The Warhol Incident (17 page)

Interrogations had been going on all afternoon. Claude and Francois had both been present at the warehouse and had been detained by the French police. I had no input on Francois’ involvement, except he was a bartender. Claude, on the other hand, provided Abelard with his little electric toys. One of the other two men was from the back room in the pool hall, but I had little to no interaction with him, so I watched as the questions rambled on quickly in French. Reneaux provided a translator, and as I sat in the observation room, watching the interrogations, she was effortlessly changing the words from French to English. In between interviews, Reneaux or Ryan would come in and ask if I could verify details or if I had any input. For the most part, I remained silent.

It was a little after
three o’clock when Jean-Pierre was escorted into the interrogation room. His ankles were shackled, and his wrists were bound. He was staring at the two-way mirror as if he knew I was on the other side of the glass. Ryan and another detective were questioning him in French, but Jean-Pierre kept his responses in English.

“Son-of-a-bitch,” I
cursed, stalking back and forth like a lion with my eyes never leaving his form. This continued on for a few more minutes, and when I could no longer stand it, I tapped ever so slightly on the glass. Ryan turned, nodded almost imperceptibly, and excused himself for a minute.

“What?” he
asked as he came into the observation room.

“I want in there.
” My pacing stopped, but I was still moving, bouncing up and down on the balls of my feet. I couldn’t calm down, and I couldn’t sit still.

“Are you sure tha
t’s a good idea? He’s trying to get to you. He knows you’re in here. Why else would he be conversing in English?”

“So we let him.
” I was ready to play with fire. “You can haul me out of there anytime you want if things get out of hand.” Ryan glanced through the window at Gustav, who was staring right at us as if he could see through the mirrored glass.

“I need approval.
” He was attempting to dissuade me, and it wasn’t working.

“Go find Reneaux.”

“You stay here until I get back
. I don’t want our best lead on Abelard to end up dead while I’m gone.” A couple of minutes later Ryan and Reneaux entered the room.

“Madame, are you sure you wan
t to do this?” Reneaux asked cautiously.

“Why not?
He’s playing some game. We might as well find out what it is.”

“D’accord.
I will stay here and watch the entire exchange.” Reneaux looked at Ryan. “If you see things turning in a negative direction, get her out of there.” Ryan agreed, and we entered the interrogation room.

“Bonjour, Ali.
” Jean-Pierre gave me a big smile. I wanted to physically remove it from his face, but instead, I ignored it and took a seat diagonally across from him. I stared at him, silently seething. There were no words to speak, so I just sat there as Ryan continued the interrogation in English. Jean-Pierre was not being forthcoming, and Ryan was getting more and more agitated. Given the fact he’d been out in the cold for the last eighteen months and up all night, I could understand why his technique left a little to be desired.

“Why did you let me go?”
My tone was icy, and my interruption surprised both Ryan and Jean-Pierre. Ryan stepped back and leaned against the wall, staring at Jean-Pierre. I was permitted to run the show, at least for the moment.

“What else should I have
done?” Jean-Pierre answered my question with a question. I shrugged. He didn’t get to ask the questions, and I damn sure wasn’t going to answer them.

“How many other people have you tortured and killed?” I barked.
“Did you do it all for Abelard or maybe your own personal vendetta, too?”

“I never meant to hurt you.
You weren’t supposed to get caught up in this,” he responded angrily. “I told you to move on. I sent you a video of the explosion. You were supposed to get the hint and drop the entire thing.” He slammed his palms against the table.

“Why?”
My lips curled into an evil grin. “Afraid I would figure out you were behind the smuggling and helping to create a crime syndicate with Abelard?” Ryan teetered against the wall, perhaps considering stopping me. I leaned back in the chair and waited, but Jean-Pierre didn’t answer. “Did you kill Jacques Marset?”

He took a deep breath, and I saw his cheek twitch.
He looked away, staring at the wall. “Marset double-crossed the wrong man.”

