Chapter 22
Isabelle stood between Esmee and Gardien Chalamet as the police officer explained that he would remain in the building until morning.
“Do you have any idea what happened to the extra guard the building manager hired?” Isabelle asked.
“They only had him working until they locked the building down at night,” Gardien Chalamet said.
“They assumed no one could get past the locked doors?” Isabelle asked with a shake of her head.
The apartment door opened behind her, and Cole stepped into the hall.
“This is all so disconcerting.” Esmee folded her arms tightly, her entire body tense. “First, Marit being taken in to talk to the police, then the attempted muggings, and now this.”
“I’m clearly missing some information.” Gardien Chalamet furrowed his brow. “And where did you come from?”
Cole ignored the officer’s question and pulled out his cell phone. “I can give you the case numbers for the first three incidents.”
Not sure what cover Cole would use with the officers and not wanting to subject him to Esmee’s watchful eye, Isabelle wrapped her arm around Esmee. “Esmee, I’m sure Gardien Chalamet and Cole have this under control. Why don’t I walk you back to your apartment?” Esmee opened her mouth as if to object. Isabelle pushed on before she had the chance. “With the first show starting in two days, you need your rest. It won’t do for you to have bags under your eyes at the last day of rehearsals while you’re representing so many feature models.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
Isabelle gently guided Esmee to the elevator. The doors slid open, and Isabelle intended to follow her inside, but Esmee stepped in and held her hand up.
“I can make it from here. You need to get some sleep too.” Esmee motioned to Cole. “And tell your boyfriends to behave and stay out of sight. I don’t need backlash from the other girls.”
“I’ll pass along your message.” And she would. She just didn’t know if Cole would heed it. He was in safety-first mode, and she doubted that he or Lars cared much about appearances after what had happened.
Isabelle waited until the elevator doors slid closed with Esmee inside before returning to Cole’s side.
“Anything you can get us on those cases would be appreciated.” Cole retrieved his credentials from his pocket and showed them to Gardien Chalamet. “The last update I received on the murder case said only that they didn’t have any new leads.”
“I agree that these are all related, especially in light of the jump drive found in Miss Jansen’s bag,” Gardien Chalamet said, his concern obvious.
“And unless the thief knows Marit no longer has it, she’ll continue to be in danger.”
“With how much we’ve adjusted the security around her, we’ve narrowed down the possible locations where her bag could be stolen,” Isabelle said.
“That’s true,” Cole said, considering. “We’re escorting you to and from rehearsals and fittings, and we’re adding another layer of security here at your flat.”
“Right. The only place the thief could really get to it now is backstage during one of our rehearsals or during a show, if he could manage to get back there.”
Cole’s eyes lit with understanding. “We need to set up surveillance in case someone tries.”
“Exactly,” Isabelle said.
Gardien Chalamet nodded. “We can assign a female officer to stand nearby to watch for anyone who might search Miss Jansen’s bag.”
Isabelle considered the chaos of the backstage area. “As easy as that sounds, I’m not sure you would be able to plant an outsider without her being noticed,” Isabelle said. “It’s crazy busy backstage, but it’s an organized chaos. Once you get through rehearsals, everyone pretty much knows who belongs.”
“Setting a trap won’t work unless someone is there to witness it snap shut,” Gardien Chalamet said. “Assuming the thief can get back there in the first place.”
“Since whoever is behind this is clearly an insider in the industry, it’s only a matter of time before someone goes for the purse backstage,” Isabelle said.
“Lars and I could go backstage,” Cole suggested.
“You’re outsiders too,” Gardien Chalamet said.
“Lars isn’t,” Isabelle said. “He’s been at several rehearsals taking photos. And a lot of people have seen Cole hanging around as well.”
“Two men backstage where women are dressing will be noticed,” Gardien Chalamet said.
“Marit can make a point of leaving her bag in one of the cubbies closest to the makeup stations,” Isabelle suggested. “That area is largely deserted during the show, and I can set up a couple of hidden cameras.”
“Your officers can monitor the cameras, and you can always plant an officer or two in the audience,” Cole said.
“We will already have officers standing by outside for crowd control,” Gardien Chalamet said, “but I doubt we’ll have the manpower to put someone on watching surveillance images.”
“We could always plant a tracker inside the purse,” Isabelle suggested.
“That’s not a bad idea, but we really need to catch our thief in the act,” Cole said. He focused once more on Gardien Chalamet. “Any chance you can get us a couple of backstage passes?”
Gardien Chalamet seemed to ponder the possibilities. Finally, he shook his head. “I doubt it. Not without tipping someone off about why we want them.” He lowered his voice a fraction. “Your best bet for that may be to use your embassy resources.”
Or Agency resources. The French policeman had no idea what Cole’s contacts were capable of doing. And the fact that Isabelle had a backstage pass they could copy only made things easier.
Gardien Chalamet reached into his shirt pocket and produced a business card. He handed it to Cole. “Call me if you have any further information.”
