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"So maybe we need to take a look at the records first, and see if there are any of your performers who've been given warnings for having no license, or who have caused trouble in other ways," Wyatt suggested. “Attacking tourists, violence toward women? That would be a kick-off point for us.”
"We can start there," Lucien agreed.
Juliette nodded."Let's head to the closest police station and take a look at those reports."
"I can also ask the local police for their input, see if any of them have seen someone suspicious around recently that they didn't report, but that was still on their radar," Lucien said.
"Good idea," Juliette agreed. “Whoever we’re looking for would have spent a couple of months in the States recently, and now I’m thinking he could even have gone there to avoid trouble, after a minor arrest, and then come back.”
She felt enthused by the possibility of picking him up this way. It made sense, based on his behavior and on the fact he'd seemed to vanish into thin air so far.
They left the crime scene, with its unanswered questions and its frustrating lack of trace evidence, and headed back to where they'd parked. Lucien got onto his motorcycle and Juliette and Wyatt got into the car.
The closest police station was ten minutes away, and in that time, Juliette saw no fewer than eight different street performers, buskers, and singers. Now that she was attuned to them, she found herself becoming more and more aware of their presence and numbers in the city. And that gold stage paint was surely a clue?
She arrived at the police station feeling excited and resolute.
"Let's get into the databases," Lucien said, nodding a greeting to the officer in the lobby before heading through to one of the offices.
"Will Sierra be able to help on this?" Wyatt asked, as they followed.
Juliette thought about it, but then shook her head. "She's got another job to do, trying to track and trace the sales of gold paint. I don't want to pull her away from that, and I don't think there's a faster way to do it than just plain old research by the three of us. We need to look into the records, track the performers, and see who's caused trouble, when, and why."
Juliette and the others settled down in an empty office and began their task, eager to see if their hunch was right.
"I'll look for the authorizations," Lucien offered.
"We'll go and search the cases," Wyatt said. There was a hint of uncertainty in his tone, and in a moment, Juliette saw why. Since most of the cases were in French, this was going to have to be done with her and Wyatt in tandem. She could understand the language; he couldn't.
So they took over two monitors in the back office of the police station.
Lucien logged onto one, looking through reports and permits and licenses, trying to find any suspicious activity or individuals. And Juliette, after being coached quickly on how to navigate it, went into the case files, briefly assessing each case at a glance and then, if it seemed relevant, translating the details for Wyatt, who was making notes and plotting everything on a map.
She felt a flare of excitement, because slowly but surely, it seemed they were making progress here.
Gradually, the patterns were appearing on the map, and the problem areas were becoming obvious.
Lucien was jotting notes with an intent expression on his face. Wyatt was plotting trouble scenes. And Juliette was scrolling through the cases, looking for all those that were relevant, recent, and in the right areas.
This was it. She'd found a case that she thought was extremely relevant. It had taken place the day before yesterday and it was literally a couple of hundred yards from the first murder scene.
She sat back in her chair, turning to the others.
At exactly the same time, she and Lucien said, "I've got one!"
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Goldenface was waiting, and he felt a thrill of pleasure in the process it took, the stillness it required. He had trained himself to remain motionless for minutes, unmoving. It was a discipline and he was privileged to be able to practice it in this city, near the edifice he admired so greatly. To remain utterly still showed respect to the tower.
Of course, to provide statues as tributes to it showed even more respect.
He had enjoyed seeing Paris, its culture, its customs. He had grown to love the beauty of its cobblestones and the grandeur of its monuments. But he had also seen its darkness and its shadows, the things that lurked there, the secrets and the lies. He knew the city was full of coldblooded killers and predators. History had taught him he was not the first person in this grand city to claim others' lives for his own ends, and nor would he be the last.
The spring sun was high in the sky, and it felt good on his painted skin. Today, he was not gold. That, he saved for the hunt of his beautiful statues. Too much gold would be a giveaway after all. Today, his face was painted the purest white, with features like a ghost's inscribed. His hands were ghostly gray and he was wearing a gray metallic outfit that looked like snakeskin.
He had been standing here for some time now, and he had already noticed a few curious glances thrown in his direction. He was used to it, and it did not bother him.
People were unsure if he was a real statue, or a human being. That was how good he was. That was how still he could remain.
