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“I’m the head of security here,” said the man. “Thierry Girard.”
“Jean-Guy Beauvoir, and this is my number two, Séverine Arbour. Can I help you?”
“What’re you doing here?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“This isn’t your office.”
“No. It belongs to Madame Gossette.”
“Then why are you here?”
Beauvoir’s brows lowered in annoyance. Getting up, he walked around the desk. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
“We don’t like people trying to get into offices that are not theirs.”
“And I don’t like being questioned by a security guard,” said Beauvoir. “I’m senior management here. We haven’t met, but that doesn’t mean you don’t know who I am.”
“Oh, I know, sir. What I don’t know is why you’re here.”
“I’m looking for Madame Gossette. Since you’re so efficient, please check and see if she’s in the building.”
Xavier Loiselle’s eyes had opened wider. Clearly surprised anyone would speak to Thierry Girard like that.
Beauvoir now knew that Loiselle hadn’t sounded the alarm. In fact, he suspected Loiselle had accompanied his boss in order to protect them.
Girard was glaring at Beauvoir.
“Go on,” said Jean-Guy calmly. “We’ll wait.”
They stared at each other until Girard took out his phone, made a call, then put it away.
“Unfortunately, Madame Gossette isn’t in today. Why don’t we show you out.”
As all four stood in the elevator, Beauvoir decided to really push.
He turned to Loiselle.
“I spotted you last night, you know. And you’ve been following me all day. Why is that?”
“You must be mistaken, sir,” said Loiselle.
“Yes. I agree. A mistake has been made.”
* * *
Commander Fontaine’s office was dreary, like the rest of the famed 36.
Daniel could see why they’d want to leave the rambling old building. It was probably rat-infested. What he couldn’t figure out was why the Prefect had chosen to keep an office here.
He looked at the mishmash of items on display. There were photos of suspects mixed in with what seemed to be family pictures. Holiday shots and crime scenes.
As though this woman’s life and work were so tightly intertwined, she could no longer distinguish between flesh and blood, and her own flesh and blood.
“Did you like it?” Daniel asked, trying to break the ice. “My oldest daughter’s dying to go. She’s been to Brussels to see the Pissing Boy, but—”
“What are you talking about?” Fontaine interrupted his babbling, glancing up from her notes.
