The first man I’d knocked off his bike near the Fairmont Hairpin had apparently fled the scene, but the guy I’d taken down in Place du Casino was in custody and refusing to talk. Valerie said he had a phone and wallet on him, but that they contained no identifying data or materials and he was refusing to give his name.
I suspected the wallet and phone I’d taken from the first motorcyclist would also be anonymized. I’d signed them over to the booking sergeant when the police had taken my belongings. I’d told him they belonged to me and he’d slipped them into a custody bag along with my own stuff. I hoped Maureen ‘Mo-bot’ Roth, Private’s head of technology and resident hacker, would be able to work her magic on the biker’s phone, and do it faster than the police.
Inspector Chevalier kept leaving me alone, disappearing to attend to new aspects of the unfolding investigation. The room’s whitewashed walls were stained yellow by time, its chrome chairs and steel table were unforgiving, and its strip lighting emitted a slight flicker that was certain to induce a headache sooner or later. I guessed her most recent absence could be explained by the fact she was off conferring with her superiors.
She returned after twenty minutes and told me, “You may go.”
And with those simple words, the ambiguity about my custody status ended. I was free.
“I can’t imagine you will leave Monaco without Ms. Smith,” the investigating officer said. “But please ensure you make yourself available to us for follow-up. We may have more questions, and hopefully some positive news. We would like to put a tap on your phone in case the kidnappers make contact.”
I shook my head. “That won’t be possible. My phone receives confidential calls and information from clients. If the kidnappers make contact, we will record everything and run our own traces.”
Chevalier’s face puckered as though she’d encountered a bad smell. “I thought you would say as much. Please make sure you tell us if contact is made. Ransom demands are the best way to recover kidnapping victims.” She smiled. “But I probably don’t need to tell you that given your expertise in this area, Mr. Morgan.”
I stood. “Is there anything else?”
She shook her head. “We will do everything we can to find Ms. Smith.”
“Thank you,” I replied.
I appreciated her words but knew I would do more. I would tear the city apart if need be. I was terrified of what might be happening to Justine and felt terrible guilt for failing her. I planned to devote all the expertise the inspector had mentioned, along with Private’s considerable resources, to tracing and rescuing the most important person in my life.
“I suspect you will make your own efforts to find Ms. Smith,” she remarked. “But don’t impede our investigation, and please share anything useful and observe the laws of Monaco at all times.”
I nodded, but those men, those hateful men, had crossed a line in targeting Justine. I couldn’t make any promises that might affect my capacity to act. If laws needed to be broken, so be it.
And the first law I broke was tampering with evidence and impeding an investigation by pretending the first biker’s phone was my local cell and his wallet my travelling billfold for emergencies. After some paperwork, I left the station with both items and all my own belongings.
I had my phone out and was about to call Mo-bot when I saw a face that I recognized across the busy lobby. Looking immaculate in a tailored gray suit was the familiar elegant figure of the man we’d come to Monaco to see: Philippe Duval.
Chapter 7
“Mr. Morgan... Jack, I’m so sorry to hear about what happened,” Duval said, offering me his hand. “Based on news reports and information from my friends in the police, this was no street robbery gone wrong.”
I shook my head. “No. It was targeted. They tried to abduct us both. And when that failed, they took Justine.”
“I’m so sorry,” he repeated.
I considered myself a good judge of character, and he seemed genuinely concerned and shaken.
“Such things don’t happen in Monaco, and the fact it took place outside my office when you were on your way to meet me...”
He didn’t need to finish the sentence because we both understood the implication. He was demonstrating intelligence as well as empathy. If he hadn’t shown up at police headquarters, he would have been the second person I spoke to after being released.
“I need to know who you told about our meeting,” I said.
There was no point in choosing my words more tactfully. There were a limited number of ways the kidnap gang could have known where we’d be. An operation like that took careful planning. It wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment thing.
“It is natural for you to be cautious in your dealings with me,” Duval said. “We don’t really know each other — only by recommendation of Eli Carver, and by reputation. But I can assure you, I told no one of our meeting. I didn’t even record it in writing, a security habit from my days as Interior Minister. And I can assure you, I never record any sensitive information on a computer. My time in government impressed upon me the need for vigilance, and since I retired my ministerial post, my diary is not so busy that I cannot commit significant events to memory.”
He smiled.
“I feel personally responsible for the disappearance of Ms. Smith and would like to offer you all the assistance I can. I still have friends here and in government in Monaco and France. I will place all my resources at your disposal.”
He seemed genuine and I was prepared to take him at face value — for now. One of the many things I planned to request from Mo-bot was a thorough examination of every aspect of Philippe Duval’s life.
I shook his hand. “I’m grateful for your support, Monsieur Duval.”
“Philippe, please,” he corrected me. “I was eager for us to work together, but not under such circumstances.”
“I appreciate that, and I would like your help,” I told him. “I’m going to need someone local to steer me around the hazards of Monégasque politics, someone who can name people with the capacity to pull off this sort of thing in broad daylight.”
He nodded. “We should go to my office then and discuss—”
I cut him off. I wouldn’t put him on the inside of any investigation until I heard the outcome of Mo-bot’s review. “First I need to call my team and set certain things in motion.”
“Of course,” he said. “I understand. Tomorrow then?”
I nodded.
“Shall we say eight?”
“See you there,” I replied, and we shook hands again before he left.
I paused before discreetly following him out of the lobby. Much like police headquarters in Rome, this building featured an archway that connected the street with a parking lot filled with liveried police vehicles.
I turned away from the lot and stepped onto the street that ran alongside. To my left at the other end of the street lay the main port. I could see the bristling forest of yacht masts. Opposite me was a ramp leading to an underground parking garage and next to it a narrow street with an ice-cream parlor on one corner.
I stood beneath the awning as I took out my phone and dialed. It was a little after 3 p.m. in Monaco, which meant it was 7 a.m. in Los Angeles, but I knew Mo-bot would already be up.
“Jack,” she said enthusiastically when she answered. “How’s the honeymoon... I mean, vacation?”
“Very funny,” I replied.
She and Sci had been cracking wise about a secret European wedding ever since Justine and I had told them about our vacation plans.