Free Destiny by Alex Archer Page A

carefully ordered for so very long, felt very unsettled. He didn’t like the fact that Lesauvage’s men had been so close to the discovery of La Bête or that his monks had merely been lucky.
    When he had found out about the American television person, he had dismissed her at once. Chasing History’s Monsters was pure entertainment and a complete waste of time. No one doing research for such a show presented any threat to uncovering his secrets. Or so he had believed.
    â€œWho has the necklace now?” Brother Gaspar asked.
    â€œThe woman, I think.” Brother Napier looked flustered. “Lesauvage’s men gave pursuit, but the American woman and the old man shot back at them and escaped.”
    â€œWhere is the American woman?”
    â€œShe was staying in Lozère. I don’t know where.”
    Lamenting that he hadn’t given more thought to the threat the woman might have posed, Brother Gaspar sighed. “Find her. Find out if she still has the necklace.”
    â€œAnd if she does, master?”
    â€œTake it from her and bring it to me.”
    â€œOf course.” Brother Napier bowed and backed out of the room.
    Resentfully, Brother Gaspar glared at the table. His nearly completed letter sat there.
    It would have to be rewritten, of course. And he would have to call the bishop. Perhaps, Brother Gaspar thought, he would soon be free of his prison.

7
    Inspector Richelieu’s office was neat and compact. Not the kind of office Annja expected of a working policeman. She’d seen cop’s offices before. None of them were this pristine.
    She wondered if maybe Richelieu was gay or lived with his mother. Or perhaps he was a control freak. A personality trait like that was a real relationship killer.
    Not that Annja was looking for a relationship. But the inspector did have nice eyes and nice hands. Her mind wandered for a moment.
    â€œHave a seat,” Richelieu invited, waving to the chair across from his tiny metal desk.
    Annja sat. In the too neat office, she felt dirty and grimy. Outside in the main office with the other policemen, she’d felt that she belonged. Now she wanted a hot bath and a change of clothing. And food. She suddenly realized she was starving.
    â€œI gave a statement to one of the officers,” Annja said.
    â€œI know.” Richelieu sat on the other side of the desk. “I read it. Both versions.”
    While waiting for something—anything—to happen, Annja had written up her statement herself in addition to the one the policeman had taken. She hadn’t trusted his eye for detail. Or his ear.
    â€œYour penmanship and your French are exquisite,” Richelieu commented.
    â€œThanks,” Annja said, “but I wasn’t here for a grade.”
    Richelieu smiled. “I’ve also been investigating the supposed site of the chase down the mountain.”
    â€œSupposed?” Annja echoed.
    â€œYes.” The inspector looked concerned for a moment. “Would you prefer to speak in English? I’m quite good at it and perhaps it would be easier.”
    â€œFrench is fine,” Annja said.
    â€œI thought perhaps you hadn’t understood.”
    â€œI understood perfectly.” Annja put an edge to her words. Getting dismissed out of hand in the field of archaeology because she was a woman was something she’d had to deal with often. She didn’t take it lightly. “There was no ‘supposed’ chase site. It was there. Along with two or three dead men.”
    Richelieu waited a moment, then shook his head. “No dead men.”
    Annja thought about that. “Perhaps Lesauvage had the bodies picked up.”
    â€œWhy would he do that?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Annja replied. “I came here to you to find out why he would send men looking for me in the first place.”
    â€œDo you know that he sent the men?”
    â€œI overheard one of the men say that they