The Geneva Decision Read Online Free PDF Page A

dropped it into his windbreaker’s inside pocket. He looked up at Jonelle and gave a stiff nod.
    They resumed their walk.
    Alphonse said, “You must forgive our awkward approach to handling murders, Ms. Sabel. Geneva has the lowest homicide rate in Europe. Few officers have any real experience transporting criminals. All we know is what the manuals tell us.”
    “I thought you were on loan from France.”
    “The truth is, we have even less homicide in Chamonix.”
    They strolled on. When they reached the cross street, Quai du Mont-Blanc, he stopped and pointed in the opposite direction.
    “I highly recommend seeing the view from Pont de la Machine, the city’s first hydroelectric plant. Today it holds the gallery and café. Closed now, I’m sure. But the city view is worth the walk.”
    Without waiting for an answer, he strode onto the footbridge across the Rhone River.
    Pia glanced at her agents, shrugged, then followed him.
    In the middle of the dark river, a darker building waited. Three hundred yards to her left, upstream, Lake Léman poured into the Rhone, passed beneath the bridge, and headed toward the Mediterranean Sea.
    “You know,” she said as she caught up, “Sabel Security was asked by Clément Marot to meet with him about the Objet Trouvé .”
    Alphonse smiled. “Pardon. Could you do me the favor?”
    “Sure. What?”
    “Don’t pronounce French without the effort.” He smiled. “It is pronounced objet trouvé —it means ‘the object as it is found.’ Like natural art. Example, driftwood is the objet trouvé .” He sighed and muttered, “Américains.”
    She smiled weakly and continued walking. Behind her back she flashed Marty her hand signal for privacy. Marty tugged Jonelle’s arm, and they stayed close to the street end of the bridge. It was quiet on the lake. A rare car travelled the streets on either side of the river.
    They stopped in front of the old power plant and faced Lake Léman. Five-story buildings, shouldered together, lined both sides of the river. They were lit up like Christmas in reds and greens and blues, their lights reflected in mesmerizing patterns on the water’s dark surface. Pia made a picture frame with her fingers and clicked, mimicking the noise of a camera. She giggled and shoved her hands in her pockets.
    “Anyway,” she said, leaning her back against the railing, “I looked it up. Pirates commandeered the ship off the coast of Cameroon three months ago. Remember, al-Jabal had a Cameroon bus ticket in his pockets, and—”
    “Oh. No. No.” He stepped back, glaring at her. “Tonight, three officers left their posts at the train station to answer your call at the dress shop. Al-Jabal could have walked three blocks and taken the train to Paris because of you. You mean well, you did well, but you upset Le Capitaine’s plans. It is most difficult to work distracted.”
    “What? I thought you—”
    “No, I am not discussing this investigation with you. Last summer you played soccer in the Olympics. Last week you played soccer for Potomac Women’s Club. You are good. Maybe as good as Sandrine Soubeyrand. Maybe. But tonight, you play detective—in a country where you do not speak any languages. Why? Because your father gives you the company like the toy. Do you really think the job is so easy? Yes, you tackle the killer. Thank you. The rest you leave to professionals.”
    He turned to the river, leaned his elbows on the railing and huffed.
    His glanced at her and shrugged. “Even if we are not so professional, we do what we can.”
    Pia studied his profile. “Um. I’m sorry, Alphonse. I didn’t mean to wreck your…”
    Her voice trailed off, and she looked for a new conversation.
    Alphonse wore a pin in his jacket with the same logo she’d seen on Capitaine Villeneuve’s shirt. Pia pointed to it. She said, “Is that a police fraternity of some kind?”
    He glanced at it, confused for a moment. Then came that great smile.
    “Oh, no. It is the