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"Test for the usual stuff. Prints, ink, paper, and blood."
"Blood?"
"Animal, probably. Look, I'd rather not describe this over the phone. I'll ask the embassy to put it through ASAP."
"Was the note like the one sent to Eva?"
"Not the message, but yes, the paper and ink look like a match."
Harry made a humming sound. Long experience told Conor what was happening. Thurston would have turned his gaze to the ceiling. There'd be a seemingly casual expression on his face. It was all deception. Thurston was about as casual as a fox assessing a hen-house. Something was clicking away in his brain and when he was good and ready, he'd spring it.
"You said you were going to interview Miss Beckman's former husband and his cousin. Have you done so?"
Conor sighed. "Look, I am standing out here in the cold, freezing my tail off. What about saving the debriefing until I'm back in D.C.?"
"I take it you spoke with them."
"Dammit, Harry! Yes, I did."
"Could either one be responsible for these events?"
"It's possible, but I've got my doubts."
"Which are?"
"The ex is a slime ball, but why would he pull crap like this?"
"Blackmail?"
"I doubt it. He seems to have plenty of money. Besides, he's not a fool. He knows that even if his marriage to the girl isn't exactly public knowledge, it's not the sort of secret that's worth a lot of dough."
"Are you sure? Hoyt is up for that appointment, after all."
"So what? We're talking about old news, Harry. Very old news. Besides, turn on any of a dozen talk shows and you'll see people sitting around discussing things you and I would probably sooner die than admit to a priest."
"Well, perhaps the gentleman hasn't figured that out."
"He's been around. He knows there's nothing in the story."
"What about his cousin?"
"She says she's got money. I'll check it out—I mean, whoever you hand this over to should check it out, but I'd rule out blackmail. On the other hand, she hates Miranda. Eva, too. Maybe she's just been looking for the chance to put in the knife."
"Who else was on your list?"
Conor's stomach roiled. "Jean-Phillipe Moreau. Miranda's lover."
"Have you spoken with him?"
"No. That'll be something else for the new guy to deal with."
"Anybody else who might want to hurt the girl?"
Yes, Conor thought coldly, me.
"Nobody I can come up with. Listen, Harry, it's late and I'm bushed. I'll phone you when I hit D.C."
"It was your idea to go to Paris, Conor."
