He saw a large, dark limousine drive slowly through the square and head towards him. The car pulled up beside him, the door opened, and a man got out. He was at least a few inches taller than Frank, powerful but agile in his movements. He had a square face and fair hair in a crew cut. The man walked around the car and stopped in front of him. Frank could tell that he was carrying a gun under his well-cut jacket. He had no idea who the man was, but he already seemed dangerous.
The man looked at him with expressionless brown eyes. He seemed more or less Frank’s age, maybe a year or two older. ‘Good evening, Mr Ottobre,’ he said in English.
‘Good evening. I see you already know my name.’ Frank showed no surprise. A flash of respect passed over the man’s eyes and then they returned to neutral.
‘I’m Ryan Mosse. American. Like you.’ Frank thought he could detect a Texas accent.
‘Nice to meet you.’ The statement contained an implicit question.
‘If you’d be so kind as to accept a ride to Monte Carlo,’ said Mosse, pointing to the car, ‘there’s someone inside who’d like to talk to you.’
Without waiting for an answer, he opened the back door on his side. Frank saw someone else in the back seat, on the other side. He could see the legs of a man in dark trousers, but not his face.
Frank looked Mosse straight in the eye. He, too, could be dangerous and he thought he should let the other man know.
‘Is there any special reason I should accept your invitation?’
‘There are three. The first is that you’ll avoid a long walk home since it’s pretty hard to find a cab at this hour. The second is that the person who wants to talk to you is a general in the United States Army. The third is that you might find some help solving a problem that’s been bothering you lately.’
Without showing the slightest emotion, Frank stepped over to the door and got in the car. The man sitting inside was older but of the same military appearance. He was more heavily built, given his age, but he emitted the same sense of strength and authority. His hair was completely white but still thick and crew cut. In the car’s dim light, Frank saw himself observed by a pair of blue eyes that were strangely youthful in the tanned, lined face. They reminded him of those of Homer Woods, his boss. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the man told him he was Homer’s brother. He was wearing a white open-collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up. On the front seat, Frank noticed, lay a jacket that matched the trousers. Mosse closed the door and got in behind the wheel.
‘Hello, Mr Ottobre. May I call you Frank?’
‘Mr Ottobre’s fine for now. Monsieur . . .?’ Frank purposely said the word in French.
‘I see the information they gave us about you is true. Drive on, Ryan.’
The car pulled out gently and the old man turned back to Frank.
‘Forgive me for stopping you so rudely. My name is General Nathan Parker, US Army.’
Frank shook the hand he held out. The man’s grip was firm, despite his age. He probably exercised daily to keep that physique. Frank sat silently, waiting.
‘And Arianna Parker’s father.’
The general’s eyes sought an instant of surprise in Frank’s but did not find it. He leaned back against the seat and crossed his legs in the narrow space of the car.
‘You can probably guess what I’m doing here.’ He averted his eyes as if he were looking at something out the window. Whatever it was, only he could see it. ‘I came to put my daughter’s body in a coffin and take her back to America. The body of a woman that someone flayed like an animal.’
Nathan Parker turned back to him. In the intermittent light of the passing traffic, Frank saw the glitter in his eyes. He wondered whether it was more from anger or grief.
‘I don’t know if you’ve ever lost someone close to you, Mr Ottobre Frank suddenly hated the man. The information he had about Frank certainly included the story of his wife. He realized that for Parker this was not a moment of shared sadness but simply an exchange of goods. Parker continued his speech in a casual tone. ‘I’m not here to cry over my daughter. I’m a soldier, Mr Ottobre. A soldier doesn’t cry. A soldier settles the score.’ The general’s voice was calm, but it held a lethal fury. ‘No maniac bastard can do what he did and hope to get away with it.’
‘There’s an investigation going on for exactly that reason,’ said Frank, gently.
Nathan Parker turned sharply.
