The Take(28)

“Don’t tell me the bad guys finally got to you.”

“Twenty years was enough. I got sick of being shot at by stoned teenagers. And you, Riske, staying out of gunfights?”

“As best I can. I still owe you one.”

“I thought it was the other way around.”

“I didn’t take the bullet.”

Dumont laughed or grunted. With the French, it was hard to tell the difference.

Simon had phoned before leaving to provide Dumont with a few details about the man he was looking for. He’d purposely kept the description short and vague. A professional criminal active in Paris. Someone from the south. Bouches-du-Rh?ne. C?te d’Azur. Possibly a Corsican. His preferred targets were art, jewels, and historical artifacts. Worked with a team.

“Mind telling me what he did?” Dumont had asked.

“He stole something that belonged to a client. Something valuable.”

“In Paris?”

“Yes. A few days ago. That’s all I can give you for now.”

A secretary arrived with tea. Dumont poured two cups. “Sugar?”

“Please,” said Simon. “And milk.” He accepted the cup and sat down. “I appreciate you seeing me. I know you have your hands full. Any luck?”

“Nothing yet,” said Dumont as he arranged the papers on his desk into neat piles. “Slavs or Russians, I’m sure. These guys were trained. Burned the vehicles. Didn’t leave a print. The prince was dropping a fortune around town. He might as well have painted a bull’s-eye on his back.”

“Well,” said Simon, settling himself in his chair, “good luck.”

“We’ll find them sooner or later. Someone will brag about it…either here or in Zagreb or Moscow. Crooks can’t keep their mouths shut.”

“Lucky for us.”

“Between you and me, I’m not sure why we should care,” said Dumont quietly, as if passing along a secret. “The prince didn’t stick around long enough to file a report. He was on his plane and out of the country forty minutes after it all went down.”

“Maybe he didn’t want to talk,” said Simon in the same restrained tone. “You know who he is, don’t you?”

“Yes,” said Dumont. “But how do you?”

Simon shrugged. “Maybe he wasn’t here just to shop.”

“Oh?”

There was a knock on the door and Dumont’s countenance went from dark to darker. He shouted, “Come in,” but he was a beat late. A slim, energetic woman dressed in tattered jeans and a black T-shirt entered.

“Commissaire,” she said, taking up position directly in front of Dumont’s desk. “Reporting as ordered.”

Dumont pasted a smile onto his face. “Simon, may I present Detective Nicolette Perez.”

Simon stood. “How do you do?”

The woman turned toward him and shook his hand, gripping it a little too hard, meeting his gaze long enough to make it clear she didn’t want to be there. “Nikki. Nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s mine.”

“Detective Perez came into anti-gang a few months after I left,” said Dumont. “Since then she’s taken the lead on several high-profile cases. I informed her about the inquiries you’re making on behalf of your client.”

“It would help if he actually told us what he knew,” she said to Dumont.

“Mr. Riske is a friend of the PJ,” said Dumont reprovingly. “You will extend him every courtesy.”

“It’s all right,” said Simon. “I know I’m taking her away from her job.”

“Do you?” said Nikki Perez. “How very understanding.”

He looked at her closely. She had tousled brown hair that fell to her shoulders and a streak of blue thrown in toward the back to show that she made her own rules. Her brown eyes were large and unapologetic, and they went nicely with a wide, expressive mouth cast until now in a frown. She wore little or no makeup and Simon didn’t think she needed any. No fingernail polish, but slender hands and nice nails. He had a thing about hands. He also had a thing about guns, and she was carrying a SIG Sauer with an extra-wide grip on her belt that said she was all business.

She dropped into the chair adjacent to Simon’s and stretched a leg out in front of her. “Look,” she said. “We have a half-dozen organized crime groups working the city today. Russians, Slavs, Africans, and a few others. The Corsicans are way down the list. Mostly they’re into protection, gambling, prostitution. Once in a while they bring in a crew to take down a bank or a jewelry store. There hasn’t been anything reported that even remotely fits what you’re looking into. No stores knocked off. No paintings stolen from private collections. No thefts of expensive jewelry. Not much more I can add.”

“I’m happy to give you some more details,” said Simon. “My client doesn’t want the theft made public.”

“It’s a crazy time. I’m sure you’ve seen the news. I’ve got a lot of work. Like I said, I haven’t heard a thing.” She stood and smiled woodenly. “Good luck, all the same.”

“Detective Perez,” said Dumont. “I’m certain you can offer Mr. Riske a few minutes of your time…no matter how valuable it may be.”