RELAXING ON HIS COUCH and feeling more than a little tired, Burke phoned Hélène.

“How is Claude?” he began.

“They’ve released him again,” Hélène said, relief evident in her voice. “The police cautioned him against getting involved in any more trouble.”

“So they obviously think he had nothing to do with Vachon’s death,” Burke said.

“How could they?” Hélène said. “He can be loud and a pain, but he wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

Burke remembered the photos of Claude he’d seen in the news. He wasn’t so sure Claude was opposed to some degree of violence if he thought the matter warranted it.

“He told me he thought the police were full of shit, but I believe he was truly frightened this time,” Hélène continued. “I don’t think he’ll get into any more trouble.”

“Did you get him a lawyer?”

“I did. He helped Uncle get out. I think they’re meeting right now.”

Burke asked if anyone had been charged with the hit-and-run deaths.

“Uncle said he hadn’t heard anything,” Hélène answered. “He said the police mostly talked to him about his car and searched it.”

“Probably for damage from the accident, but since he didn’t do it, they wouldn’t find anything,” Burke said.

“Yes, exactly.”

“What is Claude doing after he meets with his lawyer?” Burke asked.

“He wanted to work at the café tonight, but I persuaded him not to. Bad timing. The staff and I will make sure the café is fine.”

Burke told her he might come down to the café later.

“But, Paul, I won’t be able to be with you,” Hélène said. “I’ll have to close up, and then I want to see how Uncle is doing, even if it’s late.”

“I understand.”

They talked a little more and then rang off.

Paul remembered the news on TV and turned on his set. He watched a short item on a mysterious cougar once again being spotted in the hills above Vence, and then came the story about the forum he’d participated in.

It wasn’t a long spot, maybe forty-five seconds or a minute, but Burke was surprised at how much he was featured in the piece. There was a clip of him discussing the value of the Tour de France, and then, at the end, there was part of the exchange between him and Petit’s mother.

To his surprise, Burke thought he looked reasonable, and when he agreed on how McManus had been falsely depicted, he looked positively judicial, even though his words were harsh.

“A new career,” Burke said to himself with a laugh.

A few minutes later, François Lemaire called.

“I just saw the news. You were very eloquent, Paul,” the editor said. “I thought you’d be acceptable, but that forum showed a different side of you. And your defense of the Tour was especially strong. I’m glad I recommended you.”

“Thanks.”

“And as for your comments about the real character of Pierre McManus, they were very powerful. It will be interesting to see people’s reactions.”

“I wonder about that, too,” Burke said. It was time to change the subject. “So, have you had any more visits from the police?”

“They did come back and checked my car, but didn’t find anything of interest,” Lemaire said. “I think they’ve taken me off their list of suspects.”

“Did they say that?”

“They didn’t say much,” Lemaire said. “That Fortin just asks his questions. I had to be very careful with him.”

“But you didn’t do anything wrong,” Burke said.

“I’m not so sure that matters much to Fortin,” Lemaire said. “He just wants a result. I expect he’s being pushed hard by the examining judge. There are a lot of people watching this Vachon case. He was a big deal.”

Lemaire then switched topics and reminded Burke that he needed to do a written blog and a video blog within the next two days.

“Yes, I remember,” Burke said, though actually he had forgotten. “I’ll spend all day tomorrow on them.”

“Then get a good night’s sleep so you can produce good work,” Lemaire said.

“You know, François, you sound a much happier man than when we last talked,” Burke observed.

Lemaire chuckled lightly. “Being taken off a suspects list will do that.”

They hung up.

Burke poured himself a small pastis—he had cut back, he told himself—and thought about how two people he knew had been implicated in the Vachon hit-and-run case and how both had just been exonerated—sort of.

Who could have killed Vachon? A man like Vachon had to have had enemies. Of course, maybe it was just bad timing and the driver hadn’t even known the victim’s identity before speeding off into the night. It happened.

Burke thought about it for an hour, getting nowhere, and then made himself a panini.

He would stay home and get a good night’s sleep. Hélène wouldn’t be coming over anyway.