Murder in the Sentier

Thursday Night

MARIUS TEYNARD MET ALPHONSE DRAY, his old police colleague, over a bottle of chilled Sancerre. Even this late at night the brasserie was full. The floodlights illuminating the préfecture on the Quai des Orfèvres shone in the background.

“So how’s Jules Bourdon?”

“The words ‘cocky’ and ‘arrogant’ come to mind,” said Dray.

“So he hasn’t changed,” Marius Teynard said with a smile. “Good. I’ll get him this time.”

“Any other reason you want to know his progress after leaving Senegal?”

“Catching him isn’t good enough?” Teynard poured more white wine into his companion’s wineglass.

“Don’t you wonder why he’s left now?”

“Homesick, broke, or both,” Teynard said. He took a long gulp. “Maybe the mercenary jobs dried up.”

“He’s not alone.”

Teynard paused. He eyed the woman opposite from them, who’d crossed her legs. “She’s with him?”

“Let’s just say you can buy followers when you’ve got the money.”