The Paris Lawyer
by Sylvie Granotier
We are delighted to welcome mystery author Sylvie Granotier to Omnimystery News today.
Sylvie's first crime novel to be translated into English is The Paris Lawyer (Le French Book) and was the winner of Le prix Sang d'encre in 2011. First published in the US in 2012 as an ebook, it is now available in trade paperback format.
We are pleased to introduce you to this legal procedural with an excerpt from the first chapter.
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ONE EARLY AFTERNOON, IN ALL OTHER ways like any other afternoon, her mother takes her out in her stroller, soothing her with a lilting mother's voice. She tells her about the wind that sings and then softens in the branches and the swallows that skillfully skim the pond for a few refreshing drops of water before flying into the clouds in perfect circles.
The little girl does not understand every word, but she follows her mother's fingers as they imitate playful birds gliding down to her face.
Then her mother and she will go home for snack followed by a nap.
It is a reassuring life, where nothing unexpected happens.
They stop at the edge of the woods, in the shade of the trees. The little girl toys with the light, squinting to change the intensity of the rays.
Before the screaming starts, before her mother's distant terror horrifies her in turn, before the panicked shrill pierces her ears, and the little girl takes refuge in sleep to bury an anxiety far too great for her to bear, her mother gives her a generous and warm hug, leaving her with the sight of the entire sky, and says, "I'll be right back." A final broken promise. Sitting as she is, the child cannot see the body, or what is left of it, sprawled on the ground, beaten to a pulp. Yet that moment of abandonment remains forever engraved in her adult memory.
The sky is calm and clear above the Seine River in Paris, where traffic is nervous and gray along the banks. Catherine Monsigny cannot figure out what links this fleeting moment with that fixed point in her past, that fuzzy, probably reconstructed memory that usually is tactful enough to leave her alone. She has even tried to convince herself that it has stopped broadcasting from that faraway land of her childhood.
She crosses the Pont Neuf, parking her scooter at the Place Dauphine. She mindlessly yanks off her helmet, banging her ears in the process, then stows it in her top box. Catherine shakes her head to free her hair, and grabs her briefcase and large bag.
She walks quickly toward the courthouse, cursing her short legs. She slips into her court robe as she climbs the steps, and by habit she automatically replaces those old uninvited images with a quick summary of the case she is about to defend.
Her client — what's his name again? Ah yes, Cedric Devers — is accused of assault and battery. He admits using force and justifies it by pointing out the harassment that preceded it. According to him, he met a woman — Monique Lemaire, fifty-six years old — in a bar, took her back to his place for a short session between consenting adults. Ciao, no see you next time, because there won't be one.
Monique did not see things the same way, harassed him by phone, and one night too many, she took to ringing her seducer's doorbell until he reacted. He opened the door. That was a fatal error. Stubborn with drink, she wouldn't take no for an answer and tried to force her way in. He had to stop the noise and ended up pushing her. She fell, which resulted in a few bruises and three days' disability leave.
Catherine has not yet met her client. They have spoken on the phone. She glances around to find him. He's not anywhere in sight. She pokes her head into the courtroom to check the proceedings.
The pending case is not yet over. Just as well. Her client will have the time he needs to arrive. Too bad for him. She does not like waiting. She paces.
"Maître Monsigny?" She senses fingers lightly brushing her shoulder, spins around, and looks into the deepest gray — or perhaps green — eyes she has ever seen. She feels as though she's falling into them. She grasps for something to catch her balance, and her professional composure kicks in, as it does every time. She throws him a sharp look and spits out, "Cedric Devers? You're late."
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Photo provided courtesy of
Sylvie Granotier
Author, screenwriter and actress Sylvie Granotier loves to weave plots that send shivers up your spine. She was born in Algeria and grew up in Paris and Morocco. She studied literature and theater in Paris, then set off traveling — the United States, Brazil, Afghanistan, and elsewhere, ending with a tour of Europe. She wound up in Paris again, an actress, with a job and some recognition. But she is a writer at heart.
For more information about Sylvie, please visit her author page on the Le French Book website.
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The Paris Lawyer
Sylvie Granotier
A Psychological Thriller
