09h30

Captain Charlotte “Coco” Brunhild climbed out of the car, immediately dropping her feet into a puddle. She emitted a loud curse as the ice-cold water seeped through the holes in her boots, then passing through the tape which covered the holes in her socks. She was reminded, not for the first time that day, she ought to avoid taking TOO close a look at the state of her life.

She sat back in the car, twisting her feet, placing them on the heater in the middle of the dashboard. She reached into her trusty oversized antique Chanel bag and extracted a cigarette. Already her fourth of the day, although she had only been awake an hour and, more importantly, her finances were such that cigarettes were most certainly a luxury she could not afford. Regardless, she inhaled and threw back her head, frizzy dyed-blue hair cascading over her shoulders. It was Sunday, and she had planned on spending the day with her children, though as it transpired, the two elder offspring, Barbra and Julien had already made plans, and the two youngest, Cedric and Esther, despite being much younger, also had their own plans for the day. Even Helga, the surly German nanny who slept at the bottom of Coco’s bed on a rollout, had a date with an elderly French bingo caller named Franc. Everyone has plans but me, Coco thought with an out of character petulance.

Coco blew smoke rings into the sky and closed her eyes. When her cell phone rang earlier, alerting her of a crime, she reasoned that if she was to spend another Sunday sans children, or a lover, or a life of any kind, then she might as well get paid overtime to keep herself occupied. She had been a police captain at the Commissariat de Police du 7e arrondissement for several years already, and whilst her clean up record was exemplary, her perhaps unorthodox methods had gained her a reputation. And there was the fact that her former commander, also her onetime lover and the father of her two youngest children, was currently spending a stretch in prison for crimes she could not bring herself to think about any longer. Whatever damage Coco had done to her own reputation it was nothing compared to what Mordecai Stanic had inflicted on her.

‘Why are you sitting like that?’ a gruff voice called out from behind her.

A smile moved onto Coco’s lips. Although they spent most of the time bickering, she was fond of the young lieutenant who worked with her. Cedric Degarmo was a tall, athletic young man, with piercing blue eyes, a square jaw and rough, buzz-cut hair. He was also a half-decent cop, Coco reasoned. He had been assigned to her on his first day in the job, a day he also spent delivering Coco’s third child on the filthy floor of a squat. She had called her child Cedric in honour of the man whose hand had guided him into the world, a fact she had since taken great pleasure in reminding the adult Cedric at every available opportunity, much to his chagrin. Whatever was between them, the two police officers had found a comfortable rhythm working together, despite the sparks of animosity which seemed to run through it.

Coco glanced down at her boots spread in front of her at uneven angles. ‘I’ve got wet feet and I’m trying to dry them off. What’s it to ya?’

Cedric opened his mouth to respond, but seemingly thought better of it.

‘What are you doing here, anyway?’ Coco demanded. ‘It’s the weekend. Don’t you have gyms to frequent or poor women to stalk?’

‘I’m always on call at the weekend,’ he shot back. ‘As I’m the only one without a family to spend time with...’ he stopped.

Coco launched herself into an upright position. ‘Well, ain’t you a peach. Sometimes family life is overrated.’ She turned her head. All the message had given her was an address. ‘Where the hell are we,

and why the hell all the secrecy?’ She stomped her foot against the ground, water oozing from her boot. ‘Not that I’m complaining, mind you. I’m all for overtime.’

‘Maybe you can buy yourself a new pair of boots?’ Cedric suggested.

Coco waved her boot in the air. ‘There’s plenty of life left in these old things yet,’ she stated. ‘All I need is some stronger tape. That’s the trouble with you youngsters. It’s all about chucking something away when it gets a little worn.’

‘A little?’ Cedric asked incredulously.

Coco blew a raspberry. ‘Where the hell are we?’ she demanded again. She looked around, as far as she could tell they were in the middle of a building site in the centre of Paris. Tall iron fences encased a tenement building in a sorry state of affairs. She surmised it was in the process of being demolished. The worksite was only a few steps away from another building. Coco strained her eyes to see it because it was surrounded by a tall brick wall with only a small gated entrance in the middle of it. As far as she could tell, whatever was behind the wall was in as much of a terrible state as the building which was about to be demolished. A sign hung above the wall. Abbaye Le Bastien.

‘Why are we here?’ Coco said, irritably stubbing out the cigarette. ‘All the call said was that they’d discovered stolen goods.’

Cedric shrugged. ‘Beats the hell out of me, that’s all I was told too.’
‘Are you the cops?’
Coco spun around. ‘For our sins, oui,’ she responded. ‘And you are?’
The man stared at her. He was tall, with a long pale face and tired eyes. He pressed his hand

against the hard hat he was wearing. ‘My name is Aaron Cellier. I’m in charge of this site,’ he snapped, fixing her with a bored look. ‘You took your almighty time to get here.’

Coco tipped her head behind her. ‘Well, it looks like there’s a monastery over there. Perhaps I can ask for forgiveness.’

Aaron Cellier nodded towards the demolition site. ‘You might need to when you see what I found in there.’

Coco flashed a look toward Cedric and they both knew what it meant. This is going to be a long day.