A Death in Time, page 25
‘Isn’t the landlord you’re all interested in called Michel… Thomas?’
‘It’s Maurice Thomas but we’ve already discounted him.’
‘Ah. Can’t think of anyone else, off-hand. As for an SM…’ She turned to the photo itself but before she could take it in detail, her mobile rang. ‘A moment, Granot… Claudia, what’s cooking?’ She listened, her lowered brow rising with each passing moment and when she exchanged looks with Granot, it was to nod encouragingly, mouth “I’m needed” and edge towards the door. ‘Excellent, but we mustn’t do that quite yet. I’ll be right there.’ Ending the call as she had begun her conversation with Granot – half-out of the room – she blew him a kiss and hurried away.
‘SM and MT, Frankie,’ he called after her. ‘There could be a cash reward!’
FORTY-FIVE
Darac had Bonbon and Flaco with him in the Peugeot. Serge Paulin and Ade Okoko’s interviewer, Tana Balaya, were following discreetly behind in an unmarked white van driven by the Caserne’s grand prix ace manqué, Wanda Korneliuk. All three were wearing decorator’s overalls. Having finally taken delivery of his new vehicle, Raul Ormans and a couple of members of his team were already circling the area.
‘How’s the signal, Serge?’
‘You’re clear as a bell, Captain.’
‘You too. Right, low key, remember. You’re just tradespeople who’ve stopped for a break en route to your next job.’
‘We’ve got coffees – the lot.’
‘Excellent. Parking, Wanda?’
‘There’s a good spot to pull in just around the next corner from the address. According to RueVue, there’s a sightline into the back of the place. Or there was a year ago.’
‘I don’t anticipate anyone making a run for it but better safe and all that. Stay tuned.’
‘Understood.’
‘R.O. All good with you and yours?’
‘Perfect all the way.’
‘And the new van?’
‘Fabulous. I may move in permanently.’
‘Al-right, we’re just arriving. Eyes and ears everyone. Out.’
FORTY-SIX
Emil Arcot knew he was in trouble but he didn’t care. Great optimist though he was, he had never once imagined that a big lummox like him could ever have been head over heels in love with an exquisite beauty who desired him just as much. Head over heels? Oh yes, and in every other position and attitude of which his muscle-bound frame was capable. Three times in one afternoon? It had been paradise.
As for missing today’s exam? It was only an elective in a part of the course that was itself optional. Yes, he should have told them he wasn’t going to sit it as planned but there would be no real bother about it. Missing time in bed with the divine Samira? No. That was not going to happen.
‘We’ll call this a pull-in place, shall we?’ the cab driver said, squeezing up to a quartet of recycling bins set barely off the road. ‘Mate?’ He grinned into his rear-view mirror. ‘We’re there.’ The pair had enjoyed a lively chat and now wasn’t the moment for his fare to start reading emails. ‘Listen, I’m blocking everything. Shouldn’t have stopped here at all really.’
Emil hadn’t heard a word. There had been nothing from Samira all morning but that hadn’t concerned him. Their plan had been made. But now there was a message. From Ade.
Bro I can’t talk right now so sorry man Listen I can’t believe this alright but it’s Sam She’s dead. Murdered. Last night. Flics talking to everyone. Gotta go A x
It was then that the cabbie saw all the colour drain from the young man’s face. ‘What is it?’
Feeling disconnected from everything he knew or had known, Emil was too stunned to react. But then energy began to surge around his body, a charge of such overwhelming intensity that it shocked him back to life. But what did life hold for him now? When he opened his mouth to speak, only incoherent sounds emerged at first but words were finally possible. ‘Saint-Philippe, now driver,’ he said. ‘Les Appartements Mimosas, Avenue Primerose.’
Eschewing the rear-view mirror, the cabby turned around in his seat. ‘Are you sure?’
Emil nodded. ‘I need to call at a florist first.’
‘Aah. Condolences, mate.’ He turned around and slipping the cab into gear, reversed smartly on to the boulevard. ‘I know one I can pull up right outside.’
