Murder in Montmartre by Cara Black Read Free Book Online Page B

braced against the smooth wall.
    “Sebastian, can you shine your penlight over here?”
    “Gifts from the pigeon gods?”
    As his thin beam illuminated the chimney pot, a light went on in a courtyard window opposite and they heard someone struggling with a window. “Quick, Sebastian. Time to go.”
    She felt him tug at the rope and her feet slipped on the slick ice.
    “We’ve got company,” he said, pointing below. “The flics .”
    Two cars had pulled up in the street, their blue lights casting a glow over the snow-laced courtyard. Had someone heard them and called the flics ? She peered around the chimney, saw more rooftops and the pale moon’s reflection glinting on more skylights, a few feet away.
    “Grab the bag, come join me,” Aimée said.
    “You’re kidding, right?”
    “Hurry up. We can jimmy open a skylight.”
    She felt the rope tug.
    “How many skylights do you see?” he asked.
    “Three. Two side by side, then one some distance away.”
    “ Bon. One of them must be over a hall. I’m right behind you.”
    She tucked the Baggie in her jumpsuit pocket, climbed, then gripped the chimney edge and let herself down on the other side.
    Her feet scrabbled and she landed on all fours. And then she was sliding down the slick wet roof surface. Panic gripped her. Only the gutter ledge was between her and a drop of several stories. She grabbed and her hand caught the metal. She pulled herself up toward a rectangular flat area.
    Sebastian landed behind her. By the time they reached the furthest skylight she was panting. The cold air hurt her lungs.
    “Here,” he said, handing her the pliers. “Work the skylight lock open.”
    She was startled to find that it was already broken. Sawtooth-edged shards of glass, knife sharp, jutted from the frame. Deftly, she eased her hand past them and grasped the lock from inside. Within seconds, with Sebastian’s help, she’d lifted the skylight. She held onto the metal rim and let herself down, hoping her feet would find the ladder usually attached to the wall of a communal hallway, that she wasn’t about to land in someone’s bedroom.
    Her toes hit ladder rungs, and she climbed down to a level surface, a musty carpet, wet with footprints. Odd.
    “Quick, take the bag,” said Sebastian, handing it down to her. He made a perfect tiptoe landing and they found themselves in what appeared to be the entry of a sixth-floor chambre de bonne , a maid’s room converted into an apartment.
    “Look at the footprints.”
    “My feet aren’t that big,” he said, about to rub them out with his boot.
    “Leave it, let’s go,” she told him.
    They crept down the flights of creaking wooden stairs, past a glass entry door and into a covered courtyard area. Several doors fronted the coved stone alcove. Large green trash containers stood by a concierge’s loge. Sebastian thumbed a button on the side wall and within the huge vaulted door a small door clicked open.
    They found themselves outside on the street opposite their parking place. Lucky!
    Back in the van, Sebastian switched on the ignition and turned on the heater.
    “All that for a geranium twig! Satisfied?”
    “In more ways than one,” she said. “Think back to the broken glass, the open skylight.”
    He nodded, taking a curve, then gunning his engine as they climbed the steep street.
    “We might have discovered an escape route.”
    Hot air shot from the floor vents, warming her frozen legs.
    “Escape route?”
    “The killer’s escape route.”

Later Monday Night
    LUCIEN CLOSED HIS EYES. His mind flooded with childhood memories: his grand-mère’s high-pitched funeral chant as his uncle’s body lay stiff and waxen on the dining-room table. The women, all in black like a row of crows, wailing and the men pounding their rifle butts on the floor. The terrible rhythm had echoed off the stone walls. Sadness, borne on the dry wind, scented by the lavender and myrtle , had chilled him to the bone.
    As long as he could