Private Paris (Private 10)

“Wait. What?” Louis said. “Our lab meets—”

“I don’t care,” the magistrate said. “French national security is at stake, and under our censorship law, I forbid these two from disseminating this

message in any way whatsoever. Are we clear?”

Neither Farad nor Petitjean seemed happy about it, but they nodded.

“How did the letter arrive?” Hoskins asked. “There’s no stamp.”

“It was there at the front desk, waiting,” said Farad. “Juliette, the receptionist, went to the toilette, returned, and it was there.”

“Did we pick up the drop-off on security tapes?” I asked.

Farad hesitated. “I hadn’t looked.”

“We need to,” Louis said, nodding to Petitjean.

The scientist picked up an iPad and asked Farad, “About what time?”

He shrugged. “An hour ago?”

Petitjean gave the iPad some instructions, and a flat-screen hanging above the examination table blinked on, showing the lobby with a running time stamp. Farad had the envelope in hand and was talking to Juliette. The scientist sped the tape in reverse, and we saw images of Farad walking backward through the bulletproof glass door, and then the receptionist returning to find the letter.

“There he is,” Louis said when the squiggly image of a man went by. “Take us to when he comes in.”

Petitjean rewound further and hit play. A man with swarthy skin, a scruffy black beard, and sunglasses entered the lobby carrying a motorcycle helmet with the FEZ Couriers logo clearly visible. He dug in a messenger bag with gloved hands, came up with a manila envelope, and left it, turned, and exited the lobby.

“You don’t get a very good look at him, do you?” Hoskins asked.

It was true. Other than the suggestion of Arab features and the color of his neck and cheek, he gave us no clear view of his face.

“There’ll be a record at FEZ of who the messenger was and where the letter came from,” Louis said.

“I can call Firmus Massi,” Farad said. “We attend the same mosque.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Fromme said, eyeing him before turning to Petitjean. “You indicated there was more here than the letter.”

“Physical evidence,” Petitjean confirmed. “Under fluorescent light you can see several stains on the page. And there were hair fragments in the envelope and in the glue. Three of them. And what looked like fabric lint.”

“They’re here?” Fromme said, shaking the evidence sleeve.

“Here,” Petitjean said, holding out four small sealed sleeves that carried stickers and numbers indicating that they’d already been logged into our system.

Fromme took these as well, and had Hoskins take note of the time of day and the names of the witnesses to the evidence exchange.

“Monsieur Farad?” the magistrate said.

“Yes?”

“You will need to come with us.”

“Why?”

“We want to know why you received the letter.”

“I can tell you right here. I have no idea.”

“And the fact that it came from a messenger from a friend’s service?”