‘I want to know who her clients were.’Peniel shifted in his chair.‘I don’t know why you’ve brought me here. You were told to lay off.’ Moncerre, standing by the window, filling his pipe, laughed.‘You’ve got a nerve,’ he said, ‘I’ll give you that. But I’ve had a word with a couple of my friends in Vice. They’ve had their eye on you for some time. They’d like us to give you to them. What do you say to that?’‘It’s absurd.’‘Absurd, is it?’ Moncerre said. ‘Then why are you sweating?’Peniel looked at Lannes.‘I just passed the message to you,’ he said, ‘that’s all I know.’Lannes pushed a couple of the nude photographs of Gabrielle Peniel across the desk.‘Did you take these?’‘What if I did?’‘Your own daughter … ’‘Perhaps.’‘Actually,’ Lannes said, ‘I couldn’t care less about the photographs.They don’t interest me, except for what they tell me about her, and more immediately about you. Which isn’t nice, admittedly, but then you’ve never been nice, have you?
