Blood Summer, page 12
‘Ex-military?’ said Caron. ‘Are you thinking some kind of bodyguard?’
‘If he is, his CV just took a hit,’ said Gagnon.
Latour reloaded the film of the Butlers’ walking through the airport in Nice and let it play.
‘A bodyguard would be sticking closer to them,’ said Dugrippe. ‘I don’t see anyone near them who looks up to the job. Play it again.’
Their first impressions were confirmed. Nobody resembling the American’s description accompanied the Butlers.
‘Maybe he’s more than a bodyguard,’ said Caron. ‘Someone helping them relocate.’
‘Like a security consultant of some kind?’ said Gagnon.
‘Why not?’ said Benoit. ‘A person with the skills and the contacts to arrange high quality false passports. Someone, hired by wealthy people looking for privacy, who knows how to move them around the world without attracting attention.’
‘Which suggests the Butlers knew they were in danger,’ said Rolland.
‘They were right,’ said Dugrippe.
‘If this American exists, it might explain why we’ve had no hits on the Butlers renting a car or taking a taxi,’ said Rolland.
‘Any candidates from the passenger manifest?’ said Gagnon.
‘I’m collating profiles,’ said Latour.
‘Three cell phones might mean the American has the other one,’ said Caron.
‘Should we ring him?’ said Dugrippe.
‘Not until we have some idea who we’re talking to,’ said Benoit. ‘Besides, tomorrow is Saturday - changeover day. Priority is to re-interview any tourists who might be leaving.’
‘Janssen and Visser were packing when I interviewed them,’ said Auger.
‘My first port of call when we finish here,’ said Benoit. ‘Thierry and Gabriel, man the comms and keep looking at Wendy and the American. I want names. We brief again at six, but this afternoon everyone else is back on the doorstep. We have a clearer window on time of death to frame questions.’
‘What about permanent residents?’ said Rolland.
‘For now, tourists are the priority,’ said Benoit.
Rolland gestured towards the images of rotting flesh on the wall. ‘But this isn’t an argument over a spilled drink or a noisy party. These people had their heads and hands cut off by organised criminals.’
‘Yet there’s no history of organised crime in the area,’ said Benoit.
‘Plus, the victimology is wrong for the gangs,’ said Latour.
‘Got to agree,’ said Dugrippe. ‘It’s too far north for the Italians and the Russians in Cannes. All their business is on the Strip. I don’t know about Marseille but my CIs are mystified.’
‘Nothing from my informants,’ said Gagnon. ‘Seillans is too remote and too far east for the Shepherds and Sea Breeze. Besides, they’re busy fighting for turf in Busserine.’
‘Could someone be opening up new markets for product?’ said Caron.
‘What market?’ said Benoit. ‘There’s nobody here. Most of the young people have already headed off to the coast or Paris.’
‘It’s true,’ said Auger. ‘The only drugs we see round here belong to tourists. A little weed, occasionally coke or ecstasy. But only in small quantities and always for personal recreation.’
‘Coming from the far east, could the Butlers have been mules?’ said Rolland.
‘The profile’s wrong on that too,’ said Latour. ‘They’d be poorer, more desperate.’
‘Dealers, then,’ suggested Gagnon.
‘Why would dealers be living where there are no customers?’ said Benoit. ‘No. Everything we know points to David and Charlotte Butler as wealthy English tourists visiting from Singapore. They have no history in France and no criminal profile…’
‘But their passports are fakes,’ said Caron. ‘They could be anyone.’
‘Nina’s right,’ said Rolland. ‘Not all mules are backpackers. They could’ve been moving product from Singapore - the more respectable they look, the more likely they are to sail through customs.’
‘Anything’s possible,’ said Benoit. ‘But Singapore isn’t Thailand or Indonesia. Customs at Changi are incredibly tight and corruption levels lower.’
‘And even if they were mules, what are they doing in Seillans?’ said Auger. ‘If they were moving product, they’d be in Nice or Cannes.’
‘Exactly,’ said Latour.
‘Is it possible they already delivered their cargo?’ said Gagnon.
