Page 37 of Gianna
This man, this mime artist, was lunging straight for her neck. Juliette's reactions kicked in, well-practiced with her years of training, and she twisted aside. Only just in time to avoid what would have been either a karate chop or a desperate grab.
His arm lashed out at her, knocking her off balance, and she fought to regain her footing, jumping back out of reach, not wanting to escalate the situation but very aware that it might spiral out of control in a moment.
"You're all the same! All the same!" he yelled in a desperate voice. "You police. You want to get us off the streets. You encourage tourists to complain. You are the real troublemakers!"
"We are not looking to cause trouble. We're just looking to ask you questions," Juliette repeated again, in French, and in what she thought was a reasonable tone.
Other street performers were glancing their way now, and she heard murmurs of "American." The performers were seeing that these were non-French police involved, and they were clearly getting angry, perceiving that foreign police were interfering, that their income and their right to perform in public might be in jeopardy.
A man with a cello stopped playing and looked their way. Two jugglers in clown outfits paused their show. A black-clad acrobat, about to do a tumbling sequence across the square, hesitated and glanced around.
Juliette felt a chill, because if the performers were already angry, already on the defensive, what was going to happen if they did need to clear them off the streets? She had no doubt that if they tried to make tonight safer by hustling all the performers away and banning them from doing business, they were going to have a mutiny as the artists insisted on their right to earn a living.
And it might be starting right here.
She'd thought her question was reasonable, but clearly it was not reasonable enough. The man stared at her with an uncompromising glare. And then, with a cry of rage, he lunged at her.
She was ready to defend herself, but she didn't get the chance, because Wyatt leaped forward, grabbing the man's arms.
"Now, calm down, just calm down," he said loudly, holding the struggling man firmly.
Juliette wasn't even sure if he knew a word of English, and Wyatt's grip on his arms was causing him to struggle even more.
Now the performers were crowding around, and they were asking questions in angry voices. Juliette felt her heart sink. Just as she'd feared, this was going to cause major problems.
"Why is this happening? Are you threatening our livelihoods again?” the acrobat asked.
“We've gone to so much trouble to get our licenses. You police make the paperwork impossible! Now you are threatening us and questioning us?" The two jugglers looked furious.
The pressure was on. Now, they had an angry crowd to cope with, and they had to subdue and question this street performer. After all, he might be the guilty man; they might have found him.
"We will answer your questions in a moment," Juliette said in rapid French. “Please will you wait. This is not about the licensing or your right to be here. It’s about the murders.”
“And you blame us?” the clown shouted, outraged.
Meanwhile Juliette turned back to Charl. He was looking furious, but with Wyatt holding him tightly by both arms, he'd stopped struggling.
However, the way he had lunged for her neck had been a shock, and perhaps a giveaway.
Wyatt half dragged, half escorted the reluctant Charl away from the crowds.
He'd shown aggression and he'd shown motive. With a situation ready to explode, she now needed to urgently confirm his whereabouts at the time of the recent crimes.
Either he was guilty enough for them to bring him in, or he wasn't. If he wasn’t, she didn’t think that dragging him off to a police van would be helpful in any way. So, onsite questioning was the best way forward.
"Where were you yesterday evening?" she asked, once they were far enough away from the others to be out of earshot.
"Why should I tell you that?" he shot back.
"Because we are investigating a murder," she said calmly. "We are police, and we have powers to get the information we need to. It's up to you. You can answer us here, or we can bring you in and you might spend the entire day in the police station even if you are innocent. If you tell us what we need to know, we will leave you alone."
Charl's expression changed slightly, and she thought he might actually be considering her words.
"You are not even the French police," he protested.
Juliette sighed. He was still being stubborn and uncooperative.
"We’re the FBI," she said, her voice still firm. "And if you won’t agree to being questioned here, we are going to take you in." She said the last part in English for Wyatt’s benefit.
