Free Dance of the Angels by Robert Morcet Page A

the pieces inside one of the dead cop’s pockets. The commissioner dragged the body to the river’s edge, and Robert Malet disappeared into the dark waters of the Seine to join the rest of the garbage.
    He was a good cop when he started out, thought Tavernier as he returned to his car.

C HAPTER VI
    Le Goënec climbed the stairs four at a time, his heart light. Ever since their first embrace, the desire to place his lips on Florence’s skin and make love to her hadn’t left him for a single instant.
    Danger! Look out! I’m getting hooked on this woman. She is perfect from head to toe. Funny, intelligent, and what’s more, she uses Shalimar perfume, Le Goënec said to himself.
    He couldn’t wait to taste her raspberry lips again. Being with Flo had turned the anti-crime hero into an attentive lover. He was a changed man. Le Goënec never failed to bring a huge bouquet of flowers every time he came to see her. A girl like this deserved such lavish treatment. As he rang the bell, a delicious ripple of emotion ran through him.
    This was the best moment: imagining her smile, guessing which underwear she’d slipped on. But when Florence opened the door now, it was like stepping into a cold shower.
    The young woman was not smiling. In fact, she seemed incredibly on edge.
    “What’s wrong?” Le Goënec asked immediately.
    “I’ll let you be the judge of that,” she said, brandishing a page from France-Soir , on which a photograph of Le Goënec bent over Gérard’s lifeless body took pride of place.
    “The Bloody Assault,” read the headline.
    “What does the inspector think of the photograph?” asked Florence bitterly. “I came across it in the paper’s archives. It really knocked me on my ass!”
    “I understand why you’re mad,” Le Goënec said, his stomach turning. “Let me explain.”
    “I can put up with anything in a man except lies. You lied to me. I can never trust you again.”
    “Listen, if I didn’t tell you I was a cop, it was for a good reason, OK? But since you take it like that, ciao,” Le Goënec said, making to leave.
    “Good riddance!”
    His hand on the doorknob, Le Goënec turned and gave her a hard look. This time, Flo felt she had to back down. She was impulsive, the type to blow a fuse and then immediately regret it.
    “Forgive me, my love, I shouldn’t have talked to you like that, but put yourself in my place. I was mad with rage,” she said, snuggling against her man without saying another word.
    It was a close call. Le Goënec, not the resentful type, hugged her close. The scent of Shalimar made him forget all thought of leaving.
    “Was it because you were fired that you switched to photography?”
    “No. I’m on a major case, top secret. I needed a watertight cover.”
    “Very well. Don’t tell me any more.”
    “Now that you know, I don’t have much left to hide from you. I think it’s fortunate we met.”
    Florence wriggled out of the embrace and scrutinized him. The lovely brunette had the feeling her hardheaded Breton was up to something.
    “Darling, how would you like to collaborate with an ex-cop who’s sitting on a shit heap that could blow up in his face?”
    “How much more can you tell me?”
    “I’m dealing with a disgusting case, and I’m trying to bring down a very high-profile public figure. You could help tell my side of the story by writing a series of articles. But on one condition: don’t publish anything before I give the green light. I’ll let you have the scoop. Is it a deal?”
    “What’s it all about? Drugs, corruption, arms dealing?”
    “No, it’s much more serious, Flo.”
    The image of the three terrorized kids in the depths of the cellar came to him. Three childhoods ruined to satisfy sadistic sickos. Le Goënec’s jaws stiffened with the raw emotion of it all. There was a sinister gleam in his eye. This was the first time that Florence had seen her man in this state.
    “What’s it all about, Loïc?”
    “It’s not an