“So you were telling the truth about that?” Jennifer said softly with a shake of her head.
Dumas turned back to face Tom, his face suddenly serious. “But now you are in trouble again, yes?”
“Why, what have you heard?”
“Do you know a Detective Sergeant Clarke? He certainly seems to know you.”
“That bastard,” said Tom, darkly. “Does he know I’m here?”
“No. And don’t worry. I won’t tell him.”
“Thanks, J-P.” Tom smiled gratefully.
“Anyway, when I heard that he wanted you for murder, I knew it was a mistake. Self-defense is one thing, but you are no killer.”
“How did you find us?” Tom asked.
“We have been watching your friend Van Simson for several months now. We suspect him of involvement in money laundering, bribery, blackmail, maybe even murder… he’s a dangerous person to know.”
“So you followed us from there?”
“Oui. I put someone on it. But you surprised us all when you came here. Nearly as much as when mademoiselle’s shoes fell out of the sky and just missed my head.”
Tom held his hand up.
“My fault. Sorry.”
Dumas waved it away.
“The gendarmes have been staking this place out for about ten days now. They are investigating the murder of an Italian priest. But I expect you already knew that.”
“They know about this apartment?” asked Tom in surprise, secretly impressed that they had found it, too.
“They are not complete idiots,” said Dumas, his smile contradicting him.
“Well, we’re not the only people to have been here. Someone’s already been and taken anything that might have been useful.” Tom indicated the laptop cable dangling from the desk. Dumas rolled his eyes.
“Plus ça change. They probably wouldn’t have seen you come in, either, if we hadn’t told them to look out for you both. Which leaves the question.” He turned his gaze to Jennifer. “What are you doing here?”
“Mr. Kirk is assisting the FBI with an inquiry that we are conducting.”
Dumas’s jaw set firm.
“And that gives you the right to break into a private apartment, does it? To impersonate a police officer? To contaminate a crime scene?” Jennifer was silent. “Let me ask, Agent Browne, has your embassy requested assistance from the Ministre de l’Intérieur?”
“I would have to check with Washington.”
“Well, let me save you the trouble. They haven’t. So effectively, you are here as a private citizen, too. An illegal immigrant, in fact, since my colleagues in customs don’t seem to have any record of you entering the country.”
“I can assure you—” Jennifer began but Dumas cut her off.
“There is a French word for that sort of behavior that I think translates well. Espionage. You may think the rest of the world is yours to do as you like, but here in France, we do not appreciate foreign agents operating unofficially. A small matter of national security.” Dumas’s eyes flashed and as far as he could while sitting down, he had pushed his chest out and straightened his back to emphasize his point.
“Mr. Dumas, I apologize for any offense caused.” Jennifer was respectful but firm. “My visit here was unplanned and so I was unable to go through the usual channels. However, I am sure that the American ambassador would be able to vouch for me and allay any concerns you might have about my intentions here.”
Dumas snorted.
“I’m sure he will. Meanwhile, I want to know why you’re interested in Ranieri? And what he’s got to do with Van Simson?”
Jennifer smiled and shook her head.
“That’s classified information that I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to disclose to you.”
“He’s a very dangerous man.”
“When I want to be patronized I’ll let you know.” Jennifer’s response was terse. “Believe me, I’ve dealt with far worse. I can look after myself.”
“Then there are two ways of doing this, Agent Browne,” Dumas said slowly. “Either you share what you’ve got with me and I’ll do the same in return. Or I let the two gendarmes who are waiting outside arrest you.”
“We both know that my embassy would have me released in hours,” Jennifer said with a shrug. “It would achieve nothing.”
“Maybe not. But I can assure you that I would see to it that the incident attracted widespread media coverage. Your picture splashed over the newspapers. Your superiors in Washington compromised. It’s a situation that I expect is in everyone’s interest to avoid unless you wish your investigation to end early.”
There was an awkward pause during which Jennifer and Dumas stared stubbornly at each other until Tom broke the silence.
“Ranieri was found in possession of a valuable coin, which was stolen from the U.S. government.” His interjection earned him a furious look from Jennifer.
“Drop it, Tom.” she exploded. “That’s not for you to reveal and you know it.”
“I don’t think any of us have got time to play games. Jean-Pierre is not the sort of person to go shooting his mouth off and none of us can afford to have our asses dragged through the press. So why don’t you just tell him what you know?”
“If it helps,” Dumas said with a shrug, “I know of this coin. This Double Eagle.” Jennifer didn’t react. “Don’t forget that it was the French police who handed the coin over to the FBI in the first place.”
This time Jennifer glanced at Tom, who nodded his encouragement.
“He’s on your side. He already knows about the coin. Hell, he might even be able to help you. What have you got to lose?”
“You think that Ranieri was fencing the coins for whoever stole them?” Dumas prompted her gently.
“Yes.” She nodded, her voice initially hesitant but growing in fluency. “And we’re interested in Darius Van Simson because he’s a major collector of gold coins. In fact, he even owns a Double Eagle. I wanted to establish whether he knew anything about the theft or the current whereabouts of the coin.”
Dumas smiled.
“Let me guess. Mr. Van Simson knew nothing about either. He never does. It is like a religion with him.”
“Yeah, I did kind of get that impression,” Jennifer agreed.
“He did take us down to his vault, though,” Tom reminded her. “Showed us his collection and his coin.”
“Then you got further than most,” said Dumas, raising his eyebrows. “From what I hear he never takes anyone down there.”
Dumas’s radio frazzled loudly and he reached into his pocket with annoyance to turn the volume down.
“Patron?” The muffled voice vibrated from inside his jacket. Dumas rolled his eyes, took the radio out and pressed it to his mouth.
“Oui.”
“Patron. On les a pincés en bas.”
“J’arrive.”
Dumas replaced the radio in his pocket and smiled at Tom.
“It seems my men have bumped into some friends of yours downstairs.”
“Oh, them.” Tom smiled. “You know who they are?”
“They followed you here from outside Van Simson’s. Of course he’ll deny having sent or even seen them before.”
“One of them dropped this on his way out. Perhaps you could return it to him.” Tom retrieved the gun from his pocket and placed it in Dumas’s outstretched hand. He accepted it with a nod.
“Bon. There is nothing more we can do here,” Dumas said, standing up, arching his back as he made his way to the door. He hadn’t noticed the newspaper lying on the coffee table and Tom managed to snatch it and slip it under his jacket just before he turned round.