to, but let’s catch Raul’s killer first.”

“Ah, yes.” Lerens pursed her lips. “Madam Tourville cannot meet us at the apartment until tomorrow morning. I’ve been told to give her that courtesy.”

“Politics,” Hugo said. “I’ve been subjected to those myself on occasion.”

Lieutenant Lerens nodded and then rubbed the back of her neck. “For once I’m grateful. I could use a good night’s sleep.” She glanced up. “And no disrespect, but I’m thinking that you could, too.”

“Very true.”

Lerens turned to go, then looked back at Hugo. “There’s a café close by. I’d like for us to talk for a few minutes, I’ll buy.”

“Talk?”

“Yes. I’ve found it best to answer people’s questions, the ones they pretend they don’t have, and to generally clear the air when I’m working closely with someone.”

Hugo smiled. He was happy to pretend he didn’t have questions, but curiosity was a weakness, and he genuinely wanted to understand Camille Lerens. As best he could, of course.

“Sure, we can grab a drink,” he said.

They picked a table at the back, inside and as far away from others as possible. When the carafe of red wine arrived, she poured them each a glass and began to talk.

“I was born Christophe in Bordeaux. My father was a policeman but I didn’t join because of that, but because I wanted to.” She gave a sad smile. “Of course, even then I would have preferred to join as a police woman.”

“You’ve always known?”

“Yes. This isn’t the sort of thing that hits you later in life, as if you get sick of wearing ties or shaving every day. And I think you know it’s not a choice.”

“Of course not. I can’t imagine anyone would choose that kind of . . .” Hugo searched for the right word but didn’t find it.

“Torment,” Lerens filled in. “Agony. Shame. There are lots of words for it but I’ve left most of them behind. The funny thing is, my father the macho police man, he always knew. We finally talked about it when I was sixteen, but back then there wasn’t much we could do. It was a great comfort to be able to talk to him so openly.”

“Your mother?”

“She took longer to come around. But she did and they have always supported me. I think it helps that my father was from Niger and my mother from Egypt. They’d both suffered discrimination for being who they were and they weren’t afraid to stand up for me, too.”

“I’m glad to hear that. So you joined the police as a man?”

“I did. It was something of a calculated decision. I thought that they might turn me down if I made the gender switch first, but they might have some legal problems if they fired me after I’d proved myself a good policeman.”

Hugo smiled. “I have no idea how either of those things would go down in Texas.”

“Probably not too different from Bordeaux,” Lerens laughed. “My immediate superior almost had a heart attack. But the man at the top, he . . . well, I think he thought it interesting. I also think his lawyers were advising him to play it very low-key.”

“I was wondering whether the news media had picked up on it, seems like they’d be interested in that kind of story.”

“I don’t think anyone really wanted to tell them, not back then, and not in a provincial town like Bordeaux. I didn’t want to, of course, and my chief didn’t. Plus, the many people above and around me who didn’t approve already detested the newspapers so I think they saved their words for me in private.”

“Some ugliness?”

Lerens nodded slowly, then took a drink. “The first week I used the women’s bathroom, yes. Of course, it was strange for me, too, I felt on the one hand like a trespasser but also . . . also like I was finally in a safe place. Somewhere I belonged and somewhere the men around me, including the man I was, could be excluded.”

“I can’t image how hard it must have been. You know, Raul told me very little but he held you in very high regard. He respected you for achieving everything you have.”

“He was a good man,” Lerens said, her voice a whisper. She cleared her throat and looked Hugo in the eye. “Questions?”

“No,” Hugo said, “I don’t think—”

“Not true!” Lerens laughed. “But it’s OK, most people are embarrassed to ask about the mechanics, though pretty much everyone is curious.”

“Fine,” Hugo said, sitting back. “I admit it, I’m curious. Plus, I have a friend who will pump me for details and if I don’t have them, he’ll make life unpleasant.”

“The great Tom Green?”

“I wouldn’t say great, but that’s the one.”

“Then here are your answers for him,” Lerens said, refilling Hugo’s glass. “I began with hormone shots, estrogen, and at the same time had my facial and body hair removed with electrolysis. All under the supervision of a doctor, of course. I also had some cosmetic surgery, specifically the breasts men try so hard not to stare at.” She smiled, and added: “As you can see, I wasn’t greedy. I figured I might still have to chase bad guys and you’d be amazed how much harder it is to run with these things.”

“I’ve never really thought about it.”

“No, well, you wouldn’t need to. Anyway, that was about it for cosmetics. Nowadays they can do some very clever facial reconstruction, to feminize you, but I didn’t really want to change how I look, not in that way. I wanted my body to mirror my soul, and I have the soul of a policeman, not a super model.”

“I like the way you put that,” said Hugo.

“
Merci
. Anyway, the final piece of the puzzle was the sex reassignment surgery, which is the physical ‘sex change’ itself. Said good-bye to the parts I’d never wanted, and hello to the part that I did. A lot of surgery and stitches, plenty of bruising and pain, and I’ll be glad to never see a hospital again. But the results . . . well, Don Juan himself couldn’t tell the difference.”

