Free Murder at the Lanterne Rouge by Cara Black Page B

prized for increasing virility.”
    Saj and his daydreams. “Meizi cleaned toilets, for God’s sake,” Aimée said. “Who knows what else. Didn’t you notice her calloused hands, her bitten nails?”
    A ping came from Saj’s computer.
    “Got a hit.” Saj pointed to his terminal. “This Ching Wao seems to be a man of many talents.”
    Maybe many faces. She brightened. From the keystroke recovery program he ran, she could see the telltale sniffing in the network. “Sniffing keystrokes, Saj? Nice high?”
    Saj gave a sideways grin, pushed his dirty-blond dreadlocks behind his ears. “Network eavesdropping’s a nicer term, Aimée.Here’s Ching Wao’s wholesale prêt-à-porter business on rue de Saintonge.”
    Interested, Aimée leaned over Saj’s laptop. She remembered the frightened girl stacking cartons of hoodies. A connection?
    “That’s all?”
    “The beginning, Aimée.”
    “Pascal Samour bought his great-aunt the exact green bag they carried at the luggage shop,” she said. “That’s the second connection between Meizi and the murder.” She set down the recommendation letter. “Now the third: Pascal Samour recommended her for a job at the museum where he volunteered.”
    René snapped, “You’re implying Meizi was his girlfriend, that she led me on, two-timed me,
non
?”
    Aimée averted her gaze. “Non, you’ve said it René.”
    “How could Meizi, not much taller than me, murder a man? Or wrap him to a heavy wood palette with industrial plastic?” René’s voice trembled in anger. “
Et puis
, make it to the
resto
in time to order and be ready to serve us soup when we arrived without breaking a sweat?”
    “I’m saying we find her, René,” Aimée said, keeping her voice even. “Find out why she ran away after receiving that phone call. But don’t you wonder why no one is who they say they are, why people’s identities change like cards?”
    “You’re neglecting the dead man’s phone, assuming he carried one.” Saj pulled his dreadlocks back and tied them with a bandanna. “What if he called her for help? It’s close, you said. So she gets there and he’s being attacked.”
    “We’re spinning theories until the autopsy reveals the cause and time of his death.” Aimée set her bag down on her desk and scrolled through her cell phone contacts for Serge, her pathologist friend at the morgue. But his voice mail answered. “Taking a personal day. If you need immediate consultation, contact admin affairs at 01 55 34 78 29.”
    Great. Up the river without a paddle, until she got a hold of him. Unless …
    Thoughts spun in her mind.
    Saj reached for a steaming cup of green tea. “But what if the killer picked up the victim’s phone and called the last number he’d dialed—Meizi’s?”
    “That’s assuming he had a phone, Saj,” René said, shaking his head.
    “Say that call alerted her,” Aimée said, sitting down to think. Saj was just supposing, but his ideas weren’t completely wild. “Before she left the
resto
, Meizi looked back, worried. I don’t know how to explain it.” Aimée shrugged. “Say she ran by, saw or heard the murderer, then called it in?”
    “But Meizi trusts me.” The hurt in René’s tone stung her. “She knows I’d do anything for her. Why wouldn’t she tell me?”
    Trusted him to a point.
    Maybe the man Aimée had seen on the corner was her pimp. But she kept that to herself. René’s Glock bulged in his jacket pocket. He was ready to blast his competition.
    Meizi lied about where she lived, what she did. Aimée had no doubt she’d strung him along. And her unsmiling parents?
    René shook his head, adamant. “The
flics
found her photo, they suspect her. Of course she’s hiding.”
    “But like you said, wouldn’t she call you for help? Try to explain?”
    “There’s only one reason why she hasn’t called—she can’t.”
    No work would get done until they found Meizi. Part of Aimée dreaded knowing; the other wanted to resolve