at the casino?” Damn, Arthur should have seen that on the security footage.
“Micah said it was scabbed over, so it couldn’t have happened right then. Maybe earlier in the day.”
Arthur blandly waited for Tristan to go on, his hands clasped between his knees as he leaned forward.
Tristan finally did. “I don’t know why Max came back here at all. With Rainier out of commission, Pierre might actually have him knocked off, assuming Estebe Fournier doesn’t get to him first after last night.”
Here we go. “Estebe Fournier?” Arthur asked him, frowning and feigning confusion. “He was a few years ahead of us, right?”
“Yeah, that one. Estebe thinks Maxence ran off with his wife. He was stomping around the club at two o’clock in the morning, threatening everyone and saying that he was going to cut off Maxence’s head and drop it in the ocean for the sharks to eat.” Tristan grimaced. “Security finally led him off. He was wasted, and I don’t think even half of it was booze.”
“Do you think he meant it?” Arthur asked.
“I think he thought he meant it. I hope Max isn’t around. Estebe said he was sending his goons after him, and he was going to find Max before dawn and kill him.”
The Mediterranean sun suddenly felt uncomfortably hot on Arthur’s scalp and shoulders. “Thank you so much, there, Tristan. I appreciate that.”
“Are you looking for Max?”
“I’ll pass it on to someone who is.”
Tristan looked off to the side, his eyes the color of the sea’s fathoms. “He’s a good guy, and Estebe’s an asshole.”
“Good luck with your trading,” Arthur said as he sauntered away.
“Don’t need luck in high-frequency,” Tristan called after him. “That’s the whole point!”
That was true, but Arthur was too distracted to debate the finer points of computer-based commodities trading just then. He had to find Casimir to tell him about Fournier.
Caz didn’t seem to be in the pool area.
With a quick glance over the parapet again, he saw Casimir standing on the sidewalk below, talking to some girls on one of the yachts.
Good, they needed to go.
Arthur trotted down the stairs and nodded to the security guard as he passed. The guy ignored him.
As he hit the street, he returned to his usual, lordly demeanor, lest someone see him hurry and guess his information or his errand.
Casimir walked up to meet Arthur on the quay beside the dock, the boats creaking their ropes and nudging against their protective floats. Styrofoam squealed as boats ground against it, and the salty scent of the sea filled Arthur’s nose and lungs as he breathed slowly, casually, as if nothing were amiss.
When he reached Casimir, Arthur kept a low voice and told him, “I saw Twist Campbell up there. Everyone here knows about Rainier’s stroke. It’s common knowledge in the jet set that he’s been in hospital for weeks, and people are starting to arrive for the inevitable. Max was spending his days at Rainier’s bedside, except for yesterday. Yesterday, they said he went up to Geneva.”
“We knew that,” Casimir said, bending his head near Arthur’s. “You told me your friends got a visual on him at the Geneva airport.”
“He got back yesterday late afternoon and was in the casino by nine o’clock, looking rough.”
“Rough?” Casimir repeated. Jesus, when Maxence went on a real bender, sometimes his health suffered.
“Like he’d been in a fight, Twist said.”
“Jesus. What the hell does that guy get himself into?” Casimir updated Arthur on what he’d found out, that Pierre had taken his yacht out in the very wee hours of the morning and hadn’t returned yet. “Last night, did you talk to Pierre personally or just his toadies?”
Arthur shook his head. “Just security personnel. They said Pierre told them to call me.”
“Maybe he told them when to call, and then he took the yacht out to the open sea.”
“But would he dump Maxence’s body over the side himself? Wouldn’t he just have that oaf of his, name of Sault or something, do it for him? Or maybe he sank the whole yacht to disguise that he’d had Maxence killed.”
Casimir considered this. “Let’s get the girls. We should figure out whether Pierre is out with that yacht or if he’s somewhere in Monaco. If he is here, we need to talk to him. That bastard has something to do with this. I just know it.”
Chapter Twelve
Port Hercule
Maxence: Just before midnight
Maxence held out his hand in the darkness, beckoning Simone with a twitch of his deeply callused fingers. “Come on.”
The distance from