Murder Below Montparnasse by Cara Black Read Free Book Online

laughingstock of the department, Leduc?” Morbier growled. “Count your favors used up.”
    Aimée cringed. So soon? She had to whip up a counterpoint defense for using his name last night. Deflect him. “
Bonjour
to you too, Morbier. Meaning what, exactly?”
    “Moi, un végétarien?”
    That’s all? Miles Davis’s wet nose nuzzled her elbow.
    “Morbier, you’re in desperate need of a healthy lifestyle to lower your cholesterol. Just listen to your doctor.”
    A snort. “Doctor? But I haven’t seen him in.…”
    “Two years. You keep putting off that appointment. But that’s what he’d tell you.”
    “Seems you killed someone last night and involved me.”
    She chewed her lip. Word traveled fast. “Quite the way with words, Morbier,” she said. “But you don’t understand.”
    “Giving up meat, that’s … that’s so.…” Morbier’s words failed him for once. “I’ve got a meeting in two minutes,” he said. “Start talking, Leduc.”
    She hit SAVE on her laptop, pulled the duvet closer, took a breath and told him.
    “Wait
une petite seconde
.” Morbier sighed on the other end of the line. “You discover a Russian’s sent you a retainer
, c’est ça?
”
    “It’s not like I planned this, Morbier.…”
    “Then in front of this Russian’s place Saj plows over a Serb with prison tattoos, damages René’s car and the Russian’s Mercedes. The Russian insists his painting was ’stolen.’ Now he wants you to recover it.” Another sigh. “That sum it up?”
    Almost. She’d left out the part about her mother. Ever since the GIGN intelligence service had tried using her to find out whether her mother was alive, she trusted no one.
    “The old man, Volodya, refused to report the robbery,” she said. “Yet we hit a Serb in front of his place fleeing the scene. Strange,
non?
”
    “You’re implying a snatch-and-grab gone wrong? Easy to find Serbs for hire, a franc a dozen,” Morbier said. “But not my call.”
    She didn’t care for his brush-off, but it made her think. “Serbs working for a big cheese, you mean? If the Serbian mafia wants vengeance, that puts Saj in trouble.”
    “Manslaughter’s what I call trouble, Leduc.”
    He had a point.
    “What’s the matter? It’s not the first time you’ve knocked someone off, Leduc.”
    She wanted to hit him. “You call an accident knocking people off, Morbier?”
    “Shaken a chink loose in your couture armor?”
    Last night had rattled her more than she cared to admit. Why couldn’t Morbier show sympathy? She jumped out of bed and hit the ancient steam radiator. For once it responded with a cranking noise and a welcome dribble of heat.
    “I’d appreciate a flicker of sensitivity for once, Morbier.” If only René hadn’t left, if only the knot in her stomach would go away. Somehow her heart wasn’t into toughing it out as usual. “The man fell on the windshield, we didn’t run him over. Saj is injured and is being held in
garde à vue
. It’s wrong.”
    “Traffic’s not my territory, Leduc.”
    She wouldn’t let him off. He owed her. “Who’s the lord of the traffic division?”
    “
Mais
you know him, Leduc, the officer who thinks I’m
végétarien
.”
    She groaned inside. “Put in a good word for Saj, eh?”
    “Over lunch while I watch him consume a
bifteck?
”
    “Amaze him with your power salad, Morbier. It’s the new lunch. Get Saj released.”
    “Nothing happens until the autopsy report. You know that, Leduc,” he said. “Like I haven’t got enough on my plate without you restricting my diet.
Compris?
”
    Over the phone came the familiar whistling of his old kettle in the background. How many times had she heard it in his kitchen as a child? The little girl inside her ached to question him about her mother’s past, how Volodya might have known her. To throw away caution and endanger their rocky new reconciliation.
    “The old Russian says he knew my—”
    A woman’s voice—“Coffee’s