A Death in Time, page 31
Agnès looked dubious. ‘That solid? A character like him?’
‘I meant it literally, boss. Yesterday saw the last horse-racing meeting of the season at the Cagnes hippodrome, a special gala event called the Grand Critérium de Vitesse. Lots of razzmatazz, lots of bets going down and all that goes with it. Monsieur Sharma left the course with a bunch of cronies who promptly got a card school going back in the city. This went exactly as you might imagine it would and at just after 9 o’clock, officers from Foch arrived, Sharma and his mates were arrested and three of them, including him, went to the cells where they remained until 2.20 this afternoon. Foch hadn’t had time to update Sharma’s file on the database or we would have known this before we set off to bring him in, of course.’
‘You’re right, Farid,’ Agnès said, doffing an imaginary cap. ‘Sharma’s is about as safe an alibi as one could wish.’
Granot was not alone in seeing some humour of the situation. ‘How long had the fool been at liberty before you turned up with your lads?’
‘All of two hours. And a quick final detail, if there’s time?’ Farid gave Agnès a look and she nodded assent. ‘I couldn’t help chuckling at Foch’s arresting officer’s final comment in his report of the fracas at the card school: “In the exchange of blows that followed, Monsieur Sharma came off worst. Again.” ’
Laughter all round.
‘Good work, the three of you,’ Darac said.
Agnès retrieved a note from her briefcase. ‘I’m jumping the gun a little here but as we’ve been dealing with Monsieur Sharma, I must mention that I’ve had more from the Indian authorities on a possible connection between the Padar family and an ongoing “honour killing” investigation in that country. It’s a story reported in a number of Indian newspapers, including one to which Dilip Padar is a regular subscriber. It’s not a fait accompli but police in Chennai report that they have three suspects in custody described as “almost certainly guilty,” none of whom, and I quote…’ She flipped her specs into position. ‘… “have any familial or other ostensible connection with the Padar family of Bengaluru cited in your enquiry.” There we have it.’ Looking over her specs, she met Flaco’s gaze. ‘It appears Dilip fabricated the family’s connection with this story to keep Samira in line.’
‘It fits his character, Madame. Absolutely.’
Agnès gave Darac the nod to continue.
‘That’s a significant development. Thanks, Agnès.’ He indicated the board. ‘OK, you’ll see there’s another soul residing in our cell block at the moment: one Emil Arcot, shot putter and captain of the elite athletics squad of which his fellow inmate Gilles Laborde is head coach – head coach and prime suspect, as we’ll expand upon shortly. Charged at the scene with assault, Emil was in a terrible state when he came in but by the time the duty Doctor saw him, he’d calmed down sufficiently for Flak to talk to him. As you’ll also hear later, Emil and Samira were full-on lovers at the time of her murder. Just recap the immediate backstory to begin with, will you, Flak?’
‘Yes, Captain,’ she said, her trademark scowl etched deeply in her face. ‘Convinced that Samira’s mediaeval misogynist of a brother Dilip Padar was responsible for her murder, Emil arrived at his apartment to exact revenge. As we might see in a minute, he freely admits that. But even if he hadn’t, evidence that he attacked Padar is incontrovertible. In all, five officers witnessed it, though two were concentrating on putting out a fire started accidentally moments before by a raging Padar.’ She gave Erica a look. ‘The first one, please?’
A shot of a partially smoke-damaged room racked into focus on the screen.
‘Not exactly The Towering Inferno, is it?’ Perand observed.
‘Thanks to Padar’s two watchdogs, no,’ Flaco said. ‘Led by Charlie Presse of Captain Tardelli’s narcotics squad, the other three officers involved arrived on the scene moments after Emil, and found him and Padar engaged in a struggle on the floor. Padar has Officer Presse to thank for what happened next.’ She gave Big Charlie a respectful nod. ‘The others report that only he could have restrained Emil long enough for them to join forces in pulling such a very powerful young athlete off Padar, thus preventing further injury to him.’
