Jean Paul's men had done a better job than the local police determining who might have killed Frossard. They had scoured the area, speaking to café and shop owners. They had also grilled people in a wide range of hotel, apartment and various other accommodations, putting together a picture of a suspect.

The news he learned from his police contact matched perfectly with the results from his men - Gregory Snelgrove, their Canadian contact. The next step was finding him, and sources all over Nice were notified with the added incentive of a reward from Jean Paul.

Less than twelve hours passed before messages came in claiming sightings of the wanted man. Once again Jean Paul's organization filtered out the chaff and had a location pinned down for Snelgrove.

***

The sound of talking woke Barbara, and she rolled over to see Keith's back as he sat on the edge of the bed, phone to his ear. She reached out playfully and dragged her nails slowly down his back, giggling when he did a shuddering arch and turned around, grinning.

"That was my friend in the police. I called him as a courtesy to let him know our plans and to thank him for his help. Guess what?"

"What?"

"Jean Paul, the crime boss we learned about, has located our mystery man. He managed that with information from our friendly policeman. His name is Snelgrove-"

"Did they get him?" she sat up, lifting the sheet over her chest.

"Not yet but our friend used some of his own sources and reached out, warning Snelgrove and telling him if he got in touch with me he might mitigate his circumstances."

"So your friend is both good and bad cop."

"Seems like. He took a big chance. Trouble is, I can't leave here now in case he calls so breakfast will have to be in bed . . . for me anyway."

"What can you do for him?" She slipped out from the sheet and padded across the carpet to the bathroom.

Keith's reply stalled, watching her. "Uh- not sure. Depends on what he has to say I guess." He wet his lips and then gave a jolt, realizing he was sitting there in the nude. If his boss ever found out . . .

Barbara came back, tying the complimentary robe about her waist and going to the window. Keith fumbled around for his shorts and did a stumbling hop to the bathroom before she turned around.

"Daylight make you bashful, Detective?"

"Can't hear you. Be out in a minute," came the false reply. She laughed quietly and unpacked some clothes from her bag, dressing and brushing her hair.

"You going out?" He said coming back into the room, still clad only in his shorts. "What about breakfast?"

"Afraid to eat alone as well as bashful, eh?"

"Well no, but- I just thought . . ."

"I want a fresh, hot croissant from that little pâtisserie on the corner. I'll get some for both of us unless you want the room service option."

The phone rang before he replied and he held up a finger then waved as he answered. "Get me some too."

Barbara left, no use standing there listening to half a conversation, she thought.

Only part of the narrow street was in early sunshine and the people that were out already favoured that side, leaving plenty of room for Barbara to enjoy a bit of browsing on the opposite side. The air was fresh and mild and she took her time looking at the various shop's window displays.

The pâtisserie had just opened and she stepped through the door, greeting the lady in French and savouring the aroma of fresh baked goods. As she waited for her order she saw Keith hurrying along the street, waving at her through the window.

"I was getting some for you too," she teased as he entered the shop.

"We have to go. Now." His frown was not the cute expression she expected and she quickly handed the lady the money for her purchase, taking the paper bag and rushing out with Keith, ignoring her change.

"What's the matter? What happened?" He steered her toward a waiting taxi and almost pushed her inside. "Keith! For heaven's sake, what's going on?"

He told the driver to go and spent a few moments watching the street all around before sitting back and taking her hand and leaning close so the driver couldn't hear.

"That was Snelgrove. He asked me about what the cop said and wants to meet. When I said he could come to us, he informed me that we were also on JP's radar, that's why I paid up, grabbed our bags and the cab."

"Why didn't your police friend tell you that?"

"Scared, or he really didn't know I imagine."

"Well where are we going to go? This is only Tuesday morning, we don't fly out until Wednesday morning."

"Shhh, keep your voice down. We have all day to figure that out, meanwhile we are meeting with Snelgrove in the square in front of the Cathédrale Ste Réparate on Place Rossetti. There's a small café there that is usually busy. We'll get out near the area and walk."

Keith tapped the driver on the shoulder and pointed to a place to let them out. Standing on the street with their baggage, Barbara asked how he knew where they were and how far they had to walk.

"I asked the apartment manager while I was paying. We are about fifteen minutes or so I guess – that way." He started off, grabbing her bag and calling her to follow.

"I can carry that." She said, catching up.

"I can manage, you keep an eye out for Rue Rossetti. The cathedral should be easy to spot once we're on that street, there's a tower facing the square."

***

The sun had risen in the sky and the café seating beneath the small awning was the destination of choice. Barbara and Keith chose a small table at one edge that gave them a good view of the square.

"Did he give you a time?" She asked, sipping an espresso.

"As soon as we could get here. I guess it's taking him longer than he thought."

"Or he- wait! Isn't that him standing in that doorway across the square?"

Keith twisted in his chair and nodded. "Looks like him. He's making sure it's safe to meet."

"You think we're being watched?"

"I don't know. Here he comes. Just ignore him and see what he does."

Gregory stepped out of the doorway and started across the square, detouring around the fountain and pretending to look into the water surrounding it while scanning the street behind him. Satisfied, he strolled to the café and took a seat at the table beside the couple, his back to the wall.

"Mr. Snelgro-"

"No names," he hissed, looking furtively about. "And don't look at me."

"Fine then. This was your call."

"You're the cop investigating Aubert's murder aren't you?"

Keith smiled at Barbara while he spoke to Snelgrove. "How do you know it was Aubert?"

"Frossard told me, He told me his plan to scam his buyer."

Keith shifted his position, pretending to still be talking to Barbara. "You learned a lot before you killed him."

"You mean about the courier posing as Tremblay, he was a nothing fool."

"I meant Frossard . . . so you killed them both."

"I admit to nothing."

"How did you learn about Aubert in the first place?"

"I was working for the man Frossard stole this from." He casually stood the envelope on the ground beside his chair.

"Was?"

"You don't make mistakes working for Jean Paul Vateur."

"Then why did you even come to France?"

"Foolish thoughts now too late to take back. Even returning this would make no difference. You're familiar with examples in your business, I'm sure."

Maintaining the ruse of just a couple chatting, Keith pointed to the cathedral entrance and Barbara followed his lead, nodding, shading her eyes to look.

"Why are you giving it to me?" He asked.

"Another foolish idea but I realize I'm not going to get out of this country alive."

"Isn't that a little dramatic," Barbara broke in, taking Keith's hand.

"Frossard had no idea what that was worth, when he stole it that's why he went to the trouble of preparing fake letters of provenance."

"So you did kill him," Barbara blurted. "How else would you know they were fake?"

"I'm not saying anything. I looked at it and it- there's just something about it- it's too important to be in the trophy case of some gangster."

"A conscience!"

"Think what you like about me but you are both in danger as well – and there has to be a third party in all this. The buyer Frossard approached."

"What are you saying?"

Gregory started to reply but the red hole in his forehead sent him crashing backwards onto the stone floor of the café.