The de Vere Deception (David Thorne Mysteries Book 1) (27 page)

            He remembered to stay in the right lane of the eight lane oval to make an easy exit. He crossed the Pont de la Concorde bridge at the south end of the square and turned left onto Boulevard Saint-Germain. He found the building housing Delain’s office,  parked across the street, and called the phone number Rohmer had given him.

            A woman’s sweet voice answered, “
Bonjour, Delain Importateur et Exportateur
.”

            Thorne said, “
Monsieur Delain, s’il vou plait
.”

            A soft, almost feminine voice came on the line.
“Allo?”

            “Hello, Mr. Delain, this is David Riley. I believe Mr. Rohmer told you I would be calling. I have an item I’d like to talk about with you.”

            “Of course. Did you speak to Girard about what it was?”

            Thorne laughed. “Excuse me, but I find your process a little amusing. Do all of you go through these verbal gymnastics when you meet someone new?”

            “What do you mean? I am sorry, but I do not think I understand—”

            “His name is Marcel—Marcel Rohmer, not Girard.”

            “Of course, we just have to qualify our . . .”

            “When can you meet me and have a look at the goods?”

            “What kind of goods?”

            “Antique jewelry. Rare. Historical.”

            “Size?”

            “Pink and white diamonds. Unknown sizes. I’m not a jeweler. Maybe three hundred total carats, maybe more, set in an antique gold necklace.”

            Delain paused before asking, “How much?”

            “I’m sure all of the goods would appraise at well over eight figures in pounds. My price is five million.”

            There was silence as Delain gathered his composure. Then he said slowly, “I am sorry Mr. Riley, but I think I will need to have another party involved in a purchase of this size. Also, I do not think we should discuss this further on the telephone. You should bring the goods up to my office where I might examine them more closely.”

            Thorne became more assertive. “No, I’ll want to meet in a public place. I’ve made reservations at Le Claridge on the Champs-Elysées. I can meet you in the lobby at six o’clock.” He looked at his watch. “That’s about five hours from now. How can I identify you?”

            “The time and place is agreeable, Mr. Riley. I have short black hair, I am about five foot six and slender. I will be wearing a double-breasted navy chalk-stripe suit and a solid pink tie. How will I identify you?”

            “That’s not necessary, Mr. Delain, I’ll find you. Just come to the front desk and ask for the manager. I’ll tell him you’re coming.”

            “I do not wish to be difficult, Mr. Riley, but I do not think it wise to have too many others involved in the . . .”

            “Don’t worry, you’ll only deal with me. If it becomes necessary, I’ll just tell the manager we’re discussing a real estate transaction. You will not have to give your name.”

            After a pause, Delain said, “That will be fine. We will see you at six in the lobby of Le Claridge.”

            “Bring cash. I prefer hundreds and fifties—in pounds—no Euros. Nothing larger than one-hundred pound notes.”

            “That may be difficult, Mr. Riley, it is already past noon. My contact can be there even though he is out of the country. It may take him two or three hours to get there.”

            “If you and your associate feel you’re interested in the price range, I’m sure you both can secure the cash. If you can’t, there’s no point in coming, is there? I’ll just make other arrangements.”

Chapter 63

Thorne closed the cover on his cell phone and sat quietly in the Land Rover, staring into the distance. His shoulders sagged. He was tiring of the deception, the constant stress of being on the lookout for a tail; the stress of knowing he had an irreplaceable piece of history in his briefcase. He knew if the two were qualified in judging the value of the historic necklace, the five million pounds would not be considered an obstacle.

            Would it all be over after he met with Delain and his money man this evening?

            In the back of his mind, he again questioned if he was doing the right thing? The way the clients had unfairly fired him without letting him finish his search? Their only interest was in proving Shakespeare wasn’t who everyone thought he was. He couldn’t have cared less if the Stratford man or de Vere wrote the works.

            And what about Gweneth Bada? He had never had a real sister—or daughter—and felt a responsibility for her—as he had for Freddie. She had chosen Neville Forestal to marry and now he was genuinely concerned for her. He felt he had to warn her about Forestal—but how? He realized this was a loose end he would eventually have to address.

            He had come to realize Forestal was involved with his unknown partner and Roberts in Freddie’s murder. Then there was his deception of Freddie’s widow, Helena. The man didn’t care for either of the women, he was in it for the money. Why could Gweneth not see he was a man not worthy of her—or any woman?

            These thoughts swirled around in his head and confused him. He was in danger of losing control. No, he
had
lost control. He was becoming a man without character or morality. Any integrity he had once had was now in critical territory, and he was now a common thief. He shook his head as if he were trying to shake away the unpleasant thoughts.

            I need a break.. I need to stop thinking about this.

            He unzipped the laptop briefcase and took out the necklace packet. He shoved it under his jacket and climbed out of the Land Rover. He reached back into the passenger’s seat, grabbed his coat and quickly put it on. He tied the belt tightly around the Burberry to keep the packet from falling out and walked quickly to the sidewalk. Once on the sidewalk, he forced himself to slow to a casual stroll. He wished he could relax and enjoy the warm Parisian sun.

            He walked half a block, entered a small park off the crowded boulevard, and saw an empty park bench in a back corner. An old man and woman in dirty clothes and rubber sandals were holding onto a shopping cart piled high with paper sacks and dirty clothing. They were engaged in a violent argument, but stopped talking as he approached. They smiled nervously at him and pulled their shopping carts closer. After he passed, they continued their argument.

            A seriously overweight young woman sat quietly on a low wall in the opposite side of the park, sharing scraps of bread with pigeons. She took a bite of bread and tossed crumbs to the birds gathered at her feet.

            A middle-aged man in a suit sat staring into space, his briefcase open beside him. A lost job? A failed marriage? Maybe a salesman relaxing between appointments. Maybe nothing.

