Chapter Thirteen

I love Paris in the springtime

I love Paris in the fall

I love Paris in the winter, when it drizzles

I love Paris in the summer, when it sizzles

"Paris in the Springtime" - Cole Porter

The photos caused quite a sensation in the nick. Nan's fellow officers seethed with fury and each privately imagined catching the guilty party and making him pay in some horrific and highly degrading way. When one of their own was under attack, the officers tended toward a vigilante sense of justice.

After much deliberation, Nan and Jimmy had decided not to include the photos showing the two of them kissing and leaving the pub together.

"We'll keep them," Jimmy had said. "And if we have to show them to Guv, we'll show them. But until then..."

"Yes, until then," Nan had agreed. They were both thinking the same thing, 'Until then there's no need to drag this out into the limelight.' There was plenty to go on without them. If they retained a nagging sense of guilt in going against their own ethics, they each kept it to themselves.

They had, however, left in the snaps of the two of them in the pub together-in earlier, more reserved moments-and even those showing Nan exiting Jimmy's hotel.

"If we don't try to over explain it, no one will even notice," Jimmy had warned her reasonably. "They'll assume you were dropping me off or something. They won't think twice about it unless we start acting like there's something to hide."

His advice had been sound, and Nan was glad she was able to follow it, though she had the wildest urge to snatch the specified photographs up and shriek, "It's not what it looks like," before hurling them out the nearest open window. She stood her ground, however, and didn't so much as flicker an eyelid when they were looked at again.

Jimmy was right: no one even seemed to notice. They skimmed through the photographs, not paying the slightest bit of attention to the fact that Nan was leaving Jimmy's hotel in the same clothes she had been wearing in the pictures taken at the pub, taking what they saw for granted, knowing Jimmy and Nan as well as they thought they did.

Except for Lou, who wisely decided to keep such speculation to herself, and Emma, who did not hesitate to drag Jimmy and Nan into her office shortly after the photographs were turned in as evidence to be dusted for prints.

She paced back and forth behind her desk for several minutes while the two young officers sat nervously in the chairs in front of her. Jimmy tried desperately to appear nonchalant, and Nan did her best to look the same; both only succeeded in appearing as stricken with apprehension as they were.

Finally Emma stopped and regarded them both with a deep sigh. She shook her head. "When I said to be friendlier with each other," she commented wryly, "I didn't mean quite that friendly."

Nan's face burned an embarrassed red. Jimmy pulled at a suddenly constrictive collar. "Sorry?" he said, trying to buy them time.

"Jimmy, don't," admonished Emma. Her implication was clear: 'Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about.' She sat down at last. The expression on her face was weary and uncertain. "I don't know what I'm going to do with you, Nan, I really don't."

The shame burned deeper. Nan felt like the resident tart of the Met. She knew that wasn't Emma's intention, but she felt it all the same.

"Guv, this wasn't Inspector Kenworthy's fault," Jimmy urged. "I mean...what I mean is, we're both to blame."

"Give me some credit, Lieutenant. Do you think I don't know that? I'm not here to pin a scarlet 'A' to her chest." Emma replied, smiling gently.

There was an uncomfortable silence. Nan couldn't meet Emma's eyes. The silence lingered for several minutes. Then Emma cleared her throat and continued. "I don't relish this, Inspector, but you know the policy on office relationships. More importantly, you know my policy. This isn't the first time we've had this talk."

"No, ma'am."

"And as I'm sure you're aware, this isn't even the first chat I've had to have this week." Remembering Kid and Louise, Emma inwardly shuddered. She didn't fancy the idea of interfering with the lives of full-grown adults. No one had ever warned her that becoming a Superintendent would mean playing mother hen.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Stop bleating yeses and no's at me, Nan!" Emma exclaimed, suddenly dropping her reserve. "Now you know I hardly have the power to forbid you to see each other outside of work, but I would ask that you be more discreet than you have been."

That irritated Jimmy. "Excuse me, Guv, but I think we've been very discreet. Apparently you put two and two together by looking at those pictures, but can you honestly say that up until then we'd given you any reason to suspect there was anything unprofessional going on?"

"No," Emma admitted. There had been longing looks on Jimmy's part, it was true, and subtle, tell-tale gestures from Nan, but the truth was there had been nothing to cause any real suspicion.

"Inspector Kenworthy and I have handled this situation very maturely, boss. We have not brought our personal relationship into the office. We have kept our office behaviour on a professional level, I don't think anyone can argue with me there. Whatever has happened, or is happening, between Nan and myself will be kept exactly there-between Nan and myself." Jimmy stopped, daring a quick peek at Nan from the corner of his eye. She wasn't looking at him, but her body was tense with awareness. "Beyond that," he said, "I don't feel we owe any explanation."

Emma looked at him with admiration evident in her eyes. She had known this boy had a good head on his shoulders from the moment she met him. He had spoken politely, even deferentially, but with firmness and dignity. And she knew he was right. Other guvs may not have seen the situation in that light, but Emma Shannon had learned long ago that she was not like most guvs.