“So you killed him?
And being the sick, twisted bastard that you are, you videotaped it and sent it to me. How did you end up here? When did you become this guy?”

“Ali,” his eyes looked pitiful, and I wanted to slap him, “I did what I had to do.”

“Did you also send the men to my apartment to beat the hell out of me? Stay away or else, was that the message you wanted conveyed?”

Jean-Pierre looked genuinely shocked.
“He sent men to your apartment? I had nothing to do with that. I didn’t know.” For once, I was inclined to believe him.

“So who did?” Ryan asked, sliding the
chair out and flipping it backward before sitting down. “Abelard?” Jean-Pierre looked from me to Ryan but didn’t speak.

“It must have been your idea to put Clyde Van Buren’s name on the wire transfer,” I added.
Ryan and I might just be getting into the groove of things. “You wanted to fake your own death and pin all the art crimes on your Evans-Sterling teammates. Was that so you could ride off into the sunset with Abelard?”

“Sounds like you’re his bitch,” Ryan commente
d matter-of-factly. Jean-Pierre swallowed but remained silent.

“Didn’t you think scatt
ering suspicion onto the Evans-Sterling team would make Clare our number one suspect?” I asked, pausing briefly before interjecting, “oh wait, she’s working with you and Abelard. I keep forgetting that.”

“Clare has noth
ing to do with this,” he growled.

“Oh,
come on.” I found his pressure point and was willing to squeeze as hard as I could. “At first, I thought someone so incredibly upset and distraught couldn’t possibly be involved in the murder of her lover, but then, it turns out you weren’t dead. She makes one hell of an actress though, almost had me completely convinced.” I glanced at Ryan. “Did she have you convinced, too?”

“It’s always the girlfriend,” he responded automatically.
“If they aren’t the killers, then they’re the accomplices.” I nodded in agreement. “We brought her in. Maybe if you’re lucky, we can place you in adjacent holding cells, so you can say your goodbyes.” Everything Ryan said was total bull, but he said it so convincingly I was tempted to double-check the facts with Reneaux.

“Ali,
” Jean-Pierre tried to appeal to my morality, “Clare is not involved. She doesn’t even know I’m still alive.” His expression was genuine and his voice sincere; I believed him. The suspicions Ryan and I had concerning Clare were based on Jean-Pierre being dead and someone else on the Evans-Sterling team being responsible for the thefts.

“I told you no
t to call me that,” I hissed, refusing to acknowledge any of what he just said. Ryan interrupted before I could go on a tirade.

“Do you have information regarding the whe
reabouts of Louis Abelard?” he asked sternly. I could see the play he was about to make. I just hoped Jean-Pierre didn’t see the same thing. “We might be willing to drop the charges on Clare if you help us locate Abelard.”

“How can there be charges aga
inst Clare? She isn’t involved.” He began speaking rapid French, and I knew we had him. Once his dithering ebbed, I interjected before Ryan could say a word.

“Think logically
, Jean-Pierre. Clare is your lover. She worked with you at Evans-Sterling. She knew the location of one of Abelard’s warehouses. Hell, she gave me the address herself, in her own handwriting. She covered up your involvement.” Before I could continue, Ryan put his hand on my forearm.

“That’s enough, Parker.”
There was a slight glint in his eye. “I can’t have you discussing unrelated evidence with a suspect. Take a break.” I made a pretense of being pissed off and slammed my chair against the table for effect.

“Fine,” I growled as th
e officer opened the door, and I exited into the hallway. Who’s emotional now, asshole? I mentally retorted to Jean-Pierre. His game didn’t go the way he hoped.     

Another police officer entered the interrogation room as I exited, and
Reneaux was waiting for me in the hallway.

“I believe you failed to mention anything about your American threats,” he
commented. I told Ryan about it, but I guess he didn’t fill in Reneaux, probably because it didn’t seem pertinent at the time. We went to Reneaux’s office where I gave him my recantation, starting with the retrieval of the painting to O’Connell tracking down Ramirez and making the gang connection. “How may I contact your detective friend?”