‘Frank, aside from you, none of these people would know where to stick a suppository, even if they had detailed instructions. And you know what things are like in Europe. I don’t want this killer caught and put in a mental institution because he’s soft in the head, and then let out in a couple of years, with an apology.’
He paused and looked out the window again. The car had reached the road out of Eze and was turning left towards Monte Carlo.
‘Here’s what I suggest. We’ll organize some top guys and continue the investigation ourselves. I can have all the help I want. The FBI, Interpol, even the CIA if we need it. I can bring over a group of good, trained men, better than any cops. Quick boys who ask no questions and just obey orders. You’ll be in charge.’ He nodded towards the man driving. ‘Captain Mosse will work with you. You’ll continue the investigation until you catch him. And when you do catch him, you’ll hand him over to me.’
The car had reached the city in the meantime. They’d just passed the Jardin Exotique after turning down Boulevard Charles III. Continuing on Rue Princesse Caroline, they were now nearing the harbour.
The old soldier looked out at the place where his daughter’s mutilated body had been found. He squinted as if trying to see better. Frank figured that his vision had nothing to do with it; it was an instinctive reaction caused by the man’s violent anger. Parker continued speaking without turning his head. He could not tear his eyes away from the quay where the illuminated boats waited for another day at sea.
‘That’s where they found Arianna. She was beautiful as the moon and she had a first-class mind. She was a fine girl. A rebel. Different from her sister, but a fine girl. We didn’t get along so well, but we respected each other because we were equals. And they killed her like an animal The man’s voice trembled slightly. Frank sat in silence, leaving Arianna Parker’s father to his thoughts.
The car skirted the harbour and headed towards the tunnel. The general leaned back against the seat. The yellow lights of the tunnel coloured their faces.
When they emerged again in the open air of the night, near Larvotto, and the car turned down Rue du Portier, the old man finally broke the silence.
‘Well, what do you say, Frank? I’m a personal friend of Johnson Fitzpatrick, head of the FBI. And I can go even higher. I assure you, you won’t regret it. Your career could take off. If it’s money you’re interested in, that’s no problem. With what I can offer, you’ll be set for life. It’s an act of justice, not just revenge.’
Frank remained silent, as he had been throughout General Parker’s speech. He, too, paused to look out the window. The car was turning down Boulevard des Moulins, about to turn up the hill towards Parc Saint-Roman. The list of things they knew about him obviously included his address.
‘General, nothing is as easy as it seems. You’re acting as though you think all men have a price. Quite frankly, so do I. There’s a price for everything. You just don’t know what mine is.’
‘Stop playing the hero with me, Mr Ottobre.’ The general’s cold rage shone brighter than the lights in the lobby of Frank’s building. The words Mr Ottobre echoed in the small space of the car like a threat. ‘I know who you are. We’re two of a kind.’
The car pulled up smoothly in front of the glass doors of Parc Saint-Roman. Frank got out and stood outside the car, leaning against the door. He bent down so that his face could be seen from inside.
‘That may be, General Parker. But not quite. Since you know all about me, you must know about my dead wife. Yes, I’m perfectly aware of what it’s like to lose so
meone close. I know all about living with ghosts. We may be two of a kind, but there’s one difference between us. I cried when I lost my wife. I guess I’m no soldier.’
Frank gently closed the car door and walked away. The old man lowered his eyes a moment as he considered his reply. When he raised them again, Frank Ottobre was gone.
TWENTY-FOUR
As soon as he woke, without even getting out of bed, Frank dialled the direct line to Cooper’s office in Washington. He hoped he’d be there, in spite of the time difference. Cooper answered on the second ring.
‘Cooper Danton.’
‘Hey, Cooper. It’s Frank.’
‘Hey, kiddo, how’s it going?’ If there was surprise on the other end, Cooper didn’t show it.
‘Shitty.’
Cooper said nothing. Frank’s voice had changed. There was a new energy that hadn’t been there during the last phone call. He waited in silence. ‘They’ve put me on a serial killer case here in Monaco. You wouldn’t believe it!’
