In Their Footsteps & Thief of Hearts by Tess Gerritsen

Gerritsen
    The matter of the mole was never officially resolved.
    Instead, Bernard Tavistock had been posthumously implicated as Delphi. Conveniently tried and found guilty, thought Richard. Why not pin the blame on Tavistock? A dead man can’t deny the charges.
    And now, twenty years later, the ghost of Delphi is back to haunt me.
    With new determination, Richard rose from the chair.
    “This time, Claude,” he said, “I’m tracking him down.
    And no order from Washington is going to stop me.”
    “Twenty years is a long time. Evidence has vanished.
    Politics have changed.”
    “One thing hasn’t changed—the guilty party. What if we were wrong? What if Sutherland wasn’t the mole?
    Then Delphi may still be alive. And operational.” To which Daumier added, “And very, very worried.” Beryl was awakened the next morning by Richard knocking on her door. She blinked in astonishment as he handed her a paper sack, fragrant with the aroma of freshly baked croissants.
    “Breakfast,” he announced. “You can eat it in the car.
    Jordan’s already waiting for us downstairs.”
    “Waiting? For what?”
    “For you to get dressed. You’d better hurry. Our appointment’s for eight o’clock.”
    Bewildered, she shoved back a handful of tangled hair.
    “I don’t recall making any appointments for this morning.”
    “I made it for us. We’re lucky to get one, considering the man doesn’t see many people these days. His wife won’t allow it.”
    “Whose wife?” she said in exasperation.

    In Their Footsteps
    85
    “Chief Inspector Broussard. The detective in charge of your parents’ murder investigation.” Richard paused. “You do want to speak to him, don’t you?” He knows I do, she thought, clutching together the edges of her silk robe. He’s got me at a disadvantage. I’m scarcely awake and he’s standing there like Mr. Sunshine himself. And since when had Jordan turned into an early riser? Her brother almost never rolled out of bed before eight.
    “You don’t have to come,” he said, turning to leave.
    “Jordan and I can—”
    “Give me ten minutes!” she snapped and closed the door on him.
    She made it downstairs in nine minutes flat.
    Richard drove with the self-assurance of a man long familiar with the streets of Paris. They crossed the Seine and headed south along crowded boulevards. The traffic was as insane as London’s, thought Beryl, gazing out at the crush of buses and taxis. Thank heavens he’s behind the wheel.
    She finished her croissant and brushed the crumbs off the file folder lying in her lap. Contained in that folder was the twenty-year-old police report, signed by Inspector Broussard. She wondered how much the man would remember about the case. After all this time, surely the details had blended together with all the other homicide investigations of his career. But there was always the chance that some small unreported detail had stayed with him.
    “Have you met Broussard?” she asked Richard.
    “We met during the course of the investigation. When I was interviewed by the police.”
    “They questioned you? Why?”
    “He spoke to all your parents’ acquaintances.” 86
    Tess Gerritsen
    “I never saw your name in the police file.”
    “A number of names didn’t make it to that file.”
    “Such as?”
    “Philippe St. Pierre. Ambassador Sutherland.”
    “Nina’s husband?”
    Richard nodded. “Those were politically sensitive names. St. Pierre was in the Finance Ministry, and he was a close friend of the prime minister’s. Sutherland was the American ambassador. Neither were suspects, so their names were kept out of the official report.”
    “Meaning the good inspector protected the high and mighty?”
    “Meaning he was discreet.”
    “Why did your name escape the report?”
    “I was just a bit player asked to comment on your parents’ marriage. Whether they ever argued, seemed unhappy, that’s all. I was only on the periphery.” She touched the file on her