Cara Black - Murder in the Bastille

You are not alive unless you know you are living

graffiti on a Paris wall

In the country of the blind, the one-eyed man is king

Desiderius Erasmus, Adagia

AIME LEDUC FELT THE air shift, the floating candles waver, as a woman murmuring into a cell phone, wearing a black silk Chinese jacket identical to Aimes, sat down on the restaurant banquette next to her.

Great. Just Aimes luck someone showed up in her jacket tonight. For a moment Aime made eye contact with the woman. Blunt blonde shocks of hair framed her face. She favored Aime with an intense stare. The vein in her temple stood out in her otherwise perfectly made-up face.

Wouldnt you know it! Aime said to her.

Things could get worse. The woman shrugged, as if wearing the same outfit as her neighbor were the least of her worries. Aime noticed the frightened look in her eyes before she averted her face.

Around them, illuminated by red glass Etruscan-style sconces, Parisiens drank, dined, and smoked. This upscale resto , formerly a meat market, with its exposed beams and rusted meathooks, was booked weeks ahead. But her client, Vincent Csarda, head of Populax, an agence de publicit, never had trouble getting a table.

Tinkling glasses and the waiters shouts made it difficult for Aime to hear Vincents words. Vincent, the brains behind his advertising agency, who was sitting across from her, stabbed his slithering ziti con vongole as he spoke.

But Im just the mec stuck in the middle. My agency subcontracted this Incandescent campaign only two weeks ago, he said. His short coifed hair and red bow tie were out of place in this fashionably dressed late evening dinner crowd. He was not quite Aimes height. Vincent, who was in his mid-thirties, was a nervous type. She figured he was gaunt from overwork and espresso. She wished it worked that way for her.

Aime knew she should be home preparing her apartment for the construction crew and packing her bags. She was torn between bolting for a taxi or listening to more of Vincents excuses as he sat across from her.

Tiens , Vincent said, was it my fault Incandescent was a front and laundered money for gun runners?

Vincent, the courts see it differently, Aime said, wishing he would accept the facts. But Vincent demanded control. Total control. Didnt they all? E-mail and downloaded documents constitute judicial evidence. We have to turn over your Opera marketing campaign file for the domestic and Russian tour.

But my Opera marketing campaign doesnt relate to them. I refuse to let this investigation tarnish my firms reputation.

She mustered a small smile. After all, he was a paying client. My connection at the Judiciare says a subpoenas imminent, she said. Count on it. It would be better to give them your hard drive voluntarily.

It wasnt the first time shed regretted her best friend Martines referral. Martine and Vincent were partners in Diva , a new magazine. Martine, former Madame Figaro editor, savvy and connected, did the work and Vincent was the financial backer. Martine had been crazed, getting ready for the launch this week.

The woman next to them ground out her cigarette. She drummed her long purple fingernails on the table, then lit another and set it in the ashtray.

Aime recognized the nail colorViolet Vamp, advertised as urban armor for girls on the goas one shed been meaning to buy herself. She tried to ignore the curling smoke. Shed quit smoking four days ago.

Again.

Aimes chipped nails, Gigabyte Green, needed a manicure. At least her sun-streaked hair and tan, from a week in Sardinia, helped her fit in with the sophisticated crowd.

Had everyone found the same boutique on rue Charonne? And coughed up the equivalent of the boutiques rent for the supposed one-of-a-kind clinging side-buttoned dress with matching jacket? Aime had only been able to afford the jacket with mahjong buttons, unlike her neighbor who wore the knockout matching sheath as well.

Scents of fresh basil and roasted garlic drifted from the next table. When Aime looked over again, the woman had propped her menu against an ashtray and disappeared.

Laughter erupted from the bar. Nearby, chairs scraped over the floor tiles. Time to work out this agreement, smooth Vincents feathers, and get him to cooperate, Aime concluded. Then she could leave.

Dragging in my firm will give rise to rumors, said Vincent. Damaging rumors.

Mentally, she agreed. Why be an appetizer served up before the main course in a foreign arms investigation? But once la Procuratrice got something on her court docket, it stayed there.

Vincent, be calm. We hand over the hard drive....

Im paid to deal with my clients information, he interrupted. Not you. Not the Judiciare. They have no right to see my records or client database.

She wanted to deflect his anger, focus on the ongoing computer security issues. Heres good news. We set up new fire-walls so Hacktivistes pose no threat to Populax, she said, pouring sparkling Badoit mineral water into his glass. He worried about hackers constantly.

Thats what we pay you for at Leduc Detective. He stood up. Short as he was, even in his rumpled seersucker blazer, he commanded attention. My lawyer will stop this. Why cant you encrypt the Incandescent file? It would save everyone needless trouble?

Too late. Look, Ren and I installed your system, Aime said, but were following the law. Encryption is illegal. I know la Proc, shes reasonable.

He glared. We paid you for security! Vincent took the agencys contract with Leduc Detective out of his attach case, tore it up, and sprinkled the pieces, like parmesan cheese, over her pasta.