During Flaco’s report, Darac shared looks with Agnès, Granot and Bonbon. All, he was sure, were thinking as he was. Almost from her first day as a junior officer, the young woman all but Agnès and Frankie referred to as “Flak” had impressed with her seriousness of purpose and when it was needed, sheer physical strength. Over time, other qualities had emerged but her ability to deliver thorough, lucid and, on the whole, concisely worded reports was something Flaco had mastered only recently. No one, Darac hoped, would mark her down for squeezing a couple of value judgments into her account. Describing Dilip Padar as a “mediaeval misogynist?” That was alright by him.
‘Bravo, Flak,’ Armani said. He gave Darac a look. ‘I can do Farid and Charlie on a close-season double if you’re interested.’
‘Such loyalty, man.’
‘Paul will take it under advisement,’ Agnès said, moving the thing on. ‘You have more, Yvonne, I think.’
‘Yes, Commissaire.’ She caught Erica’s eye once more. ‘Is the next slide the statement I took from him?’
Erica peered at her preview screen. ‘Looks like it... Yes, it is. Now?’
‘Please.’
Pages of typescript formed on the screen.
‘Thank you. Like Farid, I haven’t had time to upload this to the file log yet.’ She gave Agnès an enquiring look. ‘May we read it now?’
‘Absolutely.’
Given assurances both that Dilip Padar had not been behind Samira’s murder and that the Brigade had a strong suspect already in custody, Emil had poured out his heart in the statement and it made pitiful reading. Concluding with the regret that he hadn’t had the opportunity to “take out” Samira’s actual murderer, he expressed no remorse at having roughed up “that fucking worm” Dilip.
Before she had left the cell, Flaco informed Emil that in an uncontested hearing such as the one that almost certainly awaited him, a short custodial sentence or a heavy fine was the likely outcome. He replied that he didn’t care.
‘Thanks for that, Yvonne. It’s very raw for him at the moment, isn’t it?’
Perand nodded. ‘Don’t think much of the chances of Samira’s killer if Muscles there does run into him at some point.’
‘And with that, we come on to you, Perand,’ Darac said.
‘Yes, I had all the fun of going to see Dilip Padar in hospital. No slides or anything on this. Just the facts.’
‘Hit it.’
‘When I arrived, there was no sign of the rage that had led to him singeing a number of cushions back in his apartment. Instead, he was morose and tearful. To be fair to the love-sick Emil Arcot, Dilip’s making a lot of it but he has nothing but minor injuries to show for the attack on his well-upholstered person. You’ll be pleased to hear though, Flak, that his balls did become unpleasantly acquainted with Emil’s meaty right knee during it, and to add to the swelling caused by Julien Baille’s fleet right foot just a couple of days before, it wasn’t funny. But apart from that, bruises, sprains – that was it. Of course, but for Big Charlie, another minute and he could have been flying back to India with his sister in the hold luggage.’
‘So you observed the benighted Dilip’s rage had gone,’ Agnès said, pointedly. ‘And he was tearful. Did anything of value emerge through those tears?’
‘Yes. He kept repeating “I shouldn’t have done it.” ’
Ears picked up around the room.
‘That got me going. At first. But it soon became clear he didn’t mean “I shouldn’t have killed Samira or had her killed.” He meant, “I shouldn’t have insisted she break up with Julien Baille.” ’
Darac was intrigued. ‘How did you come to that conclusion?’
‘I kept firing alternative suggestions at him; he kept shaking his head until I hit on the right one. When I asked why he shouldn’t have told her to break up with him, he said it was because if he hadn’t, the humiliated Baille wouldn’t have killed her as a consequence. He’s convinced of it. Genuinely, I believe.’ Perand’s trademark sneery smile hadn’t put in much of an appearance thus far. It did now. ‘But don’t assume his blame-ridden grieving is all for the loss of his sister. He’s mainly grieving the loss of his life. His high life here on the Côte d’Azur.’
‘Explain?’ Darac said.
‘Dilip has been summoned back home by his father. Permanently. We’ve already said that but for Big Charlie’s speed off the mark, Dilip would shortly have been flying off to his own funeral. I can tell you that’s exactly how he views his father’s edict.’
