Tiptoe

Hervé had long ago stopped answering the phone as Lieutenant Deschamps, so he was surprised by the greeting of the woman calling.

“Lieutenant? Detective Julia Thierry, working with INTERPOL. I’m calling to let you know that we have new information on the Tiptoe Thief.”

“Really? That doesn’t surprise me. I imagine he made a death-bed confession in a pensioner’s home?”

“No, nothing like that. He’s struck again.”

Hervé thought about it. He’d chased the jewel thief for the last twenty-two years of his forty-year career. During that time, he’d closed hundreds of cases. The so-called “Tiptoe Thief” had, however, continued on a spree in fourteen countries, scoring a hit every month like clockwork, until he fell silent for the last eight years of Hervé’s investigation.

The theory at the time was that he’d had been jailed on some other charge, or died. Hervé thought that perhaps that he’d aged out of the high-risk jewel theft game. A new hit, however, would disprove that idea.

“What was stolen?”

“The Brilliant Set from the Danish Crown Jewels was stolen from the Amalianborg Museum.”

Hervé sighed. “What makes you think it’s our man?”

“The case was cleaned out in the middle of the day, with two guards and four cameras in the gallery. Nobody saw anything. They were there, then they weren’t. Two minutes of footage wiped. That…plus the Corinthian Emerald.”

“What about it?”

“It was left in place of the jewels.”

“A note?”

“There was an SD card under the emerald with a text file. Same kind of taunts.”

“So, either our guy is still alive and active again after twelve years of silence, or he’s trained someone new.” Hervé paused for a moment. “I can’t imagine he’d have passed on the emerald, though. That was the theft that caught our attention and earned his nickname in the press.”

“It’s possible that he finally made a mistake, though,” Julia said.

“What kind of mistake?”

“There was an eyelash in the case. We’re waiting on DNA results.”

“Are you working out of the Lyon headquarters?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be there in three hours.” Hervé hung up before she could protest and grabbed his coat and keys on his way out the door.

When he arrived and showed his ID he was escorted to Julia’s office. “Good to meet you,” he said, hand out for a shake. He was acutely aware of how grey and stooped he felt next to the young woman in front of him.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

“If you’ll allow it, I’d like to offer my services. Unpaid consultant, if that works for you.”

“I’ll take it.” She led him to the conference room where years of records about the Tiptoe Thief were spread across the large table.

He recognized the map he’d marked with the thief’s movements over the years. A new X on the map marked the museum in Denmark. To the right of the map was a dry erase board with “12 years?” in large, circled, red letters at the top.

Below that, the text file that had been found on the SD card was printed out and taped to the board. Hervé read it, finding nothing in it surprising, until the last lines.

This might be enough to pull Lt. Deschamps out of retirement. He loves to chase me as much I love to be chased. Miss you, Hervé. Sincerely, Tiptoe.

“Why do you think he’d come out of retirement now?” Julia asked.

“I’ve always held that he must be about my age,” Hervé said, “partly because of the sophistication of the targets. That idea was reinforced when his retirement was close to the time I was getting too old for field work. So, assuming he’s closing in on seventy like me, he may be feeling his mortality.

“One last hurrah before he shuffles off the mortal coil.”

“What about you?” Julia looked into Hervé’s tired eyes. “This is more than just closing an old case. Is this your last hurrah?”

“It might well be,” he said. “I’d really like to catch this guy.”

“Why don’t you get a hotel room and get some rest, Lieutenant. I’ll call when we have the DNA results.”

Hervé turned to leave, then stopped. “Where are they holding the Corinthian?” he asked.

“Police evidence lockup in Copenhagen.”

Hervé chuckled. “Tell them to check. I’d bet it’s disappeared. It did the job he wanted; proved his identity. Now, he’ll want it back.”

In the early hours of the next morning, Hervé got the call he’d been waiting for. He’d already showered and dressed, so was on his way out the door as he answered. “What have we got?”

“You were right about the Corinthian. I called right after you left, and after arguing with the desk sergeant, they agreed to check. It was gone, with a note that said, ‘The chase is on,’ and, ‘here’s a present.’ There was a hair folded neatly in the note.”

“The hair?” Hervé asked.

“Is already at their lab to test against the eyelash.”

“Maybe the eyelash wasn’t a mistake.”

Julia sighed. “Yeah, well, how soon can you get here?”

“On my way already. There in ten minutes.”

“You’ll find this…interesting,” she said.

Hervé entered the conference room where Julia was doling out assignments for agents to get in touch with other police agencies. He waited by the door until she’d finished relaying her orders.

“You have the DNA results. Did you find a match?” he asked.

“We did. Hervé, how many children do you have?”

“None.”

“Wrong,” she said. She handed him the report, showing that the eyelash belonged to his daughter.

“I…have a daughter?” He was confused. “But…how?”

“Hervé, when a man and woman like each other a whole lot—”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“So, you never had unprotected sex? Ever?”

“Once. But why wouldn’t I know about it?”

“Sometimes, a woman just wants a baby without dealing with a man.”

