French Connection Vol. 3 Read Free Page B

along any information he saw about Alizee or any of the property she owns.” He opened the envelope and pulled out two light tan folders. He handed them both to me without a word.
    I hesitated, then took them. I was pretty sure I didn't want to see what was inside, but I opened the top one anyway.
    And immediately regretted it.
    I forced myself not to push it away. Doing the kind of work I'd done for the past year, I'd seen some pretty gruesome things, but it never got any easier. I had more than one person tell me that when it started getting easy, that's when it was time to get out. If this was the indication, then I was still good because the crime scene photo I was looking at made me regret having eaten.
    “North Star,” Pierre said. “Or, that is the name she used at work. There is no record of a real identity.”
    “Stripper?” I forced the word past the bile threatening to rise.
    “At one of Alizee's clubs,” he confirmed. “And rumor says she was paid for more than taking off her clothes.”
    “So she was a prostitute.” I made it a statement. I flipped through the pictures, each one showing another brutal angle to the crime.
    He nodded. “Three prior arrests for solicitation.” He gestured toward the paper I was currently on. Her mug shot showed a once-pretty blonde who'd definitely lived a hard life. She looked decades older than her twenty-three years.
    “The last page is the...” He frowned as he searched for the word. “Death report?”
    “Autopsy report?” I asked as I turned to that page. He nodded, but I didn't need the confirmation. While it was written in French, I'd seen enough of these to recognize the similarities. I glanced at it and then looked to Pierre for translation.
    “She was strangled,” he said. “But the other injuries happened when she was alive.”
    I inhaled a slow, shaky breath. Whoever had done this had enjoyed it. I closed the first file and opened the second. Even though I was prepared this time, it didn't make things easier. Especially since half of the girl's face was missing. I managed to keep myself from being sick, but it was a close call.
    “Daria Petrova. Sixteen-year-old runaway from Russia.” Pierre said, leaning close enough that his arm brushed against mine. “Shot in the back of the head.”
    “Also a prostitute?” I asked the question even though I was pretty certain of the answer.
    “Yes,” he said. “Found beaten, raped and shot two days after North was found.”
    “Did she also work in one of Alizee's clubs?” I breathed a sigh of relief as I closed the file, even though I knew I'd never truly get those images out of my head.
    “There is no record of her,” he said.
    “Which doesn't mean she wasn't working the same place North was,” I reasoned.
    Pierre nodded. “Both girls were last seen at the club where North worked and were found in the same alley.”
    “You think Alizee had something to do with this,” I said, another statement, no question.
    “I do,” he admitted. “I believe North did, said or saw something she wasn’t supposed to and Alizee killed her for it.” He took both of the files and slid them back into the envelope. “I believe Daria saw the murder and was executed.”
    “Did you tell your police contact that?” I asked.
    He frowned. “I did, but there is no evidence to support my claim. My contact will not present this theory without more than my word.”
    “What's the theory they're working with now?”
    “They were prostitutes. Their lives were full of danger,” he said. “It is to be expected that they would have a violent and young death.”
    “So they're not even going to look for the killer or killers?” I knew similar atrocities happened back home, a person's status prompting the intensity in which an investigation was done. It didn't make it any less wrong.
    “They will look,” he said. “But only if they have the time.”
    “And you're sure Alizee did this?”
    “I’m certain she gave the