Chapter 71
I MET ALAIN Creasy in the lobby of the Marriott where he was staying. With its clean, sleek interior, it was a world of difference from the Garden Spot. Bright sunshine poured through skylights in the giant lobby. Well-dressed people rushed past me. And I witnessed no fights. Nice.
I was impressed at how alert the older man looked even after a long couple of days.
Today he wore a nice button-down shirt in a colorful floral pattern and blue slacks.
I halfway expected him to be wearing a porkpie hat, the kind that looked ridiculous on hipsters but would fit Alain’s aesthetic perfectly.
After pleasantries and a little conversation, I said to Alain, “My husband was concerned that someone shot at us yesterday. I just want to make sure you’re okay. I know that sort of thing doesn’t happen in Europe very often.”
“How thoughtful of you, Lindsay. I would expect nothing less. But I assure you I am fine. And it is not so rare as you might want to believe. You would be surprised how many times I was shot at in my career before Interpol. It almost makes me hopeful that we’re on the right track.”
I appreciated his attitude. “That’s a great way to look at it. And you’re right. I didn’t realize you’d been in situations like that before. I’m afraid to admit that most of what I know about French law enforcement, in particular, comes from the movie French Connection II.”
Alain let loose a broad and infectious laugh.
Then he waved me off and said, “Have no fear, Lindsay. That is, in fact, a great film. As is the first French Connection. I must confess I also learned quite a bit about US law enforcement from that film. I once even took a tour of where the chase scene was filmed near Coney Island. Amazing cinematography. Questionable police work. But I found it compelling and exciting just the same.”
“I thought we could check out that residential hotel the Duke of the Tenderloin told us about. Are you willing to risk it?”
“I am,” Alain said, “but I wonder if first we might be able to visit the mall where Nicole was last seen. I would like to see the kind of place she might frequent. Maybe we’ll pick up on something new.”
I agreed immediately. Traffic was reasonably light, so I took the turns that would eventually lead us to the Stonestown Galleria.
Alain and I looped around the Stonestown mall, showing Nicole Snaff’s photo to the occasional shop worker.
None recognized her. Next, we aimed for the food court on the second level.
I said to Alain, “When I first started on the force, I always heard that a good cop should never get wet or go hungry.”
Alain laughed. “Our French police have a similar saying. A good cop is well-fed and well-treated but can drink only well alcohol.”
“That’s very clever. Brings light to law enforcement salaries without preaching to people.” I chuckled.
The choices at the food court were sparse. Luckily, Alain claimed to adore Asian American food. Specifically bourbon chicken. I grabbed a burrito from Chipotle.
We took up two tiny round tables with our food and belongings. There were some people around, but it felt like we could speak freely here.
A couple of times we had to shift so someone could slip past us. A teenaged Black kid in a dark hoodie said, “Excuse me,” as he stepped between our two tables and back into the mall.
A few seconds after the kid had slipped past us, Alain said with some urgency, “I think he just took my phone.”
When I turned my head to look at the teen, he broke into a sprint toward the bank of escalators.