A Death in Time, page 22
The Padar family revelation was potentially of huge significance to the case and for Darac to choose this moment to ponder what many would have deemed a side issue may have appeared a waste of time. Whether the excursion proved fruitful remained to be seen but, honed in countless hours of improvising with the DMQ, Darac’s speed of thought was such that whole continents of possibility could be explored in no more than an instant.
It was gifted wordsmith Julien’s use of language that required a moment’s reflection. Of all the terms he could have used to describe Samira, he’d called her a “beautiful thing”. Wasn’t this objectification, impure and not so simple? And “slip away” he’d said. Darac guessed that before Julien thought better of it, he had been going to say “slip through my fingers” instead. What would that have implied about his concerns at losing this peerlessly perfect object, a prize not just to be held but held fast?
Was Darac reading too much into this? Perhaps, but his interpretation was consistent with earlier observations. From Eric Cauvin’s reference to Julien’s persistent pleading in the “lovers’ spat” he’d witnessed, to the young man’s use of the crypto-coercive Marvell poem, there were more than just connotations of manipulation here. As always, every line of enquiry would be rigorously pursued and it might soon become apparent that Julien’s account of the antediluvian sexual mores, financial vulnerability and readiness to employ strong-arm tactics of the Padar family may hold the key to the whole case. For the time being, though, Julien himself was squarely in the frame for Samira’s murder.
‘And so it was in the role of Samira’s champion that you went off to Avenue Primerose to have it out with Dilip?’
‘If you’re ridiculing me about it, I don’t care. But note this, Captain. At least three of Dilip’s neighbours came out of their apartments – I could tell you which ones – and they saw and heard him threaten me.’
‘You had just assaulted the man, Monsieur. Painfully.’
‘It’s what he threatened me with. Something along the lines of “You’re dead, Baille. Hear me? Dead!” ’ He indicated the evidence bag containing the postcard. ‘And the following morning, that card-carrying goon turns up at my door.’
‘The fact that a third party delivered the message is suggestive, I grant you. And yes, in its form and content, the message is threatening. But if the messenger had had orders to beat you up or worse, he wouldn’t have turned up on the campus to do it. The intention, I suspect, was to intimidate you which it signally failed to do, didn’t it? You went about your work normally, went off to training on your bike in the evening as normal, opened the door to me just now without having the faintest idea who I was, and so on.’
‘You know my routines?’
‘Do you own or have access to a car here?’
‘No.’
‘But you hold a current driving licence.’
‘Yes. Look, who have you been speaking to about me?’
‘We’ll come to that but back to the message and the messenger. Did you recognise him? Was he a member of the Padar family, do you think?’
‘I’d never seen him before and if he was a member of the family, he was a very distant one. Samira was drop… Samira was beautiful and although he’s overweight, most would say Dilip is a pretty good-looking fellow. Although I only saw the goon through the fisheye distortion of the peephole, he was obviously an ugly piece of work. I would definitely recognise him again, incidentally.’
Darac reflected that while the Brigade would probably give at least some credence to such evidence, the courts would not. In a recent case, the testimony of just such a fish-eyewitness had been thrown out and the case lost. ‘But rest assured, we will be following up this and other aspects of the story of Monsieur Dilip Padar.’
Astonishment now. ‘Following it up? Considering he or his henchman killed my beloved, I should hope you would. Dilip warned her to stop seeing me or else, Captain. She was frightened. And now she is dead.’
‘Let’s look at last evening’s training session in more detail. You arrived by bike, locked it to one of the stanchions close by the changing rooms as usual, took part in the session as did Samira who had arrived later than you in her car—’
‘Dilip’s car. Dilip’s apartment. Dilip’s everything. That’s what he wanted. To own Sam’s very being, Captain. And I can tell who you’ve been talking to. Eric. The creep.’
‘Why creep?’
‘His eyes are everywhere.’
‘Appropriate for a night watchman, don’t you think?’
‘He’s too… familiar. Sad little man.’
So according to Julien, Sam’s flatmate was a “harridan,” Eric, a “creep.” A pattern was emerging here.
‘And at the end of the session, did you and Samira leave the track together? Did you speak?’
‘I run the 3,000 metres steeplechase, as you know. Sam, I’m sure you also know, was training for the 800 flat. Although there are overlaps, the regimes are different and we usually left the track at different times, then met up after showering.’
‘And is that what happened yesterday?’
‘Uh… We didn’t meet afterwards. The last thing I saw her doing in this life was beginning a set of interval sprint reps.’
‘That being?’ No response. ‘Monsieur?’
‘What? Oh, does it matter?’
‘The fuller the picture we’re able to form, the better.’
‘Alright. Interval sprint training varies but in Sam’s case, it meant sprinting thirty metres, recovering, going again. Six reps make a set.’
‘Was she doing this alone?’
‘No. She was with Grace – Grace Nahili, the heptathlete – and Mac, one of the coaches. Kevin Macdonald.’
‘I see. After you had showered, you didn’t wait for her?’