‘Nice work, Perand, and let’s look for a moment at how this supports other things we know. I completely agree with you, Flak – I imagine we all do – that Dilip’s values are utterly shallow and his sexual politics are from another age and they were shit then. But his assessment of Julien isn’t so far off-beam, is it? His psychological profile does fit that of a spurned lover-type killer. And that must-come-first-at-all-costs mentality can’t handle losing anything, can it? We thought that way ourselves about Julien, initially. However, we know both from Flak’s interview with Samira’s flatmate Carole, and from recovered emails, that Samira’s decision to ditch him had nothing to do with Dilip’s ultimatum. She was totally bored with Julien and wanted to end the relationship anyway. It was perhaps to spare his feelings that she used the ultimatum as a sort of get-out-of-jail-free card with him. But of course, neither Julien, nor Dilip, it now seems, was aware of that.’
‘This picture is filling in nicely, chief,’ Bonbon said. ‘Especially when you consider Tana’s eyewitnesses to Julien’s arrival at the Résidence.’
‘Quite apart from our compelling case against Gilles Laborde, Dilip’s contention that Julien murdered Samira is looking less and less likely, isn’t it? So unless something changes, let’s park Julien as the killer. Agnès?
Absolutely.’
‘Bonbon?’
‘Fine by me.’
‘Flak?’
‘Yes, Captain.’
He scanned the room. ‘Anyone against? No? So on we go to Gilles Laborde.’
Darac scrolled his laptop to the appropriate page, opened his notebook and, setting out his cue sheets for Erica, he was ready to roll. ‘Right, has everyone got the case file log set up and working on their phones, tablet, whatever? Raise a hand if you haven’t.’ None went up. ‘Everyone? So you’ll all be familiar with at least the bare bones of the case.’ He indicated the whiteboards. ‘There we have blow-ups of the diagrams illustrating who parked where at the Stade last night – diagrams drawn by our star witness – night watchman Eric Cauvin, during my interview with him this morning. Has everyone had the opportunity to study them? Hands again, please. Be brave, if you haven’t. No one? Excellent. Finally, next to them, we have the lists I put together of the principals’ corroborated arrival and departure times. Everyone au fait with them? One or two aren’t, OK. All will become clear. Ready, Erica?’
‘Ready.’
‘First slides, then, please.’
A side-by-side comparison: Samira the student lawyer; Samira the bludgeoned corpse. Darac gave the images a few moments to take, before launching into a detailed summary of Laborde’s interrogation thus far. Agnès then read out a report from Djibril Mpensa to which Raul Ormans and Erica added their own. Each new contribution endorsed the contention that Gilles Laborde had murdered the woman he so desperately wanted and couldn’t have. When Darac asked for questions, Armani was first in.
‘Don’t understand why you haven’t charged the guy already. His story’s got more holes in it than Le Gym’s back three and that’s saying something.’
A football-based jibe was usually sure to trigger a fusillade of comebacks among the cognoscenti but minds were too focussed on the case to react.
‘I’m not playing favourites here,’ Frankie said. ‘But I can see why you haven’t, Paul.’
Agnès nodded. ‘I can, too. Yes, you have exposed a number of anomalies in his account and, if not outright lies, then things that aren’t whole truths, either. Perhaps that’s not surprising. Laborde is a man who seems to have had a lot of practice at deceiving others. His wife, especially. But charging him at this stage? There’s no real advantage. We still have all of tomorrow, and with Frènes’s agreement – which, after I’ve dotingly played second fiddle to the man later, he will most definitely give me – we’ll be granted an extra 48 hours.’
‘Shameless,’ Darac said, smiling. ‘Granot, you’re looking troubled.’
‘Erica has done some terrific work here but the biggest anomaly in Laborde’s whole story for me is the number and scale of the mistakes he made. For a famously meticulous and methodical type like him, it seems out of character.’
‘Your take on that, Bonbon?’
‘Given sufficient prep time, I’m sure he would have been able to plan something better. But if he put it all together on the evening – which is what we’re leaning towards – it was inevitable he’d make mistakes that would catch him out.’