‘It’s all over the papers here. CNN too. They’re majoring on the American celebrities angle. But Homer didn’t tell me you were involved. Is it that bad?’
‘Worse. We’re hunting shadows. This guy’s made of air. No trace. No clues. And he keeps egging us on. He’s making us look like complete fools. And we’ve got three bodies already.’
‘So things like that happen in good old Europe too, not just here.’
‘No patent on it. How’re things going over there?’
‘We’re still on Larkin’s trail. Jeff is dead and nobody misses him. Osmond’s in the cooler and he’s keeping his mouth shut. But we’ve got some good leads. One goes to South-east Asia, a new drug racket. We’ll see what happens.’
‘Cooper, can you do me a favour? I need all the information you can get on a certain General Parker and a Captain Ryan Mosse, US Army.’
‘Parker? Nathan Parker?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘He’s big time, Frank. And that’s an understatement. Vietnam hero. The real mastermind behind the Gulf War and Kosovo, that kind of thing. A member of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Very close to the White House. When he talks, everybody listens, including the President. What does Nathan Parker have to do with you?’
‘His daughter was one of the victims. And now he’s here with a knife between his teeth because he doesn’t trust the local police. I’ve got a feeling he’s organizing a posse for his own little war.’
‘What’s the other guy’s name?’
‘Mosse. Captain Ryan Mosse.’
‘Don’t know him. I’ll find out and let you know what I dig up. How can I get it to you?’
‘E-mail it to me. Don’t send anything to the Monaco police. I’d rather keep this out of the official investigation. We’ve got enough trouble. I want to handle it myself.’
‘Okay, I’ll get to work.’
‘Thanks, Cooper.’
‘Don’t mention it – anything I can do to help, man. I’m happy for you.’
Frank knew what his friend meant by that. He didn’t want to disappoint him.
‘I know, Cooper. Bye.’
‘Good luck, Frank.’
He walked into the bathroom naked, not looking at himself in the mirror. He got in the shower and crouched on the floor, letting the cold water run over his head and shoulders. Shivering, he waited until the water warmed up, and then mechanically started to soap himself. As the suds washed away, he tried to open his mind, step outside his own body and become someone else: that formless, faceless someone who was waiting to attack.
The germ of an idea was forming. If what he suspected was true, Arianna Parker had been one of the unluckiest women on earth. A pointless death, except in the twisted mind of the assassin.
Frank turned off the jet of water and stood there for a moment, dripping wet, watching the water gurgle down the drain.
I kill . . .
The dots of the ellipsis, three deaths. And it wasn’t over. In some part of his brain, something was trying desperately to come to the light. There was a detail locked away, banging against a closed door, trying to make itself heard.
As he put on his bathrobe he ran through his conclusions one more time. Nothing was certain, but it was very plausible. And it restricted the field of investigation. He still did not understand how or when, let alone why, but at least he could conjecture who.
That was it. That must be it.
Frank went into the study, sat down at the desk, and turned on the computer. He sat and stared for an instant at the French keyboard, and then logged on to the Internet. Luckily for him, Ferrand, his host, had nothing to hide, at least not on that computer, and the password entered automatically. He sent Cooper an e-mail from the address where he wanted his friend to send the information. Then he shut down the machine and went to get dressed, still mulling over his thoughts from different viewpoints to see if they would still hold water. The phone warbled just as he passed the table.
He answered on the first ring.
Frank, it’s Nicolas.’
‘I was just about to call you. I’ve got an idea. Nothing much, but it’s a start.’
‘What?’
‘I think I understand what he’s after.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘It’s the men he’s interested in. Jochen Welder and Allen Yoshida. They were his victims.’
‘Then what does Arianna Parker have to do with it?’
‘She was a guinea pig. It was the first time he’d done it. The guy wanted someone to practice on before he did the real job, Jochen Welder’s face.’
