Jane got in her ’68 Mustang. She loved the machine, all black and newly overhauled. It smelled like worn leather and hot steel. Better yet, it felt like home—more like home than any other place.
She pulled away from Ma Soeur’s HQ and drove around the block. She parked farther away from the building this time, out of sight of the surveillance cameras at the front door.
Funny place that. Tried its best to look like a nonprofit but couldn’t quite pull it off—almost like a little rich girl trying to pose as a twenty-dollar hooker. That receptionist looked like she could dig out your eyes with a teaspoon and devour you with a side of spinach. And all those cameras. In the foyer, outside. Plus the elevators had a biometric ID system.
There was much more to Ma Soeur than met the eye, and she was damn well going to find out what it was. She also suspected that Andy Bouchard knew more about her mother’s whereabouts than she’d let on.
Jane fished her phone from her pocket and called Russo. She had just about enough juice left to make the call. The battery was about to die. “How’s that warrant going?”
He grunted something unintelligible. No doubt some Italian swear words he’d picked up from his ninety-seven-year-old grandma.
“Getting there,” he finally managed something she could understand.
When the Ma Soeur receptionist couldn’t locate Kate Bouchard, she had Russo start the process to secure a warrant for her arrest, only calling Andy Bouchard afterward. She hadn’t been able to resist stirring the pot while she was forced to wait. She wanted to see what happened if she pushed the Bouchards into a corner.
She had to give it to Andy Bouchard. Must be a bitch playing poker with her. Not that she could imagine Bouchard as a gambling woman. She looked like she planned, weighed, and measured everything. But she was sure there lurked some recklessness in there. Something that would strip down to brutal and ruthless when cornered. Or when someone touched that redhead next to her in any way but with a great amount of respect.
“Just get the paperwork, will you,” she said to Russo. “As soon as you can. And track Kate Bouchard’s phone as soon as you can. I need to find this damn woman.”
“And bring the paperwork where exactly, Your Highness?” he grunted. He must be walking up the stairs or something, because he sounded out of breath.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Taking the stairs.” The Major Case Squad was on the third floor. “Doc says I got to lose fifteen pounds. Jenny wants another kid and well, yeah…whatever.”
“Okay. Cool.” She cleared her throat. Russo was the only one on the force who knew she was gay, which often made him share odd, intimate details of his life with her. “I’m at Ma Soeur when you get it. Not in the building, but close by. Just look out for the ’Stang.”
“You’re going to freeze your ass off in that car.”
“Don’t worry about me. Just bring the warrant as soon as you’ve got it.”
* * *
“I still can’t believe Kate would kill someone. She is a dreamer. They don’t kill people. To them life is sacred. Something to protect at all costs.” René rummaged through a drawer in Kate’s desk without really looking at its contents.
“I’m not saying she necessarily killed anyone. All I’m saying is that it’s pretty clear she had an affair with Arlene Hampton.” Andy flipped through the books in her mother’s bookcase, looking for anything that would give them a clue as to what had been going on between Kate and Hampton. Her mother always stored keepsakes in books. She shrugged. “And you never know. Kate could have revealed too much about Ma Soeur. They could have argued. Hampton could have threatened to expose us. Maybe she blackmailed Kate. Or maybe Hampton cheated on Kate. Anything is possible.”
“Maybe it was a one-night thing.”
“That’s also a possibility, although I doubt it. It felt like Hampton made an effort with her guest. Roses. Expensive wine.”
“You don’t wine and dine someone you’re blackmailing.”
“Also true,” Andy agreed.
She put back the stack of books she’d just searched and took down five new ones. Typical Kate Bouchard books. Warfare, battlefield histories, boardroom strategies. All the stuff she grew up with.
“How often did Kate…you know.” René suddenly ran out of words.
Andy completed the sentence for her. “Cheat?”
“Yeah.”
“I know of two affairs as I grew up.”
“All forgiven?”
“No. One was, but the other broke up the relationship. It was before you arrived. It was a woman I really liked too. More of a mother than Kate ever was.”
“Sorry.”
“Why? It happened. I survived.”
René opened another drawer. She peered over the rosewood desk at Andy. “Do you think Claire knew?”
“About Kate and Hampton? It’s possible. On some level we always know, don’t we?”
“Claire is much younger than Kate. Younger than Hampton.”
“I know. And much younger than Kate’s typical pattern, which makes me think Hampton was maybe something more. A surprise. Something real. And if you’re not used to that emotion, the depth of it, you’re probably not used to the level of jealousy and uncertainty that can go with it. The degree to which you are suddenly not in control. And at almost sixty, do you still have the capability to develop all of that emotional control?”
René considered her words. “Okay. Maybe you’re right. Maybe Kate lost her temper and did something stupid.” She blinked at Andy. “Is Isabelle’s age the reason you’re scared of her? Do you think that you might be repeating your mother’s patterns?”
Andy retrieved a new set of books and sighed heavily. “Maybe. If you live long enough it’s always your mother staring back at you in the mirror, isn’t it?”
René sighed. “Fuck, yeah.”
Andy recalled René’s mother being a retired army general, and a mother to four equally rock-hard daughters.
“What would you do if Isabelle cheated on you?” René asked.
“Technically, we are not together.”
“Fuck technically.”
“I would probably pack up and leave.”
“Do you think that’s what Claire will do when she finds out about Kate and Hampton? Because this is going to come out, make no mistake.” René pointed to the other desk in the room next door, the smaller one, belonging to Claire.
Andy frowned. “I don’t know Claire. When did she and my mother get together?”
“Just after you left. Kate was depressed and lonely, although she’d never admit to it. Claire was a young keeper who’d just lost her dreamer.” René cleared her throat. “Suicide. Anyway. Kate had a rare dream and Claire was there to help her.”
Andy frowned. “How deeply connected are they?”
“Kate is Claire’s life. Her purpose. I wouldn’t know if the reverse is true. I guess not.”
Andy put down the books in her hands. “Jam says Claire’s phone was dark the night of Hampton’s death, just like Kate’s. We assumed they were together, but maybe that was not the case. And Claire would have access to Kate’s gun, true?”
“The PPK? Yes. I suppose so.” René considered her words. “But what about the Russians then? The men we saw at Hampton’s apartment. They also had PPKs. Did Kuznetsova tell the truth? Was it all just coincidence that night Hampton was killed—her men showing up at a murder scene?”
“It’s possible. Unlikely, but feasible nonetheless.” Andy pointed to Claire’s desk. “See if you can find anything that suggests that Claire knew about Kate’s affair. I’ll phone Isabelle and warn her to not engage Claire.”
“Marc can handle Claire. And Isabelle is no wilting little flower.”
“I know, but…”
“Technically, you don’t need to say any more.” René grinned at her as she steamed past Andy to Claire’s desk.
Ten minutes later, she called to Andy from next door.
“You better take a look at this.”
Andy walked next door to Claire’s office. René held a book on Italian grammar in her hand. Inside was a photo taken through a window from a few feet away. Snapped in what appeared to be a hotel, it was a photo of a half-naked Arlene kneeling in front of Kate, her mouth clasped on Kate’s left breast, Kate’s head thrown back in pleasure.