“What does a special tactics squadron do exactly?”

I shrugged. “You know, stuff that we can’t talk about mostly.”

The BRI people sat there looking at me blankly while they digested what I’d just said. Rigalle was looking at me curiously. I guess he was trying to decide what exactly I was, to him.

Then Martaud started again. “Bon, can you tell me what it is that brings you to Alencourt?”

“My mother spent time here as a kid.”

“Staying with family, the Vaugeois.”

“That’s right.”

“Regarding the attack, do you see a connection to your military service perhaps?”

“There is no connection to my service.”

She thought for a moment. “How long do you intend to stay?”

“I have no specific plans. Maybe a month, might be a year. Depends.”

Rigalle laughed. “Depends upon what, Monsieur Keeler?” Martaud glanced back at the uniformed cop.

“On how I feel.”

Martaud turned to the big guy behind her and nodded. Caro shuffled his chair forward, made it to the table and opened up the laptop. When he spoke, his voice was low-pitched and hoarse. Which is just one side-effect of steroid use. “Can you please repeat what you told the municipal police this morning?”

I repeated the story. He stabbed at the keys with two massive fingers. Then excused himself from the room. Martaud opened up her file folder. She slid a mug shot towards me. “Recognize him?” I didn’t, and said so. She kept on going. All young men in their late teens and early twenties. Most looked like they had North African ethnic origins. I kept on rejecting the mug shots. She kept on sliding more at me. None of them matched. We did that for a while, around forty mug shots. She didn’t look happy or unhappy. Just going through the motions.

The giant came back in with a sheet of paper. Passed it over to Martaud, who read it over.

“Alright that’s fine. If you would sign this declaration form we can make your statement official.” I took the sheet from her. My French conversation was a lot better than my reading. But I got by, more or less. Martaud passed a pen over. I signed. Gave the pen and the document back to her.

“Thank you, Monsieur Keeler. I hope that this does not come as a shock to you, but there has been another robbery using a bladed weapon in the same area today.”

“Let me guess, the victim didn’t make it.”

“I’m afraid not. Stabbed in the heart. The victim died at the scene.”

I chewed on that for a moment. I felt terrible suddenly. I had pulled my punches with the muggers this morning. I should have gone all in. Now someone was dead. Maybe a good guy. It wasn’t my fault, but that didn’t make me feel any better.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Do you have any leads?”