Page 28 of When Fashion Turns Deadly

Lieutenant Tremblay shook his head. “Doubtful. Whoever it was tore through every bit of clothing and every drawer.”

Which meant the lieutenant was probably right. If the culprit had found what he was looking for, the search would have stopped when he’d found his prize, leaving part of the room untouched.

“Is this where James was killed?” Cole asked.

Lieutenant Tremblay waved at a spot on the floor beside the window. “Right here.”

Cole continued forward until he spotted the blood on the carpet. Judging from the single blood stain that spanned at least a foot in diameter, Cole guessed the victim had been killed by either a knife or a bullet that had hit an artery. “Cause of death?”

“Gunshot wound to the chest.” Lieutenant Tremblay shook his head slowly. “No doubt that someone wanted him dead.”

“Any witnesses?”

“I’m not sure. You’ll have to ask Capitaine Dupont about that.”

“Do you have his number?” Cole asked. If Jasmine didn’t gain access to the police report by tonight, he might need to hurry it along himself.

Lieutenant Tremblay pulled a business card from his pocket. “You can call the main number there. They can patch you through.”

“Thanks.” Cole scanned the room again. First Marit’s apartment was searched. Now James’s hotel room. What was the intruder looking for, and why would he or she think James or Marit had it?

Cole’s gaze landed on the suitcase, and he instinctively looked for the messenger bag James had been carrying when leaving Ralph’s office last night. When he didn’t see it, Cole pulled a pair of crime-scene gloves from the small pocket beside where his gun was holstered. He tugged them on and opened the closet door. Clothes covered the floor, and the safe door was open, but there was no bag.

“Did you see a blue messenger bag, about this big?” Cole held up his hands eighteen inches apart.

“I haven’t seen it.” The lieutenant translated the question to his partner, who shook his head and spoke in rapid French.

When he finished, Lieutenant Tremblay said, “We’ve inventoried everything. It’s not here.”

“Any chance it was already logged into evidence?”

“I don’t think so, but if it was, it will be in Capitaine Dupont and Brigadier Blanchet’s report.”

“Thanks. I’ll check with them.” Cole pulled an FBI business card from behind his ID badge and handed it to the lieutenant. “Can you please send me your crime-scene photos when you finish?”

“As long as the detective approves, I’ll send them.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” Cole took a couple quick photos of the room before shaking Lieutenant Tremblay’s hand. “I look forward to hearing from you.”

Cole stepped toward the door, surveying the mess still in front of him. He didn’t know if James was guilty of theft or had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, but whoever was searching rooms was missing something. Whether it was Ralph’s designs or something else, Cole didn’t know, but one thing was apparent: Brinton James had been killed in cold blood, and it was up to Cole and Isabelle to make sure Marit wasn’t next.

Chapter 10

Lars zoomed in on theelegant Parisian woman walking her dog past the entrance to Marit’s building. He snapped a picture. Whoever said dogs and their owners looked alike was definitely on to something. A long, narrow nose and white curls pulled onto the top of her head—the description of the woman could be used for her giant poodle too.

They continued down the road, and Lars studied the assortment of new photos on his camera. He’d taken several candid shots of passersby, but as far as he could tell, the only people who’d entered Marit’s building since Cole had left were half a dozen young women, who looked to be models, and a locksmith. He’d taken close-up shots of the locksmith and his assistant along with their van that boasted the name of the company and a phone number. It shouldn’t be too hard to check their legitimacy.

His phone buzzed. He picked it up. A text from Cole.

Leaving the hotel now. Stopping to pick up Isabelle and Marit. Want to grab dinner for all of us? We could eat at our place.

Dinner in Paris. And he got to choose the menu. He grinned. He’d pick up some kind of vegetable to appease the girls, but eating something loaded with spinach was not happening on his watch.

On it, he texted back. Then he pulled up a list of the takeout restaurants closest to their hotel and started scrolling through his choices.

Three-quarters of an hour later, Lars was unloading the last of the cardboard containers onto the table in the hotel room when he heard the lock click.

“Hey,” he said, setting down the carrier bag to greet Marit, Isabelle, and Cole as they entered the room. “How did it go?”

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