The French Detective's Woman by Nina Bruhns Read Free Book Online Page A

follow behind. “I believe I told you he’d go after the princess’s diamonds,” Jean-Marc reminded them pointedly.
    Belfort’s jaw worked. “If you were there watching, why isn’t le goddamn Revenant behind bars?”
    “I’m only one man, boss,” Jean-Marc said, striving for equanimity. “You may recall I did ask for a team to back me up, and my request was denied.”
    Belfort whisked over to the espresso machine behind his secretary’s desk and brewed himself a cup. The burnt smell of too-strong coffee wafted through the air. “So it was. Alors , from now on I plan to listen to you more carefully.” He pointed a finger at Saville. “As of now, you are relieved of le Revenant case. I’m giving it to Lacroix.”
    Jean-Marc came to full attention as Saville lodged a loud protest. “Sir, I object! I’ve been working this case for—”
    “Far too long,” Belfort interrupted, adding hot milk to his coffee. “Time someone else took over.”
    “Let Saville keep the damn case,” Jean-Marc said emphatically. “I don’t want it.”
    “I don’t give a shit what either of you want. I want this bastard caught. The préfet is starting to get calls. Which means I’m starting to get calls.”
    Belfort’s secretary pretended not to listen to the CD’s rising voice, but several other officers milling about the common area weren’t so subtle in their observation.
    “The préfet ?” Jean-Marc asked in surprise. “About a common thief?”
    The préfet was the overall head of le Direction Central , Belfort’s boss’s boss. He didn’t normally concern himself with such trivial matters as one lone criminal, unless it was a serial killer or terrorist.
    “There is nothing common about le Revenant ,” Belfort refuted, turning on a heel and heading for the frosted glass of his private office. “He’s thumbing his nose at the OCBC—hell, the whole DCPJ—and the press is making a mockery of us because of it. The insurance companies are complaining about the money they’re losing. The nouveau riche don’t feel safe showing off their expensive baubles in public. The aristocrats are angry because he’s breaching their security at home so easily. They are all becoming annoyed.”
    They weren’t the only ones. Ever since the OCBC realized that the escalating wave of high-end jewel thefts throughout the country could be attributed to one person, Jean-Marc had tried to convince Saville he was going about the investigation the wrong way. Traditional methods weren’t going to cut it. The thief was smart. He never struck in the same place, nor in quite the same way. From the crowds of Le Mans to isolated castle fortresses, no setting had daunted him, or deterred him from pulling his clever heists. He never took old or distinctive pieces that could easily be identified, or new ones that had serial numbers etched into them. He stuck to expensive, but unremarkable stones. And he was getting ever more daring. Last night he’d known he was being watched, but hit anyway, against a highly-guarded public figure. Right under Jean-Marc’s nose.
    Saville hadn’t listened to him. However, the last thing Jean-Marc wanted was to head up the case.
    “Truly, sir—”
    “And if that weren’t bad enough,” Belfort continued as though he hadn’t spoken, sailing through the door to his office, “the bastard is building up a legend around himself, thanks to the media. Becoming a fucking folk hero to the working classes. A goddamned Robin Hood. We’re losing our credibility out there, Lacroix. I don’t like it.”
    They’d all been chagrined when tabloids had dubbed the thief le Revenant , a play on words referring back to the famous Belgian cat burgler from the fifties— le Phantom . Le Revenant also meant phantom, or ghost, but one that walked the earth again, for the second time. It sounded almost romantic. But there was nothing romantic about crime.
    Jean-Marc followed Belfort in. The office smelled like red ink and new