Sampson told her that he, Alex, and others in law enforcement had never made much noise about an unidentified criminal they’d known of for years, someone who often operated at the periphery of their investigations. Sending them messages. Taking false credit for heinous crimes. Claiming innocence in crimes he’d clearly committed. Taunting them about their lack of investigative skills.
“He calls himself M. I call him Mastermind. He wrote me yesterday.”
Sampson handed her his phone with the message from M up on the screen.
Pickett frowned, took it, sat back and began to read. Sampson kept looking from the assistant ME to that picture of her in the Bob, wondering anxiously if he was ever going to get to that place himself.
“What kind of human sends a message like this?” Dr. Pickett said, looking grim as she handed him back his phone.
“Alex says he’s a brilliant psychopath,” Sampson said. “We believe he’s been involved in mass murders, multiple kidnappings, and high-stakes rip-offs, among other crimes.”
“He claims he killed Billie. That she didn’t die of Lyme’s. You believe that?”
“That’s what I’m here to find out, Lauren. There wasn’t an autopsy because she’d been sick with Lyme’s and the heart condition it caused for so long. Remember?”
The ME took a deep breath and said softly, “You want Billie’s body exhumed, John? Is that what you’re here for? Is that what you want?”
Sampson felt gutted. “It’s the last thing I want, Lauren. But not knowing will keep gnawing at me until I bring Billie up from her grave and make sure. I might as well do it now and get it over with.”
He choked out the last few words and hung his head. “I know M is making use of my pain. I believe in my heart that Billie died of Lyme’s. But I feel like I have no choice but to live through more suffering to make absolutely sure it wasn’t murder.” He raised his head. “And I’d like to have her body cremated after that. It’s what I think she originally wanted.”
Pickett got up, came around her desk, and put her hand on his shoulder.
“You are a good man, John. No one should have to go through this kind of mental torture, especially you. But I agree with you. I will find out what it’s going to take to make an exhumation happen in as dignified a way as possible. I will handle the case myself. Your Billie will be well taken care of, I promise you that.”
Chapter
25
Paris
Across the Atlantic, it was almost nine p.m. when Bree climbed out of her taxi wearing her only other outfit suitable for an evening at a swank bistro like Canard de Flaque. Her pencil skirt was black, above the knee, and tight-fitting. The silk top featured a colorful pattern and was equally flattering. Gray hose and lipstick-red pumps completed the look.
She glanced sidelong at her reflection in a storefront window, smiled, and thought, Bree St. Lucie. Strolling along. Dressed to kill. Ready to see what havoc she’s caused.
At the front door to Puddle Duck, she hesitated, concerned about spending too much time in one place. But what choice did she have?
Bree opened the door and went inside; she saw Henri look up and smile.
“Madame,” he said. “You honor us two days in a row with your presence.”
Bree grinned. “It’s the duck.”
“It always is,” Henri replied. “The bar? I have the same spot available.”
“That would be perfect, thank you, Henri.”
“My great pleasure, madame.” He grabbed a menu and led her to the stool at the far end of the bar, closest to the dining area and booths.
Crossing the room and sliding into her seat, Bree avoided the temptation to scan the crowd. She took the menu, thanked Henri, and smiled at Carole, the bartender, who appeared in front of her.
“Champagne?” Carole asked.
“The same as last time, please. Thank you, Carole.”
Bree pretended to consider the menu while taking occasional slow glances in the mirror as if checking her makeup. By the time the flute of champagne arrived, Bree knew that five of the other bar stools were taken.
To her left, on the stools Abelmar and his assistant had occupied the previous evening, a cute couple in their fifties were flirting. The next two stools were empty. Another couple and an older woman occupied the far three.
Only after Bree had taken a sip of the champagne and smacked her lips approvingly did Carole move off, at which point Bree dared to glance in the bar mirror at the tables in the dining room. Most of them were filled with happy, chic patrons.