Crossing the Line
by Frédérique Molay
We are delighted to welcome mystery author Frédérique Molay to Omnimystery News today.
Frédérique's second Paris homicide mystery (after The 7th Woman) is Crossing the Line (Le French Book) with Chief of Police Nico Sirsky. The ebook format is published in July 2014, with the trade paperback following in September.
We are pleased to introduce you to this book with an excerpt from the first chapter.
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NICO SIRSKY BREATHED DEEPLY, concentrating on his stride. His arms were bent at ninety degrees, and his eyes were focused straight ahead. The harsh cold bit his cheeks, but he kept a good pace, pain notwithstanding. He had been shot in the leg a few months earlier, and he was still re- covering from the injury. The endorphins raced through his body. The effort felt good.
A Radiohead album given to him by his son, Dimitri, hammered his ears. The hit "Creep" brought his thoughts back to Caroline. "You're just like an angel. Your skin makes me cry … I wish I was special. You're so fucking special." This morning, she was already at Saint Antoine Hospital, where she ran the gastroenterology department. Nico had gotten up and gone for a run when she left. The exercise helped him chase away the ghosts of those he had locked up and their ravaged victims. This curious moment at dawn, between night and morning, put him in a parallel universe. The glow of the city dazed him with its dance of headlights, streetlamps, window neon, and floating strings of Christmas decorations setting the trees ablaze. The silent forms that crossed his path went from shadow to light before disappearing around a bend or into a subway entrance. Everything seemed unreal, and with the music, he felt as though he were racing through a movie set. There he was, an extra amid overall indifference, belting along as if the devil were hot on his tail.
Nico had started his jog at the Esplanade des Invalides, skimmed around the Eiffel Tower, circum- vented the Arc de Triomphe, and made his way along the Champs-Élysées to the Concorde. Then he ran past the Tuileries Gardens and the Louvre. His next milepost: the Luxembourg Gardens. He could hear Commander David Kriven, one of the Criminal Investigation Division's twelve squad chiefs, teasing him about how ridiculous it was to take the right bank to get from the Invalides to the Sénat. There were more direct routes and certainly less strenuous means of transportation than on his one good leg.
It had been only three months since the surgeon had operated on Nico's leg. After that, he had dived into intensive physical therapy — there was no way he would concede the slightest victory to the bastard who had targeted him. Nico had braved it all, even if it meant clenching his teeth and swallowing painkillers. Spread the word: Chief Nico Sirsky was back full time in his fourth-floor office at the Paris police headquarters, 36 Quai des Orfèvres. He had returned to his old brown- leather chair and his giant worktable filled with case files and police complaints. He was once again leading his team of a hundred or so elite crime fighters. Just as important, he had put his stormy divorce and the sudden departure of his depressed ex-wife behind him. He had custody of their fourteen-year-old son, and now Dimitri, Caroline and he were a real family.
In the middle of the Pont des Arts, Nico felt transported to a snowy scene in Russia, his family homeland. The roofs resembled mountaintops in the Caucasus. In front of him, in place of the golden dome of the Institut de France — home of the Académie Française — he imagined the red façade of Moscow's Saint Basil's Cathedral. Nico smiled at the thought of Paris strutting its stuff, no matter the weather. Come rain, wind, or snow, his city revealed all her finery with the same charm, like an experienced, elegant, and spellbinding woman. The Seine River rippling beneath him complemented the magic.
Returning to the Left Bank, Nico slipped on a thin layer of white powder that carpeted the pavement. He recovered his footing just as he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Who could be calling at such an early hour? Going by probability alone, he guessed it was headquarters. Like a praying mantis lying in wait for its quarry, death stalked the city's alleys, dead ends, and gardens in the hours before dawn. And the most pious-looking killer could strike at dizzying speed.
Caroline's name appeared on the screen with a text message. "I love you. Be careful." Nico felt a knot in his throat; never before had he had such strong feelings for a woman. "Luv U 2," he answered as he sped up, running in pace with the sensual harmony of The xx, with its distant guitars and troubling blend of refinement and brutality.
He finished with a sprint down the Rue Oudinot. He typed in the gate code and pushed his way into a small private alley lined with a few handsome homes. This was his corner of paradise, near the Tour Montparnasse. He entered his house and took off his sopping-wet running shoes. In the hallway, a note was hanging from the coat rack: "Hi Dad. Hope you're okay. Off to school. Later. D." Nico looked at his watch. It was seven thirty. He sighed and went upstairs, in great need of a hot shower. The water spurted out, calming him, and Nico imagined Caroline's gentle hands soaping him up, her mouth glued to his.
"Stop that, would you!" he said out loud. He rinsed quickly and stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist and going into his room — their room. Caroline had kept her apartment but came here more and more often.
Nico put on a suit and tie and then unlocked the safe at the back of the closet. He grabbed his holstered gun and felt its weight in his hand. Friend or enemy? Life or death? A gun protected as much as it threatened. As he attached it to his belt, the cold, hard reality struck him again. He hated having to use his gun, but like so many other things in this world — crime, separation, illness, loss — he had to deal with it.
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Photo provided courtesy of
Frédérique Molay
Writing has always been a passion for Frédérique Molay. She graduated from France's prestigious Science Po and began her career in politics and the French administration. She worked as Chief of Staff for the Deputy Mayor of Saint-Germain-en-Laye, and then was elected to the local government in Saône-et-Loire. Meanwhile, she spent her nights pursing a passion for writing she had nourished since she wrote her first novel at the age of eleven. She has five books to her name, with three in the Chief Inspector Nico Sirsky series.
For more information about Sylvie, please visit her author page on the Le French Book website.
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Crossing the Line
Frédérique Molay
A Paris Homicide Mystery
It's Christmas in Paris. Chief of Police Nico Sirsky returns to work after recovering from a gunshot wound. He's in love and rearing to go. His first day back has him overseeing a jewel heist sting and taking on an odd investigation. Dental students discovered a message in the tooth of a severed head. Is it a sick joke?
Sirsky and his team of crack homicide detectives follow the clues from an apparent suicide, to an apparent accident, to an all-out murder as an intricate machination starts breaking down.
Just how far can despair push a man? How clear is the line between good and evil?
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