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Wyatt looked down at the names.
“For safety, if one of these is not our suspect, we should clear these performers off the street tonight.”
Lucien shrugged. “We can consider it. But if you do, there’ll be an outcry. It will not be an easy situation.”
“If we don’t, there might be another murder,” Wyatt countered.
“Removing all street performers will not necessarily prevent that, and it could cause a worse situation. If people start to demonstrate, if they get angry, then our police will need to control that problem and not look for the killer.” Lucien’s jaw jutted stubbornly.
Juliette could see both sides of the argument.
“Let’s get out there, and talk to these two. If either of them is our killer, then the problem is solved.”
“If not, I still think we should get everyone off the streets,” Wyatt insisted stubbornly.
Juliette shrugged. Perhaps it would be for the best. Safety – and not allowing this killer to take another victim – was the priority here.
Then, with Wyatt walking alongside, she set off for the car, ready to drive to the Palais de Chaillot Plaza and see if she could spot Charl Dupont.
Paris was fully awake now. Shafts of morning sun were piercing through the light cloud cover, brightening the city, and bringing a warmth to the stone walls and the tiled rooftops. Also, on a less beautiful note, Juliette realized the streets were gridlocked with traffic. It was now nearly ten a.m. but it seemed that a large proportion of Parisians were still on their way to work, and using exactly the same road that Juliette was trying to fight her way along.
She could turn on her siren, but it wouldn't really make a difference. There was nowhere for the traffic to go. Sighing in impatience, she tried a side street that allowed her to get a lead, and then risked driving through an alleyway so narrow it felt as if the sides of the car would collide with it.
“These French,” Wyatt said in mystified tones. “Could have built the place bigger, couldn’t they?”
“Yes,” Juliette said, narrowing her eyes as she edged through the tunnel-like alley.
She came out, feeling relieved the car was still in one, undamaged piece, and found herself on a quieter road that led up to the square. There, she and Wyatt parked, climbed out, and hurried to the square to start their search.
The Palais de Chaillot Plaza was a wide, open square, and it had the most magnificent view of the Eiffel Tower beyond. On this fine morning it was already crowded with tourists, taking in the view, cameras busy.
Juliette and Wyatt split up, walking in opposite directions around the perimeter of the square, scanning the faces of each person they passed, looking out for the street performers. She kept an ear out for her phone, knowing that Sierra's software would be working in the background, ready to pinpoint the cellphone numbers. There were a few performers already at work in the square, including a statue of a man in armor that Juliette thought was real until she passed close by. Then, its hand shot out, giving her the fright of her life.
Letting out a breath, she laughed, rummaged in her purse, and put a two euro coin in the hat in front of him.
Now, back to their silver-clad mime artist. Where could he be?
As Juliette was looking around again, her phone buzzed. Seeing it was Sierra, she quickly picked up.
"Listen, I've pinpointed your suspect. He's on the move, walking fast, away from the square, in the west direction."
"Thanks," Juliette said, feeling relieved that they had a lead on him.
She waved to Wyatt, who hurried over.
"He's been tracked, leaving the square," she said. "To the west."
She pointed, and they saw a narrow, twisting street lined with small cafés. Perhaps he was going this way to try to stay out of the eyes of the police and do his performance, which was not so much an actual performance as it was scouting for victims.
Juliette headed that way, her eyes peeled, looking for any signs of him.
Then, she saw him, catching her breath. He was performing near an outdoor café. The silver suit was gleaming in the morning sun. He was standing still, then slowly bending over, as if miming that he was being blown by the breeze.
Sierra had come through for them again, and she felt grateful beyond words for her tracking expertise.
Juliette rushed up to him. If this was their suspect, she was going to get as close as she could. She didn't want another chase through the streets of Paris.
When she was just a couple of yards from him, she spoke his name loudly.
