Les Calanques was an area along the coast east of Marseille composed of numerous narrow inlets with craggy vertical walls rising a thousand feet or more out of the sea.
“Your old stomping ground.”
“Something like that.”
Simon put the picture in his pocket. As he rose, he eyed a blank notepad with a pencil lying next to it. He picked up the notepad and turned it this way and that, studying the surface.
“What is it?” asked Nikki.
“Just checking something.” Simon ripped off the top sheet and set it on the desk, then activated his cellphone’s light and directed it at a low angle toward the paper.
“See anything?”
“Not sure,” said Simon, but in fact he’d spotted several indentations made by a pen and a firm hand. Opening the top drawer, he found a pencil, and placing his index finger above the lead, brushed it vigorously across the page. A number appeared. Then another. Soon the page was colored over in lead…except for six phone numbers all beginning with the Paris city code. Above them, clearest of all, were the initials “T.C.”
“Nice,” said Nikki, looking over his shoulder.
Simon picked up the sheet. “The first number is the one Falconi called from Le Galleon Rouge.”
“To Coluzzi?”
Simon nodded. “I’m guessing the other numbers are his, too.”
“Burners he can use and throw away. We can’t get taps on them without a warrant.”
“You can’t, maybe. I’m going to give them to my friend, Mr. Neill. If he wants that letter, he’ll pass them along to his pals at the National Security Agency. They’ll do whatever they do, and when Coluzzi uses these numbers, we’ll be listening in.”
“Didn’t you say Neill didn’t want to be involved?”
“I said he didn’t want to be seen to be involved,” said Simon. “You can’t see who’s listening in on your calls.”
“Are you done here?”
“Think so.”
“Okay, then. Follow me.” In the kitchen, Nikki pointed to two snifters in the sink. She picked one up. “Still warm. Whoever did this cleaned up after himself.”
“Not him. Her.”
“How do you know?”
“I don’t see Falconi asking a buddy to come over at one in the morning to listen to old disco music and have a drink.”
“Maybe he’s gay.”
“Doubtful. Besides, I think I saw her at the bar last night.”
Simon related his suspicions about the attractive blond woman he’d seen seated next to Falconi at Le Galleon Rouge. At the time, he’d thought her out of place, not only for the establishment but for chumming up with Falconi.
“She’s the one who called Moscow?” asked Nikki.
“That’s my guess.”
“There’s a camera on the front door downstairs.”
“I noticed.”
“We’ll need to contact the building manager.”
