There was a line of parking spaces opposite his building and I pulled into one beneath the shade of an Aleppo pine. I studied the four-story block, trying to figure out how we could tell if our target was inside. There was a convenience store in the bottom left corner, a realtor on the first floor, but the rest of the building looked to be residential with large windows overlooking the broad avenue running through the heart of town.
“Come on,” I said to Justine. “Let’s kill two birds with one stone.”
She gave me a puzzled look but nodded. We left the car and headed for the opposite side of the street. I saw a pink-washed building, three stories set above a bakery, that would be perfect for our needs. I glanced back at Michel’s building and could see the flicker of TVs in a couple windows and dancing shadows that signified movement in others.
I took Justine to a recessed doorway beside the pink building.
“Stand here,” I said, leading her behind a column that concealed her from the street. “When your phone rings, I want you to scream for help as loud as you can. Stay hidden but keep hollering.”
“Why?” Justine asked. “Where are you going?”
“Up,” I replied, indicating the roof of the pink building.
I hurried over to the wooden entrance doors and forced them open with a powerful shoulder barge. The lock snapped. I hurried into a narrow hallway and ran up the black-and-white-tiled stairs to the very top of the building.
It was a utilitarian block that smelled of dry plaster and homecooked food. When I reached the top of the stairs, I pushed the bar on the fire door to gain access to the roof and went to the balustrade facing our target’s building. I settled into a crouch behind the low perimeter wall, ensuring I had a clear view of the front windows. I took out my phone and placed a call to Justine.
A few seconds later, her piecing cries of “Help me!” echoed around the quiet street, and people came running out of shops and cafes while the windows of nearby buildings filled with occupants drawn by the noise.
I kept my eyes on the building opposite and saw Michel glance down at the street from his third-floor window before swiftly withdrawing.
I dialed 112 and was connected to an operator.
“Do you speak English?” I asked.
“Of course.”
“I’d like to report a woman being assaulted in a third-floor, north-side apartment, number twelve Avenue du Général de Gaulle in La Turbie,” I said. “You can hear her now.”
I held the phone out to maximize the impact of Justine’s screams. This had been my original plan to ensure a swift response from the cops, but it had also served to get our target to reveal his location.
“Please send police officers,” I said before hanging up.
I called Justine and she answered after a single ring. “Now what?”
“Come up,” I replied. “I’m on the roof. The cavalry is on its way. We might as well settle in and watch the show.”
Chapter 45
Justine joined me at the edge of the roof a few minutes later. We peeked over the balustrade and watched the building opposite. People drifted away from their windows in the absence of further cries for help, but soon returned when the sound of sirens filled the air. Once again people peered out of their apartments looking for the source of the commotion.
Not Michel though. He never came back to his window, and the next time I saw him was in circumstances I could scarcely believe.
He emerged from a side entrance beside the convenience store and hurried across the sidewalk to the corner of Avenue du Général de Gaulle and Avenue de la Victoire as the first police car arrived. Unlike the others that were approaching, this one didn’t have its blue lights on and its siren was silent.
Justine glanced at me in surprise because instead of running when he saw the cops, our target approached the vehicle, nodded at the uniformed driver and his partner, and jumped in the back.
As the car rolled along Avenue de la Victoire, Justine’s puzzlement turned to disbelief, a feeling I shared.
“Did he just...” she said, her voice trailing off.
“Let’s go,” I responded, and we hurried away.
Less than a minute later, breathless and with hearts pounding, we were in the silver BMW 3-Series Justine had rented. I gunned the engine and followed the cop car along Avenue de la Victoire, racing to catch up with our target.
The main convoy of police vehicles screeched to a halt outside Michel’s building as we sped away, a blaze of sirens, flashing lights and loud, purposeful officers who had no idea they’d been betrayed by a couple of colleagues. Or maybe they did know? I had no idea how far the corruption went.
“So, they have connections to the cops?” Justine remarked.
I nodded. “Looks like it. More than connections. Protection.”
The BMW roared along the broad avenue. When we reached Place Detras, I took a gamble and went west along the Route de Nice, following signs for the bus station. I guessed the cops wouldn’t want a potential suspect in their car for long and would take him to a public transport hub.
We raced past slow-moving traffic, weaving onto the opposite side of the road and swerving to avoid oncoming vehicles. I ignored the shocked reactions of pedestrians on the sidewalks and the shouted curses of drivers enraged by what I was doing. It paid off. About fifty meters ahead I saw the cop car make a right turn on to a narrow side street.
“There,” I told Justine. “Get video.”
The BMW’s engine growled as I dropped into second gear and hit the gas. We shot forward, darting around an old Renault Clio, which pulled abruptly to a halt.
Justine used her phone to film through the windshield. As we turned into the narrow side street, I saw the man calling himself Michel Augarde glancing back at us through the police car’s rear window. He turned to speak to the driver. Moments later the Peugeot’s lights and sirens came on and it accelerated as it sped north. Civic-minded drivers cleared a path and pedestrians hurried across the street. None of them could have known they were giving way to two corrupt cops who were spiriting a wanted criminal away from arrest.
But the cleared path worked for us too. I pushed the BMW until we were on the cops’ tail. I could see the driver glancing in the rear-view mirror as both vehicles bounced and swerved along the narrow, winding street. A hairpin bend took us back on ourselves, and soon we were heading south, back toward the Route de Nice. I accelerated, driving so close our bumpers were almost touching.
“Make sure you get Michel on camera,” I said to Justine above the roar of the chase, and she directed her phone at the man, who looked back again before ducking behind the seat.
I caught the police driver’s eyes as our cars shimmied around the street, moving at speed. I fixed him with a glare. Corruption was an insidious form of injustice. I would make sure he and his partner answered for what they were doing.
Chapter 46
The 3-series surged forward, and I touched the bumper of the cop car as we neared the intersection with the Route de Nice.
Ahead of us, traffic paused on both sides of the main road, and the cop car swung a hard left turn, heading east, back the way it had come, toward our target’s apartment building. I followed, staying close to the renegade cops, and the BMW’s engine roared as I demanded more from it.
When we straightened up on the Route de Nice, there was a sudden screech of tires and the cop car swerved left, slowing as the driver used the handbrake to put the vehicle into a controlled drift. I stepped on the brakes and matched the maneuver, but as I turned, the tail of the cop car caught the front of ours and sent both vehicles into a spin.