"I appreciate that, Lieutenant." Gazing at their shy, embarrassed faces, she longed to hug them both. She felt such motherly affection for all her officers that sometimes it threatened to overwhelm her professionalism. More than once Sam had cautioned her against getting too emotionally attached. "Right. We'll say no more about it, then."

At the door Emma stopped them. "Jimmy, I want you and Kidwell to take the ferry to Paris today. Gérard LaChaille has agreed to an interview. You should be back this evening, tomorrow morning at the latest."

Paris. Jimmy swallowed hard. "Is he willing to co-operate?"

Emma nodded. "Very much so. Find Kid; he'll give you all the details."

"Okay."

At her window, Emma watched them go. They walked several feet apart, apparently not speaking. She sighed to herself. 'Maybe they were on to something in the old days,' she mused. 'Maybe it's not such a bad idea keeping the men and women separate.'

Her phone rang. "Superintendent Shannon."

"Are you alone?" It was Sam.

Emma laughed and settled herself into her chair, making herself comfortable. "Yes, I'm alone."

A warm chuckle travelled down the line. "Good. How are you today?"

"Fine. How are you?"

"Too damn far away from you."

Pleased, Emma said, "St John's Wood isn't exactly the moon, Chief Inspector."

"It may as well be when you're not with the woman you want to be with."

She was a veteran police officer, highly ranked, with several commendations and awards to her name; she was a grown woman with a staff of officers at her command, with enough power and influence to get pretty much whatever she wanted. All this, and yet a few simple words from a man like Sam Cain made her go weak at the knees.

"When can I see you again, Emma?" His voice was impatient.

Emma closed her eyes and stretched her neck. "I don't know, Sam...this case is really working me up into a frenzy. I think we're finally getting somewhere."

"I think so, too. Which means that the two commanding officers-that is, you and I-deserve a break. We deserve a nice dinner out. What do you say?"

She let his warm, throaty voice wash over her for a minute, her eyes still closed against the harsh glare of her office lights. She hadn't had a decent meal since this case had started; she was used to grabbing a take-away curry or a hamburger here and there as needed. To dress up and go out, to sit across from that handsome, slightly freckled face for an hour and laugh with him and make him laugh…It sounded heavenly.

"You're hesitating, Emma..."

"I accept."

He cried out in feigned shock. "I'll alert the presses."

"Sarcasm will get you nowhere."

"Pick you up at eight?"

"I'll be ready."

Sam paused. "You know, I'm pretty crazy about you, Superintendent Shannon."

"I'm pretty crazy about you, too, Chief Inspector Cain." With a smile, Emma heard his whispered goodbye and hung up the phone. She opened her eyes, still wearing a broad smile.

Nan and Jimmy were standing in the doorway, Jimmy's hand still on the doorknob, the remaining photographs in Nan's hand. They both wore the same faintly amused expression. She knew they had heard everything, and if not everything, then they had heard enough.

"We came to bring some more photos from the package Nan got last night. Guess I should have knocked," Jimmy said.

Emma swallowed hard. "Guess you should have."

The ferry ride to Paris passed quickly. Jimmy and Kid were in France by one o'clock. One of Gérard LaChaille's limousines was waiting for them at the dock.

"We could have taken the Chunnel," Jimmy remarked. "We would have had our own car to drive around."

Kid shuddered visibly. "Ugh. The Chunnel. I'd rather fall into the ocean and drown than have all that water collapse on top of me."

Jimmy laughed. "Not really an attractive thought, is it?"

"Not terribly, no." Kid grinned, grateful. "Besides, look at this posh limo. We can travel through Paris in style."

"Looks like LaChaille is willing to give us the dirt on Westward," Jimmy said as they slipped into the elegant grey limousine.

Kid nodded. Then he said, "You don't like Westward, do you?"

"Be glad you haven't met him. He's a pompous, arrogant bastard. And he's creepy as hell."

"'Creepy,' huh?" Kid was laughing.

Jimmy laughed, too, realising how petty he had sounded. "He's just one of those guys who think they're put on the planet to charm all the ladies and patronise all the men. He makes my skin crawl."

"And did he succeed?"

"In patronising me? Hell yes, he succeeded."

"Did he succeed in charming Nan?"

Jimmy looked at him, carefully weighing the question. There was more to Andrew Kidwell than he let on. It was entirely possible that his sharp eyes had seen a lot more than Jimmy gave him credit for. "I think he did for a minute. But she's too smart for that."

Gérard LaChaille's company was in the heart of Paris, a medium-sized, unimposing building of classic design. Jimmy and Kid were ushered in like visiting dignitaries and shown to a comfortable waiting area complete with coffee, sandwiches, and a ravishingly beautiful secretary who eyed both men with a hungry gaze as she sat behind her desk. She was obviously appraising both men, but both Kid and Jimmy did their best to ignore her as they sat across the room.

"She doesn't hold a candle to Louise," Kid remarked off-handedly.

To his surprise, Jimmy found that he had been thinking of Nan and not Louise. "Ah, no," he said quickly.

Kid slid a knowing look toward Jimmy. "Or Nan," he said nonchalantly.

