LAFORGE STOOD WITH his forehead against the window, looking out onto the street from room 617. His lieutenant, Cendrine, walked up to him.315Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOw1N3QeYsH
"She must've gone down the rear staircase before we talked to the clerk," she said. "Which means she must've taken a quick shower and left within an hour of checking in. Lucky her."
LaForge peered down at the street below, where a throng of young people was heading toward the party scene on the Rue de Buci.
"I'm not sure I'd call it lucky," he said. "I think she suspected her alias wouldn't hold up. She wanted a shower, probably a change of clothes, but she didn't want to stick around." He looked at Cendrine. "Tell me again about the tip."
Cendrine wasn't shocked. LaForge always did this, always asked for the story to be repeated over and over again, trying to find new nuggets of information. "A man handed an envelope to a police captain leaving work on the Quai des Orfevres. The captain says the man was so smooth, he didn't catch a glimpse of him before he was gone. The note inside the envelope said that Mischa Barton was traveling with an American passport under the name of Audrey Becker and was heading to Paris."
LaForge put his palms flat against the window. It wasn't adding up. "And what is the status of her cellmate's fiancé?" he asked. "The carjacker?"
"Donatello Bianchi? We still haven't found him, sir," she said. "Neither of his employers has heard from him and he hasn't returned to his apartment. It stands to reason that he stole a car for her and left it for her at the Limouges train station, but we don't know that for sure. And even if he did help her, that doesn't mean he knows where she is."
"Or what she's planning." LaForge moaned. Mischa Barton was giving him indigestion. "And the plane ticket?" he asked.
"Sir, it was purchased yesterday in Paris. There is a bona fide Visa card issued in the name of Audrey Becker. And as far as we can tell, there was a real Audrey Becker who lived in the United States, outside Chicago, until her death last month."
"Hmph. And this Donatello person----the carjacker? Is he capable of this kind of fraud?"
"It's not in his background, sir. But it's surely possible. Why, are you thinking it might be someone else?"
LaForge thought about that. "Maybe," he said. "So Audrey Becker had a boarding pass for a flight out of France and was on her way to Paraguay," he said. "She'd gotten out. She was gone. She'd won. But instead she changes her mind and drives back to Paris. She's coming right back to us, Cendrine. Why?"
Cendrine shrugged. "Maybe Paraguay is an unknown to her. She might not make it through customs, for all she knows. And Paris? If you're going to hide, a city of more than two million people isn't a bad place."
"Is that what she's doing? Hiding?" LaForge shook his head. He thought for a second and made a decision. "You still have that friend at Le Monde, Cendrine?"315Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQ90BK4AiCz
"Yes, sir."315Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPvLmu0mR9O
"Good." He nodded to himself. "I want a story leaked tonight. We think that she's made it across the Spanish border."315Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfIiWzOjsNj
Cendrine understood. The DCRI routinely used the press for its own purposes. "You want her to feel comfortable here in Paris," she ventured.315Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbEaoyJEtSW
"I want her guard down, yes," LaForge said. "Tomorrow morning, I want her to read in the papers that we think she's in Madrid."315Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAhpx9lvN3B
