Chapter 3
Cole stepped aboard the train that would take him on his first leg to Vienna, a duffel bag in one hand and his backpack in the other. Though he wasn’t thrilled with the two transfers and the twelve hours it would take him to get home, it beat trying to cut through the red tape required for him to transport his firearms through airport security. After so many years living in Europe, Cole was well versed in how to bypass that problem at the local train stations.
Cole made his way to his seat and settled his backpack beneath the chair in front of him. No way was he letting his extra ammo out of his sight.
He pulled his cell phone from his pocket to see who had called when he’d been boarding the train. A voice mail from Marit? Why would she be calling him? Probably trying to plan a surprise for Lars’s birthday.
Curious, Cole hit the Play button and lifted the phone to his ear. Marit’s voice trembled when she explained that the police were taking her in for questioning. That couldn’t be right.
Cole played the message again. He shook his head. Whether he wanted to or not, it looked like he was making an unexpected detour through Paris.
Grateful that the train hadn’t left yet, he gathered his bags, left the train, and pulled up the Omio app on his phone. After a quick search of train options from Brussels to Paris, he bought a new ticket. Too bad he hadn’t gotten her message a little sooner. If he had, he might have made the train that had departed only three minutes ago. As it was, he’d have to wait another half hour for the next one.
He looked up the platform number and headed for his ride. What in the world had Marit gotten herself involved in?
Bypassing a family of five who were blocking the majority of the platform, he dialed Marit’s number, not surprised when the call went unanswered. Most likely, the police had already taken possession of her phone. With Marit not answering, he dialed Lars. He also didn’t answer.
Knowing his cousin, the man was probably desperately trying to get to Paris to find some answers of his own.
Cole pulled up the address for the place where Marit was staying and searched for the police department closest to her. He copied the address into the notes app on his phone. With any luck, he would be there within two hours. If she was a suspect in a crime, it was highly possible he would arrive before they tried to interrogate her. If she was simply a witness, he could make sure she was safe before he returned to Vienna.
He reached the correct platform and passed the crowd of passengers already gathered there until he reached the far end, where he could make a phone call with some level of privacy.
He dialed Isabelle’s number.
“Hey there. Are you back?” she asked in lieu of a greeting.
“No.” Cole switched from English to German in case the French couple nearby cared about his conversation. The likelihood of them speaking German was marginally lower than their being fluent in English. “Marit left me a message. She was taken in by the police for questioning.”
Concern filled Isabelle’s voice when she responded, also speaking in German. “For what?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure she knows either.” He pushed aside his regret that he wouldn’t be able to see Isabelle as soon as he’d planned. “I’m taking the train to Paris to find out what’s going on.”
“Let me know if you want me to meet you there. I can always take a long weekend.”
“Thanks.” A long weekend in Paris with Isabelle. The prospect had definite possibilities, assuming his boss would let him have the time off. “I’ll give you a call as soon as I know anything.”
“One more thing,” Isabelle said.
“Yeah?”
“Does Jasmine know you’re diverting?” she asked, referring to the CIA station chief in Vienna.
“Not yet.” Cole glanced at the other passengers wandering toward him. “Any chance you want to let her know what’s going on?”
“Not a lot of privacy at the train station, huh?”
Appreciating her perception, he nodded even though she couldn’t see him. “Exactly.”
“I’ll call Jasmine, and I’ll see if she has any contacts with the Paris police who can help us find out why Marit was taken in.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“No problem. Travel safe.”
“I will. I miss you.” The words rolled off his tongue with such ease, he could barely believe they’d been seriously dating for only four months.
“I miss you too.”
His mood lighter after talking to Isabelle, Cole ended the call. What a difference a few months could make. When they had first started dating, he had completely let things slide between them when he’d gone out on missions. Now she was the first person he thought of when his itinerary changed. This was getting weird, but he had to admit, he rather liked knowing she was waiting for his call.
The train pulled up to the platform, and Cole boarded. He found his assigned seat, stored his duffel in the overhead compartment, and pulled his secure laptop out of his backpack. Time to do some research on recent crimes in Paris.
***
Marit had no idea how long she’d been sitting alone in the interrogation room. The police officer behind the desk at the station had taken possession of her phone and bag when she’d first arrived. Without a clock on the wall, it was impossible to know for sure. But if the gnawing of her stomach and the ache in her back from sitting on a hard chair for too long was any indication, a significant amount of time had passed.
At first, she’d sat quietly, desperately trying to think of anything she might have seen that would place her on the police’s radar. She’d come up empty. Pacing the room while reflecting on the happenings at every place she’d visited since arriving in Paris had delivered no better results. Until someone told her why she was being held for questioning, she was completely in the dark. And she was rapidly discovering that she did not like that state at all.
Smoothing her shaking hands across her knees, she kept her eyes on the door. At her right, a wall of mirrors looked down on her. She had no way of knowing how many officers were watching her from the other side, but like a chill gradually creeping up her spine, she felt their cool appraisal. The remaining walls were white, the floor a gray linoleum. The only furniture was the black plastic chair she was using, the small table before her, and the orange plastic chair on the other side of the table.