‘No. And I didn’t shower until I got back here. To be honest, I’d been in a bit of a state all evening, I guess. The Padar family pressure thing finally getting to Sam had really got to me. She had even blanked me earlier in the evening. As good as. I just wanted to get away as quickly as I could.’
‘And so, as far as Samira was concerned, your relationship was over?’
‘So she had said but I was convinced I could make her see sense. What we had was too beautiful to lose.’ He stared into space. ‘Now, I’ll never have the chance.’
‘What time did you leave the car park last evening?’
‘It was 9.02.’
‘That’s very exact.’ And it was instantly recalled, too. A prepared answer? ‘Isn’t it?’
‘You asked me when I left? That’s when I left.’
‘I understood sessions are scheduled to finish at 9.30?’
‘I’d done all I needed to on the track and as I told you, I just wanted to get away.’
‘Can anyone corroborate the time you left the Stade?’
‘You mean, did anyone witness my leaving?’
‘Answer the question.’
‘The creepy Eric saw me, I imagine.’
‘No. The man whose “eyes are everywhere” didn’t see you leave.’
‘Well, he must have been…’ As if demeaned by having to give the question any further thought, Julien made a dismissive gesture with his hand. ‘I don’t know.’ But then he had something. ‘Yes! That clown Koko saw me – Ade Okoko, the so-called long jumper. He’s usually the last into the rooms after the session but he was coming off early because he’d tweaked a hamstring.’ He suddenly saw the value of the recollection. ‘And, Captain. He didn’t just see me leave. We exchanged a few words.’
‘Where did this exchange take place, exactly?’
‘By the players’ car park gate. I’d just got on my bike and a couple of pedal strokes later, he called out a parting comment about Emil – that’s the ox in human form that is shot-putter Emil Arcot. It was some drivel about him being in a good mood this evening, which since he’s always so sickeningly upbeat most of the time, I didn’t understand. Anyway, I didn’t answer and carried on. Incidentally, I heard a couple of other voices behind me heading for the rooms. I didn’t see who they were but they may well have seen me.’
Assuming the story checked out, it appeared that Julien had at least cycled away from the immediate vicinity but what was to say he hadn’t lain in wait for Samira somewhere along the lane or elsewhere?
Julien’s relief at recalling his encounter with stricken long jumper Ade Okoko proved short-lived. ‘Just a minute, Captain. Just a minute. Your trying to establish when I left the car park can only mean one thing, can’t it? Please don’t tell me how, alright? But surely, it means that Sam was murdered there or nearby? I… can’t believe it.’ He shook his head and, his words emerging on an exhausted breath, said: ‘I can’t believe anything about this.’
‘Except that Dilip and/or his associate was responsible.’
‘What? Oh. As it obviously did happen – yes. That I do believe.’
‘Where did you go after you cycled away? Back here to the Résidence?’
‘Where else?’
‘When did you arrive?’
‘9.20.’
Even for a top-class athlete, that was some going, wasn’t it? ‘It took you less than 20 minutes to ride from the Stade to here? In traffic?’
‘It took 19 minutes, 25 seconds. A PB for the ride, despite, or perhaps because of everything.’
‘PB?’
‘Personal best.’
‘I see.’
The fixation with exact timings fitted Julien’s profile, Darac realised, and it potentially explained the speed with which he’d recalled the time he’d cycled away from the players’ car park. Arriving at the Résidence half an hour before Samira had left the Stade went some way to putting him in the clear for her murder but to corroborate this, he would need at least one human or foolproof electronic witness to replicate Ade Okoko’s role at the start of the ride.
‘Be aware that we’ll check if the onsite CCTV backs up your statement.’ And there were potentially other ways of checking his story. ‘Right?’
‘Fine with me.’
Julien’s nonchalance over this suggested he was telling the truth. But what if he knew the cameras were out of action? Or perhaps he knew how to bypass them in the same way that his postcard-wielding visitor had managed to sidestep the building’s key code entry system that same morning. And what was to say he hadn’t ridden back to the Stade?’
‘On arriving here, what did you do first?’
‘Locked up my bike in the rack store downstairs.’
‘And then came straight up to your room?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you talk with anyone en route?’
The question, it seemed, merited a considered answer. ‘Talk? No. But someone was emerging from the lift as I headed for the stairs. A couple of people, actually. Didn’t notice who it was but they may well have noticed me.’
Since it wasn’t his forte, it was with a little unease that Darac decided it was time to bring IT to the table.
‘Did you call Samira yesterday at any point? Or text her?’
‘I don’t mind admitting that I texted her and left voicemails many times during the day.’
A clever killer usually in regular phone contact with their victim will continue calling and messaging them after the event since not to do so would appear suspicious.
‘After the session, too? Did you attempt to contact her then?’
‘No.’
Darac managed to keep his expression neutral. ‘Nor after you arrived home and felt more positive about things?’
‘No.’
Doubly suspicious? Potentially.
‘Why didn’t you?’
