BURKE POINTED AT THE screen and asked if it was possible to identify the two license plates.

By way of answering, Antoine went back, captured the first car just before it struck the leading walker and then enlarged the rear of the vehicle. The license plate appeared like it had been blacked out. There was no possible way to see the numbering.

Antoine ran the video ahead a bit and did the same to the second car. The numbering hadn’t been blacked out, but the plate was clearly dirty, and Burke saw there was no way to distinguish anything more than a single figure.

“Even if the numbers weren’t covered in muck, it would be difficult to read the plate from this distance,” Antoine said. “There is software that can work on scenes that lack appropriate pixels, building the image from what is likely, but not in this case. So, no plate numbers.”

Antoine sat back and pointed at the screen.

“If I was to bet, I’d say the first vehicle had its numbers blacked out on purpose, but the second car’s plate numbers were dirty by accident,” he said.

Burke agreed with Antoine. He had thought the same.

Antoine leaned back in his captain’s chair.

“So maybe the first driver did what he wanted to do, while the second one got caught in a bad circumstance, then got frightened and drove off after running over Vachon or his minder,” Antoine said.

“It seems likely,” Burke said. “Let’s look at it again in slow motion.”

They spent ten minutes watching the cars move toward and then strike the two pedestrians. Nothing new showed up.

Burke asked if there was any way to see where the first black car had come from. Antoine reversed the video slightly and enlarged the bottom left corner where the first vehicle initially appeared. The front half of the car showed up, but from what direction was still unclear.

“Can we see if there’s a street view on Google for that area?” Burke asked.

“It will only show the view taken during some day well before the accident,” Antoine protested.

“I understand, but let’s try anyway.”

Antoine went to the other computer and pulled up a street scene of the corner where the first sedan had appeared.

“That’s a fairly sharp turn,” Burke said.

Antoine nodded.

“You’d have to know how to handle a vehicle to carry some speed through the turn,” Burke said.

“I expect so.”

Burke asked Antoine to focus on the buildings on the left side of the curving road.

“Stop it there,” said Burke, pointing at the screen. He leaned forward. “Can you twist the angle to our right?” he asked.

Antoine managed that in a couple of seconds.

Burke moved even closer. Then he pointed.

“Look through the gap between those two buildings. You can see the café where Vachon had supper on the night he was killed,” Burke said.

Antoine studied the scene. “Were you expecting to see that?”

“I had an idea,” Burke said. “If we accept that the license plates of the first sedan were blacked out on purpose, then that individual had something in mind. It’s possible the driver was waiting for Vachon, but then how would the driver know when Vachon was coming out? That view there tells us the driver could park in that area of the street and watch the front door of the café.”

“But how would the driver know Vachon was eating there?” Antoine asked.

“Vachon was widely known to be a creature of habit. Same cafés, same times, same days.”

Antoine scratched his neck. “But the flics aren’t stupid,” he said. “I expect they’d have done the same thing we’re doing.”

Burke thought about that for a moment. “True,” he said. “But knowing it and getting the driver’s identity are two different things.”

“Wouldn’t the flics probably have talked to residents in the neighborhood about a parked sedan?”

Burke acknowledged that was likely.

“Let’s go back and look at the surveillance video from the night before Vachon and his bodyguard were killed,” he said.

“Why?” Antoine asked.

“It’s possible the driver didn’t have this one night picked out to drive into Vachon and his minder. The conditions had to be right—very little moonlight, virtually no traffic, no one parked in the viewing area up that street, no other people walking nearby. Maybe the driver was there the night before and we can get a better view.”

“When you put it that way, that’s a lot of things that had to go right for the driver to kill them, and get away,” Antoine said.

“It is indeed,” Burke said. “But I think the driver was someone with a lot of patience.”

“Or a lot of hate—or maybe it was someone who was hired to kill Vachon if he was the real target,” Antoine suggested. “After all, it sounds like Vachon made a lot of enemies over the years.”

Burke mentally ticked off Claude and Lemaire as two, but he said nothing about that.

“Go into the kitchen in the back and make some coffee,” Antoine said. “The coffee machine and the coffee are by the sink. I’ll start checking the video from the day before.”

