Private Monaco

Chapter 24

We stood on the Avenue Pasteur a few yards from the street sign welcoming people to Cap d’Ail, signaling the almost invisible border between Monaco and France. There was no indication of separate nations, just a welcome to a new district. Monaco was not officially part of the borderless Schengen Area, but it had opened its borders anyway to facilitate frictionless travel. Technically, this spot on a narrow street flanked by terracotta-colored office and apartment buildings, running off a busy roundabout, opposite a small store selling building supplies, marked the point where two countries converged. The checkpoint had been established a short distance from the border, just after the roundabout.

I tried to imagine what Justine must have felt when the van was stopped by the cops at the hastily convened checkpoint. Video footage from a traffic camera mounted on a post on the corner of the street showed a Monaco police car blocking the narrow route and two officers checking vehicles leaving the city state.

Had Justine attempted to signal the cops? Had she even been conscious?

I’d watched the moment over and over again. One young police officer had approached the van and spoken to the driver. Like a football fan who thinks their hopes and prayers might alter the outcome of a slow-motion replay, I longed for the man to discover Justine when he opened the door to search inside. But the van had seemed to be empty. I knew from my own experiences in Moscow that it was relatively easy to conceal someone in a disguised compartment, and I’d put money on there having been a false bed in the van’s floor to circumvent any visual inspection.

Looking around the road and roundabout, which was now busy with morning traffic, I saw no immediate clues as to the van’s ultimate destination.

“They went west into France,” Duval said, sauntering over.

He was somber and apologetic, as though he was ashamed his city had caused me so much pain.

“We can start a canvas along the route,” Duval suggested. “Petrol — gas — stations and convenience stores. See if anyone remembers the vehicle. Local post offices. Talk to the delivery drivers. See if they’ve spotted the van along their routes.”

I nodded. These were good suggestions, but my heart wasn’t in it. I knew this was the sort of thing the police did to work every lead, but they could throw resources at a search like this, have maybe a couple of dozen officers out working the places Duval had suggested. With just a few of us it felt too much like looking for a needle in a haystack. A very large haystack.

My phone rang and I stepped away from Duval to take the call from Sci.

“Jack, we may have something,” he said without wasting time on a greeting. “We found traces of germinating seeds on the suspect’s pants. Most of the land around Monaco is mountainside or scrub, so we can narrow down our search to only a few properties.”

My heart soared. “Good work,” I replied, trying to contain my excitement.

“What?” Duval asked, but I waved him away as Sci went on speaking.

“Pascal Garnier, the chief forensic scientist here, has told Inspector Chevalier. I tried to persuade him to let us have the jump on the information, but he isn’t a malleable guy. Very much by the book. Chevalier says it’s going to take her a while to coordinate with the French police and she doesn’t want to send an advance party to investigate in case it spooks them. She wants simultaneous raids on all the possible locations.”

I could understand her logic, but it was extremely frustrating not to be moving immediately.

“How long?” I asked.

Sci hesitated. “Six, maybe eight hours.”

“That’s too long,” I replied.

“My thoughts exactly.”

“Let’s meet at the hotel,” I said. “Figure out what we do next. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

“Got it,” Sci replied, before hanging up.

“What is it?” Duval asked.

“We might have a lead,” I told him. “I need a ride to my hotel. I’ll fill you in on the way.”

“Of course,” he replied, and we headed for his car.