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The thought of having to butt heads with Fournier again was enough to make her decide she would assign the case to someone else. They had their hands full. She looked at Simon and said, “We need to get upstairs for the meeting with Mutz.”
Simon pictured Michael Mutz, the newly appointed prefecture of police. He had a high, sloping forehead, a hook nose, and an ample body that was soft in all the wrong places. “And why would I want to go see Mutz with you?”
“Want has nothing to do with it. I’m ordering you.”
Simon rose and followed her to the stairs. The top cop’s office was only two floors up. Simon followed in silence, and was thinking how nice it would be to get through this meeting without having to speak. Mutz was a political creature who cared more for the pomp and circumstance of the office than the sometimes dirty nature of police work. When they reached the outer office Simon got his first hint that this wasn’t going to be an easy meeting. The prefect’s secretary gave them a nervous look and told them to head in. Neville was so focused she missed it.
It was a large corner office, fitting both the title and the ego of the man who occupied the space. There were four floor-to-ceiling windows, two on each of the outer walls, and twelve-foot bookcases filled with dusty tomes, antiques, and dozens of photographs of Prefect Mutz and the rich, famous, and notorious. Simon picked up on two clues the moment he walked into the office. The first was the absence of coffee and pastries. Mutz loved both and he’d never been in the office without both items being offered. The second clue was more obvious.
Not only was Prefect Mutz waiting for them, but his boss, Director General Jacques Gisquet, and his boss’s boss, Minister of the Interior Pierre Blot, were waiting for them. Neville saw this as a sign that they were taking her accusations seriously. Simon saw the potential for something very different, but before he could stop his boss, she started in.
“Minis
ter Blot, good to see you. Director Gisquet, thank you for coming. Prefect Mutz, thank you for taking the time to hear me out.”
Simon didn’t say a word. He watched as Neville charged in, unaware that the mood in the room was anything but welcoming. She began to present her case, explaining to her three superiors the strange behavior of Paul Fournier and his uncooperative nature. She was building toward the tampered evidence when Director General Gisquet waved her off.
“Commandant Neville, I’m afraid I’m going to have to stop you. Minister Blot received a rather serious call last night from the prime minister.”
“The prime minister,” Neville said, not understanding what this could have to do with Paul Fournier interfering with her investigation.
“Yes, the prime minister. He received a very serious complaint from the minister of defense that you have been harassing one of his top people.”
“Harassing,” Neville said in disbelief.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Blot said, “Paul Fournier.”
“You can’t be serious?”
“Unfortunately, I am. Fournier claims that the two of you dated briefly a number of years ago and that when he broke it off you became despondent and threatened suicide.”
“Suicide,” Neville repeated, her mouth agape. “I caught him cheating on me. I was the one who broke up with him, and I was happy to do it. The man is a selfish prick, but that’s beside the point.”
“He alleges that you have been stalking him for several years.”
“I haven’t seen him in five years.”
Blot cleared his throat. “He has sworn testimonies from three women who claim you intimidated and harassed them because they were dating Fournier.”
Neville was on the verge of losing it, but fortunately Simon asked, “May we see the file?”
All three men looked at Simon with disappointment. There was a long period of silence, and then Blot said, “I saw the file last night, but I was not allowed to take it with me. It looked genuine. Very damning.”
“And why do you think you weren’t given a copy?” Neville asked. “Because it’s all made up. It’s fake. Fournier is the very man who has been interfering in our investigation. You don’t find it a little strange that the night before I’m going to bring you a formal complaint, a file magically appears that says I’m the problem?” Neville looked at each man and asked, “You don’t smell anything rotten here?”
Director General Gisquet answered her question. “I don’t like any of this. I don’t trust Fournier, I don’t believe that this file magically appeared, but there isn’t a lot we can do right now.”
“You can demand that he bring the file and his accusers down here right now. File a formal complaint.”
Blot cleared his throat. “The DGSE would prefer to keep this under wraps. They have no desire to adversely affect your career. All they are asking is that you be reassigned from your current case and you stay away from Deputy Director Fournier.”
“And why do you think they want me assigned away from the hotel massacre? I’ll tell you why. Because I caught Fournier and his people tampering with evidence. I’m telling all three of you, the DGSE was involved in what happened the other night. I don’t know how deeply or in what way, but they were involved.”
Blot twisted his wedding ring and asked, “Were you at the Hotel Balzac yesterday afternoon?”