I gave him O’Connell’s number and waited as he called Nick.
The report was being faxed over, and Reneaux would add it to the ever-growing list of charges against Abelard. Maybe he would find a connection that hadn’t been discovered yet. I also told him everything Interpol had on the case and gave him Delacroix’s number. The two of them could argue over jurisdiction.

“Did Interpol find anything useful?” Reneaux asked once he finished reading the American police report.

“Not that I’m aware of.
Agent Farrell, the OIO liaison, was helpful in providing specific details on the video footage of Gustav’s supposed car bombing, but Delacroix probably couldn’t find his way out of a paper bag even if he had a pair of scissors and a map.” Reneaux nodded his head sympathetically.

“I’ve dealt with Monsieur Delacroix on a few occasions.
We are supposedly working the Abelard case in a joint venture. It hasn’t quite gone the way I hoped.” It was my turn to be sympathetic. I gave Farrell’s information to Reneaux, figuring it couldn’t hurt. “Is this everything? I don’t like surprises.”

“That should b
e it. I’m sure Donough has already given you all the relevant Evans-Sterling information.” He nodded.

“Thank you very much for your assist
ance, Madame Parker. My department is indebted to you. If there is anything I can do for you, just ask.”

“Actually, I have a slight favor.
” I felt a bit stupid asking. “I left my rental car parked on a meter a few blocks from the warehouse.”

“It will be taken care of and returned to
your hotel by morning,” he promised.

Finding my way to
Ryan’s desk, I awaited his return, hoping to find out how useful Jean-Pierre had been. As the minutes passed, I slid further down in the chair and propped my legs up, only seconds away from sleep.

“Need a ride?” Ryan asked
.

“Are y
ou finished for the day?”

“Yes, and it’s about bloody time,” he
sounded exhausted. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” I followed him out of the police station and to his personal vehicle. We were on the way to my hotel when I asked about Jean-Pierre’s interrogation. “We’ll have to wait and see where it leads. We have a few of the higher-up inspectors running with it. For now, I’m off duty.” He looked at me suspiciously. “And you, my dear, look like you’re in need of some much needed rest.” I snorted; that sentiment felt like the understatement of the year.

“
I’m done?” I asked skeptically. He looked uncertain.

“Seems that way.
You got us the raid, even if it didn’t turn out quite the way we hoped. Gustav’s statements should lead to even more concrete evidence and Abelard’s location.” He turned and smirked. “Smile, you’re going to make that flight on Friday.” After what happened last time, I was a bit too paranoid to celebrate.

I wasn’t
asleep nearly as long as I should have been when the hotel phone rang. I reached over and pulled the receiver from the cradle and held it to my ear.

“Hello?”
My voice was hoarse. I tried to clear my throat, but it didn’t help.

“Madame Parker, there are a few me
n from Interpol here to see you,” the front desk informed me. “A Monsieur Delacroix.” I shut my eyes and hoped I was in the midst of a horrible nightmare. “Madame Parker?” The woman repeated.

“Wait ten minutes and se
nd them up,” I croaked. I got out of bed, dressed quickly, and just finished brushing my teeth when there was a knock. I checked the peephole and then unlocked the door.

“Delacroix,” I greeted, unenthused.

“Is that your boudoir
voice, or are you just happy to see me?” he asked, nodding to the other Interpol agent to wait outside.

“What do you
want?”

“I g
ot a call from Reneaux this morning, seems you were playing ball with the Police Nationale and left me and my men in the dark.”

“You have issues sharing,” I respond
ed, taking a seat at the table.

“Seems they have issues
protecting their assets,” he countered, staring at the cut and burn marks visible over the neckline of my shirt. “If you would be so kind as to grace us with your presence,” he looked at his watch, “in say, two and a half hours. I’m on my way to meet with Reneaux and form a joint task force for the apprehension of Louis Abelard. Your insight might be valuable,” he sounded skeptical, but I ignored the jibe.

“Interpol offices or
Police Nationale HQ?”

