“Not in a couple of hours, no. But maybe we can figure out which cemetery he’s going to.” Hugo suddenly remembered his chat with Claudia. Tom lowered himself into the chair opposite as Hugo filled him in on the Moulin Rouge connection.
Tom’s eyes brightened. “Sounds like a better bet than zombie chasing.”
“Two different investigations, remember.”
“You sure about that still?” Tom leaned forward. “We now have a solid connection between the grave robbing and Al Zakiri.”
“No, between the grave robbing and Abida Kiani—”
“Who came here with Al Zakiri. Why are you so hell-bent on severing that connection?”
“I’m not.” Hugo held up both hands in surrender. “I’m just saying this isn’t about terrorism. If Al Zakiri did this, it’s because he has a bone fetish or some other reason to crack crypts. Not because he wants to take over the world.”
“And I’m just saying that starting at the Moulin Rouge wins us points with those pulling the strings because it puts us closer to a known terrorist. And,” he wagged a finger, “it gets us closer to a place that sells whisky. On top of all that, it’s filled with beautiful girls wearing next to nothing. So, tell me again you want to go to a cemetery.”
Hugo was typing, reading what came up, and then typing some more. “Looks like I have three choices. The cemeteries at Passy, Montmartre, and Montparnasse.”
“Assuming he goes for big cemeteries.”
“I think he has to. He has an explosive charge to crack the tomb. It’s small, but it would still be loud enough to attract attention in a smaller cemetery. In a large one, where there’s traffic right outside, he’s safer.”
“OK. So which is it?”
“Shouldn’t you be getting cleaned up to go the Moulin Rouge?”
Tom sighed. “There are three cemeteries. There are two of us. I can narrow the odds in our favor. Plus, the Moulin Rouge will be there tomorrow night, and if I cover Montmartre I’ll be in the area. If I catch him early, I can go check out the club.”
“Right. And if you don’t catch him early, the red-light district is right there.”
“Pigalle. Precisely my thinking.”
Hugo looked at his watch. “Six already. Go get sandwiches or something. I’ll see if I can find some likely victims.”
“Order pizza. I know this is France, but surely even here they deliver pizza?”
Hugo didn’t hear him. His eyes were fixed on a name on the computer in front of him, a name he’d heard once before in connection to Jane Avril. A name that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.
“Forget trolling Pigalle tonight, my friend,” he said. “No hookers for you.”
“You’re making me go somewhere else?”
“No, you’re going to Montmartre, no doubt about that. But I’m coming with you.”
“That leaves two cemeteries for our psycho to plunder free and clear.”
“No,” said Hugo. “I think I know who he’s going after. I’ve found his next victim.”
“Who?”
Hugo’s phone rang and he gave Tom an evil smile, making him wait. “Yes, Ambassador?”
“Hugo, I need a favor. Boring drinks party, assorted foreigners, and Senator Holmes to entertain in my study.”
“Sure, when?”
“Tonight. Right now.”
“Can’t tonight. Big break in the case.”
“You mean it, or are you trying to tell me screw off?”
“I mean it. I think our man is going to hit again tonight, and I think I know where and when.”
“Good for you. We’re pouring drinks in ten minutes. It’s not dark yet so swing by and check in. Be nice to give the senator some good news at last.”
“If he’s looking for terrorists he’s going to be disappointed. Better I don’t come.”
“I mean it, Hugo. Stop by for half an hour. I assume your crypt thief won’t appear before dark?”
“Probably not,” Hugo conceded. “But we should be waiting for him rather than the other way around. And I hate embassy parties, you know that.”
“Tough,” Taylor said. “Your bad guy will still be there. And if he’s not a terrorist you need to be the one to explain to the senator who the hell he is.”
“I don’t know who he is, not until I catch the bastard.”
“Which you can do afterward. Be upstairs in ten minutes.”
Chapter Twenty
Tom grinned in a way that Hugo didn’t like.
“A drink before our expedition?” he said. “I should have thought of that myself.”
“Something tells me you would have.”
Tom stood. “Oh, come on. You’re starting to sound like my mother. And she was less fun than you might think.”
“Tom, in a couple of hours we’re going to be creeping around a graveyard looking for a man who doesn’t think twice about killing people who interrupt him.”
“Makes a change from Colonel Mustard in the library. And if we’re chasing killers in a misty cemetery, I can’t think of a better reason to have a glass. Calm the jitters.”
They walked upstairs to Ambassador Taylor’s study, where a dozen men and women in suits had already begun to shuck off the day’s responsibilities, drinks in hand. Two white-shirted waitresses floated between the chatting groups, one bearing a tray of champagne, one a platter of hors d’oeuvres. Tom headed straight for the former.
Hugo looked around and saw the ambassador, perched on his desk, arms folded, watching Tom. Hugo approached him.
“What’s this in aid of?” Hugo asked.
“Not my idea, sort of a surprise party.”
Hugo looked at the desk and smiled. “Oops. I forgot.”
“Forgot? Did you ever know?”
Hugo picked up a birthday card and read the message written by Emma’s precise hand. “She reminded me this morning.”
“Not a big deal.” He nodded toward Tom. “Should I worry about him?”
“You can if you want.”
“Are you?”
Hugo stayed quiet, his way of answering the ambassador without overtly betraying his friend.
“So you really think you know who killed those kids?”
“Not who. Or even why. But I do think I know where he’ll be tonight.”
“Tell me.”
“How about I bring him in as a birthday surprise?”
Taylor waved away the girl offering miniature bruschetta and squares of toast bearing foie gras. “Does that mean you’re not going to tell me where?”
“You’re my boss,” Hugo said. “I have to. I just don’t want to tell him.”
Taylor looked in the direction of Hugo’s gaze. He stood to greet Senator Holmes, who shook hands with both men but dispensed with other formalities.
“I’ve not had any information from your people, Ambassador,” Holmes said. “I assume they are still working.”
“Of course, Senator, and I’m sure if they had any news they’d pass it on.”
Holmes looked directly at Hugo. “Well?”
“Still working, Senator. Speaking of which, if you’ll excuse me.” He didn’t wait for an answer, slipping past the two men and looking around for Tom. He saw him talking to a tall, slim redhead whom Hugo didn’t recognize. A man half her height, but twice as wide, hovered beside her like an anxious bee, worried someone was about to steal his pollen.
The woman turned and eyed Hugo as he approached, unashamedly, as if it were her job to size him up as a potential mate for a close friend.
“Ah, Hugo,” said Tom. He sounded relieved. “Time for us to go?”
“We were just discussing restorative justice,” the woman said. “You are in law enforcement?”
“Was. Not anymore. Hugo Marston.” He shook her hand, dry with a strong grip that didn’t linger.