Private Monaco

Chapter 44

Justine and I drove to La Turbie, a pretty town north-west of Monaco. Even though it was only three kilometers away, the drive from Monaco Police Headquarters took twenty-five minutes thanks to the heavy traffic caused by diversions on the roads in preparation for the race.

Justine had followed the man calling himself Michel Augarde to an apartment building on Avenue du Général de Gaulle in the heart of the small town. I had thought about informing Chevalier of our intention while we were still at police headquarters, but prior experience had taught me the cops moved slowly when there was any question of cross-jurisdiction. I had an idea how to ensure a rapid response if we found Michel at the apartment, one that would ensure he was taken into custody swiftly.

There was a line of parking spaces opposite his building and I pulled into one beneath the shade of an Aleppo pine. I studied the four-story block, trying to figure out how we could tell if our target was inside. There was a convenience store in the bottom left corner, a realtor on the first floor, but the rest of the building looked to be residential with large windows overlooking the broad avenue running through the heart of town.

“Come on,” I said to Justine. “Let’s kill two birds with one stone.”

She gave me a puzzled look but nodded. We left the car and headed for the opposite side of the street. I saw a pink-washed building, three stories set above a bakery, that would be perfect for our needs. I glanced back at Michel’s building and could see the flicker of TVs in a couple windows and dancing shadows that signified movement in others.

I took Justine to a recessed doorway beside the pink building.

“Stand here,” I said, leading her behind a column that concealed her from the street. “When your phone rings, I want you to scream for help as loud as you can. Stay hidden but keep hollering.”

“Why?” Justine asked. “Where are you going?”

“Up,” I replied, indicating the roof of the pink building.

I hurried over to the wooden entrance doors and forced them open with a powerful shoulder barge. The lock snapped. I hurried into a narrow hallway and ran up the black-and-white-tiled stairs to the very top of the building.

It was a utilitarian block that smelled of dry plaster and homecooked food. When I reached the top of the stairs, I pushed the bar on the fire door to gain access to the roof and went to the balustrade facing our target’s building. I settled into a crouch behind the low perimeter wall, ensuring I had a clear view of the front windows. I took out my phone and placed a call to Justine.

A few seconds later, her piecing cries of “Help me!” echoed around the quiet street, and people came running out of shops and cafes while the windows of nearby buildings filled with occupants drawn by the noise.

I kept my eyes on the building opposite and saw Michel glance down at the street from his third-floor window before swiftly withdrawing.

I dialed 112 and was connected to an operator.

“Do you speak English?” I asked.

“Of course.”

“I’d like to report a woman being assaulted in a third-floor, north-side apartment, number twelve Avenue du Général de Gaulle in La Turbie,” I said. “You can hear her now.”

I held the phone out to maximize the impact of Justine’s screams. This had been my original plan to ensure a swift response from the cops, but it had also served to get our target to reveal his location.

“Please send police officers,” I said before hanging up.

I called Justine and she answered after a single ring. “Now what?”

“Come up,” I replied. “I’m on the roof. The cavalry is on its way. We might as well settle in and watch the show.”