Instead, he lowered himself to the chair and nodded wearily, acknowledging that he had danced with her. “She danced with Yoshi afterward. Have we asked Yoshi if she said anything to him about going anywhere?”
Wulf shook his head. “You know those two. They teased each other about being drunk for a couple of songs, had a few more together, and then stumbled in opposite directions.”
Dieter examined Pierre, who still hadn’t said a word, lifted his head, or acknowledged Dieter’s existence. That was some interesting body language that cried out Pierre was lying about everything. “Why wasn’t she dancing with you?”
Pierre shrugged, but he still didn’t look up. “Flicka dances with whomever she likes. I’m not her jailor.”
Interesting denial, there.“So, you have one of those open, modern relationships, where you can both fool around with whomever you want?”
“Of course not. Don’t be daft. She’s the love of my life. We’re practically still newlyweds.”
“But you were dancing with other women last night, weren’t you?”
He shrugged his shoulders around his hanging head. “It was just dancing.”
“Was one of themAbigai Caillemotte?”
Pierre looked up at Dieter.
One of Pierre’s eyes was swollen almost shut and inflated with purple bruises. One side of his mouth was puffed, too, and blood had dried in the creases of his lips. He asked, “How do you know her name?”
Dieter sat back in his chair and crossed one leg, examining the evidence of a rather extensive injury, and wondered if Pierre had counted his teeth this morning. Flicka had fought hard, and he was justifiably prouder of her. Those bruises and scrapes on her knuckles had been hard-earned. “You get in a bar fight last night, Your Serene Highness?”
“That’s irrelevant,” he said. “How do you know about Abigai?”
“Flicka asked me to validate several documents and pictures last night. The nameAbigai Caillemotte kept coming up.”
Pierre’s swollen lips peeled back from his teeth. “She’s no one.”
“That’s not what the paperwork says, is it?”
“I used to know her.”
Dieter looked at Quentin Sault, standing back there, but Sault was staring out the hotel room’s wide windows.
Wulfram was turning between Dieter and Pierre. Dieter almost felt a chill when Wulf so thoroughly turned off his emotions that he might as well have been a blue-eyed, steel robot sitting in the chair.
Dieter asked, “Did any of you receive a message, text, email, or anything?”
Pierre resumed staring at the floor as he and Wulf shook their heads.
“Sault, when did you try to track her phone?”
“This morning around six o’clock,” he said, still staring at the bright, summer morning outside the windows.
If that was true, then Dieter had already dismantled her phone by that time.Good.Score one for Monegasque Secret Service ineptitude.
He doubted it was true, though. Men had been chasing Flicka down the hallway. They knew she had run. They should have traced it right away.
Should have, but maybe they hadn’t.
He asked, “Why didn’t you try sooner?”
“She’s an adult,” Quentin Sault said. “She doesn’t have a curfew.”
“She was under your security umbrella,” Dieter said. “You shouldn’t have lost her.”
“She slips away,” Sault said. “She slipped away from everyone yesterday afternoon for several hours.”
