Private Monaco

Chapter 6

Monaco Police Headquarters was located in a modern concrete building with a red-tile fascia. It stood directly west of Port Hercules, the city state’s principal harbor, which was crowded with luxury yachts in town for the Grand Prix.

I wasn’t under arrest, but Valerie Chevalier, the inspector in charge of the investigation, had made it clear I wasn’t free to leave either. She was a tall, slim woman with sharp eyes and a no-nonsense demeanor, honed during years working with the force’s Criminal Investigation Division.

After being given the all clear by a police doctor, I’d sat in an interview room on the first floor of the five-story building and tried to hide my mounting frustration as I recounted what had just happened. Monaco was a society in which rank still mattered, and I could tell Duval’s name carried weight as a former minister of the principality. I wasn’t looking for special favor by revealing who we were going to meet, just explaining what Justine and I had been doing on Avenue des Citronniers that fine May morning.

My account of events stacked up with those of eyewitnesses, and Valerie told me my story was supported by city surveillance and police video footage from vehicles and bodycams. Her team had also been deluged with phone footage shot by members of the public after an appeal went out on television and radio. The attack was big news in this normally law-abiding city state.

I’d asked the inspector to call Jean-Luc Leterrier, Private’s lawyer in Paris, to request him to recommend a local attorney. However, it seemed I might not need representation because she was prepared to accept my actions were proportionate to the crimes that had been committed against me, and that no one other than the perpetrators had been injured.

The first man I’d knocked off his bike near the Fairmont Hairpin had apparently fled the scene, but the guy I’d taken down in Place du Casino was in custody and refusing to talk. Valerie said he had a phone and wallet on him, but that they contained no identifying data or materials and he was refusing to give his name.

I suspected the wallet and phone I’d taken from the first motorcyclist would also be anonymized. I’d signed them over to the booking sergeant when the police had taken my belongings. I’d told him they belonged to me and he’d slipped them into a custody bag along with my own stuff. I hoped Maureen ‘Mo-bot’ Roth, Private’s head of technology and resident hacker, would be able to work her magic on the biker’s phone, and do it faster than the police.

Inspector Chevalier kept leaving me alone, disappearing to attend to new aspects of the unfolding investigation. The room’s whitewashed walls were stained yellow by time, its chrome chairs and steel table were unforgiving, and its strip lighting emitted a slight flicker that was certain to induce a headache sooner or later. I guessed her most recent absence could be explained by the fact she was off conferring with her superiors.

She returned after twenty minutes and told me, “You may go.”

And with those simple words, the ambiguity about my custody status ended. I was free.

“I can’t imagine you will leave Monaco without Ms. Smith,” the investigating officer said. “But please ensure you make yourself available to us for follow-up. We may have more questions, and hopefully some positive news. We would like to put a tap on your phone in case the kidnappers make contact.”

I shook my head. “That won’t be possible. My phone receives confidential calls and information from clients. If the kidnappers make contact, we will record everything and run our own traces.”

Chevalier’s face puckered as though she’d encountered a bad smell. “I thought you would say as much. Please make sure you tell us if contact is made. Ransom demands are the best way to recover kidnapping victims.” She smiled. “But I probably don’t need to tell you that given your expertise in this area, Mr. Morgan.”

I stood. “Is there anything else?”

She shook her head. “We will do everything we can to find Ms. Smith.”

“Thank you,” I replied.

I appreciated her words but knew I would do more. I would tear the city apart if need be. I was terrified of what might be happening to Justine and felt terrible guilt for failing her. I planned to devote all the expertise the inspector had mentioned, along with Private’s considerable resources, to tracing and rescuing the most important person in my life.

“I suspect you will make your own efforts to find Ms. Smith,” she remarked. “But don’t impede our investigation, and please share anything useful and observe the laws of Monaco at all times.”

I nodded, but those men, those hateful men, had crossed a line in targeting Justine. I couldn’t make any promises that might affect my capacity to act. If laws needed to be broken, so be it.

And the first law I broke was tampering with evidence and impeding an investigation by pretending the first biker’s phone was my local cell and his wallet my travelling billfold for emergencies. After some paperwork, I left the station with both items and all my own belongings.

I had my phone out and was about to call Mo-bot when I saw a face that I recognized across the busy lobby. Looking immaculate in a tailored gray suit was the familiar elegant figure of the man we’d come to Monaco to see: Philippe Duval.