The Blood Promise: A Hugo Marston Novel (28 page)

They watched her walk out of the building, waiting by the clear glass door until the officer stationed there opened it for her. Once she was outside, Hugo called Lieutenant Lerens.

“Was she cooperative?” Lerens asked.

“Yes and no. Mostly no. But do me a favor and have a fingerprint guy come to the lobby.”

“She agreed to give prints at least?”

“No, she declined and left the building. But she spent the last fifteen minutes sitting in a plastic chair, and while I’m no furniture expert I’m pretty sure it’s the kind of plastic chair that would hold fingerprints quite nicely.”

“Ah, you are a genius, Hugo. I knew I hired you for a reason. And I have a little discovery of my own to share with you.”

Hugo pressed a button on his phone so Tom could hear. “You’re on speaker. You were saying, a discovery . . .”

“
Oui
. There’s a little crawl space you can access through a panel in the bathroom, leads to some electric stuff. Some sort of maintenance thing.”

“Something was up there?”

“You want to play a guessing game, Hugo?”

He thought for a moment, then it hit him: something too big to hide in the apartment itself, but small enough to fit in a crawl space.

“The chest!” Hugo said, springing out of his chair. “Tell me you found the sailor’s chest.”

Lieutenant Lerens chuckled down the phone at them. “Why don’t you come up and have a look for yourselves?”

Camille Lerens and two colleagues, a uniformed officer and an elderly forensic technician, had moved out of Natalia Khlapina’s apartment and commandeered a common seating area that held a sofa, two chairs, and large square coffee table. The chest sat on a plastic sheet on the table. Hugo and Tom nodded at Lerens and stood with her, impatient but quiet as the forensic tech dusted it for prints.

“He’s almost done,” Lerens said. The old man glanced up, frowned, then turned back to his work, lips pursed as he finished up.

“Anything in it?” Hugo asked.

“
Non
. Monsieur Delacroix here searched it, found all the little compartments, but they were empty.” Something in her voice told Hugo there was tension between the two.

Delacroix snapped off his latex gloves and shook his head at the lieutenant. “
Rien
.”

“Nothing?” she repeated. “How is that possible?”

The old man straightened, his hands on his hips. “I trust you are not questioning my work,” he paused before emphasizing the last word, “
Madam
?”

Hugo felt his color rise and he shifted, ready to snap the tech down a peg or two. But Lerens had it covered.

“It was a question, not a criticism,” she said mildly. “I apologize if I hurt your feelings, I didn’t know you were so sensitive.”

The technician clenched his jaw, his eyes flicking over Hugo and Tom looking for support, but Hugo knew he saw something very different. The old man muttered something to himself and turned to the chest, starting to swathe it in the plastic sheeting.

“Hold on,” Hugo said. He turned to Lerens. “I’d like to look inside. Make sure it’s empty.”

“Absolutely not.” Delacroix glared at Hugo. “I am responsible for this and I will not allow some foreigner to paw through a piece of evidence that I have already examined thoroughly.” He turned to Lerens. “Unless the lieutenant specifically orders me to do so, in which case I will request another technician be brought in to supervise this . . . superfluous search.”

“
Non, non
.” Lerens waved her hand. “You looked inside, it’s empty. You’re finished here, Monsieur Delacroix, thank you.” She gave Hugo a sly wink and mouthed,
later.

Hugo took out his phone. “I’ll just take a few pictures, then.”

He walked around the chest, taking photos from every angle. Then he used his sleeve to open the lid, making Delacroix quiver with anxiety. Hugo snapped shots of the inside of the lid and then the interior. He stooped low over the catch. “You saw this, right?”

“What?” Delacroix said impatiently.

“The catch here, like a button. Disguised as a knot of wood. I’m sure you did, I just wanted to . . .”

“Knot of wood? What are you talking about?”

Hugo picked up a discarded latex glove and used it to push the release. Lerens moved closer, too, as Hugo grunted with satisfaction and Delacroix breathed in sharply.

“What do we have here?” Hugo said. With gentle fingers he slid a miniature panel aide and peered in. “Small box. How interesting.”

Delacroix, perhaps to make up for his mistake, reluctantly handed Hugo a fresh pair of gloves. Hugo held up the tiny box, undoing the catch and opening it for them to see. Flakes of red wax fell as it opened.

“Hair?” Lerens asked.

“A lock of hair,” Hugo said. “A significant lock of hair, I’d have to say.”

“To whom?”

“That I don’t know,” Hugo admitted. “Not yet, anyway. I’m sure your lab people can go to work on it, come up with something.”

“You’ve no idea whose hair it is?”

“No,” Hugo said. “I really don’t. Looks old, that’s about all I can say.” He looked at the crime scene tech. “It’s all yours. The box, too.”

Delacroix nodded and went back to covering up the chest, quick and efficient hands securing the evidence like a disgruntled Santa’s helper wrapping a gift. He sealed it with police stickers that he’d already written on, large rectangles of paper that marked date, place, and item. He put the small box and its contents into an evidence bag, sealed it, too, and made a note on an evidence label which he fixed to the front. Then he picked up his bag of tools and signaled the uniformed officer to follow him with the packaged chest, leaving Lerens, Tom, and Hugo with a curt nod and his nose in the air.

“Can you forward those photos to me?” Lerens asked. “As you said, the lab people will work on the hair but I need to confirm it’s the chest from the Troyes robbery.”

Hugo concentrated as he clicked on his phone until the pictures whirled away into the ether. “Done.”

“Thanks. That’s strange, don’t you think?” Lerens said, perching on the edge of the sofa. “First the hair and then . . . no prints at all?”

