Murder at the Lanterne Rouge

Saturday, Noon

ANXIOUS, RENÉ LOCKED the door of his Citroën on a side street near Leduc Detective. Prévost had been called out. René had given his statement to a sergeant who’d turned a deaf ear to his questions. So far no one from the dojo had heard from Meizi. After obtaining the address of the property management agency that had rented the space to Ching Wao, he found the office closed for the weekend.

Meizi didn’t answer her phone.

He stepped over an icy puddle in the cobbled street. And slipped. He grabbed the wall, a sharp pain shooting up to his thigh. René hated days like this, the permeating dampness. He longed for his hot water bottle and an Epsom-salt bath, the only relief. He glanced down narrow, congested rue Vauvilliers, thinking of the long three blocks to reach Leduc Detective.

His mind went back to the e-mail his friend Marcel had sent him last night from Silicon Valley.

You’d love it here, René. Three new start-ups approached me today. Cutting edge, opportunities mushrooming, venture capitalists and tall, blonde Californiennes, the beach forty minutes away … There’s these two mecs from Stanford, crazy with search engine concepts, smart … calling this little idea Google.

Not for the first time, René wondered why he slogged through damp, cold Paris when he could be enjoying the beach and sun, the chance to bite into a new field as it developed. Join the ground floor of these start-ups. Mountain View … where the hell was that, and how far from the beach?

But he knew the answer.

He trudged ahead, concentrating on avoiding the ice, the slush, the slick pavers. He turned the corner and found his way blocked by a delivery van. The chill blast of wind cut René’s cheeks and sent shooting cold up his legs. Why hadn’t he taken a taxi?

Then he realized he’d circled back the way he’d just come from in this warren of streets. Right back to his parked car. Merde! He shooed away a fat pigeon in his path. At his height, his gaze barely reaching over the parked car hoods, everything loomed gigantic. He never let on to Aimée how often he got lost on foot.

Or his feelings for her, which simmered just under the surface—until he met Meizi. Meizi gave him happiness he’d never known before. Or would give him, at least, over time, once her parents warmed to him. But she’d forgotten his ring on the table.

Had she dumped him, just like that? A horn blared, interrupting his thoughts. His phone trilled in his pocket.

Meizi. Excited, he hit answer.

“Are you all right?” he gasped.

“As soon as you give me a clue concerning the spyware tracking popping up on your desktop, René,” said Saj.

Disappointed, he stood on the damp pavement in the slush and biting cold.

“Network it to your terminal, Saj,” he said. “Have you dug up anything on Ching Wao’s business license?”

“A common name, it turns out.”

“So let’s narrow them down.”

Time to get to work.