She released an unsteady breath. It shouldn’t bother her that the chairs didn’t match. It was a trivial thing. But it was easier to focus on the lack of aesthetics in the room than on the lack of another person. And orange chairs were, by definition, unpleasant. Almost as unpleasant as being forced to wait for her interrogation to begin.
Her thoughts shifted to Lars. Had he wondered why she hadn’t called him back yet? Had he tried to call her? And Cole? She had no way of knowing if he’d listened to her voice message or what he could do to help her now that she no longer had her phone. But she drew some comfort from believing that he would do something —even if it was only to let Lars know what had happened. It went against Cole’s basic nature to do nothing.
She closed her eyes, trying to imagine herself anywhere else. And then she heard the door handle move. Opening her eyes, she watched in silence as the door swung wide and Capitaine Dupont entered.
“I apologize for keeping you waiting,” he said, taking a seat on the orange chair.
Marit seriously doubted he was the slightest bit sorry, but she thought it best to refrain from sharing the thought. The length of time they planned to keep her in this awful room was very likely correlated to her agreeability.
“I’m still waiting to be told why I’m here,” she said.
“When did you arrive in Paris?” he asked, completely ignoring her comment.
“Three days ago,” she said. “I came in by train from Amsterdam with my agent, Esmee Scheffer, and a few others from her modeling agency. We’re here for Fashion Week.”
“What did you do yesterday?”
Yesterday. Marit mentally sifted through her day’s schedule. “I ate breakfast at the flat and then took the Metro for casting at Dior. After I received my callback time for today, I went for my initial fitting with Ralph Molenaar’s team. I was there until the end of the workday. Then I returned to the flat and didn’t leave again all evening.”
“Was anyone with you?” he asked.
“Yes. My agent, Esmee, and my colleague Nadia.”
“All day?” he pressed.
“Yes. Nadia and I are sharing the flat, and we had the same appointments.”
He eyed her sternly. “Then why do we have an eyewitness who claims you were alone in the vicinity of Ralph Molenaar’s office in the early evening?”
Memory flooded back. “Esmee, Nadia, and I were in Ralph’s office together. Right after we left, Ralph was called into another office. It was only after Esmee, Nadia, and I took the lift to the lobby that I discovered I left one of my gloves in Ralph’s office. I went back up by myself to find it.”
“And did you find it?” The look in his eyes suggested that he didn’t believe she owned a pair of gloves, let alone had lost one of them.
“I did.”
“Where?”
“In Ralph’s office.”
“According to Monsieur Molenaar, he did not return to his office after his visit with you and your colleagues. How did you get in?”
“A man—one of Ralph’s employees—was already in the room. He waited for me to retrieve it before leaving.”
The capitaine set his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Describe this man.”
“Twenty-two to twenty-three years old,” Marit said. “Between one point eight two and one point eight five meters tall, and about eighty kilograms. Curly brown hair grown out of his original haircut, brown eyes, pitted complexion. He was wearing Ralph Molenaar jeans and a cheap black T-shirt with a picture of a hamburger and fries on it. He spoke Dutch but had a slight accent. I doubt that it’s his first language.”
Capitaine Dupont stared at her. “You seem very sure of these details.”
“I’m a professional model, Capitaine. I notice such things as clothing and brands.”
“And height and weight?”
“Yes,” she said simply. “Those things too.”
He took a moment to consider his next question. “Tell me about your interaction with this man.”
“I heard him before I saw him,” Marit said, and then she proceeded to recount her interaction with Ralph’s employee from the time he opened the door to Ralph’s office to the time he disappeared from sight.
The capitaine listened intently, and when she finished, he appeared thoughtful. “And did you see or hear anyone else while you were there?”
“I thought I heard voices farther down the hall, but I didn’t see anyone there. Other than those using the lift, the only other person I saw was the custodian, who arrived as I was leaving.”
“Can you describe the custodian?” he asked.
Marit took a deep breath. “Late fifties, gray, thinning hair, and black-rimmed glasses. He was about one point seven seven meters tall and weighed about ninety kilograms. He wore a pale-blue jumpsuit with a red-and-white Pierre’s Cleaners logo on the upper left pocket and had his ID hanging on a lanyard around his neck.”
“I’m impressed, mademoiselle. Few people remember such details so well. It’s a shame you didn’t also notice the name on the tag.”
“Tomas Moulin,” she said.
His eyes widened slightly, and he inclined his head. “I’m doubly impressed.”
“To be honest, Capitaine Dupont, I’d rather have you allow me to leave than have you be impressed by my ability to recall details. You still haven’t told me why I’m here.”
He leaned back in his chair and eyed her thoughtfully. “We are investigating a theft,” he said.
This time it was Marit’s eyes that widened. “At Ralph’s offices?”
He offered her a half smile. “Yes. But that is all I am willing to share at this point in the investigation. And I must ask for your discretion in not discussing this with anyone else.” He rose. “If you will follow me, Brigadier Blanchet will take down your contact information, and then you are free to go.”
Marit stood, relief causing her voice to catch. “I can leave?”
“Yes, mademoiselle.” He turned toward the door. “This way.”