The Rift by Rachel Lynch (good book recommendations txt) 📕

He’d made peace with his family and his maker.

He was ready.

Chapter 31

Helen returned to the office she shared with Sylvia after learning that Khalil Dalmani had flown to Lyon by private jet. She instructed Ricard to set up the surveillance on his suite at the Ritz in Paris in his absence, as it’d make the whole installation a damn sight easier with him away.

The change of scenery visiting Fraud, and the stretch, had done her good. She was itching to get out on the streets of Lyon and follow leads, but it was still early days and she couldn’t chase thin air. So, she resigned herself to sitting behind a computer screen for now. She still hadn’t decided what to do with the information about Marseilles given to her by Angelo.

As requested, Amélie Laurent had presented herself at a police station near Sorbonne University, Paris, at just after dusk. She’d gone willingly and was to be interviewed by the local Police Nationale, watched via video link by Helen in Lyon. As Hakim’s girlfriend, she might be able to shed some light on his state of mind leading up to the abduction, and if she’d noticed or commented on anything unusual in the lead-up to last Sunday. Though Hakim hadn’t seen Amélie for four weeks, she could give context to his movements and routines when he was in Paris.

Helen watched as the young woman was led into an interview suite and asked if she’d like a drink, which she declined. She was of petite frame, and her manner was open, if a little wary, but Helen put that down to nerves. Given the seriousness of the situation, Helen judged from the girl’s mature approach that Amélie was a confident individual. She looked forlorn as Helen studied her face on the screen, and she picked her slim hands. She was dressed in fine clothes that looked as though they were tailored, and Helen wondered if Hakim funded her wardrobe. A flick through the information they had on her confirmed that her parents were of minimal means and her education was funded by loans. The Versace bag hung on the back of the chair didn’t look as though it came out of a meagre allowance.

The formal introductions were got out of the way and Helen continued to observe.

‘Thank you for coming in today. We’d like to ask you some questions about Hakim and his usual schedules when in Paris, if that’s all right?’ The interviewing officer was gentle. He was a local gendarme, usual for any Interpol case.

‘Do you know where he is?’ Amélie asked. She was softly spoken and keen for news of her lover. Helen was struck by her soft beauty, typical of effortless French chic, and she was taken in by her innocent warmth.

‘No, we don’t.’

Amélie sniffed and produced a tissue with which to wipe her eyes.

‘Is he a religious young man?’ the officer asked.

Helen bristled. It was a stereotypical racial assumption, and it got her back up.

‘No,’ Amélie replied. Helen could see that the young woman wasn’t impressed either.

‘So he doesn’t pray?’

Helen rolled her eyes. Where was he going with this? She interjected by pressing her mic and she watched him listen to his earpiece. ‘Can we keep it to his movements in Paris? His Sunni family isn’t relevant here,’ Helen said. The interviewer wasn’t personally approved by her but it was all they had.

‘Did he show any signs of being afraid for his safety?’ He did as he was asked.

‘No. He said his father is very powerful in Algeria and well respected here in France. But Hakim also told me that he’d been sent on extensive training courses to deal with scenarios.’

‘Scenarios?’

‘Just in case. It was silly, and Hakim thought it a waste of time, but now… His father wanted him to be wary. He said they carried a great responsibility and that their wealth attracted trouble,’ Amélie said, fidgeting with a ring on her right hand. Her answers were open and full. Somebody with something to hide generally spoke in monosyllables, this wasn’t the case with Amélie; she appeared to want to be as helpful as possible.

‘Did he say what kind of trouble?’

‘He had a bodyguard, as do all of his family members. I thought that meant they were safer.’ Amélie sniffed again. ‘I’m sorry,’ she added.

‘Indeed. Do you know the names of his bodyguards? Would you recognise them?’ Helen had traced all but two of them, including Jean-Luc, and it was found that they had no idea of Hakim’s disappearance or whereabouts upon initial interview because they were on full paid summer leave. They also had solid alibis.

‘They all looked the same with their scowls and suits. He said the man in charge was Jean-Luc and that he arranged all cover here in Paris when Hakim was studying.’

‘So the bodyguards changed frequently?’ the officer asked.

‘I don’t know, I didn’t really pay attention. Hakim taught me how to ignore them.’

‘And did he ignore them?’

‘Kind of. He said that we should act as if they weren’t there, so I did.’

Helen felt as though Amélie had something to add and she pushed the officer to allow her to elaborate.

‘You don’t seem too sure about that? Was there one that stood out, perhaps?’

Amélie nodded. ‘There was one I didn’t feel comfortable with. He… looked at me.’

‘What do you mean “looked at”?’

Amélie shifted uncomfortably in her chair. ‘He didn’t seem to be focused on his job. I don’t think he approved of me, of Hakim having a girlfriend.’

‘Right. I have here some photographs of the men in the employment of Hakim’s father. Please take your time and let us know if you recognise any of them.’

The pictures were handed to Amélie one at a time, and she nodded her recognition of some of them.

‘Is the one who “looked at you” among the photographs?’

‘This one,’ she said.

The officer noted the exhibit number and the positive identification of the witness.

It was Ahmad Azzine, or ‘Sand