The Good Thief's Guide to Paris by Chris Ewan

Author:Chris Ewan
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fiction
ISBN: 9780312578053
Publisher: Pocket Books
Published: 2008-09-15T07:00:00+00:00

NINETEEN

It took me close to an hour to travel from the hotel in Montmartre to the École Militaire métro stop, at the rear of the Champ de Mars. Even so, I was a few minutes early so I did my best to slow my pace as I walked towards the open-air café where I’d met Pierre just two days before. I didn’t know quite what I’d say when I got there. The idea of telling Pierre everything was certainly appealing, and might be essential if he happened to have seen the news report that mentioned my name in connection with Catherine’s death, but part of me wondered if I should hold back some information. This was the second time he’d got me involved in a job that had ended up with somebody dead and my name heading the list of suspects and, just for a change, I wasn’t too thrilled about it.

Now that Catherine’s body had been found, I felt self-conscious about being outside in daylight. My apartment was only a short distance away, no doubt sealed off and overrun with forensic experts and crime scene photographers, and to all intents and purposes the French authorities were treating me as a fugitive from justice. I hadn’t adopted any form of disguise because they were looking for somebody an awful lot more handsome than me, but all that could change in an instant. How long would it take them to put a more accurate identikit image together, or even to find a true likeness of me from some dark corner of the Internet?

I tried to shake the fear from my mind and told myself to stop hiding my face whenever a passer-by approached. I was behaving as if I was guilty and no matter how subtle the signs, I might draw attention to myself. Besides, thinking as though it was just a matter of time until I was caught was hardly the best way to stay focused. I had no idea how Pierre would react when he saw that I didn’t have the painting with me and I needed to be alert if I was going to play things right.

Just then, I caught myself about to reach into my pocket for my sunglasses. I lowered my hand and shook my head. Pierre had commented on how unusual it had looked the last time we’d met and, if anything, the weather was even more sombre today. The sky was low and dishwater grey, a melt of formless clouds that threatened rain. There was a faint breeze but it was failing to make me feel any more alert. Sure, it’s always surprising how capably you can function without any sleep, but it’s never quite possible to shake the sensation that your brain is in danger of a misfire.

I was close to the café now and, shoulders dropping, I could see Pierre wasn’t there. It hadn’t occurred to me that he might not show but I supposed it made sense. If he’d seen the

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