Suspects(8)
“Do you want me to take a look at what we’ve got on him?” Richmond offered.
“It might not be a bad idea. Maybe you have more on him than we do. You’re closer to home for him.”
Robert typed the name into his computer and read what it had. “He sounds more like a lightweight and a nuisance, a bullshitter, one of those connection guys, a networker, who tries to work his way into every kind of deal, and lives off the commissions. He seems to know everyone with big money in Europe. He’s a party boy and some of the people he hangs out with in the Middle East and Russia are probably up to some nasty stuff, but there’s no hard evidence that he is. I’ll send you what we have, if you want. He doesn’t sound like a big problem to me, or even a small one. He lived in Russia several years ago and must have met some of his connections then. Anyone else of interest on the manifest?”
“Nothing I recognized, and the computer didn’t flag anyone else. The only name I noticed was Theodora Morgan. I don’t know if you remember her. She was married to a big deal luxury-brand guy, he and their son were kidnapped last year and both were killed over some mess with the delivery of the ransom. It sounds like everyone blew that one, and she lost a husband and a son.”
“I read about it,” Richmond remembered. “It sounded like everyone screwed up. Sad that they killed the boy especially. I don’t think they ever caught them. Russians, as I recall, but they sounded like amateurs from everything I read. I felt sorry for her too. So what’s new with you? Ready to retire yet?”
“I’ve got another sixteen years to go,” Mike said with a smile. “I’m not complaining. I like my job.”
“Yeah, me too. Except when everything goes wrong. It happens.”
“It does to us too, but it feels great when everyone gets it right and we get our guy.”
“It’s an absurd job for an adult, isn’t it?” Robert said, laughing. “It’s like playing cops and robbers for the rest of your life.” But the people were real, and some of them died, like Becky. Mike had never been afraid for his life. The risk just went with the job and was a hazard he had expected when he signed up. He didn’t mind his solitary life. He was busy, and facing armed gunmen seemed a lot less dangerous to him than falling in love.
He and Robert Richmond hung up a few minutes later, and Mike went to bed for a couple of hours, satisfied about Pierre de Vaumont. If he was up to any mischief while he was in New York, the tail would spot it and report it to Mike. They had all the bases covered. He was sound asleep five minutes later, as the flight took off in Paris, headed for New York.
Chapter 2
Once the flight took off from Paris/Charles de Gaulle, it was uneventful. There were four seats in first class, and only two were occupied, one by Pierre de Vaumont, the other by Theo Morgan. Each had chosen window seats, so they were far apart, and the two seats together between them were vacant. Theo paid no attention to Pierre and sat in her seat lost in thought. She hadn’t bothered to draw the curtains and didn’t really care if she had privacy. She had taken off her hat, but kept her dark glasses on for a long time. She didn’t look forbidding or unpleasant, but there was something about her demeanor that made it clear that she wasn’t open to conversation and didn’t want to be approached. The cabin crew offered her magazines, champagne, damp cloths to wash her hands, pajamas, a toiletry kit, and slippers, and she refused it all.
Pierre glanced over at her a few times and saw that she hadn’t noticed him. He had recognized her immediately when he saw her board the plane with her bodyguard. Pierre had met Matthieu Pasquier several times at major fashion events, but he had only spoken to Theo briefly once, and she seemed not to remember him when she glanced at him when she boarded the plane, and then looked away.
The bodyguard, who was a fixture in her life now, put her tote in the overhead rack, had helped settle her in her seat with her jacket and a blanket, and asked if she needed anything, before he took his own seat a few rows back.
Pierre noticed that she had a dazed expression as she sat quietly in her seat before takeoff, as though her mind was full of unhappy memories. She had a tragic look to her that was painful to see. After takeoff, she took a book out of her handbag, and was absorbed in what she was reading. Everything about her seemed to say “I’m wounded, stay away.” She was a beautiful woman, with thick dark hair to her shoulders. She would have been sexy if she hadn’t looked so sad. She had huge sapphire-blue eyes, very pale white skin, and a creamy flawless complexion. It struck him that she had graceful hands. He noticed that she was wearing her plain gold wedding band, although she’d been widowed for a year.
They crossed paths finally outside the restroom, after the meal, and Pierre seized the opportunity to speak to her. He was determined to connect with her on the flight, and not miss the chance, which was how he operated. He was an opportunist by profession.
“Ms. Morgan,” he said with a warm smile, as she left the restroom free for him, and he seemed to accidentally block her path back to her seat. “I’m Pierre de Vaumont. I met you with your husband a few years ago.” She had no recollection of it, which was unusual for her. She had a fail-safe memory, which Matthieu had always commented on. It was a little duller now after the trauma she’d been through, but it was starting to improve again. His face didn’t look familiar, and he seemed a little too friendly to her. “It’s lovely to see you. I’m addicted to your shopping site,” he said, smiling even more broadly. She was about to cut the conversation short when she had a thought. Pierre de Vaumont was seen everywhere, at all important social and fashion events. She didn’t recognize his face, but she knew his name. He was in the press all the time, and his attendance was an instant statement that the event was a success. It wouldn’t do her any harm to have him attend the opening party of the pop-up store in New York. She thought of it instantly while he spoke.