Free Murder Below Montparnasse by Cara Black Page B

crack or injectable synthetic cocaine cocktail?” She shivered, and not only from the chill of the cadaver room. “They wouldn’t show on the standard tests you performed. You should run one of those advanced tox screen panels for other drugs, too. Have you examined his tattoos for puncture holes? He’s got enough of them.”
    “Speaking of crack, our department head’s cracking down on our pathology budget,” Serge said. “We’re allocated funds for only standard blood screens and tests.”
    “Didn’t you misplace that memorandum, Serge?” Aimée winked. “Or it got lost in the shuffle when you were at the medical conference in, where was it, Prague,
non?
”
    His dark eyes lit up. “You want me to bend rules, like you?”
    “Live dangerously, Serge. You’ve only got one life. Add spice.”
    “So you’re adding spice with Serb gangsters? You need to watch out, Aimée.”
    Her hands trembled. She put them in her pocket. She was tired of hearing this. “Has his brother ID’d him?”
    Serge took off his glasses again. Rubbed the other lens with the edge of his lab coat. “No family has claimed him so far.”
    Odd.
    “How did the
flics
ID him?” Aimée asked. “Driver’s license,
carte d’identité?
”
    Serge paused, put on his glasses and consulted another chart. Flipped the pages. “You never saw this either, Aimée.”
    A smudged copy of a receipt from a kebob takeout on rue d’Alésia for Feliks. He must have ordered ahead.
    “So his stomach contents corroborate this?”
    “See for yourself.” Serge gestured to a bowl.
    “Non, merci,”
she said. “How soon will you file the autopsy, Serge?”
    “I’m not finished, Aimée. First, I need the cause of death.”
    She wanted to grab him by the throat. Shake him. Didn’t he understand?
    “Until you send in the prelim,” she said, keeping her voice even with effort, “Saj faces manslaughter for this
mec
. Please, Serge, you know it’s wrong to leave Saj hanging. Get the prelim paperwork to the lead investigator’s desk.”
    “What’s a few hours? Saj still needs medical care.”
    “Didn’t I tell you this Serb’s brother tried to talk his way into
garde à vue—
”
    “Bon,”
Serge interrupted, waving his rib cutters. “You’re babysitting the twins while we take a weekend in Brittany.”
    “Wait a minute, I offered overnight—”
    “A weekend alone with my wife, Aimée. Take it or leave it.”
    She stifled a groan. Saj better appreciate this.
    S HE CHEWED HER lip as she opened Leduc Detective’s frosted glass door. Saj wouldn’t face manslaughter charges—a good thing. Yet, considering the snail’s pace of paperwork required for a release, she couldn’t hold her breath. She hated waiting for the catch-up.
    Stacks of printouts, color-coded folders, and copies of faxed proposals lay neatly on her desk. Maxence had been busy. Nice job. “You’re starting to dazzle me,” she said.
    Maxence grinned. “There’s a message on the machine.”
    “From who?”
    “Didn’t hear it, sorry. I got wrist-deep changing the printer toner.” Charcoal smudges ringed Maxence’s fingers. “Think you need a new printer.”
    And the money to pay for it.
    She hit PLAY .
    Aimée heard a cough, clearing of the throat. What soundedlike running water. “Please pick up if you’re there. Please, Mademoiselle.” She recognized Yuri Volodya’s voice. “I should have told you the truth.”
    A chill crept up her neck. She turned up the machine’s volume. Listened close.
    “I lied to you last night.” She heard the catch in his throat. Fear edged his voice. “Come now.” Another pause. “Please, if you’re listening, pick up. Your mother told me things.”
    Her breath caught.
Go on, Yuri, tell me what things. Tell me what my mother means in this. To you
.
    “You look just like her, you know. Those same big eyes.
Alors
, we need to talk in person.”
    Aimée wanted to scream.
What about my mother?
    “I have to trust someone,” he