Free Destiny by Alex Archer Page B

were working for Lesauvage.”
    â€œBut you don’t know that they, in fact, did.”
    â€œWhy would they say they were if they weren’t?”
    The inspector looked amused and perplexed. “I’m quite sure I wouldn’t know.”
    â€œI could ask Lesauvage,” Annja said.
    â€œI thought you didn’t know him.”
    â€œMaybe you could introduce us,” Annja suggested with a smile. The inspector wasn’t the only one who could play games. He was just the only one at the moment with some reason to.
    A sour smile pulled at Richelieu’s lips. He pulled at his left ear. “You’re intimating that I have some kind of personal relationship with Lesauvage?”
    Returning his gaze full measure, Annja asked, “Are you sure speaking French works for you? Maybe English translates more plainly.”
    Richelieu scowled. “I didn’t come here to listen to disparaging remarks directed at me, Miss Creed.”
    â€œI didn’t come here to cool my heels for three hours, then get patted on the head and sent away.”
    Opening the slim notebook computer on his desk, Richelieu opened a file that displayed several pictures. “We investigated the site. I took these pictures. I found expended cartridges, bullets in the trees and scorch marks.” He paused. “No bodies. No motorcycles.”
    â€œThen Lesauvage picked them up.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œSo he wouldn’t be implicated.”
    Closing the computer, Richelieu looked at her. “I was hoping to establish the veracity of your claim, Miss Creed. I did find damage done out in the forest—which is federally protected, I might add, and something you might be called upon to answer for—but nothing that you and your friend couldn’t have done yourselves.”
    â€œWe didn’t intentionally damage the forest,” Annja said. She was annoyed. Truthfully, she hadn’t expected much in the way of help from the police. This man, Lesauvage, appeared to have a large organization at his beck and call. Assuming he had inroads with the local police was no great leap of imagination.
    â€œSo you say,” the inspector said.
    â€œI do say.”
    â€œI will note your disavowal in my reports.”
    â€œWhy would we do something like that?” Annja asked, exasperated.
    Richelieu spread his hands. “You’re a television personality, Miss Creed. Here in Lozère chasing a monster that’s three hundred years old. Perhaps you thought tales of a running gun battle through the forest would, perhaps, spice up your tale. For your viewers. I am told that you people in television will do anything to improve your ratings.”
    â€œI wouldn’t do that,” Annja said angrily.
    â€œPerhaps not. But there were no bodies out there. Nor was there a giant crevasse leading to an underground cave containing the remains of La Bête.”
    â€œThe earthquake must have closed it back up.”
    Richelieu nodded. “Amazing, isn’t it, that nature herself would align against you?”
    â€œWhat about the bullet holes in the old man’s SUV?”
    â€œA lover’s quarrel?”
    Frowning, Annja said, “Me? And that old man? Please.”
    Richelieu laughed. “Perhaps it was over business. Perhaps you were both shooting at game and hit the truck instead.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œYour report here could be just to falsify an insurance claim.”
    â€œThat’s not what happened.”
    â€œBut you are on the show with the woman with the… problematic apparel.”
    Terrific, Annja thought. Maybe poltergeists could get chased away from historic manors, but she’d be haunted by Kristie Chatham’s bodacious ta-tas forever.
    â€œI have never had a problem with my apparel,” Annja pointed out.
    â€œI have made a note of that, as well.”
    Annja reached into her pack and took out her digital camera. She switched