Free Murder in the Palais Royal by Cara Black Page A

from making him her enemy, and needing a Band-aid, she’d gotten nowhere. She had to think more clearly and get some sleep. The twelve-hour kind.
    Her office was only two blocks away. Shakily, she made her way beneath the rue de Rivoli arcade. At her corner café, she stared at the steamed-up windows. Zazie, the owner’s young red-haired daughter, sat doing her homework on the counter. The scene was familiar and inviting. But she couldn’t face Zazie, or anyone else, right now. She had work to do.
    * * *
    U PSTAIRS, SHE UNLOCKED Leduc Detective’s door, and again faced a dark, chilly office. She closed the window, then kicked the radiator until it rumbled to life.
    The chandelier illuminated the marble fireplace, the beveled mirror over it, the recamier piled with folders, the emptiness. She found the first-aid kit, left the door ajar, and went down the hall to the WC. Viaggi Travel was still dark. The other offices, too, were closed.
    In front of the tarnished mirror, she lifted her worn cashmere sweater and dabbed antiseptic on the tiny slit over her rib, and covered it with an Asterix Band-aid.
    Back at her desk, she checked for messages and found one.
    “Sophie from Cybermatrice returning your call. No hard feelings, I hope, but we got the Ophatrix contract. That’s what this is about, right? I’m dating the coordinator, FYI. Better luck next time.” Then, a click.
    Talk about rubbing it in. René had offered the same terms to Ophatrix; but if Sophie “dated” the coordinator, no wonder she’d obtained the contract. But if Sophie slept her way into contracts, she wouldn’t have to threaten René, much less injure him.
    His cell phone. Why hadn’t she thought of trying that before? She could speak to him directly and find out where— and how—he was. She hit René’s number.
    A moment later, she heard its distinctive Chopin sonata ringtone. René’s cell phone was still on his desk under some papers. Disappointed, she clicked off. Her phone rang the very next second.
    “Aimée,” Saj said, his voice hesitant. It was their permanent part-time hacker. “You’re in New York?”
    “I cancelled my trip. I’m in the office.” She sensed something in Saj’s voice. “What’s wrong, Saj?”
    “What’s right ? The flics questioned me this afternoon. Why didn’t you tell me René had been shot?”
    “Forgive me, Saj,” she said. “I’ve had no sleep. I spent the night at the hospital, and then with the police. And the flics suspect me of shooting René.”
    “You’re kidding.”
    “If only I were.” And she told him all, from the beginning.
    “Can you think of any disgruntled client, or jealous hacker, who may have it in for René?”
    “René’s diplomatic,” Saj said. “He’s professional with clients and respected among hackers, Aimée.”
“I know.” Was he implying that she wasn’t?
There was a pause.
    “I’m monitoring the daily updates and pursuing the Nadil-lac investigation as planned,” Saj said. “But Nadillac’s keeping tight; it’s like shaving an egg.”
    She couldn’t worry about that. Right now, she needed Saj’s help. Apart from René, no one hacked computer systems better.
    “Delve into our bank account,” she said. “There’s been a wire transfer to us of a hundred thousand francs. A mistake, I’m sure,” she said. “Use our access code. 09AS876. No fancy footwork, keep it low-key, and sniff the site. I’m waiting for the bank manager’s explanation.”
    “I’ll try.”
    The distance in his voice bothered her. “Don’t you think I’m upset? René’s right lung was punctured. If only I’d taken the bullet instead.”
    “Things don’t look good, Aimée.”
    “Tell me about it, Saj. I need your help right now so I can find who shot him and why.”
    “Aimée, René’s blood is still staining the floor,” Saj said. “I saw it today. I can’t enter the office any more.”
    The sight of the reddish-brown stain where René had fallen made her