‘Perfect,’ Emil said.
FORTY-SEVEN
Two cars on the drive, look,’ Bonbon said as Darac made the tight turn in off the chemin. ‘One behind the other. That’s a stroke of luck. Just pull up behind them and we’ve blocked both.’
Leaving their police armbands in their pockets, the trio got out of the Peugeot, sauntered to the door and rang the bell. ‘Did you pick up the court order for the phone, Bonbon?’
‘I did, Captain,’ Flaco said.
‘Good.’
Through the dimpled glass, a disintegrated shape came gradually together as it approached.
‘Looks like Madame,’ Bonbon said, ventriloquially.
The door opened to reveal a tall, square-shouldered, harassed-looking woman who was not best pleased to see them.
‘We’re not talking to newspapers,’ she said, her eyes darting from one to the other. ‘What’s happened is a tragedy, not a story to titillate the general public. Good day to you.’
‘That is our view, also, Madame Laborde.’ Reflecting that had they indeed been newshounds, Madame had already given them a usable quote, Darac produced his ID and introduced the others. ‘We spoke to your husband earlier this morning but we need another word now things have settled a little. Is he at home?’
‘Yes he is. I suppose you’d better come in.’ Standing aside, she indicated the room beyond the hall. ‘Go through to the lounge. The doctor gave Gilles something and he’s upstairs, resting. I’ll go and get him.’
‘He’s not asleep?’ Bonbon said, as solicitous as a fox enquiring about the wellbeing of chickens.
‘No, no… Go through. I shouldn’t be a moment.’
As she scurried upstairs, Bonbon called out in a stage whisper. ‘Chief – sorry. Forgotten something. Keys?’
‘Again?’ Darac called back, playing along. He tossed the keys to Flaco who relayed them along the hall and Bonbon retired to the Peugeot to keep watch on the front door.
‘A word, Flak,’ Darac whispered, inhaling a world of floral scents as he pushed open the door to the lounge. Not expecting to find anyone else at home, he was intent on reassuring her that although Erica’s findings had changed their priorities, Dilip Padar had not been let off the hook for Samira’s murder. Having been granted access to channels no one else could, Agnès was already garnering potentially useful intel on the Padars of Bengaluru. She had been informed that it may take some hours but if any member of the family or an associate proved to be a person of interest in an ongoing murder enquiry, she would be advised of the fact immediately.
‘I just wanted to let you know—’
‘Captain?’ Flaco’s eyes slid meaningfully sideways. ‘We have company.’
‘I think you’re the company we have, aren’t you?’ the young woman said in an interesting variation of the local Nissart-inflected accent. Aged, Darac assessed, in her mid-20s, she was a person of some bearing. Setting down a magazine – written in English, Darac further noticed – the young woman moved to get to her feet.
‘No, please, Mademoiselle...?’
‘Laborde. Inès. Daughter of Zoë who admitted you.’
‘And daughter of Coach Gilles Laborde, presumably?’
Inès stiffened slightly. ‘Presumably. Although to him I’m Laborde, Jackie. I mention it so you won’t be confused later. Sit down, Officers…?’
‘Flaco and Darac.’ Showing his lanyard ID to make the distinction, he indicated the chair next to the small sofa she was occupying. ‘May I?’
‘Please. I heard a third voice, I thought?’
‘That was Lieutenant Busquet. He had to go back to the car to sort something out.’
‘I see.’
Behind Inès, patio doors were open on to the rear garden but the floral scents perfuming the space had a different source.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many vases of flowers,’ Darac said. ‘Not in one room. And for mid-March? Remarkable.’
‘It’s all a bit overpowering, isn’t it? A celebration, Captain. My parents’ wedding anniversary.’
‘Congratulations to them.’ He looked into Inès’s dark eyes, reddened with tiredness or tears or both. ‘You’re aware of why we’re here, mademoiselle?’
‘This horrible murder. Of course.’ She looked across at Flaco. ‘We had thought to lose all the flowers but then we realised they could serve a different purpose.’