“HQ, a
nd maybe you should try some tea with honey for that throat of yours.” He let himself out of my room, and I picked up the plastic ashtray and threw it at the closed door. Since I wasn’t a smoker, I was happy to find some use for the hotel-supplied object.

Delacroix really had a
way of getting under my skin. I crawled back into bed. If Reneaux wanted me at the meeting, he’d call. Since I was still exhausted, I hoped to go back to sleep, but I was too pissed off. I lay there, fuming.

The phone ra
ng again. I picked it up, expecting the front desk to say Delacroix was refusing to leave; instead, it was Ryan.

“I’m sorry to wake you,” he sounded half-asleep.
“We need you for the joint task force briefing.”

“Delacroix al
ready stopped by to personally deliver the good news.”

“Are y
ou okay? Your voice sounds off.”

“Maybe I’
m catching a cold.” Or I spent a good portion of Tuesday night screaming in pain, but I didn’t feel the need to share that tidbit of information.

“I’ll pick
you up on the way.” Why could I never catch a break?

In
the mini-bar was a bottle of water. I was still unnaturally pale and completely drained. Maybe I should have gone to the hospital just to get some rest and fluids without police and Interpol agents knocking on my door. As if on cue, Ryan knocked.

“It’s Ryan,” he announced, saving me the effort of lo
oking through the peephole. He assessed my appearance. “How’s the cold?” he asked, playing along, even though he was aware I wasn’t sick.

“I’ll live.”
I grabbed my room key, and we left the hotel. On the way to the front door, I was told my rental car had been returned, along with the keys that had been found in my purse, which strangely enough had also been recovered. However, the bankroll of Euros hadn’t been recovered. I wasn’t surprised.

“Here,” he handed over
a cup of coffee once we got into his car, “thought you could use the caffeine.”

“I would have preferred sleep.”

*
              *              *

The roll-call room had been turned into the meeting place for the joint task force. Here, both police and Interpol were briefed on the information uncovered yesterday. Apparently Gustav provided enough information that a few warehouses full of illegal gambling equipment had been seized overnight. The only issue left was tracking down Abelard. From what I could determine, there were mounds of physical evidence and numerous corroborating testimonies implicating him. The case was solid. They just needed to find him.

“Louis
Abelard has countless numbers of safe houses, vast resources, and enough underlings to make his apprehension a difficult endeavor.” Reneaux was giving his speech to the room. It was in French, but Ryan was whispering the translation in my ear, along with his own commentary.

“A
belard is a dangerous sociopath. While we will try to make every effort to bring him in alive, do not put yourself in any undue harm.” Ryan added, “when in doubt, shoot first and ask questions later.” I gave him a sideways glance.

“I’m guessing
you’re not working Abelard’s arrest,” I whispered. He shook his head. Reneaux continued running through the facts on Abelard’s last known location. He then informed the room of Ryan’s undercover work and officially welcomed him back from the cold. I was dazing off into the empty space in front of Reneaux’s podium when Ryan nudged me.

All eyes
were on me, waiting expectantly. Ryan leaned in and whispered that I was supposed to give a description of Abelard’s appearance, demeanor, and anything relevant I learned from my experiences with him. I blushed slightly, due to my lack of attention, and began a discourse over the bar setup, my initial impressions of him as aloof but in control, and his sadistic tendencies.

“Abelard has the classic sadist personality.
He surrounds himself with people he can easily control, whether it’s due to his commanding personality or outright blackmail. It’s about manipulation, whether it’s emotional, physical, or even economical. He convinces those under him to follow orders or face the unfortunate consequences, not unlike dons in the mafia.” I paused and took a sip of water. My voice was barely above a whisper as I continued. “He doesn’t care to get his hands dirty. In fact, he relishes in it. When I was taken, he had his minions present, likely for his own safety, or maybe as a way of conveying a warning to them not to cross him. Either way, he gets off on the torture, making people scream.” I stopped and looked to Ryan, hoping he’d chime in. I didn’t prepare anything for this meeting; I was just reiterating the few facts I personally experienced.     

