Murder in the Palais Royal
“Sunbeams caught reflecting gleams from the chandelier’s prisms. Outside the window, the hum of afternoon traffic was punctuated by the blasts of a horn, the rumble of buses.
Saj liked spreading out on the floor. A bamboo curtain, a tatami mat, and a surge protector were all he required. He leaned over his laptop, long dirty-blond dreadlocks cascading down his back over his cotton muslin shirt. A leather strip held coral and turquoise beads, from his recent ashram stay in India, around his neck.
“Sounds like you want the pedigree,” he said.
“Whatever you call it. Hack into the bank, Saj.”
“That’s René’s metier.”
“Right, but René can’t help us,” she said. “We have to get to the bottom of this. This amount tripped off the alarms,” she said. “You know what that means.”
“Inquiries, freezing the account, tax audit, the usual?”
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