French Kiss

Chapter 42

The gossip network in a prison is long and strong.

Ballard confirms this. “I was overcome with sadness and anger when I heard about your police friend and your girlfriend, Detective. I could not write to you. I could not telephone. I did not know what to say. And, I am ashamed to admit, I was afraid. If the other prisoners found out that I was speaking to a member of the Paris police, I might be in danger.”

“I understand,” I say. “Besides, Marlene wrote me and expressed her outrage and sympathy.”

“Très bien,” he says. “Marlene is a good woman.”

I am silent. I want to speak, but I cannot. Suddenly everything is rushing back-the sight of Maria in the lavish Park Avenue apartment, the sight of Dalia on the gurney, the crazed run that I made through Hermès and the wine shop.

I think Burke senses that I have wandered off to a deeper, darker place. She keeps a steady gaze on me.

Ballard looks confused. He is waiting for me to say something. My tongue freezes as if it’s too big for my mouth. My brain is too big for my head, and my heart is too broken to function.

Ballard reaches across the little table and places his rough hand on mine.

“The heart breaks, Detective.”

I remain silent. Ballard speaks.

“What can I do, my friend?”

My head is filling with pain. Then I speak.

“Listen to me, Marcel. I believe that someone being held in this prison arranged for the executions of my partner, Maria, and my lover, Dalia. I think whoever it was also planned to kill my current partner, the person sitting here.”

I cannot help but notice that Ballard does not react in any way to what I’m saying. He finally removes his hand from mine. He continues to listen silently. If he is anything, he is afraid, stunned.

“It is pure revenge, Ballard. There are men here in Clairvaux who detest me. They don’t blame their crimes for their imprisonment. They blame me. They think that by killing the people I am close to…they are killing me…and you know something, Ballard? They are right.”

Again silence. A long silence. The minute that feels like an hour.

Ballard interrupts the quiet. He is calm. “C’est vrai, monsieur le lieutenant. Someone who hates you is killing the women you love.”

“Tell me, Marcel. Tell me if you truly have gratitude for what I’ve done to help your wife and children: do you have any idea who ordered these murders?”

Ballard looks at Burke. Then he looks at me. Then he looks down at the table. When he looks back up again a few moments later his eyes are wet with tears. He speaks.

“Everyone inside this asylum is cruel. You have to learn to be cruel to survive here.”

I am awestruck at Ballard’s intensity. He continues.

“But there is only one man who has the power to buy such a horror in the outside world. And I think you know who that is. I think you know without my even saying his name.”

And I know the person we should bring in.