Page 33 of Shadow of Doubt

The Shangri-La was a five-star luxury hotel with jaw-dropping views across the Seine to the Eiffel Tower. Tucked away deep inside and out of sight was its sumptuously decorated, yet intimate, Le Bar Botaniste.

Green velvet sofas, strewn with tiger-print pillows, sat beneath enormous oil paintings of brightly festooned Bedouin horses. Heavy draperies, tied back with knotted silk cords, sat at each end of the bar. Hand-fashioned copper cups filled with fresh herbs had been placed on every table. Terrariums and exotic plants kept under glass were scattered throughout.

In the quietest and darkest corner, Gibert sat at a table—theirtable. This was where their affair had started, meeting halfway between their offices at Le Bar Botaniste.

It was a perk of Gibert’s job. Tasked with high-profile, celebrity cases as part of his portfolio for the Paris police, he was known at all of the top hotels in town. Each of their general managers had his direct cell phone number and could call him at any time. In exchange for Gibert’s discretion and his ability to handle situations in such a way that the hotels’ reputations were protected, he was afforded certain perks. Among them were free drinks, free food, and the occasional complimentary suite.

There was one thing Brunelle could say for her time with him—it hadn’t been boring. In fact, it had been quite exciting. He was an excellent lover and highly intelligent. What he wasn’t, however, was honest.

The picture he had painted of his marital situation wasn’t even close to the truth. His wife had not moved out of their home, he was notsix months into a trial separation, and he had no intention of seeking a divorce.

Once the real truth became known, Brunelle had cut off all ties with him. But instead of taking it like a man, owning up to what he had done, and moving on, Gibert had doubled down, telling her that he was profoundly in love with her and that he was, in fact, going to leave his wife. It was quite a spectacle.

The more he pressed his case, the less respect she had for him. She ignored his phone calls, his texts, and his emails, yet they kept coming.

Then one night, absolutely hammered, he had shown up at her apartment. He had done it, he claimed. He had left his wife and he begged Brunelle to take him back. She stood her ground. Things got heated. When he refused to leave her apartment, Brunelle called the police.

As she wasn’t interested in pressing charges, just getting him to leave, they took Gibert back to his office and let him sleep it off. The next morning, he crawled back to his wife.

Brunelle had not seen or spoken with him until this morning at Jadot’s apartment. She didn’t know what to make of his choice of the Botaniste for their meeting. If there was some kind of subtext to it, he had wasted his time. She had absolutely zero interest in rekindling anything with him. This meeting was business andonlybusiness.

Entering the hotel, she had made her way back to the bar and had found Gibert exactly where she knew he would be. Had he had the temerity to have ordered for her, she would have been hard-pressed not to throw the drink right at him. It was bad enough that he had picked this spot. At the very least, she expected him to remain professional.

When she arrived at the table, she saw that he hadn’t ordered anything for her, just a cocktail for himself. It was his usual, and one of the most expensive things on the Botaniste menu—a Sazerac made with Hennessy X.O cognac.

“Thank you for coming,” he said, sliding his chair back in order to stand and greet her properly.

Brunelle waved him off. “Don’t get up,” she said, pulling out her own chair and sitting down.

“Have you heard about Oslo?”

“Only what’s been on the news. We haven’t had an agency-wide update yet. You?”

“Email and text blasts went out to officers calling for enhanced vigilance. Other than that, all quiet.”

A tense moment of awkward silence passed between them. It was difficult being back in this setting under such different circumstances.

“Something to drink?” he asked, trying to reduce the tension.

She loved the Botaniste’s Golden Martini. It used to be her all-time favorite, but this wasn’t a social event. Not wanting to send the wrong signal to Gibert, she opted for something nonalcoholic. “Tisane,” she replied. Considering the weather, the infusion of herbs and spices, simmered in hot water, was probably exactly what she needed.

After getting the waiter’s attention and placing the order, Gibert was all business. He removed a manila envelope from his briefcase and handed it to her.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“A summary of Jadot’s service file, most of which is redacted.”

Brunelle opened the envelope and pulled it out. “How’d you get your hands on it?”

“Like I said, a little professional courtesy goes a long way.”

“The boys in Action Division.”

“They want this solved just as much as we do. Probably more.”

“Speaking of which,” she replied, flipping through the pages of the summary, “I sent you an email before I left the office. Did you receive it?”

Gibert took a sip of his drink before saying, “I did and I’m already ahead of you. Forensics found some chipped paint near one of the apartment’s rear windows.”

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