Cara Black - Murder in Passy: An Aimee Leduc Investigation Set in Paris

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Copyright 2011 by Cara Black

All rights reserved.

Published by
Soho Press, Inc.
853 Broadway
New York, NY 10003

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Black, Cara
Murder in Passy / Cara Black.
p. cm.

ISBN 978-1-56947-882-0

1. Leduc, Aimee (Fictitious character)Fiction. 2. Women private
investigatorsFranceParisFiction. 3. 16e Arrondissement (Paris,
France)Fiction. 4. Paris (France)Fiction. I. Title.
PS3552.L297M7985 2011
813.54dc22
2010034816

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

In memory of Madame Aufrre,

Anne-Franoises great aunt who loved Passy,

and for the ghosts.

Table of Contents

My deep thanks to: forensic pathologist Terri Haddix, M.D., Vincent ONeill, Jean Satzer, Dot Edwards, Barbara, Jan Gurley, M.D., Max, Susanna von Leuwen, Elaine, Libby Fisher Hellman, Jo and Don Metz, and the amazing Ailen, Katie, Mark, Bronwen, and Justin at Soho.

In Paris: Colonel Michael McGurk, American Embassy, Paris, Andr Rakoto, Service Historique Ministre de la Dfense, Chateau de Vincennes, Sarah Schwartz, translator extraordinaire, Gilles Fouquet, Carla Bach, toujours Anne-Franoise Delbgue, Gilles Thomas, underground specialist, Julian Pepinster, of the Paris Mtro, the GIGN unit at Satory, Versailles for the visit and expertise, Vassili, gracious Silvie Briet of Eau de Paris, Nathalie and Benot Pastisson, generous beyond words.

Un grand merci in Passy and Auteuil to Anne Bordier, Lynn Green-Rutannen for our walks over the years, Arianne Rosenau Levery for sharing her village, and Claude Pasqut.

On the Basque front, La Maison Basque de Paris, Jean Damien Lesay, and in Bilbao, Elizabete Bizkarralegorra, huge thanks, and Ondo Izan.

Always in my corner, James N. Frey, Linda Allen, my son Tate, and Jun.

Words feel inadequate for the debt I owe my late, dear editor Laura Hruska. Her guidance and knowledge over the years were a gift. Merci , Laura.

What is irritating about love is that it is a crime
that requires an accomplice.

C HARLES B AUDELAIRE

P ARIS

November 1997

T HE DOORBELLS TINKLED as Aime Leduc stepped inside the cheese shop from the cold and inhaled the warm, pungent odors. A radio blared the evening news: evading seven roadblocks erected after the shootout in the Imprimerie Nationale documents heist. In other breaking news, a radical faction. She shivered, nodding to pink-faced, rotund Victor, standing in his white apron behind the counter. Bombings, shoot-outs, she hated to think what elseand to make it worse, just before the holidays.

Worlds gone crazy. Victor shook his head. The usual? He gestured to a runny rind on grape leaves standing on the marble-topped counter: Or this?

Aime tasted the Brie dripping on the white waxed paper.

Cest parfait.

She emerged from the shop into the evening mist and rounded the corner toward her office on rue du Louvre. The reflections of the furred yellow orbs of streetlights glowed on the wet pavement.

About time, Leduc. Morbier, her godfather and a police commissaire, his black wool coat beaded with moisture, paced before her building door. An unmarked Peugeot with a driver, engine thrumming, waited at the curb.

More like five minutes early, Morbier. The chill autumn wind cut a swathe through the street of nineteenth-century buildings. Passersby hurried along, bundled in overcoats.

A look she couldnt read crossed his face. Weve got a situation in Lyon. Im late. Youve got the file, Leduc?

Forget the apritif shed expected in the corner caf! She brushed away her disappointment. So they would do the exchange in the cold, wet street. She handed Morbier a manila envelope containing the supposed ten-year-old letters and photo of her brother Julian. It was time to let the professionals handle the only copies she had, so she could find out once and for all if they were genuine. A week for lab authentication, Morbier?

In return, he showed her an engraved business card reading POLICE PAPER FORENSICS DIVISION HEAD PAUL BERT . Berts the leading forgery expert. Thats all I know.

She nodded; she couldnt push it. He was doing her a favor.

Time for a quick espresso? She pointed to the lit windows under the cafs awning, which was now whipping in the wind.

Morbier shook his head. Under the thick salt-and-pepper hair, his face appeared more lined in the streetlight; dark circles showed under his eyes. You think life finally makes sense, then alors, he shrugged. Pouff, it turns upside down.

Whats wrong, Morbier? She wished they were inside the warm caf with its fogged-up window instead of standing in the wind. A siren whined in the distance. A case?

Cant talk about it, Leduc.

As usual. The streetlight revealed his cuffed corduroys, his mismatched socks, one brown, one black. Morbier was no fashion plate. He hadnt made a move toward his car. Unlike him.

She sensed something else bothering him. His health? Did you have that checkup like you promised?

Somethings going on with Xavierre, he said. Im worried.

Taken aback, Aime fumbled for something to say. She remembered him with his arm around Xavierre, an attractive older woman with dark hair. Xavierres laughter, warm smile, and scent of gardenias came back to her.

Worried over what?

She doesnt answer her phone, he said.

Zut! I dont either, half the time, she said. Youre reading too much into it.

I need to know whats going on.

Shed never seen him like this, like a lovelorn shaggy dog. It was not often that he shared his personal feelings.

Her daughters getting married soon, non ? Aime rubbed her hands, wishing shed worn gloves. You told me yourself last week. Shes busy. A cloud of diesel exhaust erupted from the Number 74 bus as it paused to board passengers.

Xavierres holding back, he said. Something feels wrong, Leduc. When my gut talks, I listen.

Like what? Youre thinking shes in danger?

Shes fond of you, Morbier said. Help me out, eh?

He hadnt answered her question. But what can I do?

He pulled a police notepad from his coat pocket and wrote down an address. Do me a favor. Her daughters wedding rehearsal partys tonight. Go there and talk to Xavierre. Shell open up to you. If I hadnt gotten called away to this investigation

Me ? Aime interrupted.

How many times have I helped you, Leduc? he said. Better get going, the partys started.

Why did she always forget that Morbiers favors had a price?

He pointed to the leather catsuit under her raincoat. Id suggest you change into a little black dress, too.

You dispensing fashion advice, Morbier?

But he merely said, Can I count on you?

She nodded. And then he climbed in the waiting Peugeot. A moment later it turned and its red taillights disappeared up rue du Louvre. Some kettle of fish, she figured, if they had to summon Morbier to Lyon.