            Thorne realized there were so many people, isolated human beings, involved in living out their lives oblivious to others. Everyone had problems—problems that were theirs alone—separating them from the outside world. His problem was having a historic item worth millions of dollars—and it didn’t belong to him.

            His problem back in Chicago, years ago, was partially his own doing, A lapse in judgment by trusting a client had cost him his architectural practice—and eventually, his marriage. He knew bad things happen to everyone at one time or the other. The secret is how one confronts adversity.

            His thoughts were interrupted by a noisy group of young children running in circles at their game of tag on the sidewalk. Their parents trudged along in front of them, their arms loaded with Christmas packages. The children passed an older woman who had bent over to insert a coin in a newsstand machine. In the process, she dropped a few coins and a few rolled into the gutter. Unaware she’d dropped the coins, she crept down the sidewalk, her eyes glued on her newspaper.

            A little boy of seven or eight saw the coins roll into the gutter and immediately ran to retrieve them. He scooped them up, ran after the old woman and extended his hand with the coins. She accepted the coins and smiled warmly at the young boy. He immediately ran back and resumed the game of tag with the other children.

            Thorne remembered when he was that young boy about the same age and had found a wallet with money in it. He hadn’t thought twice about keeping the wallet, but returned it immediately to the grateful man who had dropped it.

            As the noisy group passed out of sight, he was lost in thought as he continued to stare in their direction—remembering.

Chapter 64

Officer Cravelle parked his car and joined Officer Trudeau, and the other two passengers in the Peugeot, as they watched Thorne across the street in the park “What is he doing?” asked Cravelle, puzzled at the inaction of Thorne.

            Trudeau shrugged and said, “I have no idea. He has been sitting there for over two hours. Evidently, he did not go to see Delain, and Delain did not come down to meet him. It appears they have something else in mind. We will just have to keep close surveillance on both of them. We have no idea where he will end up for the night, but we need to stay close. I have called to keep track of Delain and they will keep us apprised on his movements.”

            They watched as Thorne returned to the Land Rover and slipped something back into the laptop briefcase. As he drove off, the Peugeot followed close behind. When Trudeau saw the Land Rover pull into the covered entry of the Le Claridge Hotel, he removed an electronic address book from his jacket pocket and pressed a series of buttons.

            The polite feminine voice answered,
“Bonjour, Hotel Le Claridge.”

            In French, Trudeau said, “I need to speak with the manager immediately. Police business.”

            After a short pause the voice of a cultured man answered in French.
“Bonjour,
this is Louis Reton. I am the manager. How might I help you?”

            “This is Inspector Andre’ Trudeau from Europol. I am being accompanied by Monsieur Jacques Cravelle, Criminal Investigations Officer of INTERPOL. We wish to see you immediately—in private. We need to see you because you have—or will have shortly—a guest by the name of David Riley registering at your hotel. Please delay his checking in and tell him you have to make up a room. We need for you to provide him a room with a door to an adjoining room that is presently unoccupied. We need access to that vacant room before he occupies his room. The door lock on his side needs to be disabled as soon as possible.”

            Reton said, “I’ll contact my maintenance man and we’ll see to it as soon as possible.”

            Trudeau said, “I realize this is short notice, but time is of the essence here. We are familiar with Le Claridge and will enter through the kitchen. Can you meet us there immediately?”

           
“Oui, Monsieur Trudeau,”
said the manager. “We will cooperate and do whatever you feel is necessary.”

            Trudeau led the other three men through the rear door of the kitchen.. Trudeau and Cravelle displayed their identification and followed Reton to a large freight elevator. The group got off on the third floor and went immediately to a door halfway down the long hallway. The maintenance man unlocked a door, handed them the key. The manager returned to the lobby after giving the maintenance man instructions on disabling the door between the two rooms.

            Cravelle left a miniature microphone and remote transmitter on the back of the television cable box in the room to be occupied by Thorne. He returned to the vacant room and adjusted the volume on the small receiver he held in the palm of his hand. Trudeau locked the door on their side, and the four men settled in and waited.

Chapter 65

Thorne arrived mid-afternoon at Le Claridge, and left the keys for the Land Rover with the parking valet. He carried the laptop briefcase with him to the front desk, registered, and asked to speak to the manager.

            The desk clerk said, “We are still making up your room. If you could wait a few minutes the manager, will be available,” Thorne left his luggage with the bellman and took his laptop briefcase with him to a chair where he could wait for the manager.

            Ten minutes later the manager emerged from an elevator and went behind the reception desk. The young receptionist motioned in the direction of Thorne.

            The manager came from behind the desk and extended his hand
. “Bonjour, Monsieur Riley
. We see you have registered and hope you will have a pleasant stay with us. How may I be of service?”

            Thorne was concerned for his safety if left alone in his room with Delain and his partner. “Can we speak in private?”

            “Of course. Please follow me to my office.”

            Once inside the office, Thorne set the laptop briefcase on the floor next to his chair and sat down. “I plan to meet business associates at six o’clock today here in the lobby. We’ll be going up to my room for a confidential discussion, and I’d like a couple of your husky young bellmen to follow us up later and wait in the hallway outside the door during the meeting. We may need them to go down and unload heavy boxes out of our car and bring it up to the room. Naturally, we don’t wish to leave the discussions. I fully understand it’ll take these young men away from their other duties so I’ll pay them for their time and trouble.

            “Now, I don’t wish to be overly dramatic, but one of the men I’ll be meeting with is cautious. He doesn’t like other people around or involved when he discusses business. If you could tell the two young men to be discreet and not come up until we’ve been in the room for a few minutes.”

            “I fully understand. We will be pleased to assist you, Mr. Riley. I will personally see you have two of our best.”