“Yeah. Why?”
“And you had eyes on him the whole time?”
“Since he got to the Charles house, yes. What is it, Frank?”
“Sally Faiers is dead. Someone blew a hole in her torso the size of a rugby ball. About two hours ago.”
Jeff exhaled slowly. Tracy had liked Sally.
“Jesus.”
“I doubt he had much to do with it. Our guys are over there now, cleaning up. We can’t have the Belgian police getting mixed up in this.”
“Hold on,” said Jeff. “How did you know? Was someone watching the bungalow? I thought you said I was alone here.”
“Never mind that,” Frank said dismissively. “Are they still in the bar?”
“Yes. I . . . shit. They’re coming out.”
Wordlessly, Jeff slipped the phone into his pocket without hanging up and stepped back into the shadow of the Basilica.
“Stay away from me!” The woman was crying. “You’re a liar!”
“No, I’m not. I know what happened to Daniel. I know, Kate.”
“I mean it. Stay away!”
With a sob, she physically pushed Hunter backwards, so hard that he slammed against the wall just feet from where Jeff was standing, frozen like a statue. Then she took off into the night like a gazelle, her long hair flying behind her
“Kate!” Hunter yelled after her, giving chase. “Come back! Kate!”
Jeff pulled out his phone the instant Hunter took off.
“Did you hear that?” he asked Frank Dorrien.
“Every word.”
“What should I do?”
Frank hesitated for a second. Then he said “Forget Drexel. Follow the girl.”
CHAPTER 25
ARE YOU SURE YOU won’t ride with me to the airport?”
Cameron was standing by his chauffeur-driven Mercedes in the driveway of his French château. Tracy had come outside to see him off.
“Or better yet, come to New York?”
“Soon, I promise.” She kissed him. “I have a few loose ends to tie up here first.”
After five days spent recuperating in Cameron’s mansion outside Paris, sleeping, reading and generally being waited on hand and foot, Tracy felt better. Better, and bored, and itching to get back to the job of finding Althea and Hunter before Jeff stole too much of a march on her.
Greg Walton had visited her in person yesterday. Cameron had been persuaded, reluctantly, to let him in. What he had to say was disturbing, to say the least.
“We now know for a fact that Hunter Drexel visited Camp Paris on no less than four occasions in the days leading up to the shooting. Multiple witnesses place him there. He was posing as a theater producer by the name of Lex Brightman, and had offered jobs to some of the students. Including Jack Charlston.”
“Richard Charlston’s son.”