[February 17, 12:00]
The office was busy, filled with people bustling to and from tasks. The murmur of publishing reached their ears, people discussing projects, the clack of keyboards and the trilling of phones. A hush fell where they passed, prompted by the gold and blue badges on their belts, but the sounds started up again soon enough. Detectives in their midst or no, Penguin had stories to tell the world.
Danny pointed at the plaque on the open door and marched into the office. "Pierre Dubois?"
"Yes, what is it?" the man behind the desk murmured with mild irritation, the voice of an important person who despised interruptions. Pierre scratched his cropped black beard with a thumb as he glanced at Danny and Stella, his other hand still writing away. His hazel eyes did a double take as he realized he hadn't seen them ever before, but the elegant loops of his pen continued.
"How you doin'?" Danny drawled, crossing to the desk and slapping his badge down in the middle of the page. "Danny Messer, NYPD." He smirked as the pen was finally set down. Danny clipped his badge back onto his belt as Stella identified herself as well.
"We need to ask you some questions about Juliana van der Bijl," she began.
"Ah, yes, Juliana," he nodded, his French accent audible, but not thick. Pierre opened his bottom desk drawer and plunged his hand in. "I have-"
"Woah, woah," Danny warned, one hand out, the other going to his gun. Didn't people know not to go diving for something out of sight around cops? "Slowly."
He raised an eyebrow at their extreme caution but he obeyed, withdrawing a large brown envelope with exaggerated care. "I have papers for her." True to his word, her name was written on the top right corner.
The detective relaxed, letting go of his weapon and crossing his arms. "What is the nature of your relationship with Juliana?"
"Relationship? No, no, we're not involved like that. It's business, just business." When he spoke, his words almost ran into one another, as if they were racing to leave his mouth because there were so many more to come. The speech pattern of a man with an endless to do list. "You don't believe me," Pierre stated, before they could voice their own doubts. "Here, see for yourself." The man thrust the envelope at Danny, who removed the contents and began reading. Pierre extended his arm, reaching for his pen again.
Stella cut off that train of thought, leaning on his expensive desk and watching his hand clench into a fist. "The owner of the tea shop told us you argued and she walked out. Want to tell us what that was about?"
"About that," he said shortly, gesturing at the sheaf of documents in Danny's hands. "I presented her with the best contract I've written all year, and still she wanted more," he shook his head, irritated. "Why are you asking me these questions? If you're trying to find her, I haven't seen her since Saturday." Pierre's eyes flicked to Stella's hands on his desk and his index finger began to tap.
She stayed stubbornly right where she was. This self-important man needed to be knocked down a peg. "Saturday. Was that before or after you tried to kill her for turning down your offer?"
Pierre's finger stopped tapping. "Hein?" he intoned, his face the picture of confusion.
"You're an important guy, Pierre." She pulled a chair up and sat, putting her elbows on the polished mahogany. People made mistakes in their lies if they got riled up and she was going to bother Pierre as much as she could. "Can't imagine you get told no very often. And here's Juliana, leaving you sitting in a tea shop because you wouldn't pay her what she's worth."
"Pour l'amour du Saint Ciel," he growled, thumping his fist on the wood and rolling his eyes. "I wanted her to work for me. I didn't want her dead. Where else am I going to find someone who speaks four languages?" The man held up the corresponding fingers. "Four! Besides, the argument wasn't about money. She wanted to choose all her projects. As if Penguin would ever allow it," he snorted. "She was about to sign it, because of how much I offered, but then she changed her mind. I rewrote the contract, hoping that letting her choose one project a year would get her to sign." The black-haired man snapped his fingers at Danny, who had skipped through half of the papers. "Show her."
He tried not to grimace too visibly at the belittling gesture and handed the papers to Stella. "He's right," Danny sighed. The most recent version of the employment documents was dated the 15th. Monday. There was no sense in rewriting a contract for someone you intended to kill.
"You said someone tried to kill her?" he asked. "That means she's still alive, no? I don't suppose you can tell me where she is? I waited for her at the tea shop on Monday but she never arrived." He spoke with wry disappointment.
Danny pretended to rub his nose to hide his disgust. The nerve of this guy. There was more to the world than business and dollar signs. "She's under protection, buddy. If she wants to talk, she'll call you."
Stella returned the papers to the envelope and held it out. Pierre reached for it, but before she let go, she asked, "Where were you between eight and ten on Saturday?"
He tugged the documents from her grip. "At a business dinner." They went back to the drawer where they belonged. The man snatched up his pen and returned to his writing. "My assistant can give you the details on your way out," he said dismissively.