Rocco veiled the hatred in his opaque black eyes. “We all have to have some sort of hobby, Hubert.”
“When you’re in a dangerous line of work you ought to find a discreet hobby, not one that will call more attention to yourself. Malgreave is after you, isn’t he?”
Rocco wasn’t surprised at Hubert’s knowledge. Little escaped the old man. “Malgreave has always been after me.”
“But he’s beginning to put things together. Your friend Bonnard is in deep trouble, and he’s going to drag you down with him.”
“Where is he?”
“Is that what this is about?” Hubert sniffed. “I haven’t the faintest idea.”
“Don’t give me that shit. You know everything. Where the hell is Bonnard?”
“Out looking for his girlfriend, I expect. Not to mention her lover and Bonnard’s stepchild. You find them, you’ll find Bonnard.” Hubert took a black silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and dabbed at his pursed mouth. “Come to think of it, you might be able to assist me after all. And in the end, you’ll assist both Bonnard and yourself.”
“Name it.”
Hubert smiled. “You really have gotten the wind up, haven’t you, my boy? I never thought to see the day you’d be so thoroughly spooked. It’s very simple. Find the Américaine and her lover and kill them. Bring the child to me. I’ll be grateful, and you know I’m capable of astonishing things in my gratitude. Malgreave could be forced to take an early retirement. Or given a promotion to a police department in Lyon or somewhere equally distant.”
“Why do you want the child?”
“I’m a sentimental old man. She’s the last living relative of a woman I loved dearly. For Harriette’s sake I want to protect her.”
“And Bonnard?”
“Once the woman and the man who cuckolded him are dead he will regain reason. He’s had times like this before, word has it. But if you wish to survive you’ll have to stop your nasty little hobby. Even if I can manage to get rid of Malgreave, someone else will be after you and if you’re almost caught once, someone else can put the same facts together. And next time it won’t take them so long.”
Rocco wished he had a silk handkerchief of his own to wipe the sweat from his forehead. “I’ll stop. I don’t know if it will be possible for Bonnard.”
Hubert smiled sweetly. “Then you’ll simply have to stop him.”
Rocco shut his eyes for a moment, feeling the sweat roll down his back and under his arms, pooling in his groin. If he was frightened of anyone in this world he was frightened of Marc Bonnard. He met Hubert’s grave expression and nodded.
“And take good care of the child for me. I would be very distressed if Bonnard got to her first.”
“I’ll find her. And the Americans.”
“And Bonnard,” Hubert said gently.
“And Bonnard,” agreed Rocco.
CHAPTER 18
Claire slammed down the telephone, crashing it into the receiver. Nicole slept onward, curled in a fetal position on the uncomfortable sofa in the salon, and Tom stood by the window, looking out into the afternoon streets. “They won’t listen,” she said, her voice raw with frustration and unshed tears. “Damn their souls to hell.”
“What did the police say?”
“Just the same garbage they told you. They would record my complaints and pass the information on to the next available officer. That they appreciated my assistance in this matter. Damn them!”
“You couldn’t remember who’s in charge of the investigation?”
“I know who’s in charge of the investigation.” Claire wrapped her arms around her shivering body. “He’s a tall man, in his late fifties, with gray eyes and a deeply lined face.”
“I hate to be nitpicking, Claire, but what was the man’s name?”
“For God’s sake, don’t you think I’m trying to remember?” she cried. “It was something French. And don’t tell me that isn’t any help. I know most people who work for the Paris police have French names. It was something like … Mal … Malgreave.”
He still hadn’t moved from his spot by the window, and she wanted nothing more than to cross the elegant, haunted room and lean against him, huddle in the shelter of his warmth and strength. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t give in to the weakness and terror she was fighting so hard. Tom couldn’t take responsibility for the three of them, much as she wished she could simply hide her head in the sand and let him. She had gotten herself, and to some extent, the two of them, into this mess, and she had to get them out.