Burke nodded and went to the kitchen. Once again, he was surprised. Unlike the modern living room and the space-age office, the kitchen was circa 1850 with superb, chestnut woodwork and cooking utensils hanging from the ceiling over a wood table that featured a huge cutting board. The entire kitchen was immaculate.

Back in the office with two steaming cups of coffee, Burke found Antoine leaning forward, examining the screen with a frown.

“Anything?” Burke said.

“I think this is the same vehicle that initially struck Vachon and his bodyguard,” Antoine said, pointing at a black car. “I can’t be sure, but it’s the same size and shape, and the license plates are impossible to see.”

Burke leaned over and checked the screen. Antoine was right.

They watched the car glide around the corner and merge into heavy traffic.

Burke pointed at the top part of the monitor. “Look. There are several people coming out of the café.”

Antoine stopped the video. They both moved closer to the screen.

“Those two men look familiar,” Antoine said.

“They do, indeed.”

“If it’s them, there are too many others around and too much traffic,” Antoine said. “The conditions weren’t right.”

“The conditions weren’t perfect,” corrected Burke. “Let’s go back to the same general time from the day before.”

It took a half hour before Burke and Antoine spotted a familiar-looking vehicle coming around the corner. Once more, there was a group of people leaving the café, and once again, it seemed like the leading two figures could have been Vachon and his minder.

“I wonder if we’re seeing things that aren’t there, though,” Antoine said, leaning back and sipping a new cup of coffee.

Burke had been thinking the same thing, but he didn’t mention it.

“Let’s go back one more day, and then we’ll quit,” he told Antoine.

Working on the theory that Vachon would be leaving the café around ten, they needed just fifteen minutes before they stopped the video and studied the scene.

“That’s our sedan, isn’t it?” Antoine said.

“It could be.”

“And, look, there are Vachon and his minder—maybe—leaving the café,” Antoine said.

Burke agreed.

“But they’re alone, so if it’s really our driver, why doesn’t he take them out now?”

Burke was wondering that, too. The traffic was virtually nil. The area was dark. No pedestrians around. Perfect timing.

“What’s that white blotch in the car?” Antoine said, almost touching the screen.

Burke had seen it, too. It was near the windshield. Not big, just a small white spot. It clearly had nothing to do with the camera or the monitor. It was something in the vehicle.

“I don’t know,” Burke said. “Run it forward slowly.”

They watched as the vehicle slowed and the two men crossed the road without a glance at the approaching car. When they were across, the sedan drove off without any urgency.

“I lied about this being our last day. Let’s go back one more day,” Burke said.

Antoine didn’t complain and started working on the video from the previous day. Again, he used 10 p.m. as a reference point.

He stopped it when he thought he spotted Vachon and the minder exiting the café. They were alone, and the street was quiet.

They crossed the street. No vehicle approached them.

“Keep it running,” Burke said.

Vachon and his minder got into a car and drove off. Then, a few seconds later, a black sedan slipped around the corner and followed.

“Did you see it?” Burke said.

“See what?” Antoine asked.

“The white blotch in the front of the car,” Burke said. “That’s twice.”

Antoine rewound the video and then stopped it. “What the hell is it?” he said.

Burke was writing down dates in a notebook.

“What are you doing?” Antoine asked.

“Years ago, I had a directeur sportif who always used to tell us, ‘The devil is in the details.’ I think he might have been right,” Burke said, snapping his notepad shut. He stood and stretched. “That’s good, Antoine.”

The big man pushed himself out of his chair. He looked tired. He also seemed perplexed.

“Did we learn something tonight?” he said. “I mean, beyond getting a sense that Vachon might have been stalked.”

“I don’t know yet,” Burke said. “I have a couple of matters to explore.”

He thanked Antoine and promised to keep him in the loop about what he did or learned in the next couple of days.

“But keep all this just between us, Antoine,” Burke said as he walked into the balmy night air.

Antoine snorted. “I wouldn’t tell anyone about this little game you and I are playing,” he said. “It’s more than a little dangerous.”

He shut the door.

Burke took a deep breath. Antoine was wrong. They weren’t playing any game. They were investigating murder.