“Thank you for your
assessment,” Reneaux saved me. I nodded to him and slid down in my chair; public speaking was not my thing. Ryan caught my eye and winked. At least someone was amused.

Delacroix delivered a speech,
dealing specifically with the art thefts and smuggling which linked back to Abelard’s numerous resources. “The man has fine taste in all things. If the trail turns cold, keep this in mind.” How many asses did Delacroix kiss in order to get to the position he held? Bureaucratic brown-noser.

Agents and police were assigned to teams, and each was given a different location to raid.
The raids would be conducted simultaneously in order to ensure Abelard would not be tipped off and able to flee again. The warrants were signed and ready to go. Ryan and I remained seated as the groups slowly scattered, working out their own tactical plans. My head was in my hand as I attempted to remain in an upright position when Reneaux walked over to us.

“I didn’t expect
such a prolific psychological workup,” he stated.

“Ne
ither did I, but you put me on the spot and words just came out. I’m certain it’s accurate, given everything I know of Gustav’s involvement and everything that I endured at the warehouse. There’s something to be said for firsthand experience.”

“Where do you want us?” Ryan
asked. I was amused how we somehow became a team. Maybe that was just my exhaustion keeping me a few steps behind.

“In a couple of hours when the teams move in
, I’ll need you to coordinate from tactical,” Reneaux told Ryan.

“I can go back to my hotel and get out of the way,” I volunteered happily.
Both men looked at me.

“
I think it’d be best if you stick around here until we capture Abelard,” Reneaux replied, frowning.

“You think he’s
looking to finish what he started?” It didn’t occur to me until now.

“Seems like a possibility.
” Reneaux remained tight-lipped and excused himself, so he could coordinate with Delacroix. I looked at Ryan, waiting for some elaboration.

“You never know,” he responded casually.
I put my head on the table. This was too much to deal with. “We’ll bring him in tonight, and you fly home tomorrow. It’ll be okay. You just have to get through today.”

“I’m c
ounting the hours.”

*              *               *

Most of the day was spent camped out on the couch near the locker rooms. The anxious energy permeating throughout the police station seemed anticlimactic, probably since I was thankfully sitting on the sidelines. Ryan did all he could upstairs in tac ops, and he came to find me. I sat up, allowing him to occupy half the couch in exchange for a sandwich and a bottle of water. It seemed like a fair trade.

“When are the fireworks going off?” I asked, wiping my mouth with a napkin.
He glanced at his watch.

“An hour or two.
Everyone should be moving into position now.” It was obvious he wanted to be in a more hands on position.

“Sorry
, you’re stuck babysitting. I would have been fine at my hotel.”

“I wasn’t
allowed on this anyway. I don’t know how things worked at the OIO, but here, we’re expected to be thoroughly debriefed and work the desk for a couple of weeks before getting back on the street in any capacity.” He wasn’t happy being stuck inside.

“At least you’re back.
” I smiled encouragingly. He gave me a brief grin. Ryan had an attractive rough and tumble quality to him that I didn’t notice until now.

“I can’t argue with that.”
We sat on the couch for a while, eating our sandwiches. “Clare’s in protective custody. We picked her up this morning and moved her to a safe location. It was one of the terms Gustav negotiated. A few inspectors are checking into her alibi and reviewing Interpol’s surveillance logs, but as far as we can tell, she isn’t involved.”

“
I never believed she was, but everything pointed to her. Hell, it still does to a certain extent.” I searched through my memory for anything that might definitively establish her guilt or innocence, but I was coming up blank. “Either way, she could become collateral damage. Clare is Gustav’s Achilles heel,” I surmised. “There’s a possibility Abelard knows this and will try to exploit it.”

“We better bloody
well find him then,” Ryan concluded, standing up and returning upstairs. I sat for a few minutes, giving him time to get situated before following. I might as well make myself useful in the event they needed another set of eyes to coordinate the tactical assaults.