“The marvels of modern medicine.” It sounded lame the moment he said it, but Lerens just smiled. It was a cliché, Hugo realized, but a true and happy one for her.

“Well, a girl needs her beauty sleep,” Lerens said. “Any more questions?”

“No. But if I think of any, I’ll let you know.”

“I doubt it.” Lerens rose. “Still, thanks for coming tonight, being open about all this makes life easier for everyone. And by everyone, I mostly mean me.”

“Me too. And I’m grateful that you trusted me enough to tell me.”

“Facts are facts, and I am what I am,” Lerens said, then smiled. “Especially after hormone therapy and microsurgery.” She picked up her glass and drained it. “We should do this again sometime, I make a great wingwoman.”

“I’ll bet you do.”

She turned to leave, then looked over her shoulder. “And on that note, just so you know, I like girls.”

Hugo’s mouth opened, but nothing came out and he could feel himself blushing, mildly but for the first time in several years. He watched Lerens leave and then sat there, thinking about her and Raul, and how lucky he’d been in his friendships with the French police. Lucky and horribly unlucky.

On his walk home, he pushed thoughts of Raul from his mind and tried to enjoy the Paris night. The soft yellow and white lights in the streets and on the buildings painted the old stone structures around him like a watercolor, there but unreal, which is the way he still felt about living in Paris. He looked up as he walked, glimpsing movement in the windows of the apartments above him and this brought him comfort; those brief glimpses, the shadows flitting across squares of gentle light, told him these people were safe in their homes and going about their routines with their families, their friends, and their lovers.

Tom was still out when Hugo arrived home. He’d picked up a half-bottle of wine for himself and poured a glass. He took out his phone to call Claudia as another need tugged at him, and even though it was after ten o’clock, he didn’t hesitate.

“How are you holding up?” she asked immediately.

“You know me,” Hugo said. “Get my hugs from Tom when I need them.”

“Stop being brave, Hugo. Raul was your friend. Not only that but . . .” Her voice trailed off, but he knew what she was thinking.

“But he took those bullets for me.”

“Something like that, yes.” Anyone else would have sugarcoated it, but Claudia wasn’t like anyone else. “That’s not an easy thing to get past, especially for someone like you.”

“You’re right, it’s not.” He swirled the wine in his glass but suddenly put it down when the image of blood came to him. “I’ve put myself in that car, in that parking lot, a hundred times. I wonder whether I would have seen the killer coming, maybe shot first, or been able to somehow capture . . .” He sighed. “But I’ve also wondered whether that’s true. I know how easy it is to sneak up on someone, even if they’re being careful. Raul was always very aware of his surroundings, and on something like this he would have been especially alert. Maybe if we’d gone together . . . ?”

Her voice was soft. “A lot of maybes there, Hugo. But I’m glad you’re thinking these things and not burying them deep inside.”

“Thanks, although the whole repressing thing works fine most of the time. That said, you’re welcome to come over and be my therapist.”

Her laugh was gentle. “Role-play, huh?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” He sighed. “I really would like to see you, you know.”

“I know, Hugo. I would like that, too. It’s just . . . not possible, not right now.”

“Well, if you change your mind, if it becomes possible, let me know.” Something else he didn’t want to think about: Claudia with someone new. He lightened his tone. “In the meantime, I’ll make like Tom and hire myself someone.”

“You should, remember that girl from a while back? What was her name? She seemed very cool.”

“Why, because she liked the look of you?”

“Can’t blame her for that. Seriously, Hugo, there’s nothing wrong with it.”

“Oh, I know, it’s just not my style. Even if it were, Hugo would not follow where Tom has already trod, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh, you are utterly adorable. When things change, I’ll be throwing myself at you.”

“Good.” He wanted to believe her, and he wanted to ask what “things” needed to change, but he was afraid to ask. Partly because he didn’t want to hear about a boyfriend but also because he knew how private she could be, and he wanted to make sure he respected that. “Hey, speaking of Tom, have you talked to him lately?” he asked.

“What do you mean by lately? Something wrong?”

“In the last few weeks. No, nothing wrong. I think he’s still sober but he’s taken to disappearing on me and being all cryptic about where he’s going. Once a week he just takes off.”

“Um, Hugo, have you met Tom before? That’s what he does.”

“Yeah, I know. But this feels different. I can tell when it’s the CIA or even a hooker dragging him out. But it’s Sunday night and he sauntered out of the apartment on his way somewhere specific. He even caught me when I tried following him so he knew I—”

“You followed him?” Claudia sounded mildly outraged.

“Well, you know. Kind of.”

“Either you did or you didn’t.”

“I did until he caught me. Which was almost immediately. Look, I’m just asking. I want to know because I want to make sure he’s OK.”

“So ask him.”

“I did. He told me to mind my own business.”

“So mind your own business.”

“Very helpful, Claudia, I’m so glad I ran this by you.”

“Look, he’s sober, happy, and healthier than I’ve ever seen him. Just be happy for him. I know you spent a long time worrying about him, trying to get him to change. Well, now he has. You got what you wanted, what’s best for him, so maybe loosen the reins a little.”