‘If that’s true,’ Hulot said, after a silence as he evaluated the theory, ‘then we can exclude women, and we have a smaller circle of potential victims.’
‘Precisely, Nicolas. Men. About thirty or thirty-five. Famous, wealthy and good-looking. It’s not much, but it’s something. There aren’t millions of people like that.’
‘It’s worth considering.’
‘We don’t have anything better. Anyway, why did you call?’
‘Frank, we’re in deep shit. Have you seen the papers?’
‘No.’
‘The story’s on the front page of every paper in Europe. There are TV crews here from all over. Roncaille and Durand are on the warpath. They must be facing terrible pressure, from the Interior Ministry to the Prince himself. And now the Americans are getting involved.’
‘I’m not surprised. Allen Yoshida wasn’t just anybody.’
‘Exactly. All hell broke loose. Roncaille told me that the American Consul called him from Marseilles on behalf of your government. If we don’t produce something, I’m worried my head’s on the block. And we have another problem.’
‘What?’
‘Jean-Loup Verdier. His nerves are shot. If you consider the position he’s in, you can understand why.’
‘We can’t risk losing him. If the murderer has no one to talk to, he might stop calling. He won’t stop killing, but there will be no more clues. And if he decides to find someone else, at another radio station or something, it’ll take time until we get things under control again. Which means more people might die.’
‘We have to talk to him, Frank. I want you to do it.’
‘Why me?’
‘I think you have more influence on him. It’s just a feeling, but the letters FBI have more of an effect than the words Sûreté Publique.’
‘Okay. I’ll get dressed and be right there.’
‘I’ll send a car. See you at Jean-Loup’s.’
Frank was already heading towards the bedroom. He dressed hurriedly, and as he returned the things to his pockets that he had put on the dresser the night before, he thought about what he should say to Jean-Loup Verdier. The kid was scared stiff and that was hardly a surprise. Frank realized that he was calling Jean-Loup a kid when he was really only a few years younger than himself. Frank felt much older. You aged faster as a cop. Or maybe some people were just born old.
> He got in the lift and pressed the button for the ground floor. They would get the killer; that was certain. Sooner or later, he would slip up and they would catch him. But how many victims with mutilated faces would there be between now and then?
The lift stopped with a slight jolt and the doors opened on to the elegant marble lobby of Parc Saint-Roman. Frank went out through the glass doors and saw a police car waiting for him. They’d got there fast; they had probably been nearby. The doorman saw him and nodded through the glass guard box.
‘Bonjour, Monsieur Ottobre,’ the doorman said, addressing him in French.
‘Bonjour.’
‘They left this for you after you got back last night.’ The man handed him a plain white envelope with nothing on it except his name written in ink.
‘Thanks, Pascal.’
‘Pas de quoi. A pleasure, Monsieur.’
Frank took the envelope and opened it. Inside was a sheet of paper folded in three. He opened it and read the message, written in shaky but clear handwriting.
Real men are not afraid to change their minds. Don’t make me change my mind about you. You’ll find me at this address and phone number.
Nathan Parker
At the bottom of the page there was an address and two phone numbers. As he got into the car, Frank could not help thinking that now there were two bloodthirsty maniacs on the loose in Monte Carlo.
TWENTY-FIVE
The police car left Monte Carlo behind and took the uphill road to Beausoleil and the A8, the highway linking Monaco to Nice and Italy beyond. Sitting in the back seat, Frank opened the window to let in some fresh air. He read the general’s message a second time and slipped it into his pocket. Then he continued looking out the window. The scene outside unfolded before his eyes like one long, indistinguishable rush of colour.
Parker was a complication he didn’t need. Although this was a private matter, the man represented power with a capital P. He was not simply boasting. Not in the least. He really did have access to all the things he claimed. Which meant that, along with the police, there would be others around with unofficial methods of investigation. People who were not required to stay within the law.