The Templar Reprisals (The Best Thrillers Book 3) James Best (best books to read all time .txt) 📖

“You wouldn’t have a bottle of chardonnay in that pocket, would you?” Baldwin asked.

The policeman grinned. “I regret, Madame, we have no wine in this station. A pity.” His smile faded. “I am Capitaine Durandus and this is my colleague, Lieutenant Guerin.”

Guerin nodded.

Evarts knew these ranks equated to Chief Inspector and Inspector. The highest working ranks in the French police. Perhaps they did know about him killing two of the terrorists.

Durandus open a thin manila folder, “Let’s see. You are Mr. and Mrs. Evarts … or is that Baldwin?”

Evarts answered. “I am Greg Evarts, and this is my wife, Patricia Baldwin. My wife is a popular author and lecturer, so she retained her name after our marriage. It’s a common practice in the United States.”

“Yes, I know.” Durandus said. “But common or not, whoever designed our forms did not make an accommodation for this eventuality.”

He gave Evarts a look that conveyed that this bureaucratic gaffe was somehow his fault.

“Then fill out separate forms,” Baldwin said matter-of-factly.

“But you insisted on staying together … and now we must interview you together.” As if the thought had just occurred to him, he added, “Why was that?”

“Why would you even ask such a thing?” Baldwin’s tone conveyed peevishness. “We were innocent bystanders to a bloody terrorist attack. Are you suggesting you’d have preferred to isolate us from each other? That would have been heartless … cruel.”

A gallic shrug. “Perhaps, Madam, but as your husband knows, that would have been standard police procedure.”

Durandus gave Evarts a pointed look. They knew. The chief inspector had not been delayed interviewing other witnesses; he had been checking their background.

Evarts returned the hard stare.

“Is that not correct, Chief Evarts?”

“Correct in the case of a crime,” Evarts said, “but when married witnesses have been subjected to an emotional ordeal like a car crash or mass shooting, we allow them to console each other.”

“But a crime may have been committed,” Durandus said.

“May? I understand the need to refer to perpetrators as alleged, but I believe your morgue can confirm that a crime was committed.”

“A crime beyond the terrorist attack,” Durandus clarified.

Evarts didn’t speak. As police chief of Santa Barbara, California, he knew better than to volunteer information without understanding what the questioner already knew.

Durandus sighed. “Chief Evarts, we—”

“Please call me Greg.” Evarts interrupted.

“This is not an informal interview. Your professional position is important to our inquiry.”

“No, it isn’t,” Evarts said quietly, but firmly. “Capitaine Durandus, please get to the point. Otherwise, we’re leaving. It’s been a rough day.”

“Indeed.” Durandus again tried the hard stare. When Evarts didn’t buckle, he did an abbreviated gallic shrug. “Very well. As you should have surmised, we have cameras on Pont Neuf. I watched you expertly kill two sword wielding terrorists as if they were a mere nuisance to your crossing the bridge. Impressive for a policeman. Highly impressive for an administrator … what do you call them in the states … ah, yes, a desk jockey.”

“Your point?”

“Why were you on that bridge at that time?”

Baldwin slapped the table. “That’s your question? Not what did we see? Did you ask your other witnesses, why were you at a tourist site on a glorious Paris evening?” She stood. “Come on, Greg, were going to our hotel. I need a drink … and I don’t need to sit around in this godawful room responding to insipid questions.”

Evarts put a restraining hand on his wife’s arm. “I understand, Trish, but have a seat for a second. The Capitaine has piqued my interest.” She gave him a dirty look as she reluctantly sat back down. “Capitaine Durandus, in answer to your question, we had an eight thirty reservation at Sequana. Easily checked. Assuming your questions have a point, please get to it, or my wife and I will return tomorrow to give a statement.”

Durandus leaned forward. “Are you a Mason?”

Evarts fell against the back of his chair. “Yes.” His tone curt to show his frustration. “You really can’t be direct, can you?”

Piqued, Durandus leaned into Evarts. “How’s this for direct: Are you a Templar?”

Evarts slowly bent forward to meet Durandus eyeball to eyeball. “A Templar? Like in the Knights Templar? What the hell are you talking about?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“No, I am not a member of the Templars and I have no knowledge of any organization by that name. Does it even exist?”

“I’m afraid so. Templars killed the other four terrorists.”

Evarts tried not to react.

Durandus leaned even closer. “The four you didn’t kill.”

Chapter 3

“They’re vigilantes,” Durandus explained.

Evarts understood.

“And you think I’m one of them?”

“Put yourself in our shoes. What would you suspect?”

“I don’t like your choice of words. Are we suspects?”

“You were in the right place at the right time. You killed two of the terrorists.” Durandus held both palms up. “And you’re a mason.”

“What do masons have to do with it?”

“Since the Fifteenth Century, Masons have harbored the Templars. But you already know that.”

“I know no such thing. I’ve never heard anything like that in my lodge.”

“Are you allowed to divulge your level within the masons?”

“You obviously confirmed my membership while we cooled our heels. Some call Masons a secret society, but membership is not secret. Many even wear a ring. I can’t believe it’s relevant but I’m second degree.”

Guerin started writing for the first time.

“Just above apprentice.”  Durandus appeared perplexed. “I’d conclude that you were lazy and unambitious … except that you climbed from patrolman to chief.”

“I take policing seriously.”

“But not the Masons?”

“Membership in the Masons helped me advance in my department. The club also eases my relationships with town leaders. I’m not a joiner … and don’t like clubs.” Now Evarts shrugged. “I do the minimum.”

“I see,” Durandus said noncommittedly.

“I don’t,” Evarts said. “Are you saying that four terrorists were killed by real Templar Knights and they’re affiliated with Masons? I’m sorry, but that’s nuts.”

“We don’t know as much as we’d like, but it appears that the Templars are affiliated with the Scottish Masons but use