Before Jimmy could reply, the secretary's intercom buzzed and a voice spoke in rapid French over the loudspeaker. The two men could discern their names, and then the secretary stood and motioned for them to follow her.

Gérard LaChaille's office was enormous, with a high ceiling and broad, undecorated walls. His massive oak desk was situated in the farthest corner from the door and the room was sparsely furnished. It gave the impression that one had just entered a very large, well-decorated cave.

LaChaille himself was a small man, slightly built, about sixty years old. He was dressed sharply, but his clothes were simple. He greeted Jimmy and Kid warmly and without affectation.

"Please, sit. I understand you have come today to question me in regards to Monsieur Westward." His words were heavily accented, but his English was perfect.

"Yes, sir. More specifically, we'd like to discuss his previous involvement with your company," Kid agreed.

LaChaille paused thoughtfully, hands laced together. Jimmy and Kid looked very young to him. Truly it was a young person's world these days. He shrugged to himself and then spoke to the officers. "Julian Westward was one of the most promising young businessmen I have ever had the fortune to work with...at first, that is."

"How long did he work for LaChaille Investments?" asked Jimmy.

"Just over three years."

"And then he was asked to leave?"

LaChaille hesitated, but only briefly. He nodded in affirmation. "Oúi. I found it to be the best decision for all involved."

"And shortly thereafter," Kid said slowly, "you were robbed and your brother was murdered, is that correct?" Kid's blue eyes were gentle, his voice perfectly even. Years of training had taught him tact and care in these situations.

LaChaille's reaction was subtle but painful. He winced ever so slightly in response to Kid's question. "Oúi. Phílippe was murdered that same night."

"And the police found the criminal just weeks afterward?"

"They say they did." The older man's voice had a hard edge to it.

"You don't believe them?"

"I don't believe they have the correct criminal, no. A criminal perhaps, but not the one guilty of my brother's murder." LaChaille paused. "Are we playing games, Monsieur? You know very well I believe Julian Westward to be guilty of the crime. That is why you are here, is it not?"

Jimmy and Kid were taken aback at LaChaille's frankness, though they tried not to show it. "We are here, Monsieur," Kid said, "to gather information regarding Julian Westward's employment during his tenure at LaChaille Investments. Mr Westward has given a slightly different timeline of events."

Gérard LaChaille laughed sceptically. "No doubt he would. He must be très sot-very foolish, yes?-to give false facts that can be checked so easily."

"Can you please tell us why you dismissed Mr Westward?"

"Bad investment deals. Comment vous faire le dit? Détourner de la compagnie?" He paused for a moment, stumbling over the words. "How do you say it? Taking funds-from the company? Without consent?"

"Embezzlement?" supplied Jimmy.

"Ah. Yes. Mercí. Embezzlement. Also rumours of money laundering. An inappropriate relationship with another partner, Colette Gordon."

The officers' ears perked up. Colette Gordon was a familiar name; she had even been mentioned in Westward's statement. Neither she nor Westward had been affected by the burglaries. Kid made a quick note on his ledger.

"Mr Westward claims he left of his own accord," Jimmy said, watching out of the corner of his eye as Kid wrote.

"Nothing could be further from the truth."

Kid looked up from his writing. "Tell me, Monsieur, if those were the circumstances of Mr Westward's departure, why were they settled so amicably? Why was he not arrested or brought under investigation? Why was he asked to leave and not made to leave?"

They were unprepared for the look of misery on LaChaille's weathered face. His mouth fell at the corners, his eyes dimming considerably. He sighed a heavy sigh and covered his face with his hands. When he looked at them again, he said, "I was not in my right mind. My wife, you see, she was very ill with cancer. Very ill. Terriblement. I was at her sick bed day after day, watching her slip away. Mon coeur se cassait. My heart was breaking. On top of all this I find my company in near ruins, clients walking away...so much stress! I just wanted it to end. I didn't want more. So I asked Julian to leave. I paid him to leave. Now I wish I had done things differently, but at the time-" He sighed again. "At the time I just wanted it all to be over. Fini."

Neither Jimmy nor Kid asked if Gérard LaChaille's wife was better. It was painfully obvious that the woman had passed away and her husband was left nursing the broken heart he had spoken of. They sat in respectful silence till LaChaille seemed to collect himself.

Then Jimmy asked gently, "Why do you suspect Julian Westward, sir?"

"He had the motive, the opportunity, the means. It was so systématique, officer, attacking the members of the firm. Très évident. Very obvious. I could not believe Julian would act so obviously. He, who had been sly and subtle as he stole thousands and thousands of francs from my office. The man is capable of evil, officer. I believe that. No one can convince me of anything different."

"I appreciate your-" Jimmy was cut off.

"Listen to me, officier," LaChaille was suddenly distressed, his eyes bright with urgency. "I may regret speaking so freely, but I must tell you that Julian Westward is capable of evil, of atrocities that go beyond jewel theft. He has murdered, he will murder again. It is my belief that he has. It is my belief that these crimes in London are Julian Westward's doing. And unless you do everything in your power to catch him and put him to justice, to make him pay for these horrible acts...unless you do that, monsieurs, it is my belief that Julian Westward will walk away a free man."