“I almost got him with a casserole,” said Matthieu.
“A what?”
“A pan.”
Cyrille stared at Matthieu with a kind of wonder. How lucky was this guy to be alive? “Is that all he wanted? Just to look at the cameras?”
Matthieu nodded. “For his wife, I guess.”
“Did he see her?”
“I don’t know. I was kind of out of it. But afterwards, he asked me lots of questions about Monsieur Rosenfeld, our maître d’.”
“Like what?”
“Where he lives. His phone number. I’m guessing that’s where he went. To Rosenfeld’s. Maybe you should call him.”
“You tell that to the cops?”
“No, but I just figured he seemed kind of desperate. That’s what I would do.” Matthieu shifted on his feet. “That’s when he stole my iPhone.”
“He has your phone right now?”
Matthieu nodded. “He stole it.”
“What’s your number?” Cyrille entered the digits into her own phone. “Did you give him Rosenfeld’s info?”
“Only his mobile number,” said Matthieu. “I don’t know exactly where he lives. Somewhere in the Marais, I think. Rue des Rosiers.”
“You remember it? Rosenfeld’s number?”
“No.”
“So, what do you want out of this?” asked Cyrille.
“I want you to arrest this guy. I want my phone back. It was expensive.”
“Did he take the five hundred euros too?”
“No.”
Cyrille stepped away to light a cigarette. Something didn’t add up. She looked at Matthieu. Young and dumb. She offered him a smoke. He took it and touched her hand as she lit it for him. And now he’s flirting with a cop. What acrapaud.
“Know what that prick told me?” said Matthieu. “He said I shouldn’t tell anyone about him. That if anyone asked about my face, I should just say I had an accident. He begged me. He said it was to protect me ... not him.”
Cyrille ground out her cigarette with the toe of her boot. “As if.”
“Right?”
“Hey, it’s late,” she said, amicably. “Why don’t I give you a ride home?”
“You don’t mind?”
Cyrille touched his sleeve, gave him a look. “Not at all. Where you at?”
“Not far,” said Matthieu. “Rue de Grenelle.”
Cyrille walked him to the car. “Wait a sec. I have to unlock it from inside.” She paused before climbing behind the wheel, doing a one-eighty of the area. Quiet as the grave. She grabbed a towel from the back seat and spread it across the passenger footwell. Leaning over, she unlocked the door.