‘And what? Hung around for an expensive six-month holiday?’ scoffed Dugrippe. ‘You don’t risk the death penalty moving gear out of Singapore just to blow it all on a few months in the sun.’
Gagnon shrugged. ‘Okay, then maybe they stiffed one of the syndicates and were trying to peddle their shit to another buyer? Original customer got wind and executed them.’
Caron shook her head. ‘But any syndicate worth its salt would shout about that from the rooftops as an example to its other dealers. We’d know ID and, sure as shit, we’d know why they were killed.’
‘Agreed,’ said Benoit. ‘If there was an injured party here, they would have sent a message, not thrown a blanket over ID. There’s something else at play.’
‘Is simple robbery out of the question?’ said Rolland. ‘I mean, there must be some rich pickings around here.’
‘Nothing compared to the coast,’ said Benoit. ‘And remember the killers left three thousand in cash in David Butler’s wallet.’
‘And a bank card that could have netted them more,’ added Latour. ‘It’s not a robbery.’
‘How much more?’ said Caron.
‘The account was opened online with BNP Paribas using a bearer bond for a hundred thousand euros,’ said Latour. ‘A bank card in the name of David Butler was issued to the branch in nearby Montauroux and collected on March 22nd, probably by Wyatt. And that’s additional to the sixty-thousand in cash she used to rent the villa.’
‘Just a thought, boss, but could this be a witness protection op we haven’t been informed about?’ said Dugrippe.
‘It crossed my mind and I lodged an enquiry,’ said Benoit. ‘But the DCPJ don’t throw these sorts of sums around. I mean, they could buy a safe house for the money it cost to rent Jasmin.’
‘They might cough up if it was a big financial case - corruption, insider dealing,’ said Gagnon. ‘If the government stands to make millions in fines and back taxes, a hundred and sixty thousand is chicken feed.’
Benoit shook his head. ‘If this was an op, Jerome, there would have been minders or at least people who looked in on them regularly. These people have been dead for nearly a week and no-one batted an eyelid until the pool guy found them.’ There was silence around the table.
‘So, if it’s not organised crime, why are we here?’ said Rolland.
‘We’re here because a cold-blooded double murder has been committed and until we know it’s not gang-related, we investigate,’ said Benoit.
‘Who but organised crime would do that?’ said Rolland, nodding at the photographs.
‘That’s what interests me,’ said Benoit. ‘As you said, this isn’t about noisy neighbours. If long-term residents or second-homers killed the Butlers during an argument, it wouldn’t have ended like that. We interview everyone who lives on the road, obviously, but unless something screams out at us, residents are likely to be witnesses at best. This was meticulously planned and the violence was deliberately extreme.’
‘Too meticulous for organised crime,’ said Caron. ‘They wouldn’t have been this careful.’
‘Agreed,’ said Dugrippe. ‘Gangbangers would have rolled up in a stolen, high-powered car and driven away at high speed, hardly caring who saw or heard them.’
‘Seriously?’ said Auger.
‘Rank and file mob soldiers think they’re untouchable,’ said Dugrippe. ‘As far as they’re concerned, there isn’t a witness on earth they couldn’t intimidate into retracting testimony, especially after making clear the consequences of not doing so.’
‘So, we’re left with tourists,’ said Auger.
‘They have the perfect cover,’ said Benoit. ‘The Butlers are murdered in the early hours of Saturday morning and a few hours later the killers can pack a car and drive away in broad daylight without anyone thinking it strange.’
‘And by the time the bodies are discovered, they could be thousands of miles away, in another country,’ said Caron.
‘Like the two Englishmen,’ said Latour.
‘And that’s why we need to find them,’ said Benoit.
12
Benoit stood slightly behind Auger, assessing the young Dutch couple, barely listening to Janssen and Visser’s answers.
‘…and those spicy sausages,’ said Janssen.
‘Merguez?’ said Auger, making a note.
‘That’s them,’ said Janssen. ‘Bloody delicious. We’re taking a few kilos back with us. Anything else, Margo?’
The blue-eyed Visser shook her head, glancing at the taciturn Benoit, yet to make a contribution. ‘That’s all the food I can remember.’