‘Indeed.’
‘I thought you had spoken to my father earlier, though, Captain?’
‘Yes, we did,’ he replied, affably. ‘But there have been developments.’
She nodded. ‘It’s good to know that the… Brigade Criminelle, is it?’
‘It is.’
‘Yes, good to know you’re keeping father in the loop. And in person, too.’
Until the man himself showed, a change of subject was called for. Darac’s eye fell on the magazine. Reciting its upside-down title in a passable English accent tacitly asked the question for him.
‘New Scientist – that’s right. I’m part of research project in England.’
‘How interesting. Neither of us is much of a scientist. Are you researching anything we’re likely to be familiar with?’
‘Yes, actually. As police officers, I’m sure you’re conversant with the principles of DNA sequencing?’
‘On a need to know basis but not much beyond that.’
‘Well, try this on for size. My team is studying specific repeating sequences of bases. Why? Because these appear more prone to expansion during the transcription process. With consequences for various diseases.’
‘Well over my head, I’m afraid.’ He gave Flaco a questioning look. ‘Officer Flaco?’
‘Mine, too.’
Inès pulled down the corners of her mouth. ‘It is rather esoteric, I suppose.’
‘Whereabouts are you doing this esoteric research, Mademoiselle? That might be a more fruitful area.’
‘Cambridge. Due back on Friday.’
‘Oh,’ he said, pleasantly. ‘Been working there long?’
‘This is my eighth year.’
Cambridge... Was there any reason not to tell the truth here? It would likely loosen things up and that could be useful. ‘I shall be in Cambridge myself in six weeks time.’
Inès didn’t reply immediately. ‘Will you?’
‘Yes, as unlikely as it may seem, I’m a member of a jazz group and we’re playing a few dates in England. A mini tour kind of thing. One of them is at the Cambridge Modern Jazz Club. The Vault, I think the name of the venue is.’
Darac could see it was Inès’s turn to gauge how much to reveal. ‘Uh… it is called The Vault, you’re right. My… fiancée sometimes plays there. Pianist.’
‘No, really? There’s such a lot of cross-fertilisation in European jazz, I may have heard of him. May even have seen him with it being so easy to get around. What’s his name?’
‘Or hers,’ Flaco said, her habitual scowl lifting.
Inès returned her look. ‘Yes, it’s Sue,’ she said simply. ‘Susan Talbot, actually.’
‘Forgive me,’ Darac said. ‘Also for not being au fait with Susan’s music. Perhaps we could meet at our gig. You’re a jazz fan yourself, Mademoiselle?’
‘Sadly, no. In fact, I have what Sue calls a tin ear for music in general.’
‘We all have our proclivities.’
‘I can’t use my left-sided brain as an excuse, Captain. Many of my fellow researchers, especially the mathematicians, adore music. I think Sue despairs of me, particularly as she’s pretty much an expert on everything from plainsong to hip-hop.’
While Darac couldn’t claim such broad expertise himself, he was familiar with the phenomenon of loving something that left one’s partners, friends and colleagues cold. ‘It clearly hasn’t…’
‘No.’ Inès smiled, saving him the effort of finding the mots justes. ‘It hasn’t.’
Looking no less harassed than before, Zoë appeared and hovered in the doorway.
‘My husband is just taking a shower to freshen up. He’ll be down in ten minutes or so. Would you like some coffee or anything?’
‘No, thank you,’ Flaco said.
In the parlance of the DMQ’s tenor saxophonist Dave Blackstock, Darac could have “murdered” a double espresso but he declined also.
‘Or perhaps you would prefer to talk to Gilles in his office at the faculty building? He’ll be going back there shortly.’
‘No, no, Madame. We’ll wait. Please sit down.’ He paused while she did so.
‘You’re heading back to Cambridge on Friday, you said, Mademoiselle Laborde?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Actually, my daughter is Doctor Laborde, Captain.’ Zoë essayed a smile but didn’t quite nail it. ‘Her field is biochemistry.’ She turned to Flaco. ‘What’s particularly remarkable about it all…’
‘Maman?’ Inès interjected. ‘We’ve talked a little about it already.’
