Blanc wanted to scream.
Interrogation was normally the Colonel"s cup of tea. The duty he excelled at but got to do so infrequently. Finally the opportunity had come. He"d jumped in with both feet, pressing, pouncing, friendly one minute, fierce the next. So far, it had come to nothing. He"d been at it all morning and Marcel Fournier, day-time tour company executive, suspected night-time drug dealer and subject of the inquiry, sat unruffled and uninterested. Blanc wanted to scream.
The Colonel could no longer sit opposite that smarmy grin. He paced the room and, rather than ask questions, threw them like darts. Blanc had lost control of his temper and the conversation.
Fournier blew a smoke ring into the air. “Let me understand,” he said, with amusement. “Your theory is I committed murde
