Free The Lying Down Room (Serge Morel 1) by Anna Jaquiery Page A

what sense?’ Morel asked.
    ‘Graham called his evangelizing sessions crusades, after the medieval Christian campaigns to conquer Jerusalem. Like I said, these are people who see themselves as crusaders for truth,
seeking to redeem a new Holy Land.’
    Morel was wondering what any of this had to do with his case. ‘So you think my evangelist could be one of these crusaders?’
    Chesnay stood up and paced the narrow area behind his desk. He cut a ludicrous figure, like a bear trying to pace inside a phone booth.
    ‘Could be, could be. He’s definitely on a mission. Though
what
he’s preaching is hard to tell. Going by what’s in here –’ he tapped the pamphlet with
his hand, ‘he’s pretty confused. And he’s not acting on anyone’s behalf. Organizations that are trying to draw people in usually have some sort of contact details on their
brochures. This one has no number, website or email – nothing.’
    ‘I noticed that too,’ Morel said. ‘So why distribute something like this at all, if no one can come back to you? What would someone get out of it?’
    ‘Maybe they genuinely believe they are spreading the word of God.’
    ‘Saving souls.’
    ‘Maybe. Or maybe he’s trying to save himself.’

E IGHT
    Morel got back to Quai des Orfèvres at 12.30 and parked the car. From the office he walked towards the Pont-Neuf, past the bronze equestrian statue of Henry IV, one of
France’s most popular kings before he was killed by a fanatical Catholic at the age of fifty-six. His popularity had stemmed from the novel fact that he seemed genuinely interested in the
welfare of his subjects. Even more untypical at the time was the monarch’s religious tolerance. Maybe someone like Henry IV would be better suited as France’s ruler in 2010 than
Sarkozy, Morel reflected. Tolerance was not high on this government’s agenda.
    Henry IV was getting a fair bit of media coverage this week following the announcement that a forensic examiner with Poincaré University Hospital in Garches had identified the
king’s mummified head, thus solving a 400-year-old mystery. The head had vanished in 1793, presumed taken by robbers during an attack on graves at the Royal Basilica.
    Leaving Henry IV behind, Morel thought back to his conversation with Paul Chesnay. He thought about Russia and the New Age missionaries who were flocking there. His conversation with Paul had
been stimulating, as always, but did it have anything to do with Dufour’s death? Morel felt like a man without a compass. He had no idea which direction he needed to take.
    Adèle was at a table drinking coffee when he got there. She smiled when he walked in.
    ‘Thanks for agreeing to see me,’ she said. Of Morel’s two sisters she resembled him the more. They had both inherited their father’s height and their mother’s dusky
looks – her thick black hair and smooth complexion.
    Adèle stirred her coffee and crossed her legs. She wore a red strapless dress that fell to just above her ankles. Black sandals and crimson toenails. Hair worn loose around her shoulders.
The dress clung to her body, drawing stares.
    ‘What is it? Has something happened?’ He caught the waiter’s eye and called him over. He ordered a coffee. Tables were set up outside on the cobbled footpath. Morel watched the
smokers sitting at the outdoor tables and wished he were among them.
    ‘It’s Maly. Karl has asked her to marry him.’
    ‘And?’ Morel said. Already he was beginning to wonder why he’d agreed to this meeting in the middle of a busy day. He didn’t have time to discuss his sisters’ love
lives.
    ‘She said yes.’
    ‘Did she now?’ He looked at his sister. ‘That’s great.’
    ‘Is it?’
    ‘I think so. Karl’s a nice guy.’
    ‘You don’t know a thing about him.’
    ‘Do you?’
    ‘I know he’s dull.’
    ‘What has that got to do with you?’ Morel said.
    ‘She’s not happy. I think she’s going through with this because she’s getting