CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Hugo texted Claudia for her to join him in the garden, and then took in the activity around him. Closer to where the lawn backed up to Parc Monceau a dozen men worked under portable lights, wires streaming down from panels, stretching across the perfect grass to the launch pad for the fireworks.

Hugo walked in the opposite direction. It was now close to ten, and the low light from the disappearing sun allowed him to see not much more than ten feet in front of him. The smell was what he noticed the most, of freshly cut grass and flowers, of soil that had been watered that afternoon. He looked up and was pleased that any clouds from earlier had disappeared, which would help the show come off better.

He wandered slowly through a rose garden, stopping in the middle of it to see whether Claudia had responded to his message. She’d not even read it. He started slowly toward the back door, intending to find her, when the figure of Édouard Lambourd stepped across the threshold onto the patio. The light caught his face for a second and Hugo thought he looked worried, an impression that remained when he saw how the man was hurrying across the lawn to the fireworks team. A problem? Hugo wondered. He decided to follow, head that way just in case—the artsy Édouard didn’t seem like the go-to problem solver for matters technical.

Hugo was thirty yards away from the fireworks setup, and he could see the men had stepped away from their equipment. They stood in a semicircle by the hedge, with Édouard Lambourd in the midst of them. Hugo quickened his step.

One of the workers spotted Hugo and put out a hand to tell him to stop, but the embassy credentials impressed the man enough to let Hugo pass by. He stopped by a kneeling Édouard Lambourd, who had peeled back a piece of clear plastic and was using a flashlight to study an object that had been hidden in the hedge.

“What is it?” Hugo asked, and waited for the surprise to leave Lambourd’s face and recognition to set in.

“It’s one of the paintings. One of the stolen paintings.”

“Are you sure?” Hugo asked.

“Absolutely. It’s the one of our grandmother.”

“That’s great news,” Hugo said. “But I need for you to leave it right where it is. That’s evidence in an attempted murder case.”

“It’s a family heirloom, monsieur,” Lambourd snapped.

“It will be, but right now it’s evidence.” Hugo was not about to be bullied. “Please leave it where it is.”

His phone was in his hand, and he moved away so he could speak privately to Lieutenant Lerens. He told her what they’d found, and asked her to send a crime scene unit to the house.

“Of course, Hugo, but the Lambourds are not going to be happy about having our people there in their crime scene overalls.”

“I don’t think the Lambourds are ever happy about anything,” Hugo said, checking to make sure Édouard Lambourd couldn’t hear. “So just add this to the list.”

He hung up and walked back to the group.

Édouard spoke up. “Don’t tell me you’re canceling the fireworks. Not for just a painting.”

“No, sir, that’s not my plan. Some folks from the Paris police will be here soon, though. They’ll photograph the scene, the painting, exactly where it is. Then they’ll take it to their lab for processing.”

“Wait, what does processing mean?” Lambourd asked.

“They’ll look for fingerprints and DNA.”

“I don’t want the painting leaving this property!”

“I understand that, but there’s a process.”

“A process that will damage the painting, most likely.”

“They’re careful, Monsieur Lambourd. This isn’t their first time with a piece of evidence that’s valuable. Or delicate.” Hugo felt his patience ebbing. “I’ll have them out of here as soon as possible. It’s two hours until the fireworks, and I’m sure they’ll be gone long before then.”

“They better be.” Lambourd eyed him for a second. “I need to tell my mother.”

“That’s fine,” Hugo said. “If possible, it’d be good to just let family members know for now.”

Lambourd grunted what may or may not have been agreement, then turned on his heel and marched back toward the house. Hugo addressed the men.

“Who found this?” he asked in French.

There was a moment of silence, then a man with a beard and tattooed arms raised a hand, and Hugo was pleased to see he was wearing gloves.

“I did.”

“Well done,” Hugo said. “Did you know what it was?”

“I thought it was trash when I first saw it. Thought it’d maybe blown from the park and got caught in the hedge.”

“Then you took a closer look?”

“Oui. Used a flashlight. I knew about the theft—it was in the newspapers and online news. I wasn’t sure that’s what it was. It was wrapped up. But it looked like it could be, so I called my patron to come look.”

“Excellent. Did you touch it at all?”

“Non, monsieur”

“Not even the plastic wrapping?” The man shook his head, so Hugo turned to the rest of the men, some of whom had slunk to the back of the group, almost into the gathering darkness, as if afraid of what had been found. “Did anyone touch it?” A murmur of no. “Good,” Hugo said, “I will need to take all your names and contact information. I apologize for the intrusion but this is an important matter. I’m sure you understand.” Another soft chorus, this time of agreement. Hugo turned to the man who’d been identified as the boss of the crew. “Would you please do me a favor?”

The man nodded, eager to help. “Mais oui, of course.”

“Thank you. Just stay right here and make sure no one moves or even touches anything, just until the police arrive.”

“Oui, monsieur.”

Hugo glanced toward the house and saw Claudia on the patio, waiting for him. He walked over and she slipped her arms around his waist.

“Something happen?”

“The firework guys found one of the stolen paintings.”

“Oh, wow, where?”

“Tucked in to the hedge where they were working.”

“Which one? And was it damaged?”

“One of their grandparents, Édouard said. And too soon to tell. I’m more worried about contamination than damage, since the painting’s not worth anything.”

Claudia grimaced. The memory of contaminated DNA was too fresh in her mind, an unfortunate fluke that had landed her in jail facing a murder charge until Hugo figured out how her DNA had been found at a crime scene, one she’d never visited.

“So how do you think it got there?” she asked.

“It’s possible the thief left it there right after stealing it the other night. Maybe stashed it to come back and get it later.”

“Then why didn’t he?”

Hugo shrugged. “Maybe he found out it wasn’t worth anything. It has sentimental value to the family, but that’s about it. Maybe he figured it wasn’t worth the risk to try to sell it, especially since the paintings were all over the news.”

“So he ditched all four there and when he came back, retrieved only the other three?”

“Possibly. Or he brought it back and left it there.”

“That strikes me as risky behavior,” Claudia said. “He could be spotted from either the park or the house.”

Hugo smiled. “You making mental notes for your story?”

“Yep.” She gave him a squeeze. “Only once you’ve solved, it though. It’s not much of a news story until then.”

“Then I better go wait for the crime scene team and get them back here as soon as possible. You mind hanging out here, to keep an eye on the guy keeping an eye on my crime scene?”

“Happy to. Just hurry back.”

Hugo kissed her, tasting the sweet champagne on her lips, and then walked into the house. He crossed the main hallway to the front doors, but was stopped in his tracks by an angry voice coming down from the second floor.

“Young man! Come here at once!”

Hugo turned to see the face of Charlotte Lambourd peering down at him, and seeing the fury in those eyes he couldn’t help but wonder again what had happened to her previous two husbands. He resolved to remain several feet away from her at all times, and never go into a room alone with her. Especially one that contained knives.

“Madame Lambourd, how can I help you?” he asked, and when she just stared back at him he started up the stairs with a sense of doom enveloping him like a shroud.