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

searched his apartment—and found a weapon.”

“And?”

“Savignon checked the paperwork—it was a Glock with the same serial number.”

“What? That’s impossible. That gun was held as evidence.”

“Savignon spent an hour in the evidence room. The gun is nowhere to be seen.”

Fuck.

The nightmare was not over.

“Tell me the truth, Alice: Did you take that gun?”

“Seymour! How can you even ask me that?”

“Because we’re really in the shit here.”

“Well, this isn’t the first time we’ve had problems with the evidence room. Remember a year ago, when we found out that security guard who worked there was selling guns and drugs? Maybe it was him.”

“Hmm, I guess.”

“And even if I had stolen that gun, how could I have brought it into the States? I’d never have gotten it through security.”

She heard her colleague sigh.

“I want to believe you, Alice, but we really need to clear this up.”

She sensed there was something he wasn’t telling her. “What else do you have?”

“You won’t like it. It’s about your car.”

“You found it?”

“Yep. At the impound lot in Charléty. Savignon checked; the police prefecture officers towed it last night from Île de la Cité.”

“From where, exactly?”

Seymour took a deep breath. “Your Audi was found at four in the morning in the middle of the Pont de l’Archevêché. Right where Paul had his accident.”

Alice was so shocked that she almost dropped her phone. At that moment, the waiting-room door opened and a white-coated giant poked his head out.

“Ms. Alice Schafer?” he called out.

18Sucker Punch

DR. OLIVER MITCHELL was a big man with a shaved head and thick M-shaped eyebrows that met above the bridge of his nose. Despite his impressive height and lack of hair, he looked like he was barely out of college; he had a round, chubby face lit up by a childlike smile and he wore sneakers. A Ramones T-shirt was visible under his coat.

“Sorry, I didn’t quite understand this thing about your lung problems,” he said when he entered the examining room.

Alice decided to be honest. “That was a lie. I just needed to see a doctor.”

“Oh, really? Well, that’s original…and kind of ballsy. You’re French, right?” he guessed, recognizing her accent.

“Yes, I’m captain of the Criminal Division of the Paris police.”

His expression brightened. “Seriously? At thirty-six Quai des Orfèvres? Like Jules Maigret?”

Alice’s eyes widened. This was unexpected; what were the odds that a punk-rock urgent-care physician in Greenfield, Massachusetts, would be a Simenon fan?

“My wife is doing a PhD in French literature at Harvard,” he explained. “Her dissertation is about Paris in the novels of Georges Simenon.”

“Ah, well, that explains it.”

“We went there last summer. Man, I love Paris. The Quai des Orfèvres, Place Dauphine, duck confit with sautéed potatoes at the Caveau du Palais…”

Pinch me, I’ve got to be dreaming!

Alice decided to take advantage of the situation. “If your wife would like, I could give you both a tour of the precinct next time you’re in France.”

“Wow, that’s very kind. She—”

“But first, I need your help,” she said, taking off her army jacket and her sweater. She pulled down the neck of her T-shirt and pointed to the rectangular implant under her skin.

“What is that?” he asked, frowning.

“That’s exactly what I’m trying to find out.”

He washed his hands with antibacterial soap and examined the upper part of Alice’s chest, pressing on the skin so he could make out the little rectangle. “Does this hurt?”

“Not really.”

“It looks like some sort of miniature pacemaker. Do you have heart problems?”

“No. I don’t even know who implanted this thing or how long it’s been there.”

Unfazed, the doctor said, “Let’s take a chest X-ray so we can get a better look.”

Alice nodded. Mitchell gave her a paper gown and left the room; she removed her T-shirt and bra and put the gown on. Two minutes later he came back and brought her to the X-ray room. An X-ray tech told her where to stand. Alice did as she was told.

“Take a deep breath and hold it,” the tech said. “Okay…”

She heard a click.

“Now breathe normally. We’re going to get another view.”

The process was repeated, then Dr. Mitchell asked Alice to follow him into an adjoining room. Mitchell sat down behind a bank of monitors, pulled up the images on the screens, and made a few adjustments. “Well, that’s something I’ve never seen before!” he exclaimed, pointing at a white rectangle.

“Is it a microchip?” Alice asked.

“I can’t imagine what kind it would be,” he replied, scratching his head.

“I was thinking an RFID chip,” said Alice. “You know, radio-frequency identification—the kind they use on pets. I went to a conference about this last year, for work. Apparently in South America, some rich people get them implanted so they can be found quickly if they’re kidnapped.”

“The army uses them more and more with soldiers sent into combat.” Mitchell nodded, still staring at the X-ray. “The chip stores all their medical information. If something happens to them, the doctors have immediate access to their medical files with a quick scan. That type of procedure is becoming more common, but those chips are much smaller, no bigger than a grain of rice. Yours is pretty big.”

“So what could it be?”

The physician frowned in concentration. “I’ve seen quite a few articles in medical magazines in recent years about researchers developing electronic chips that can deliver regular doses of medicine. It’d be a convenient way to treat certain conditions. It’s already used in medication for osteoporosis, for instance, but in that case the chip would be in your abdomen, and it would also be much bigger.”

“So?”

“I still think it looks like a pacemaker.”

“But I told you, I don’t have any heart problems!”

The doctor returned to his monitor and zoomed in on the chip.

“The shape of your implant is nonstandard, but I’m pretty sure it’s made of titanium,” he said.

Alice moved her face closer to the screen. “All right, assuming it is a pacemaker…I have a colleague with one, and he needs surgery every seven years to have the battery changed.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right. Generally, the