“So you just got on a plane? Is it about Henri?”
“ No -”
“Then, Mandy, I'm sorry, but you have to go back. No, don't shake your head. You're a liability. Understand?”
“Well, thank you.”
Mandy was pouting now, which was rare for her, but I knew that the further I pushed her, the more obstinate she'd get. I could already smell the carpet burning as she dug in her heels.
“Have you eaten?” she asked me.
“I'm not hungry,” I said.
“I am. I'm a French chef. And we're in Paris.”
“This is not a vacation,” I said.
A half hour later, Mandy and I were seated at an outdoor café on the Rue des Pyramides. Night had blotted up the sunlight, the air was warm, and we had a clear view of a gilded statue of Saint Joan on her horse where our side street intersected with the Rue de Rivoli.
Mandy's mood had taken an upturn. In fact, she seemed almost high. She ordered in French, put away course after course, describing the preparation and rating the salad, the pâté, and the fruits de mer.
I made do with crackers and cheese and I drank strong coffee, my mind working on what I had to do, feeling the time rushing by.
“Just try this,” Mandy said, holding out a spoonful of crcme brulée.
“Honestly, Amanda,” I said with frank exasperation. “You shouldn't be here. I don't know what else to say to you.”
“Just say you love me, Benjy. I'm going to be the mother of your child.”
Chapter 104
I stared at Amanda; thirty-four years old, looking twenty-five, wearing a baby blue cardigan with ruffled collar and cuffs and a perfect Mona Lisa smile. She was astonishingly beautiful, never more so than at this very moment.
“Please say that you're happy,” she said.
I took the spoon out of her hand and put it down on her plate. I got out of my chair, placed one hand on each of her cheeks, and kissed her. Then I kissed her again. “You are the craziest girl I ever knew, trcs étonnante.”
“You're very amazing, too,” she said, beaming.
“Boy, do I love you,” I said.
“Moi aussi. Je t'aime you to pieces. But are you, Benjy? Are you happy?”
I turned to the waitress, said to her, “This lovely lady and I are going to have a baby.”
“It is your first baby?”
“Yes. And I love this woman so much, and I'm so happy about the baby I could fly circles around the moon.”
The waitress smiled broadly, kissed both my cheeks and Mandy's, then made a general announcement that I didn't quite understand. But she made wing motions with her arms, and people at the next table started laughing and clapping and then others joined in, calling out congratulations and bravos.
I smiled at strangers, bowed to a beatific Amanda, and felt the flush of an unexpected and full-blown joy. Not long ago I was thanking God that I have no children. Now I was lit up brighter than I. M. Pei's glass pyramid at the Louvre.
I could hardly believe it.
Mandy was going to have our child.
Chapter 105
As quickly as my expanding love for Mandy sent my heart to the moon, my happiness was eclipsed by an even greater fear for her safety.
As we trekked back to our little hotel, I told Amanda why she had to leave Paris in the morning.
“We'll never be safe as long as Henri is calling the shots. I have to be smarter than he is, and that's saying something, Amanda. Our only hope is for me to get out in front of him. Please trust me about this.”
I told Mandy that Henri had described walking with Gina around the Place Vendôme.
I said, “It's like looking for one needle in a hundred haystacks, but my gut is telling me that he's here.”
“And if he is, what are you going to do about it, Benjy? Are you really going to kill him?”
“You've got a better idea?”
“About a hundred of them.”
We took the stairs to our room, and I made Amanda stand back as I drew my dainty Smith and Wesson and opened the door. I checked the closets and the bath, pushed aside the curtains, and looked out into the alley, seeing popup monsters everywhere.
When I was sure the room was clear, I said, “I'll be back in an hour. Two hours at most. Sit tight, okay? Watch the tube. Swear to me you won't leave the room.”
“Oh please, Benjy, call the police.”
“Honey. One more time. They can't protect us. We're not protectable. Not from Henri. Now promise me.”
Mandy reluctantly held up the three-fingered Girl Scout salute, then locked the door behind me as I headed out.
I'd done some homework. There were a handful of first-class hotels in Paris. Henri might stay at the Georges V or the Plaza Athénée. But I was betting on my hunch.
It was an easy walk to the Hôtel Ritz on the Place Vendôme.
Chapter 106
Henri popped his knuckles in the backseat of a metered Mercedes taxi heading north from Orly toward the Rue de Rivoli and from there to the Place Vendôme. He was hungry and irritated, and the ridiculous traffic was barely crawling across the Pont Royal on the Rue des Pyramides.
As the taxi idled at a traffic light, Henri shook his head, thinking again about the mistake he'd made, a genuine amateur boner, not knowing that Jan Van der Heuvel would be out of town when he visited Amsterdam earlier that day. Rather than leave immediately, he'd made a decision on the fly, something he rarely did.
He knew that Van der Heuvel had a secretary. He'd met her once, and he knew she'd be locking up Van der Heuvel's office at the end of the day.
So he'd watched and waited for Mieke Helsloot, with her cute little body and her short skirt and lace-up boots, to lock Van der Heuvel's big front door at five on the nose. Then he'd followed her in the intense silence of the canal district, only the sound of church bells and seabirds breaking the stillness.
He followed quietly, only yards behind her, crossing the canal after her, turning down a winding side street. Then he called out, “Hello, excuse me,” and she'd turned to face him.
He'd apologized right away, falling in step beside her, saying he'd seen her leaving Mr. Van der Heuvel's office and had been trying to catch up to her for the last couple of blocks.
He'd said, “I'm working with Mr. Van der Heuvel on a confidential project. You remember me, don't you, Mieke? I'm Monsieur Benoit. I met you once in the office,” Henri had said.
“Yes,” she said doubtfully. “But I don't see how I can help you. Mr. Van der Heuvel will be back tomorrow.”
Henri had told her that he'd lost Mr. Van der Heuvel's cell phone number, and that it would really help him if he could explain how he'd gotten the date of their meeting wrong. And Henri had continued the story until Meike Helsloot had stopped at the front door to her flat.
He thought of her now, holding the key in her hand, impatience showing on her face, but in her politeness and willingness to help her employer she'd let him into her flat so that she could make the call for him to her boss.
Henri had thanked her, taken the one upholstered chair in Meike's two-room flat that had been built under a staircase, and waited for the right moment to kill her.
As the girl rinsed out two glasses, Henri had looked around at the sloping bookshelves, the fashion magazines, the mirror over the fireplace that was almost completely covered with photos of Mieke's handsome boyfriend.
Later, when she understood what he was going to do, she'd wailed, no-no-no, and begged him, please not to, she hadn't done anything wrong, she would never tell anyone, no, never.
“Sorry. It's not about you, Mieke,” he'd said. “It's about Mr. Van der Heuvel. He's a very wicked man.”
She'd said, “So why do this to me?”
“Well. It's Jan's lucky day, isn't it? He was out of town.”
Henri had bound her arms behind her back with one of her own bootlaces and was undoing his belt buckle when she said, “Not that. Please. I'm supposed to get married.”