Free Murder on the Champ de Mars by Cara Black Page A

charge of the investigation, not me.”
    As helpful as the reception staff.
    “But Drina Constantin’s life’s in danger,” she said. “Time is of the essence. How long can she last without hemodialysis?”
    “Not for me to say.” He shook his head. “Doctor Estienne, the attending physician last night, has gone off shift. Look, I shouldn’t be talking to you.” His pager bleeped.
    “We know the abduction occurred during shift change.”
    “Again, I’m not the one to talk to. Doctor Estienne was in charge.”
    He looked at his watch. She had to stall, to get something from him. A knock came from the open door—a trio of interns stood there, charts in hand.
    “We’re ready, Doctor.”
    “Time for my rounds.”
    He stood up. Now she’d lost him. One last try.
    “Look, I spoke with Doctor Estienne last night, after the abduction.” True. “He stressed the hospital staff would help in any way possible.” Not so true. “He’s more than concerned.” Another lie.
    He paused in the doorway. “Talk to Marie Fourcy, our public-health liaison.” As Aimée joined him at the door, he beckoned to a small-boned black-haired woman with an aquiline nose who was talking to staff in the hallway. The woman, who reminded Aimée of a sparrow, broke off from the group and joined them.
    The young doctor hurried away as soon as he had introduced the two women and explained Aimée’s concerns.
    “We’ve sent an alert to all facilities in the system for Drina Constantin,” Marie said, repeating the party line back in the doctor’s office. “As soon as she shows up, we’ll be notified.”
    Aimée wondered what the chances of that were. “Have you spoken with her son, Nicu?”
    “Her son? I haven’t seen him, Mademoiselle.” Marie glanced at the reports on the desk. “But from what the
flics
told me, you’ll get nothing out of him, unless it’s something he wants you to know. People like him send people like you in circles.”
    No sympathy there. But Aimée’d get nowhere fast if she accused Marie of prejudice. She’d have to try something else.
    “Marie, can you help me understand some things here? I don’t get why Nicu would have brought his mother to this hospital unless they lived in the
quartier.
”
    “Gypsies, here in the seventh? With the prime minister?”
    She’d wondered that too.
    Marie rubbed her brow. “
Bien sûr
, we maintain our public ward, as all hospitals do. Laennec was founded as a hospital for incurables.” Marie shrugged. “My job’s coordinating public health outreach,” she said, by rote, it seemed to Aimée. “The more integrated and assimilated
manouches
are musicians or those working the markets.”
    Markets. She remembered Drina Constantin’s market-vendor ID from last night.
    “I need Drina Constantin’s address.”
    “I can’t give you that, of course,” Marie said. “Her son hasn’t given it to you? I’m not surprised. Even the integrated Gypsies take off in a moment. Roaming’s in their blood.”
    Some public-health liaison this Marie was. “The alarm wires to the back fire-exit door of Ward C were severed last night,” Aimée said, pretending to consult her Moleskine, which she’d opened to her to-do list. “One of Drina’s socks was found beside a wheelchair that had been abandoned near the emergency entrance at the back of the hospital. It’s clear that Drina Constantin was abducted by someone familiar with the ward layout, someone who blended in.” Or anyone who had cased out the hospital and its slipshod security, but she bit her tongue. “If that doesn’t point to staff, Marie …”
    “Haven’t you consulted the
flics?
They questioned the staff who were on duty last night,” she said. “Each of them has accounted for their whereabouts last night pre- and post-shift.”
    Yet no one had questioned Lana the ambulance driver.
    “So how did the abductor get in?” Someone had probably watered the plants, as her father would say—bribery.