Page 30 of Gianna

The sound Juliette was hearing brought back so many memories of Paris in a rush. And more than that, it was giving her a new insight into how this killer might have hidden away in plain sight.

Violin notes, clear, sweet, and true to tone, were filtering through the morning air. She even recognized the tune. The melodious sounds of La Vie En Rose.

The player was a man in his twenties, a beret on his head, a backpack propped up against the wall behind him, and the violin case open in front of him. It already contained a number of coins and euro notes.

Standing and overlooking the square, he was immersed in his music, eyes half closed as he brought the melody to life. He didn’t even glance at her, as he created the beautiful sounds. He was a talented player and, watching him, she yearned to be able to make the same magic. Would she ever be able to play a violin reasonably well if she took lessons?

Juliette watched him for a few moments, and as the yearning to be able to play so beautifully passed, her mind began whirring away, on a more productive tangent. She knew what she was thinking, what the implications of her theory were.

Beyond him, a duo of street performers was setting up in the center of the square. Their faces were white painted, their lithe, fit looking bodies were clad in black leotards and they wore black gloves. With colorful hoops as props, the preparations for their show were already drawing some interested onlookers.

This was life in Paris. In the public places, there were always street performers, buskers, musicians, acrobats and actors, mime artists and human statues. And now, Juliette was wondering if this was how this killer was disguising himself. Nobody would look twice at the violinist because they pigeonholed him as a street performer. He could have five cans of gold paint in that backpack, but all people would see or notice was the violin.

Had this been the killer's cover? Had he blended in with the street performers?

The idea kept growing in her mind as she walked back towards the scene. It would explain why he moved so quickly, why he seemed to vanish into thin air.It might even explain why he was able to paint his victims' faces without anyone noticing. If they thought it was nothing more than the preparation for an act, people would walk straight past.

Juliette felt a thrill of excitement as she hatched the idea. This was it, the breakthrough she was looking for. She just had to convince Lucien and Wyatt that she was onto something.

She hurried back along the street, under the crime scene tape, and back to where they were standing, her mind working in overdrive.

"I’ve figured something out,” she said.

Lucien turned to her looking hopeful. Wyatt raised his eyebrows.

“What?” they said in unison.

“I think this killer might be posing as a street performer. That's how he is blending in, and why his victims end up getting so close, with no struggle. People here see street performers as – I guess, the property of Paris,” she tried to explain. “It’s a normal thing to get up close to them, either to give money or take a better look, or photograph them. The public and the performers all know that’s how things work."

"A street performer?" Lucien frowned. Juliette could see he was considering the idea, and that after his customary, immediate belief that the American FBI could not possibly be right, he was deciding it had merit.

"I guess it could be," he said. "We know he's smart and cunning, so this could be his way of staying one step ahead of us."

"I think it makes sense. Those fibers that were found around the victims' necks and under their nails - they're from gloves. A normal person out on the streets wouldn't wear gloves this time of the year. It's spring and not cold enough. But if a street performer, if a mime artist, if someone with their face painted wore gloves, you wouldn't worry about it for a moment."

Juliette paused, letting the idea sink in.

“He might have done something similar in New York and New Jersey. We brainstormed ideas at the time, that he’d disguised himself as a homeless person, or a busker. We just never found any evidence to prove it. Maybe, here, we can.”

Lucien nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful.

Wyatt was more action oriented. "So if this is it, what are we going to do? What's our next step?"

Lucien shrugged. "There are hundreds of performers in Paris. Literally hundreds."

"Unlicensed, I guess?" Wyatt said, in a way that implied he'd expect nothing less of Paris. Lucien bristled.

"All street performers are licensed. They have to carry two different types of permits, depending on where they perform." He let out a breath. "However, yes, of course the killer himself, posing as a performer, would most likely have no license."

"So we need to track, and check, all street performers?" Wyatt said. “Or better still, should we pull them off the street?”

“No,” Lucien began, and Juliette shook her head.

“At any rate, not yet. Because it seems he only strikes at night. All his kills have been after dark. It's morning now, so we could use the day to prepare, and research, and decide on our strategy," she said.

“A guy like that, he might have come to the attention of the police before now?” Wyatt said.

“Perhaps,” Lucien agreed. “Many criminals begin with less serious crimes, as you know.”

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