“No, please, we have to go back to America. Arrest me there, give me a chance to … if I have to go to jail at all, there. Please, be reasonable.”
“What do you expect? You killed a French chick on French soil.” Tom shrugged. “Also not my call. Look on the bright side, you’ve got to think the food will be better. Finally, a stereotype that might work in your favor.”
“But immunity. I have diplomatic immunity!”
“I thought so, too, but apparently your mission was over when you throttled dear Alexie to death, which means you were on your own time, as it were. Funny how these things work, isn’t it?”
The life went out of the senator and he folded almost in half, his head sinking to his knees and his hands wrapped in desperation around his head. “I can’t go to prison,” he whispered. “I can’t, I just can’t.”
Tom was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke his voice was gentle. “You know, there is one possibility. One other option we could discuss.”
Thirty-Eight
Hugo and Lieutenant Lerens had made the drive back to Paris as part of a small convoy of cars that included the medical examiner’s van containing the body of Alexandra Tourville. Earlier, Lerens had requested Dr. Alain Joust attend, and the ME had set off from his apartment in the Fifteenth Arrondissement immediately, not minding being dragged out of bed to drive almost an hour down here.
“Even if it’s night, I do like to get out of the city occasionally,” he’d said as he hefted his bag of tools to the trunk of the little black car. “And so much more interesting than the usual gang stabbings and beatings.”
“Yep,” Lerens said, “this one’s classy all the way.”
“Well then, let’s have a look at her.”
Blunt force trauma and/or strangulation had been Dr. Joust’s initial opinion. “Usual disclaimers, of course, it could change once she’s on the table. But my best guess right now is that she made someone very, very angry.”
Joust had promised to get to work right away, so Hugo and Lerens waited in her office at the prefecture. He’d spoken to Tom on the way back into Paris, interrupted when Lake returned to his cabin, and Hugo now thought about calling him back. But he figured Tom would ring once he had something, or once he’d searched and found nothing.
In the meantime, he called his second-in-command at the RSO’s office, knowing he’d be home and wanting to help. Ryan Pierce had joined the Bureau of Diplomatic Security straight out of Tulane Law School, where he’d graduated at the top of his class. He was an athlete, too, the starting pitcher for Louisiana State University. He was from Bossier City, Louisiana, and had the southern accent to go with it, as well as a love for catfish and gambling. But he was also one of the nicest and brightest men Hugo had ever worked with. He answered his phone almost immediately, and in the background Hugo could hear children shouting.
“Ryan, it’s Hugo.”
“Hey boss. Need me to come into the office? Please?”
Hugo laughed. “Nope. I need some help but you can take care of it from home, I think. Once you’ve brokered peace between your kids.”
“That’ll never happen.” Ryan had two boys and a girl, all high-energy and loud. “What do you need?”
“Two things. First, check with TSA and see when Alexandra Tourville last visited the States.”
“Easy. Next.”
“Hang on.” Hugo stood and excused himself from Lerens’s office, smiling enigmatically at her quizzical look. He closed her door before speaking again. “I’m back. And this one you might want to do in private, out of earshot of your wife.”
“Oh really? Top secret?”
“Not in the slightest.” Hugo chuckled again. “Come to think of it, delete your internet history once you’re done, too.”
“Why?”
After Hugo had ensured Ryan knew what to do, he sat back and waited with Lerens for Tom to call. They chatted amiably, Hugo with a million questions he didn’t dare ask. Over a carafe of wine, maybe, where he knew she wouldn’t mind, but they wouldn’t have been appropriate in her office. Instead they swapped war stories and Lerens was recounting the first time she arrested someone, a well-known Bordeaux vintner who was driving drunk, when Hugo’s phone rang. They both looked at the display and saw it light up with Tom’s name. Hugo answered and put him on speaker.
“Hey Tom, I’m with Camille, what news?”
“You go first.”
“Nothing much. Tourville was either beaten to death or strangled. Maybe a little of both. The ME’s doing an autopsy right now to make sure. He took swabs from her neck and face at the scene so we may have DNA to match with Lake.”
“DNA. There’s an irony,” Lerens said.
“Why’s that an irony?” Tom asked. “You fuckers better fill me in when I get back.”
“We will,” Hugo assured him. “You have Lake?”
“Senator Lake, you mean? Senator Charles Lake?”
“Tom.”
“Why’s it only you who gets to withhold information? It’s not fair.”
“Don’t you remember your mommy telling you life isn’t?”
“You as my mom, that’s about right.”
“It’s worse for me than you,” Hugo said. “Now answer the damn question and tell me Lake’s in custody.”
“I always wondered if these fancy ships had jails. You know, just in case.”
“On a ship, they’re called brigs,” Hugo said. “And I’m hoping the Queen Mary’s is occupied by a US senator.”
The line went quiet for a moment, then Tom’s voice came on. “Gonna have to disappoint you there.”
“Tom, explain. Where are you?”
“I’m in Lake’s cabin. Hold on a sec, the captain just came back. Need to tell him something.”
Hugo shook his head and smiled at Lerens, who stared wide-eyed at the phone, her palms facing up and disbelief on her face. “What’s he playing at?” she asked.
“Have patience. I have a sneaking suspicion things haven’t gone to plan and he’s stalling for some reason.”
“You think Lake’s persuaded him he’s innocent?”
“Maybe. I doubt it, though.”
Tom came back online. “Sorry about that. Now then, where were we?”
“Senator Charles Lake,” Hugo said. “You were about to stop being an ass and tell us what the situation is there.”
“The situation, yes. Well, that can be described quickly and easily. In two words, as a matter of fact.”
Hugo felt a rock sinking in his chest. “What two words, Tom?”
“Man overboard.”
Hugo and Lieutenant Lerens exchanged glances.
“Tell me you’re joking,” Hugo said.
“Nope.”
“He was right there with you, Tom, what the hell happened?”
“Well, we were talking for a while. You know, me asking questions, him not really answering them.”
“Jeez, Tom, tell me you didn’t …” Hugo didn’t believe Tom would harm the senator, but his methods had always been off the grid.
“No, no. Don’t worry your pretty little head about that. I don’t kill US senators, Hugo, that would be insane. Not without written authorization, anyway, and who had time for that?”
“So what happened?”
“Hang on, I was going to ask how you knew he’d be on the boat.”
“Lerens told me, but also something he said at that first formal dinner. He hated flying and had this romantic view of sea travel. Even dying at sea had romantic undertones for him. I’m sure he needed some time to think, to figure out what to do, and taking the Queen Mary fits his inclinations and his mindset perfectly.”
“Shit, Hugo, you guessed he’d kill himself, didn’t you? That’s why you said it was a matter of life and death. His life and death.”