Jean Cassel was late. Not his fault. Kate had rearranged their meeting to take place at Middle Earth. He was OK about it when she explained that she’d been involved in an accident. Hank gave him the once-over before allowing him inside, then took a seat outside the door, like a security detail protecting a US president. If laughing wasn’t so painful, Kate would’ve been rolling on the floor, only she’d done enough of that lately.
Cassel had smoky eyes and dark wavy hair. He winced when he saw the state of her. As he made himself comfortable, all the scenarios of what he was about to tell her went through her head, official or unofficial informant being on top of that list. Introductions complete, refreshments offered and declined, she leaned into her seat, meeting his gaze across her desk.
‘Tell me why you and I need to talk about Hannah,’ she said.
‘I’ve not come to say that I’m her handler,’ he said. ‘Though I can see why you might think it.’ He was quietly spoken, completely fluent in English, a soft European accent, so unmistakably French it passed through her head that it was put on slightly to endear him to others.
As an intelligence officer, it was his job to detect, disrupt and prevent serious and organised criminal activity. Foreign nationals were perfect for the National Crime Agency, due to their language skills and exhaustive cultural know-how. French was particularly useful.
No doubt Cassel would be aware that she’d been onto his home force asking questions. What he didn’t know was that Kate had mates there. Apparently, he was the proactive golden boy, getting good results, providing a steady flow of intelligence, which prompted her next question.
‘So if Hannah wasn’t an informant, what was she to you?’
‘That’s a good question—’
‘I know, that’s why I asked it.’
‘You could say she was the exact opposite. What I mean is, she recruited me, not the other way round.’
Kate had no idea what he meant by that and didn’t immediately rush to find out, which was exactly what he’d expect her to do. Any games they would play would be to her rules. Deep down she had the feeling that the man she was facing had been very close to Hannah, her ‘go-to’ copper perhaps, the man she trusted, one she’d potentially used as a confidant in the past.
So where was he when she was killed?
Keen to find out, Kate had no intention of pulling her punches. ‘Maybe we should start at the beginning. Where, when and in what circumstances did you two meet?’
‘Paris, 2004, in the run-up to Le Tour de France.’
‘Was this a trip Hannah organised?’
‘And directed. She was the best, a wonderful host. Beautiful inside and out. Classy, funny, switched on. We became good friends. I guess we were a natural fit. You do know she’s half French?’
Kate was nodding. ‘And after the tour?’
‘Nothing. I didn’t see or hear from her again for eight years, another sporting event, UEFA European Championships in Poland. Sport and travel are my passion too.’ A flash of anger sparked in his eyes. ‘I’ve never seen such a dramatic change in a person. Hannah had lost her joie de vivre. She was withdrawn, in a very bad place, doing her best to hide it. I was very concerned for her.’
‘Did she confide in you?’
‘Not then, no . . . but we kept in touch.’
‘Did she know you were a detective?’
‘Yes.’
‘In the UK?’
‘Yes. I married a Brit when I was very young. My wife couldn’t settle in France so we returned to her place of birth. I joined up, loved it, allowed the job to take over.’ He shrugged. ‘Yeah, I know, I’m a walking stereotype. Only it’s not such a cliché, is it?’
‘You’ve been checking me out too?’
‘Of course . . .’ His lips were smiling though his eyes were not. ‘I came home one night. My wife had cleared off with an auctioneer who lived close by.’
Kate was about to ask another question when two others popped into her head. Had he been screwing around with Hannah? Was he Aaron’s father? No, the timing was wrong, assuming he was telling the truth. Was he though? Kate thought about that for a moment. He’d come forward voluntarily. She had no reason to doubt him.
Still, she tested his reaction. ‘Any kids?’
‘Me? No,’ he scoffed.
‘You don’t like young ’uns?’
‘On the contrary, I like them very much. I just don’t think people should have them if they’re not prepared to provide them with two parents.’
‘Living with a divorcee who has children, I don’t share that opinion. People change—’
‘Yeah? Well, if you were an orphan brought up in a kid’s home, you might think differently.’
Touchy. ‘So why stick around when your wife left?’
‘As I said, my background was difficult and unstable. There was nothing to go back for. I had friends and a home here, but I’m here to talk about Hannah, not me.’