"Eh bien, Grayson. Here is what I need from you. There is a prison somewhere in England that will soon release a certain prisoner. Press upon your connections and find out if he is available for work, and if you can be his parole officer if he comes here. Will you do that?"
"Sure." She made a note of the name. "Scotland Yard ought to be able to dredge him up pretty fast. What's he in for, do you know?"
"Homicide." Bourriac smiled slightly. "He murdered his last employer."
"Why did I ask," Grayson muttered. "And you want to hire him."
"He was recommended to me," Bourriac replied.
"All right, let me see what I can do." She made a few more notes. I forgot about a Sûreté Inspector being Bourriac's old school chum. "Anything else?"
"Oui. Another name." Bourriac spelled it. "Fifteen or sixteen years old, I think. Not in jail, but the beginnings of a police record in Marseille. I want to know more about him."
"No problem."
"I should hope not."
Grayson guessed, "I don't suppose he's got Saint-Sébastien blood in him somewhere."
"He got clocked speeding down the main street of Marseille at 300 k.p.h. at three in the morning in a stolen vehicle," said Bourriac.
"So, the answer to that question is yes." Grayson made a brief note. "If he's not in too much trouble. There's only so much I can do, too."
"I shall believe that when I see it, Bailiff," said Bourriac, and suddenly grinned.
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