Fear No Evil(Alex Cross #29)(10)

“Only in an emergency,” Bree promised, opening the envelope and taking out the identity card. “‘Bree St. Lucie of Saint Martin,’” she read.

“You’ve worked there setting up shell corporations for offshore bank accounts. You’re here in Paris looking into opportunities.”

Bree was impressed. “How did you make this all happen so fast?”

“One of the top commanders at La Crim, Paris’s investigative police unit, cannot stand Philippe Abelmar. She wishes you the best of luck as you go hunting. So does a friend high up in the S?reté.”

“Could they help with a few other things?”

“What were you thinking?”

“Copies of past complaints against Abelmar.”

“They’re all sealed as far as I know.”

“I guess we need to know just how much your source in La Crim hates Abelmar.”

Le Tour’s dazzling smile returned. “I think I’m going to like you, Bree Stone. In fact, I already know I do.”





Chapter





11




The next afternoon, as Bree was changing to go out for a run along the Seine, her phone buzzed, alerting her to a text from Marianne Le Tour that told her to check her Bluestone e-mail account and to use a VPN to cover her tracks.

Bree did just that on her laptop, opening an app Ali had shown her called TunnelBear that would keep her location and the IP address of her laptop disguised. Then she signed into her Bluestone account and found an e-mail from Le Tour that included a forwarded message from an address she did not recognize.

You have until six a.m. tomorrow to read these files, which will destroy themselves at that time. None of this information may be referred to in your investigation or used in a court of law or in your final report to the board. Good luck. As you’ll see, he’s scum.

Bree glanced at her running shoes, told herself she’d run along the Seine tomorrow morning after the files self-destructed, got a Coke from the minibar, and clicked on the zip file at the bottom of the e-mail. After the file downloaded, she opened it to reveal twelve smaller files, each identified by a last name and a date. Anna Tuttle was there. So was Cassie Dane. But Bree started with the oldest file, from nearly twelve years before.

Three hours later, Bree finished screenshotting the file from the most recent complaint against Philippe Abelmar sealed by the French courts.

She felt dirtied by the overall experience and was appalled by the behavior described; her eyes burned from angry tears. If the statements contained in the complaints were true, Abelmar was as cunning, twisted, and repulsive a villain as any Alex had come across in his days with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit.

She also suspected that the billionaire was buying off judges inside the French courts to cover his actions. Three of the judges had sealed two or more of the complaints and subsequent settlements, all of which featured gag orders and payments of between two and four hundred thousand euros to the young women whom the chairman of Pegasus had allegedly abused at various locations throughout France.

Another common denominator was a specific bistro in Batignolles, the quiet, village-like neighborhood in Paris’s seventeenth arrondissement where Abelmar lived. He owned a sprawling penthouse that had undergone extensive renovations in the six years since he’d purchased it.

According to every one of the complaints, the founder of Pegasus often took his victims to Canard de Flaque, or Puddle Duck, his favorite local restaurant. He ate there three or four times a week when he was in Paris. Several of the women believed they’d been drugged at the bistro, then escorted to his nearby home, where they lost all memory and their nightmares began.

What don’t I know? Bree typed in a separate document. She often asked that question during an investigation. It helped her focus on where she wanted to look next.

She typed, The judges and what Abelmar has on them? Layout of A’s apartment?

Bree stopped, went to her secure in-house Bluestone e-mail account, and sent a message to Marianne Le Tour asking for any and all information on the three judges who’d done most of the sealing. She also asked for a copy of whatever plans Abelmar had filed with the city regarding the renovation of his apartment.

After Bree sent her e-mail, she returned to her list, only to have her stomach growl. She checked her watch. Five after eight. She should eat.

She thought of the cases she’d read and realized she knew just the spot for her second night out in the City of Light.





Chapter





12


Sherman Oaks, California



Crouching in the pitch-dark on the lip of a brush-choked and dusty urban canyon, Matthew Butler peered through his latest toy—a Leupold four-power infrared monocular that made anything with a heat signature show up in shades of yellow, orange, and red.

Butler had the device aimed across the canyon at the back of a four-thousand-square-foot Mission-style home set on half an acre of lush garden. There was a kidney-shaped pool with a little waterfall feeding it and a terrace beyond with double doors that opened into the kitchen.

He had the layout of the house downloaded on his phone, but he had already committed to memory the blueprint and a real estate agent’s video tour of the house. He believed he could walk the place blindfolded and not bump into a chair.