Central Park by Guillaume Musso (ebook reader macos .TXT) 📕

improbable fluorescent-yellow spandex turtleneck and a blue down vest.

“Keyne, we have to talk.”

The young chess player looked up and complained in a squeaky voice, “Ma’am, you can see we’re in the middle of a—”

“Beat it, kid!” she barked, sweeping the chess pieces from the board.

Before he could react, she grabbed the student by his vest and lifted him off his chair. He looked scared. Quickly, he picked up the chess pieces and scurried off without another word.

“So, your bath doesn’t seem to have calmed you down any,” Gabriel remarked. “Maybe a delicious Moroccan pastry will do the trick. Apparently their honey-and-nut doughnuts are delicious. Unless you want rice pudding instead? Or a cup of tea?”

She calmly sat down opposite him, determined to confront him with his lies. “You know what would really make me happy, Keyne?”

Smiling, he shrugged. “Tell me. If it’s something I can do…”

“Well, it ought to be, with you being a pianist. You see that piano at the bar?”

He turned around and she noticed a look of apprehension flicker across his face.

“I would love it if you could play something for me,” Alice said. “I mean, it’s not every day that I get to have tea with a professional jazz pianist!”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. The other customers might not like it.”

“Oh, come on, don’t be ridiculous. They’d be thrilled! Everyone loves listening to a good song while they smoke their water pipes.”

Again Gabriel hedged. “It probably hasn’t been tuned…”

“Who cares? Come on, Keyne, play a few standards: ‘Autumn Leaves,’ ‘Blue Monk,’ ‘April in Paris’…or better still, play ‘Alice in Wonderland’ and dedicate it to me! You can’t refuse me that.”

Gabriel writhed in his chair, obviously uncomfortable. “Listen, I think—”

“Well, I think if you’re a jazz pianist, then I’m a nun!”

He rubbed his eyes and gave a long sigh of resignation. Sounding almost relieved, he stopped trying to deny it. “Okay, I admit it, I lied to you. But only about that.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that, Keyne? Or is Keyne even your real name?”

“Everything else is true, Alice! My name is Gabriel Keyne, I was in Dublin last night, and I woke up this morning handcuffed to you without any clue about how I’d gotten there.”

“So why lie about your job?”

He sighed again, aware that the next few minutes were not going to be easy. “Because I’m the same as you, Alice.”

She frowned. “The same as me?”

“Yeah. I’m a cop too.”

A heavy silence fell between them.

“You’re what?” Alice demanded after a few seconds.

“An FBI special agent assigned to the Boston bureau.”

“Stop bullshitting me!” she exploded.

“I’m not, I swear. I really was in Dublin last night at a club in Temple Bar, across the street from my hotel. I went there to relax and have a few drinks after work.”

“And what the hell were you doing in Ireland?”

“I’d gone there to meet one of my counterparts from the Garda Síochána.”

“Why?”

“We’re cooperating on an investigation.”

“What investigation?”

Gabriel took a sip of tea, as if to slow down the flood of questions and win himself some time. “We’re investigating a series of crimes,” he said finally.

“A serial killer?” she asked, trying to back him into a corner.

“Maybe,” he admitted, looking away.

Alice’s phone vibrated in her jacket pocket. She looked at the screen—it was Seymour. She hesitated, unwilling to interrupt Keyne’s wave of revelations.

“You should answer that,” he advised her.

“What’s it to you?”

“It’s your cop friend, isn’t it? Aren’t you curious to find out who the fingerprints on the syringe belong to?”

She gave in. “Hello?”

“It’s me, Alice,” Seymour said, sounding distraught.

“Did you analyze the fingerprint?”

“Where did you get it, Alice?”

“From a syringe. I’ll explain later. Did you get a match or not?”

“Yes, we have a result, but…shit…”

“What?”

“According to the files, this fingerprint belongs to…”

“To who? Tell me!”

“To Erik Vaughn,” he replied tonelessly.

“Erik Vaughn.” The news hit Alice like a sucker punch.

“Yes, the man who tried to kill you, and—”

“I know who Erik Vaughn is, for fuck’s sake!”

She closed her eyes. For a moment, she felt shaky, but a restoring force prevented her from collapsing. “That’s impossible, Seymour,” she said calmly.

There was a sigh on the other end of the line. “I know it’s difficult to believe, but we checked and rechecked the results. There are more than thirty points of correspondence. We have to tell Taillandier now, Alice.”

“Just give me a few more hours. Please.”

“I can’t. Anything involving Vaughn is highly sensitive. You already got us in trouble once with this case.”

“How thoughtful of you to remind me.”

She glanced up at the old Pepsi-Cola clock on the wall behind the bar—1:15 p.m. “What time is it in Paris, seven fifteen? Just give me till midnight.”

Silence.

“Please, Seymour!”

“This is a really bad idea.”

“And keep digging with the fingerprint. I’m sure it’s not Vaughn.”

Another sigh. “And I’m sure Vaughn is in New York, Alice. I think he’s looking for you and he’s going to try to kill you.”

14Two People

TINY MULTICOLORED PARTICLES danced in the light.

Rays of sunlight filtered through the half-open louvered wooden shutters. The hookah bar hummed with conversation. Strong aromas of orange, date, and hazelnut floated through the spacious room, where a scattered clientele pulled nonchalantly at hookahs or nibbled pastries.

Alice and Gabriel faced each other in silence. A young man approached their table to serve Gabriel more mint tea. He poured it Moroccan-style, lifting the teapot very high above the glasses so a head of foam formed on the surface of the tea.

Both elbows resting on the table, Gabriel sat with his chin on his hands. His face had grown harder. It was time for explanations. “So, let me guess: The fingerprint on the syringe belongs to Erik Vaughn?”

“How do you know his name?”

“He’s the one I was tracking in Ireland.”

Alice stared into his eyes. “Why in Ireland?”

“Long story. Ten days ago, the Boston FBI office was alerted by Maine State Police about an unusual murder committed in Cumberland County. I was sent to the crime scene with my partner, Special Agent Thomas Krieg.”

“Who was the victim?” Alice