Cole nodded. “One more thing: Can you turn off the alarm for the door to the roof for about five minutes once you get downstairs?”
“Why?”
“I left something up there that I’d rather not leave unattended at night.”
“I’ll do that as soon as I get downstairs. Text me your number so I can let you know when it’s clear.”
“Thanks.”
Isabelle waited until the officer retreated down the hall before she asked, “Your rappelling gear?”
“Yeah. I don’t want to give our intruder an easy way in.” Cole texted Gardien Chalamet and slid his cell into his pocket.
Isabelle took his hand in hers. “Thanks for coming.”
Cole laced their fingers together. “I’m sorry I was late.”
“You’re here now.” She pushed onto her toes and pressed her lips to his.
She had expected the kiss to be brief, a simple affirmation that Cole was here and they were both safe, but Cole drew her closer, and the adrenaline from the past twenty minutes poured into the kiss. Suddenly unbalanced, she settled her hands on his shoulders as one kiss led to another.
The rattle of water running through old pipes sounded overhead, and women’s voices carried in muted tones from a nearby apartment. All of that faded beneath the sensation of the bubble she and Cole had created in this moment.
Isabelle’s pulse quickened as Cole drew her closer. Her love swelled inside her, the words expressing her feelings demanding an escape. She fought against the urge to share the depth of her love. Cole was still adjusting to having a girlfriend. Moving toward something that could bring permanence to their relationship could very well send him into panic mode.
His phone buzzed, interrupting the private moment. Cole pulled back. “Sorry. That’s probably Gardien Chalamet.”
“It’s okay. Go get your stuff. I’ll meet you inside.”
Cole nodded and leaned forward for one more kiss, his lips lingering on hers as though he didn’t want the kiss to end.
Warmed by the gesture, she waited for him to disappear into the stairwell before she headed inside.
Marit and Lars were sitting on the couch, Lars’s arm firmly around Marit, when Isabelle walked in.
Marit lifted her head from his shoulder. “Is everything okay now?”
“Yes. Gardien Chalamet will stay in the lobby tonight.” Isabelle closed the door behind her. “Cole is running up to the roof to grab the gear he left up there.”
“Until I met Cole, I thought living on an upper floor was safe,” Marit said.
“Living on an upper floor is never safe.” Lars used his free hand to rub his thigh. “All those stairs can be a killer.”
“Which is why you should never live somewhere without a lift,” Marit teased.
Grateful that their moods seemed to have settled, Isabelle retreated to her room and retrieved her backstage passes for the various shows. She laid them out on the kitchen table and used her phone to photograph them, front and back.
“What are you doing?” Marit asked.
“Helping Cole so he can get some backstage passes made for him and Lars.”
“Why?” Lars asked. “I already have a press pass.”
“I know, but we have a plan.” Isabelle proceeded to explain the backstage surveillance they had discussed with Gardien Chalamet.
“That’s a great idea,” Lars said.
“I’d better clean that bag out to make sure there’s nothing in it that I don’t mind losing in case it does get stolen,” Marit said.
“We can stage it so it looks like you’re really using that bag, but instead, we’ll have your stuff in mine.”
“We need to get you a bigger bag,” Marit said.
“I bet Esmee can help me with that.”
“Or Ralph,” Lars suggested. “I’m sure lending Isabelle a bag is a small sacrifice for identifying the thief.”
“That’s true.”
A knock sounded at the door, and Cole walked in before Isabelle could cross to it. He closed and bolted the door behind him.
“How did your investigative work go tonight?” Marit asked.
“Actually, I need your help to answer that.” Cole pulled out his cell phone, unlocked his screen, and passed it to Marit. “I found these inside Peter Wade’s safe.”
Marit’s eyebrows lifted. “You broke into his safe?”
Sidestepping her question, Cole asked, “Can you tell if those are Wade’s or Molenaar’s?”
Marit scrolled through the images, zooming in on each one. “Those are Peter’s designs.”
“How can you tell?” Isabelle asked.
“Two things.” Marit held up the phone so Isabelle and Cole could see it. “Peter puts his initials on the bottom of each pattern.”
“Couldn’t he have done that after he stole Ralph’s designs?” Cole asked.
“Maybe, assuming Ralph doesn’t put a marking on his, too, but this pattern here is for the dress I’m wearing in Peter’s show. I tried it on before Ralph’s patterns were stolen.”
Lars sighed. “I was really hoping it was him.”
“Me too, but only so this would all be over,” Marit said.
“We’ve narrowed down the field a lot,” Cole said. “If you keep scrolling, you’ll see the documents I copied.”
Marit’s eyes widened. “He was suing Bianchi?”
“He thought about it.” Cole grabbed a kitchen chair and straddled it. Leaning his arms on the back of it, he continued. “Wade had a case, both for theft and for defamation, but his attorney advised him against it. Looks like he’s been the victim of corporate espionage a time or two.”
“So, where does this leave us?” Isabelle asked.
“By my count, we only have one solid suspect left.” The blue of Cole’s eyes darkened. “Henri LaRue.”