Zoë was far from finished. ‘What is remarkable is that she did her undergraduate work, her PhD, and has written numerous papers all in English. Speaks it like a native. But even if she were English born and bred, it’s quite a thing to have become a Fellow of King’s College, don’t you think?’
‘I don’t know what a Fellow is,’ Flaco said. ‘But a Cambridge doctorate? That’s tip-top.’
‘In fact,’ Inès said, ‘I’m what’s known as a Bye-Fellow. Not nearly so grand.’
‘But her project is hugely important. Isn’t it, darling?’
Inès nodded, thoughtfully. ‘I think so, yes.’
‘And so do several global organisations and—’
Inès grinned. ‘Bless you, Maman but I don’t think our visitors need to hear a list of all my credits.’
‘I suppose not.’ Zoë managed a fuller smile and caught Darac’s eye once more. ‘King’s is so beautiful. You know the famous chapel?’
‘Seen photos, certainly.’
Inès’s gaze locked on to her mother’s. ‘The Captain is visiting Cambridge in person soon, Maman.’
The news appeared to perturb her. ‘Oh?’
‘Yes, you’ll be there in about six weeks, didn’t you say, Captain?’
‘Indeed, but only for one day. I doubt there will be time for sightseeing.’
‘It’s a work commitment?’ Zoë asked.
‘Quite the opposite. I play in a band and we have a gig at the jazz club.’
Zoë brightened a shade. ‘How unusual. For a policeman to play in a jazz group, I mean.’
‘Such things are not quite so unusual as you might imagine.’
‘Really? You’re obviously accomplished or you wouldn’t be travelling so far.’
‘We’re on a week’s tour.’
‘Like Sue’s sextet had that tour of Scandinavia and the Baltic countries last year, Maman.’
‘Ah, yes.’
Darac judged that the moment had arrived. ‘I’m sure you both realise that as investigating officers in this murder enquiry, it’s our duty to ask a lot of routine questions of those even tangentially connected to the events of yesterday evening. For elimination purposes, mainly. Would it be alright if we asked you those questions now?’
The request seemed to offend Zoë. ‘And if it’s not convenient? You could have rung.’
‘It would help us all, I think. It would save us having to send cars for you later on, for instance. And with respect to your return to the UK, Doctor, it would obviously make sense to get this out of the way now. Were we to fall behind, you might end up missing your flight.’
‘Yes, of course. Let’s do it now, Maman.’
‘Oh. If you insist.’
‘Thank you.’ Darac smiled. ‘As I’m sure you’ll further appreciate, this case is something of a cast of thousands scenario. With so many to talk to, it greatly speeds up the collating process later if we’ve been able to record all our chats. That alright with you?’
Zoë turned to her daughter but before she could air any objections she may have had, Inès was already nodding assent. ‘Sure.’
‘Excellent. We use what is a small camcorder, effectively. Once Officer Flaco here has set it up, you’ll forget it’s there almost straight away. Particularly if you sit next to one another? Or we could talk to you separately. It is the normal practice, actually.’
‘Together,’ Zoë said without hesitation. ‘Together is better.’
‘Are you sure, Madame? You run your IT business from home, don’t you? If you would like to go and check your work emails or whatever for five minutes, please feel free.’
‘That’s kind.’ A steelier look now. ‘But you don’t seriously think I could put in even one minute’s work today, Captain? Just carry on as if nothing had happened?’
‘Together it is, then,’ Darac said, maintaining the mood.
Inès shifted uneasily in her seat. ‘Yes, join me on the sofa, Maman.’
As the women arranged themselves and Flaco went about setting up the recording, Darac had a further question.
‘Madame, if I may, I’ll just summon Lieutenant Busquet? We wouldn’t want your husband walking in while we’re recording and have to do it all again, would we?’
‘Definitely not.’
‘But is the front door…?’
‘The Lieutenant can just push it open. I left it on the latch.’