‘Sam hadn’t answered anything all day so I made up my mind to try and see her in person. Today.’ The word sticking in his throat, he coughed drily. ‘I need water. Lob over that rucksack next to you, will you?’ Another cough. ‘Or just lob the bottle and then you can rummage through the rest of it for weaponry.’
‘I’m most certainly going to check through it, Monsieur.’ It was clean. ‘Here.’
He took a couple of long pulls and set the bottle down beside him.
Had Julien called or messaged Samira from the Résidence just once at about the time she was killed, he would have taken the heat off himself. But Darac knew that the young man’s phone or laptop GPS could still come to his rescue. ‘Did you call, or send or receive a message to anyone after you arrived back here?’
He didn’t appear to appreciate the significance of the question. ‘For what it’s worth, I emailed my father.’
‘At what time was that?’
‘Not until I turned in. Just before midnight, it was.’
‘I see.’ Whether Julien realised it or not, the answer didn’t help him. Darac had one last IT card to play, one that might prove decisive either way. ‘Once you had arrived here, how did you spend your evening?’
‘What does—’
‘How did you spend it?’
‘Talk about a police state… I showered, like I said. For some time, actually. I felt the need. Then, I read for well over an hour.’ He indicated his bookshelves as if the provenance of the reading matter was at issue. ‘Then I just sat thinking until I decided to go to bed.’
‘Did you look up anything on a website at all?’
‘Uh… no.’
‘Not all evening?’
The light of comprehension dawned in his eyes. ‘Ah. I see why you want to know these things. It’s to locate where I was when… it happened. No. Unfortunately, I didn’t even turn my laptop on. Not in the mood for work.’
‘Pity, Monsieur. For you, that is.’
‘Look, Captain. Don’t you believe what I’ve been telling you about Dilip Padar and his whole rotten family set-up?’
‘We’ve been through that already but I’ll repeat myself. Our investigation will reveal everything pertinent to the case in due course. And I mean everything. If you are innocent of this appalling crime, and at this stage I am by no means certain you are, you have absolutely nothing to fear.’
Julien shook his head. ‘You suspect me of murdering the thing I loved most in the world? This is a nightmare.’ He jumped to his feet. ‘A fucking nightmare!’
While Darac sat calmly observing him, the young man spent the next half-minute amply exposing the short fuse to which his explosive temperament was wired.
‘Finished?’ Darac said, as his mobile throbbed against his chest.
At last appearing to realise that he was undermining his own position, Julien took a couple of deep breaths and did as he was directed.
‘Thank you. We’ll continue in a second.’
The message was from Erica: Paul, I’ve just added Samira Padar’s call and text log to the case file and I read a few of the latter. Transcripts included. No deletions of any kind within the last 7 days. On the surface, it all looks routine. You’ll notice that the last message in was a CC’d mail-shot to the athletics team sent at 11.37 yesterday, confirming details of the evening’s training session. And the last message out was to one Zoë Laborde sent at 13.07 the day before in which, as you’ll see, Samira thanks her profusely for the excellent and prompt work she did on setting up her new laptop. She concludes by promising to post a stellar review to that effect on Zoë’s website. I checked it out. The poor young woman never got around to it. Kisses, Erica.
Where, Darac wondered, were the texts and unanswered calls Julien had mentioned? There were two obvious possibilities.
‘Monsieur Baille, we are having this conversation because, as you are all too painfully aware, you are a person of interest in a murder enquiry. At this stage, you are neither charged nor held for questioning and although I wouldn’t advise it, you could end this conversation right now.’
‘At which point, Captain,’ Julien said, his mouth curling sourly, ‘you would cart me off to the Caserne Auvare, no doubt.’
‘You may be less aware that at this early stage of our conversation, should I deem it necessary to seize any of your property for examination, I would be required to obtain official clearance in the form of a warrant from the Palais de Justice. Which, without question, I would be granted. However, wheels at the Palais can turn slowly at times. It could help you and me both if you simply showed me yesterday’s call and message list on your mobile. Unless you deleted those entries in which case it would be necessary to take steps.’
Julien thought about it and Darac could see it was taking him to a place of desolation.
‘I didn’t delete the entries. I didn’t delete the messages themselves. You can read them. I’m not ashamed of hating the thought of losing Sam.’ He indicated his rucksack once more. ‘My phone’s in there as you no doubt saw. May I?’
‘Go ahead.’
Julien rose, opened the phone and showed the relevant entries to Darac. A quick perusal was all it took to corroborate the young man’s account of his call and message traffic from the previous day – including his email to one Jean-Claude Baille sent just before midnight. And it also established something of equal if not greater importance: Samira had had not one but two mobiles, and they had run on different networks.
‘Give me a moment, Monsieur,’ Darac said, adding Samira’s second number to the case file and then forwarding it to Forensics at the Caserne with the note: Sorry Erica, but I’ve just learned that Samira was using a second phone on a different network, a phone she used for more personal stuff and one I suspect her brother Dilip knew nothing about. The number’s on the attached file. All you can, soonest, please! Paul.’