“I had a lover that begged for unprotected sex after she had been on the pill for a couple months. The day after we did, she went on a trip to Spain for a few weeks, then sent me a letter saying she was moving back to England.” Hervé frowned. “That can’t be it, though.”

“Why?”

“This wasn’t long enough ago. If her child was Tiptoe, she would have only been ten or eleven for the Corinthian heist.”

Julia was scribbling in her notebook. “What was her name? Are you still in contact with her?”

“Melissa Carter,” he said, “an English woman. We haven’t talked since she broke it off with that letter from Spain.”

“I’ll see what I can find on her. The early thefts were in the UK, and we thought the culprit might be English. I’ll check her travel history.” Julia looked at Hervé. “Do you think it’s possible that Ms. Carter is the original Tiptoe, and her daughter…your daughter…is following in her footsteps?”

“Funny you should use that terminology. Melissa had a congenital defect that required the use of braces and crutches to walk.” Hervé shook his head. “She wouldn’t have been able to access the crime scenes and leave unnoticed.”

“How did you meet?”

“She was studying forensic science at American University in Paris. Part of her program was intern work in our lab. After her graduation, we started seeing each other. That lasted about four months.”

Hervé spent the rest of the day assisting with the phone banking, calling departments in France, and sharing the information they had. He also requested the station in Copenhagen send all their surveillance video from the time the Corinthian arrived until they discovered it missing to the Lyon INTERPOL office.

He was watching the footage for the second time, focusing on the evidence access cage when Julia interrupted him. “It’s getting late,” she said, “you should get some dinner, get some rest. We can pick it up again in the morning.”

He nodded and closed the laptop he’d been using. His eyes were heavy and rather than the invigorated feeling he used to get when hunting a suspect, he felt wrung out, tired.

Rather than deal with the restaurant, Hervé called for room service and ordered a light dinner. He was resting his eyes when the knock on his door came.

He opened the door, and the young woman in the hotel uniform pushing the cart into the room looked familiar…but he knew he’d never seen her before.

“Your dinner, sir.”

He held out a banknote for a tip and she shook her head. “That’s not necessary. I just wanted to see you up close.”

“Do I know you?”

“Kind of, but not really.” She leaned against the door. “You’ve been chasing me a long time. And I think, all I ever wanted was to meet you, and get your attention.”

“You’re the Tiptoe Thief?” he asked.

“I hate that name, but yes. Sandra Carter. Mom didn’t tell me who you were until my tenth birthday.”

She slid down the door and sat on the floor. “She took me to the British Museum for my birthday and told me about the police detective she’d tricked into getting her pregnant. Said she felt bad about it, but not too bad, since she had me.

“She was in a wheelchair by then, and I was pushing her around the museum, thinking about how I could meet my father. She didn’t tell me your name, though.

“When I saw the Corinthian, I thought if I nicked it, the police would catch me, and I’d meet you. Stupid, I know.”

Hervé sat in stunned silence as she told her story.

“What I didn’t expect was how easy it was to lift the case just high enough for my little hands, grab the stone, stuff in the back of Mom’s wheelchair and walk out with it. I guess I kind of got hooked on it.”

“But you were so young.”

“I was,” she said. “Twelve years ago, Mom was diagnosed with bone cancer. I took care of her, considered myself retired…even got an honest job.

“When she passed last year, I went through her things in storage. She had collected every story that ever mentioned you in the papers. As much as she tried to tell me that you were nothing more than a sperm donor, I think she fell for you against her own wishes.”

Hervé had pulled out his cell phone to call Julia but had no service. Sandra pointed at the phone. “Sorry. There won’t be any service in this wing of the hotel for at least another twelve hours…until the batteries die.”

“You have to turn yourself in,” he said. “Now that we know who you are, you won’t be able to run forever.”

“We?” she asked. “I only see you here. You know who I am. Do I think you’ll rat me out? Probably. It was worth it, though, to meet you. I’ve seen pictures from when you were younger, and I’m not surprised Mom picked you.”

“Please, turn yourself in. You can go to the regular police if you want, rather than deal with INTERPOL directly.” Hervé locked eyes with her; they were Melissa’s eyes in shape and color. He could see her in Sandra. “If you turn yourself in, you won’t have to run forever, and I would visit you in prison, get to know you. I wish your mother had told me the truth. I would’ve been a part of your life.”

“I can’t turn myself in, Hervé...Dad. It would make some very dangerous people extremely nervous.” She gave him a sad smile. “This was one last attempt to meet you. After this, I’m retiring for good, and Sandra Carter will disappear from the face of the Earth.

“I won’t be completely gone, though. Now that I have your address from the hotel registry, I’ll send you the occasional postcard to keep in touch.”

She stood and reached for the door, pausing to turn back to Hervé. “Goodbye, Dad. It really was nice to meet you, finally.”

He knew he could go after her, stop her before she could leave the hotel, but something held him back. It was several minutes later that he left the room to find a signal and call Julia, though he didn’t know what he would say.