C'est la Vie (Raja Williams Series) Read Online Free Page A

right across the river. After settling in, they talked about the case.
    “I’ve got a line on the inspector who is handling the investigation, if you can call it that,” said Vinny. “Most of the police and media attention is on finding whoever killed three French policemen. Mrs. Browning has been lost in the shuffle.”
    “We will change that,” said Raja. “What’s the inspector’s name?”
    “Pierre Gilliard.”
    The next morning Raja called the British Embassy to grease the wheels with the Paris police. Although no police force likes outside interference with their business, the French were particularly insular. Raja had earned a little sway with the British Royal family, having pulled one princely ass out of a nasty fire a couple of years back. It was a story he had sworn not to repeat, but one which got him a direct order from London into the British Embassy in Paris instructing them to use their pull to open the door to the French police, a notoriously tight-lipped bunch. God save the Queen. While giving the British Embassy time to push the message through proper channels and down the chain of command, Raja called the professor at his hotel.
    “Hello,” said Professor Browning.
    The dull lack of expectation in Browning’s voice told Raja he was rapidly losing hope. “It’s Raja Williams. I’m in Paris. I’m already working on finding your wife and I wanted to meet with you.” Raja didn’t think the professor had any more pertinent information, but it would certainly raise the professor’s spirits if he felt useful. There is nothing like the feeling of helplessness to drive a man into apathy.
    “Yes, yes. Where should I meet you?” said Browning. He sounded better already.
    “I’ll pick you up at your hotel. Wait out front. Bring any pictures you have of Margaret. Give me about fifteen minutes.”
    “I’ll be waiting.”
    Waiting was another thing that could sink a man emotionally. After hanging up, Raja made a mental note to leave promptly. “Vinny, I’m heading to Professor Browning’s hotel. Then to the antique shop. After that I’ll go to the police station. Get me the addresses, would you?”
    Vinny knew that going to see the professor was an unnecessary side trip, but she said nothing. No matter how intent Raja was on solving a case, and he could be very intent, he never lost sight of the client’s feelings. It was a characteristic Vinny admired.
    “I’ll download the addresses to your GPS,” she said.
    “Next we need to find some sign of Margaret Browning. Right now she is a ghost.”
    “Don’t use that word with the professor,” said Vinny.
    “Good catch.”
    Professor Browning stood at the curb when Raja pulled up. He climbed into the Porsche and presented Raja with a folder.
    “What’s this?” asked Raja, looking at the thick folder.
    “It’s every picture of Margaret that I could find on the computer. I had to get them printed in the hotel office, so the quality could be better.”
    Raja flipped through the pictures. The professor had gone overboard, which Raja knew he would in his frazzled state. There were at least thirty pictures of Margaret Browning, enough to make a whole picture album.
    “If you need more I could have someone back home email them.”
    “I think these will do. Good work. You should pick out three recent shots we can use for identification.” He handed the folder back to Browning. There was nothing like purpose and contribution to raise a man’s spirits. “Now I want you to show me the spot where you last spoke to your wife.”
    “In front of the antique shop?”
    “Yes. I’ve got it in my GPS. Hang on.” They drove to Rue des Écoles and parked. The crime scene tape no longer blocked the sidewalk, allowing Professor Browning to lead Raja directly to the entrance of the shop.
    “There was a marker right there. I think it was where Margaret dropped her phone when she was talking to me. I know it was.”
    Raja looked up the street in both