Deceptions by Anna Porter (fox in socks read aloud TXT) 📗

to the perfect oval of her face, or her green-hazel eyes, but was good enough for identification. If the killer had been aiming at the lawyer, he would know that Helena had pursued him, and he could come after her. If she had been his intended target, he would certainly try again.

She could be in danger. She needed protection. He thought he should bring her to the police station to talk to Hébert. The photographs made it clear that she was not the killer. However, almost as soon as that thought leapt into his mind, he recalled how Helena responded to such admonishments. She believed she was a better judge of her own safety than anyone else, especially a police officer. Unlike the police in civilized countries, she was not hemmed in by regulations.

Perhaps Hébert had read Attila’s thoughts because he said, “It’s a pity she has not come to us. She would not be a suspect, but a witness. She may be the fastest runner in France, but an arrow is faster, and he may be hunting for her even as we sit here.”

“You don’t seem to have any photos or CCTV of the killer,” Attila said.

Hébert shifted his computer so that Attila could see a very blurry image of the running man, with his long coat, his face mostly obscured by his hat. Once, as he half-turned to look behind him, there was a flash of a flat chin, a thin mouth, but even that could have been exaggerated by the strain. The man was sprinting; his face would express the kind of rictus some runners have when they are moving fast, their muscles pumping adrenalin. Attila’s negative opinion of joggers had not improved since he discovered that Helena was one of them.

“Is there a widow Magoci?” Attila asked.

“They were divorced years ago.”

“Was she the beneficiary?”

Hébert laughed. “I looked into that. She was not the beneficiary. He left all his money to a daughter who lives in Quebec, in Canada. She is a lawyer. The widow has married again. She seemed sad that Magoci had died, but not too sad. Said they had last spoken two years ago.”

Georges came back looking considerably less overheated and proceeded to rattle off a long report that Attila managed to mostly understand. (He’d been practising his English over the past year, not his French.) There were no fingerprints. Win&Win, the manufacturer, was a Korean firm, and the bow would have cost more than €800. It was one of their high-end products. A Wiawis Nano with a recurve riser. Recommended for professionals.

“A professional would need to practise a lot,” Hébert said, switching to English. “It’s not a sport you can go easy on. Takes a good eye and steady hands. Know anyone like that?”

Attila shook his head.

“If you happen to hear about someone like that, you would call me?” Hébert asked. “And if you happen to bump into the woman in these photos, you will give her my message: she can’t outrun this killer.”

Attila gazed at his hands to avoid Hébert’s scrutiny. If Hébert thought Helena would agree with that assessment, he couldn’t know much about her. That was comforting. If he knew little about her, maybe the killer knew even less.

Hébert, his hand on Attila’s shoulder, accompanied him to the exit. When they were standing at the top of the steps, they stopped and faced each other again. “I have heard good things about you and that Titian in Budapest.”

“From Tóth?” Attila squawked incredulously. “Lieutenant Tóth?”

“No,” Hébert said. “From a Paris flic I’ve known since the academy. He said you had assisted him with a case involving a couple of lads who had been selling protection to shopkeepers in the twelfth arrondissement. Small-time criminals, but they were preying on small shops, immigrants most of them, barely making it in our City of Light. One of the shopkeepers had complained to the police in the twelfth, a busy place that didn’t take the time to investigate. There are so many other crimes with higher stakes — you know what I mean.”

Attila nodded. Shopkeepers in Budapest had similar problems with complaints to the police.

“Alors, this lot set fire to a family’s corner store. One of the children happened to be inside. The gang took off for Austria, then Hungary . . .”

“I remember them,” Attila said. “They had tried it in Budapest first, offering rewards for compliance. Simple stuff, like not setting your shop on fire. Your Paris flic, Jacques?”

“He said you tracked the buggers down, arrested them, and turned them over to his team.”

“We like to think we are on the same side,” Attila said.

“It so happens your Lieutenant Tóth didn’t seem to agree with that sentiment. Lucky for Jacques, he was just a sergeant then. He had no time for the small stuff.”

“Still doesn’t,” Attila said.

“My friend also mentioned something about a friend of yours, a woman who does art appraisals. She is rather unusual for an appraiser.”

Attila managed to drain all expression from his face. “Hmm,” he said.

“She helped my friend identify a forged Renoir. Well painted, apparently, but not the real thing.”

Attila said nothing.

“You are not planning to leave our beautiful city in the next few days?” Hébert asked.

“Not as far as I know. I like it here. Rented a B & B not far from here on Rue des Prés. Small but expensive. Why the next few days?”

“I will have this murder sorted in a few days,” Hébert said.

“Hmm,” Attila said.

“And a last question,” Hébert said, as Attila had started down the steps. “You wouldn’t happen to know any Ukrainians?”

Ukrainians. Again. Attila turned and went back up the stairs. “I have met a few. Why?”

“There was one at the Colmar archery range, l’Arc et les Flêches, asking questions. Big guy, speaks lousy French.”

“Worse than mine?” Attila asked, and went down again. Damn that grasping, greedy bugger Azarov.

As soon as he was out of the police station’s sightlines, he called Helena’s office and left a message for Louise. “Please tell