“It is,” Hugo said, “but it might tell us something important.”

“Might?”

Tom groaned and dropped into one of the chairs. “When he says it like that, it means he won’t tell you yet.”

“Why not?” Lerens looked at Hugo. “We’re sharing here, aren’t we?”

“Sometimes he only says things when he’s sure,” Tom said. “It’s this thing he does, very annoying.”

“Hugo?” Lerens said. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I think I can make an exception this time,” Hugo smiled. “And it may be completely wrong. But I’m thinking it wasn’t Natalia who put the chest up there.”

“No?” Lerens said. “Why not?”

“A couple of reasons. First, if she has a shoe fetish, why not sell the chest and buy more shoes. It has to be worth something, right?”

“A pair of boots, at least,” Lerens agreed. “What else?”

“Well, if there are no prints then someone wiped it clean. And the person who wiped it clean, I would bet, is the same person who put it up there. Agreed?”

“So far, so good.”

“Good. Next step, it doesn’t make sense for that person to be Natalia because if she didn’t want to be connected with the chest, she wouldn’t wipe her prints off it, she’d ditch it completely. Sell it or throw it away.”

“Or at least hide it somewhere else,” Tom said.

“Precisely,” Hugo agreed. “What do you think, Lieutenant?”

“We figured she hadn’t done the Troyes robbery, certainly not by herself,” Lerens said. “You’re saying that the lack of prints confirms she has an accomplice.”

“Right,” Hugo said. “I’d also guess that because our girl was left holding the box, so to speak, and a box without prints that she couldn’t sell, Natalia was second in command.”

“To whom?” Lerens asked.

But Hugo was staring at the ceiling, nodding to himself. “There is one other possibility, of course,” he said.

“What’s that?” Lerens asked. “Or should I say, who’s that?”

“Hmm?” Hugo looked back at the policewoman. “Oh, just a thought. I probably shouldn’t say until I’m a little more sure.” He stood and took out his phone. “Excuse me, text from the ambassador. Ah, looks like I’m heading back to the Crillon, our dear senator is safe and sound.”

“Wait,” Lerens said, “your other idea, the other possibility. What is it?”

“Let me check a few things, first,” Hugo said. “Don’t want to besmirch someone with idle theories unless I have evidence.”

Tom stood and shrugged at Lerens. “See? Didn’t I tell you? Very annoying.”

Hugo ignored him and spoke to Lieutenant Lerens. “One other thing. Do you think you could track down Georges Bassin’s sister? I have a phone number for her and left a couple of messages, but she didn’t call back. I really need to ask her something, it’s very important.”

“Absolutely. Text me her full name and phone number, and any other information you have, and I’ll get right on it. We have a unit dedicated to finding fugitives. They’re fast and exceptionally good.” She paused. “Any chance you’ll tell me what you intend to ask her?”

Hugo shook his head. “Not just yet, if you don’t mind.”

“There, and I’ll say it again,” Tom said. “Very fucking annoying.”

Hugo walked into the lobby of the Hotel Crillon and was met immediately by Felix Vibert. The dapper Frenchman shook Hugo’s hand and smiled at the surprised look on Hugo’s face. He gestured to an empty couch to one side of the large foyer.

“We should talk before we see Senator Lake,” Vibert said.

“Sure.” Hugo followed him to the couch and sat. “The ambassador called me; I didn’t realize you’d be here, too.”

“I know. The ambassador is being smart. He’s also had orders from your State Department to try and make the best of a bad situation.”

“Which is?”

“All talks about the future of the Guadeloupe Islands have been suspended.”

“For what reason?”

Vibert smiled. “Officially, we have been unable to reach an agreement. Which is, of course true.”

“And unofficially?”

“Your senator rubs people the wrong way. Since he’s been here, the Tourvilles feel like their hospitality has been abused, and that Senator Lake’s erratic behavior here in Paris makes him an unsuitable emissary for the United States.”

“
Erratic
seems a little strong,” Hugo said. “Best I can tell, he’s been wandering your beautiful city while he waits for the talks to resume. Nothing wrong with that, is there?”

“You are a loyal man, Hugo. But it’s been decided and I’m here to break the news to Monsieur Lake.”

“The ambassador didn’t mention that, either,” Hugo said mildly.

“So call him. Believe me, it’s not a duty that I’m looking forward to. I’d welcome the opportunity to leave it to someone else.”

“Why you?”

“Henri and your ambassador agreed that if a lower-level negotiator and Senator Lake approve a momentary postponement of talks, it comes across as being informal and therefore more likely the talks will soon resume.”

“And will they?”

“Who knows.” Vibert smiled. “I’m low-level, remember.”

“Right, of course. I guess I’ll leave you to your informal chat, though I might wait around down here to see how he takes it.”

“As you wish.”

Hugo had a thought. “Let me ask you about something else, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course, anything.”

“You remember I asked you about that sailor’s chest?”

“I do, yes.”

“Good.” Hugo pulled up the photos of the chest found at Natalia Khlapina’s apartment. He held his phone so Vibert could see each one as Hugo flipped through them. “Do any of these jog your memory at all?”

“Ah, yes.” Vibert held up a finger. “I do remember seeing that, and not just before dinner. It was in the hallway at one point, someone had brought it into the house and . . .” he furrowed his brow. “And Henri asked one of the servants to move it. At the time I assumed it was his, obviously, as he told the girl where to put it. Yes, that’s right.” He looked up at Hugo. “You should ask Henri, I think it’s his.”

“Thanks, I will. And you’re sure it’s the same chest.”

“Looks exactly like it, but maybe they’re all the same. I don’t know, I’m not an expert.”