‘Flak?’
‘Agreed, Captain.’
‘That’s where I am at the moment, too.’
When Brigade Criminelle team meetings have effectively run their course, some commissaires signalled the fact by standing up and walking out of the room. Others had the manners to first thank the participants. It was when Agnès slipped her feet into her slingbacks that everyone knew the Caserne’s shop was about to shut for the night.
‘A very profitable session, everyone, thank you,’ she said, straightening. ‘But now, it’s almost time to head off for my close-up with our friend Frènes and the probing Provin. See you all tomorrow.’
Chairs scraped, conversations sprang up and a tide of tired men and women began to drain out of the room.
‘Oh, Frankie?’ Agnès called out. ‘A very quick word with you in my office?’
‘Certainly. I’ll be right along.’
Darac gave her a knowing look. ‘She’s putting you up for a citation. For the Manzano case. What’s the betting?’
The ability of dogs to sniff out a thimbleful of lemon juice dropped into a swimming pool filled with chlorinated water was as nothing compared to Armani’s ability to hear the word “betting” in a buzz of voices.
‘I’ll lay you two to one,’ he said spiriting up alongside them. ‘And that’s my final offer.’
‘Do you actually know what the betting’s about, Armani?’
‘No, but you won’t beat that price, Darac.’
‘I’m laying five to one,’ Bonbon said, equally clueless.
‘Bel broccolo!’
‘Boig! That’s Catalan, by the way.’
Saving further mudslinging, Erica side-slipped in between them. ‘Got a new file for you, Paul. My report on Zoë Laborde’s laptop usage last night.’
‘Thanks,’ he said, taking it. ‘I imagine you would have brought it up in the meeting if the where and when she logged in hadn’t checked out.’
‘And when she typed in every line, logged out momentarily a couple of times – one a coffee break possibly but not even the log notes that. Yes, the whole thing checks out. You know, apart from being married to a lying, cheating psychopath, she’s had a lot to deal with, that woman. I admire her.’
‘By the appearance of things, she’s not scared of hard work, either,’ Frankie said.
‘It’s what she was working on that most impresses me – a chapter for a book on women who manage to run successful companies – Boss Women. Partly because hers is an IT business, I read it and it’s interesting. And really sobering.’
Frankie made a moue. ‘Hmm. I’d like to read it, myself.’
‘I’ve got it here.’ Erica rummaged around for the file and handed it over. ‘Keep it. I can print another one off.’
‘No, no. I’ll make sure it goes back in the case file. Besides, we’re meant to be cutting back on paper usage now.’
‘So Erica,’ Bonbon said, grinning naughtily. ‘Madame Laborde’s piece has given you second thoughts, has it? Post-Caserne, you and I are going into the antiques business together after all.’
‘Ten to one says you don’t,’ Armani said.
FIFTY-FIVE
On to today’s sport now,’ the presenter said, and Inès turned off the TV. For some moments she and Zoë stared blankly at one another as if the shock of it all had turned them off, too. It was Inès who finally broke the silence.
‘That seals his guilt, doesn’t it, Maman? They didn’t even put up a contact caption at the end. For anyone with information.’
‘Didn’t they? I didn’t notice.’
‘Can only mean one thing, can’t it?’
‘It does seem the police believe they’ve got their man.’
The pair sank back into the sofa thankful that, try as she might, Annie Provin hadn’t been able to coax a name out of the twin representatives of the police and judiciary featured in the broadcast.
‘It’s all so… unreal,’ Inès said. ‘Your husband – my father – is a murderer. It’s a movie. Not real life. All the clichés – I think I’m dreaming and will wake up in a minute – it’s all here. Now. And we were wondering how to deal with the trauma of your break-up with him? That was nothing, was it? Not in comparison.’
‘No, darling. It wasn’t.’
‘You know, when his identity is revealed…’
‘Don’t. I can’t bear to think of it.’
Inès sat upright. ‘Maman, you do have to prepare yourself for what it will be like.’ She took her mother’s hands. ‘Don’t you?’
