By Cara Black
Parisian P.I. Aimée Leduc is attacked and blinded in the course of an research. Can she resolve her case with no her sight—and while her personal lifestyles is in danger?
Parisian inner most investigator Aimée Leduc is all dressed up in her new chinese language silk jacket, supposedly a designer’s “exclusive,” for dinner with a tricky consumer at a chic eating place within the Bastille district. She is chagrined to work out that the lady seated on the very subsequent desk is donning a similar jacket. while the lady leaves her cellular phone at the desk, Aimée follows her to come back it and is attacked within the shadowy Passage Boule Blanche. while she regains awareness, Aimée unearths that she is blind. however, she is informed she is fortunate; the lady she was once following used to be present in the following passage, murdered.
Aimée is set to spot her attacker. was once he really a serial killer concentrating on showy blondes, because the police insist? used to be he fairly after the opposite girl? Or used to be Aimée his meant sufferer?
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Extra info for Murder in the Bastille
She said. Her fingers traveled over the marquetry wood decorated sides. Though she spoke French well, he detected a slide in her sibilants. She stood, sleek and stylish, carrying a designer tote bag over her arm. The delivery truck’s brake squealed in the rear cobbled passage. Over the open skylight, a flurry of blackbirds fluttered from the flowering honeysuckle. “My assistant’s disappeared, but if you’ll look at our catalogue while I deal . ” By the time Mathieu guided the chestnut planks to the rough pine pallets, Suzanne, breathless and red-faced, appeared.
She sensed another presence in her hospital room. Something she couldn’t explain. The hair stood on the back of her neck. Wariness overtook her; she covered the phone with her hand. ” No answer. And then footsteps moved away. Was it a nurse, the doctor, or a volunteer? Or . . That tar smell near the broom closet? For an awful moment she was struck by the thought of the attacker, lurking, waiting to finish his task. It would be so easy to don a uniform, wear a mask, and search the corridors.
She’d come once to Paris. But no matter how much they discussed it, Marie refused to put Guillaume in an institution. She’d chosen her mongoloid son over him. Though she told him, over and over, the opposite. Now he was back in his apartment. His bloodshot eyes took in the packed boxes in the bare rooms. He needed to move to a smaller place, so he could send them more money. He thought back to when he and Marie were happy here. He remembered Danielle’s first steps in the kitchen one Sunday. The yellow parakeet from the quai de la Mégisserie he’d bought late Christmas Eve, rushing home from the Commissariat, and how Danielle and Monique’s eyes sparkled.