The Model Spy

Chapter 9 - The Tour de Paris

Zach and I celebrated by ordering room service. The papers and case files laid out on the table were replaced by plates upon plates of foods with names we could barely pronounce. I ate like a pig, making up for all of the calories I had been missing the previous days, no longer worried about fitting into that ball gown before Fashion Week.

To put the cherry on top of our night, Fred called back. He had found a boatload of information on the murderer.

Zach and I sat at the table, shoving food into our mouths, as Fred relayed the information to us over the laptop. "His name is Andre Gaston." A mug shot of the man flashed up on the screen. Once more his beady, dark eyes made me uneasy. I swallowed hard.

"He's fifty-two years of age and was released from prison three years ago. He was charged with stalking and endangering the life of a female model, Clarissa Giles.” Fred looked at us closely. “Coincidently, she was one the first ones murdered in this string of crimes."

He shuffled a few papers in his hands. “After sending an inquiry to the French police, I received fingerprints found on the bodies of several of the deceased models, including Cosette Clary. All of the traces we found led back to Gaston.”

Zach pushed his nearly empty plate to the side and got down to business. "Do you know his address or where he spends his time? We could possibly catch him."

Fred pulled another piece of paper from a large pile. "He lives in a flat on Rue St. Denis. 189." He looked at us apprehensively. “If you could just get him cornered in his flat and leave him there, we can get him. It will take some time to get backup, though. There’s been an incident at the UN conference.” My mouth fell open in shock. “Oh, nothing serious,” Fred insisted. “But the intelligence agencies from the permanent Security Council countries are busy.”

"We'll go tomorrow. Laura has another photo shoot at eleven and we will go from there."

I groaned. I totally forgot about that. There was so much going on with this case, the last thing I wanted to do was get dolled up and stand in front of a camera for two hours.

A phone buried beneath Fred’s papers began to ring. Fred hurriedly sifted through the piles, searching for his phone. "I've a meeting to attend. Be careful." The screen went black, leaving Zach and me at the large table with food that suddenly no longer seemed appetizing.

"Shouldn't you be at the bus station with your girlfriend?" I laughed as we walked past the front desk the next morning. A man was sitting in the woman’s usual place, his bald head shiny under the chandelier’s light. "She's probably waiting for you."

"Her husband must be severely lacking in the love area,” Zach said as he put his hand on his neck. I didn't have to ask what he was covering up.

"Obviously, if she was going crazy for you," I jested. Clearly any girl would go crazy for him. Until they met him. Being a jerk was a turnoff no matter how tall, dark, and handsome a guy was.

I couldn’t control my giggles. Just thinking of the woman sucking on Zach’s face was enough to prompt side-splitting laughter.

“Wait until you see how funny it is,” Zach retorted. “If we ever have to get into the control room again, it’s your turn.” He gestured to the overweight man sitting at the desk who was wiping his bulbous nose on his sleeve. “He’s not my type. But I’m sure you two will make a fine couple.” It was his turn to laugh as I let out an involuntary gag.

The guard at the agency welcomed us in with a wink towards me and a pat across Zach’s behind. Maybe the secretary wasn’t the only one with a little crush.

Again I was tortured for over an hour with makeup and hairspray. Clipboard Girl, clearly flustered, came up to me, her expression crazed and her forehead sweaty. "Today you are 'Girl at Eiffel Tower,'” she said. As quickly as she approached me, she spun around and cornered the next girl entering the room with such a shocking intensity and disregard for personal space that the young model backed herself into the brick wall.