Page 35 of The Devil Wears Orange
Jack racks his brain for an answer. “Well, uhm, it became quite urgent that we leave France...because... there was a car following us in Ville de Loire, and it had her all worried, and she wanted to hide out…”In Monaco?“…with plenty of people around. I sent you the plate number of that car. Did you determine who it belonged to?”
“Yes, but Professor, I mustn’t tell you everything about this case. You aremyinformant.”
“Well, of course, but I should be informed in order... to inform you... better. It could be a clue that means nothing to you, but to me, why it could break the whole case open.” Jack extends his arms wide to exaggerate his point.
Favreau sighs. “The car was rented by an Omani national, quite possibly a tourist.”
Jack goes quiet, contemplates the number of Omani tourists in France. While Oman is a neighbor to the UAE, the close geography does not necessarily make Jack confident that Rashid is behind the tail. Charlotte hinted she believed the men following them in Ville de Loire could be on the Prince’s payroll, but why, if she had been part of it all along, suggest any links to Prince Rashid? Could it be a ruse on her part to think of something so extraordinary that only a fool would believe her story? Jack certainly feels like Charlotte’s fool.
“No idea what the connection is to Oman,” says Jack.
“She’s a smoker?” asks Favreau.
Jack shakes his head, then follows Favreau’s gaze to a lipstick-smeared cigarette resting on a teacup saucer by the bed. That looks like Charlotte’s lipstick. He really doesn’t know her at all.
“Capitaine,” says one of the officers exiting the bathroom and carries a plastic bag with a mobile phone in it. He tells Favreau it had been dumped in the toilet.
“As expected. We have a back-up.” Favreau shrugs his shoulders and, turning to Jack, says, “You set the tracking device we gave you?”
Unclear if it’s a question or a statement, Jack doesn’t respond.
“Please, tell me you put it in place,” says Favreau.
“Yes,” Jack answers tentatively. “I did.”
“Good, we can track her that way.”
Favreau motions to a female officer, a streak of blonde runs through her hair, a diamond stud glistens on her nose. She picks up a briefcase near her, places it on the bed, and snaps it open. Inside the case is a laptop, she flicks on, waits a few moments, and then nods towards Favreau.
“Prêt,” she says.
Favreau says, “Bon.” He motions for Jack to stand next to him so they can all view the laptop. Pointing to the monitor, Favreau explains, “This little red star representsMademoiselleMilton. We can follow her whereabouts as she moves.”
The red star flashes in place, and for a moment, they believe there is movement; excitement mounts until they realize the indicator hasn’t moved at all. They’ve been staring at the monitor for too long that their eyes played tricks on them. Favreau looks at the computer, eyes furrowed. He bangs on the side of the laptop, and before he can do it again, the female officer pushes his hand away.
Favreau leans on the bed, drums his fingers on the mauve bedspread, haphazardly tossed back on after the stripping, and stares at the red star as though willing it to move. “Why is she standing still? Where is she standing still?”
The female officer types in some keystrokes and, turning to Favreau, says, “Here in this hotel.”
Enunciating every word, Favreau says, “Professor, where did you place the device?”
Jack pulls a kerchief from his jacket, dabs at the perspiration building on his forehead, aware that both Favreau and the female officer are staring at him.
“Well, here’s the thing. I thought the best place for it would be her shoes.” Jack’s voice is so weak that he doesn’t even convince himself.
“How did you place the tracker on her shoe?” says Favreau.
“Well, I didn’t place itonher shoe as much aswithher shoes...in her suitcase.”
“Her suitcase?” he sneers. “You thought it was more valuable to place it in her suitcase than on her physically?”
The female officer glances to the floor then kicks something underneath the bed. Kneeling by the edge of the bed, she pulls out a small brown suitcase with LV logos. Tossing it on the bed,she searches inside until she locates the small tracker Jack had placed in there. Everyone in the room stares at him.
“How was I going to get it on her?” he asks them, looking from one officer to another. “She changes her clothes often.”
“DoesMademoiselleMilton carry a handbag?” says Favreau.
“Chanel,” Jack answers. Favreau raises a wry eyebrow at him. Beside him, a droopy-eyed officer scoffs. “Oh,” says Jack, finally understanding his mistake, “hide it in her purse. I see. But you don’t understand. She loves her shoes! She wouldn’t go anywhere without them.”