‘What about drink?’ asked Auger.
‘We both had red wine,’ said Visser.
‘Can you remember the label?’
Both shook their heads. ‘It was very nice, expensive, I think,’ said Visser.
‘Either of you have a beer?’ asked Auger. Another shake of heads. ‘What about the Butlers?’
‘Charlotte drank fizzy white wine, though I don’t think it was champagne,’ said Visser.
‘And David Butler?’
‘Bottled beer,’ said Janssen. ‘Roger and Ash too.’
‘What kind?’
‘Pelforth, I think,’ said Janssen. ‘The Belgian couple each had a glass of red, I think.’
‘Anybody get really drunk?’
‘Mrs Butler, more than anyone,’ said Visser. ‘She started to get a bit unsteady on her feet after midnight so we left around one in the morning.’
‘How did you happen to be invited?’ said Auger.
‘We met Charlotte on the back road into the village,’ said Janssen. ‘We used to jog down for our daily baguettes. Great exercise. Charlotte did the same so we saw her most days.’
‘She was very friendly,’ said Visser.
‘And very fit,’ said Janssen. ‘She swam a lot too. She was very well-toned.’ Visser glanced across at him and he looked away. There was an awkward silence so Auger slapped his notebook closed with a glance towards the mute Benoit.
‘Were there any drugs at the party?’ said Benoit, softly.
‘Drugs?’ said Visser, not looking at her partner. ‘No.’
Benoit’s eyebrow raised. ‘You speak for everyone there?’
‘I mean, I didn’t see any.’ She turned mechanically to look at Janssen. ‘Piet?’
Janssen shook his head. ‘Me neither.’
Benoit smiled. ‘So, if I empty your luggage and get a sniffer dog to walk through it, we won’t find anything?’ Visser stared and Janssen licked his lips as Benoit pushed a button on his watch. ‘There’s an amnesty for full and frank disclosure but it expires in ten seconds.’
Janssen and Visser were temporarily speechless. ‘We…’ began Janssen, before thinking better of it and lapsing into silence.
‘Time’s up,’ said Benoit, seconds later.
‘We have weed,’ said Visser, quickly, her throat dry. ‘We brought it with us from home. There’s only a bit left.’
‘You smoked before the party?’
‘Yes,’ said Janssen.
‘What about during?’
‘No, that would have been rude.’
‘Anyone else take anything at the party or give you the impression that they were high?’
‘No,’ said Janssen. ‘We already said.’
‘You didn’t take cocaine? Amphetamines? Ecstasy?’
‘Nothing like that,’ answered Janssen.
‘And you don’t possess hypodermic needles for drug use?’
‘No way,’ said Janssen, indignant. ‘We like to keep fit. A little weed is as far we go.’
‘I’ll go and fetch it,’ said Visser, eager to please. ‘There’s only a little...’
‘Keep it,’ said Benoit. ‘Thank you for your candour. One more question. You said the two Englishmen were gay? Did they announce it or did you deduce it from their behaviour?’
Visser and Janssen exchanged a glance.
As the sun began to dip towards the hills, Auger and Benoit ducked under the barrier and headed for the ICP. The crowd seemed to have swelled since the morning and a local journalist took photographs of Auger and Benoit heading for the prefab before shouting a question which both ignored.
‘How did you know?’ said Auger.
‘About the drugs? I didn’t.’
‘Don’t you think you were a little hard on them?’
‘Absolutely,’ grinned Benoit. ‘Which made them concentrate when I asked the more important question.’
‘The Englishmen?’
‘The Englishmen.’
‘You suspect they weren’t a couple?’ said Auger.
‘Suspect? No. But, I think it’s easy to make assumptions when two men share the same accommodations.’
‘Boss.’ Benoit turned to see Dugrippe come panting up the steep drive of Villa Jasmin. ‘Something in the house you should see.’
‘There.’ Dugrippe pointed at the bookshelf. Auger and Benoit followed his finger to a tiny camera lens almost invisible on the dark spine of the DVD boxset.
‘Is it active?’ said Benoit.
‘Grace thinks so,’ said Dugrippe.
‘Grace Coulibaly?’ said Benoit.
‘You expecting someone else, Sergio?’ said a voice behind them. The woman pulled down her mask to reveal a plump black face, multi-coloured spectacles perched on her nose and tufts of wiry hair poking out from the hood of her straining protective suit. ‘And please don’t touch. We’re still dusting.’
‘Good to know we’re in safe hands,’ said Benoit, smiling. ‘I don’t see any wires or a lead.’
‘That’s because it’s wireless.’
‘How does it know when to take pictures?’ said Auger.
‘It probably keys off a motion sensor,’ said Coulibaly.
‘And sends the images to a computer?’ said Benoit.
‘Nope,’ said Coulibaly. ‘You’d need a router in the house and there isn’t one.’
‘How close would the router need to be?’ said Auger.
‘Fifteen, twenty metres,’ she said. ‘Neighbouring houses are too far away for a signal, if that’s what you’re thinking.’
‘So, without a router?’ said Benoit.
‘You’d need a connection to a computer on site for storing images,’ said Coulibaly.
‘There are no computers on site,’ said Benoit.
‘Exactly.’
‘What about a satellite feed?’ said Auger.
Coulibaly shook her head. ‘Not without a router. And a dish.’
‘Then what’s the point of the camera?’ said Benoit.
‘It’s a standalone,’ she said. ‘Which means it’s not sending images anywhere. It’s storing them, probably onto a SD card.’ The officers looked at her. ‘Secure Digital.’
‘A portable memory,’ said Auger.
‘Right. You remove the storage card and plug it into a computer or a TV for viewing. It’s low tech.’
‘But, if it works, we could have our killers on film,’ said Benoit. ‘What’s the power source?’
‘Has to be a battery,’ said Coulibaly. ‘Hopefully a powerful one.’
‘Infrared?’
‘Depends on the model.’
‘It’s sounds a bit limited,’ said Auger.
‘With one obvious drawback,’ added Coulibaly.
‘The fixed view,’ said Benoit. ‘Let me know the second you get your hands on the memory card.’ Excited, he stood to leave before a thought occurred. ‘Where are your people staying, Grace?’
‘In a hotel near the forensic lab in Draguignan,’ said Coulibaly. ‘You?’
‘From tomorrow, camp beds in an old church,’ sighed Dugrippe.
‘Great for team building,’ said Coulibaly, winking.
Benoit, Auger and Dugrippe trudged back up the baking hot drive and poured themselves a cup of lukewarm coffee in the ICP.
‘I don’t understand,’ said Auger. ‘Why would the killers leave a camera behind?’
‘They didn’t,’ said Benoit. ‘Had they known it was there they would’ve removed it.’
‘Then who put it there?’
‘Wendy Wyatt sent boxes of English language books and DVDs to the villa,’ said Dugrippe.
‘She may have sent them but she wasn’t around to set up the camera, make sure it was working and position it on the shelves with the optimal view,’ said Benoit. ‘And I doubt she’d trust Madame Rappeneau to do it for her.’
‘The mystery American!’ said Dugrippe. ‘He was in Seillans. He must have taken the Butlers to the villa and set up the camera while they weren’t looking.’
‘Which means it’s been taking photographs since the Butlers arrived,’ said Auger. ‘What a stroke of luck.’
‘Assuming it’s still working,’ said Dugrippe.
‘We’ll know soon enough,’ said Benoit, looking across at Latour. ‘Anything from Singapore, Gabriel?’
Latour looked up from his keyboard. ‘No records of a David and Charlotte Butler living on the island or of anyone entering Singapore on those passports. The SPF are running the Butler pictures through their Facial Recog software. No hits yet.’ He shrugged. ‘Different time zone. Different language.’
‘And just a Missing Persons enquiry, as far as they’re concerned,’ said Benoit. ‘Okay, scale it up to a murder inquiry and give them everything we have on the Butlers and their movements. We need to inject some urgency and get that ID. We can worry about a media shitstorm later.’
‘Ex-Pat Bloodbath in Riviera Beauty Spot!’ announced Latour, dramatically.
