Blood Summer, page 22
‘Yes.’
‘Then, like John Wayne, you went looking for the culprits.’
‘She was shot in the head by two Ukrainian hitmen while her five-year-old kid was in the apartment,’ said Trent. ‘A maid who got in the way was executed as well. Do you blame me?’
‘You tracked down and killed the two assassins?’
Trent looked at Benoit, Latour and the two gendarmes in turn. ‘Let’s just say they died suddenly and violently and the FBI want to speak to me about their passing - a conversation we’ve yet to have. But there’s no proof of my involvement and I admit nothing.’
‘Why would the FBI put you on their Most Wanted list over a couple of dead assassins?’ said Latour.
‘I’m rogue FBI and the Bureau doesn’t like loose ends,’ said Trent. ‘Do we have a deal?’
‘What guarantees do I have you won’t try to escape?’ said Benoit.
‘Megan’s safety is all that matters to me. This is your country. Help me find her and I give you my word, cop to cop, I’ll place myself completely in your power.’
‘Full disclosure?’
‘Full disclosure.’
‘Then, let’s start with the gun at the villa.’
‘I left it behind the water tank for Harry and Carla’s protection.’
‘What kind of gun was it?’ said Latour.
‘You’ve got eyes, haven’t you?’ said Trent.
‘We found no gun,’ said Benoit.
‘Then how…’
‘Gun oil from the cloth it was wrapped in,’ said Benoit.
Trent took a moment to process the information. ‘It was a Sig Sauer P229 Legion Compact.’
‘A beginner’s gun,’ said Latour. ‘Could Renfrew handle it?’
‘I made him take lessons before leaving Singapore,’ said Trent.
‘And was it loaded?’
‘A full ten-round clip,’ said Trent.
‘How many people knew it was there?’
Trent hesitated. ‘Just me and Renfrew.’
‘Mrs Renfrew?’
‘That was up to him.’
‘And Megan?’ said Benoit.
‘She prepped the gun for me but she wouldn’t know where I hid it.’
‘But she knew it was in the house,’ said Benoit. ‘You searched behind the water tank for a gun that wasn’t there so we know you didn’t take it. Mr and Mrs Renfrew are dead. That leaves Megan.’
‘That doesn’t mean…’
‘Yes, it does,’ said Benoit.
‘Maybe Renfrew tried to use it and the killers took it from him,’ said Trent.
Benoit smiled. ‘How did Megan get the gun into the country?’
‘She didn’t,’ said Trent. ‘It was in a storage locker at Nice Airport. She has a key.’
‘You put it there?’ Trent nodded. ‘When?’ No answer. ‘This isn’t your first-time hiding people in our region.’
‘Actually, it is,’ said Trent. ‘But I’ve been to Seillans before and always thought it would be a good place to hide clients.’
‘So, you prepared resources should the need arise,’ said Benoit.
‘Yes.’
‘You have lockers in many airports?’
‘What do you care?’
‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ said Benoit. ‘What else do you keep in your airport lockers?’
‘Some local currency and a gun, as a minimum. It depends. I can’t give you a full inventory but you’ve got my keys - go and look.’
‘We will.’
‘Your laptop,’ said Latour. ‘What’s the access code?’
‘Why?’
‘We want to look at your other correspondence with Megan.’
‘I can’t give you that but if you let me out, I...’
‘Full disclosure.’ Trent shook his head. ‘Our people will break the code eventually.’
‘No, they won’t. And if you try to access the drive without the code, you should know that will trigger a virus that wipes the drive.’
‘Then give me the passcode,’ said Benoit. ‘If you want to get out of here, that’s the deal.’
‘I have professional responsibilities to clients who trusted me with their secrets.’
‘What kind of secrets?’ said Benoit. Trent was implacable. ‘For example.’
‘The whereabouts of their relocation,’ said Trent. ‘The identities they’re using to hide from a vengeful husband, a litigious employer, an obsessive stalker…’
‘We’re only interested in Megan.’
‘That doesn’t mean you’re getting access.’
‘Then we reach an impasse.’
‘Maybe not,’ said Trent. ‘Give me my laptop. I’ll load my correspondence with Megan.’
‘Where is it?’
‘We have a dark web message board just for our use though the last ten days have been a bit one-sided.’
‘She’s off the reservation, isn’t she?’ said Benoit.
Trent lowered his eyes. ‘I honestly don’t know. When I left Barcelona, I told her to go dark...’
‘Go dark?’
‘Delete all operational material and suspend all comms in case they were being monitored…’
‘But she broke off communications long before that, according to your iPhone,’ said Latour.
‘That’s what’s worrying me,’ said Trent.
‘Then worry no more,’ said Benoit. ‘Now you know she broke off contact because she’d secretly returned to Seillans.’
‘She didn’t kill the Renfrews,’ said Trent.
‘You can’t possibly know that,’ said Benoit. ‘She deceived you about her intentions.’
‘I know she left her apartment, leaving her iPhone and laptop behind, and hasn’t been back,’ said Trent.
‘Why would she leave her devices?’ said Benoit. Trent lowered his eyes. ‘To stop you tracking her. But you were in Berlin when she drove to France. How would you know she wasn’t in her apartment without speaking to her?’
‘I…keep an eye on her.’
‘You bugged her apartment?’ said Benoit.
Trent shook his head, unable to meet Benoit’s gaze. ‘I have cameras.’
‘Cameras?’ said Benoit.
‘In her home?’ said Latour. Trent nodded. ‘She consented to that?’ Trent didn’t answer.
‘We’ll take that as a no,’ said Benoit.
‘In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re in a dangerous business,’ said Trent, tight-lipped.
‘Did you hack her laptop?’ said Latour.
‘Nothing so crude,’ said Trent. ‘I set up the system for her.’
‘And put in a back door without her knowledge to spy on her,’ said Latour.
‘For her protection,’ said Trent. ‘I use it as a last resort. You’ve seen what can happen in our world.’
‘What exactly is your relationship with Megan Matteson?’ said Benoit.
Trent paused. ‘I’m her father.’
‘And you were doing so well.’ Benoit gestured to Latour to start packing away the evidence bags. ‘We’re finished here.’
‘Wait,’ said Trent, as Benoit stood to leave. ‘I need to know. Have you confirmed Carla Renfrew as the female victim?’
‘You lie to me and expect privileged information?’ said Benoit.
‘Please,’ said Trent.
‘You’re worried the female victim might have been Megan,’ said Latour.
‘Is it possible?’ said Trent, a desperate look in his eyes.
Benoit shook his head. ‘We confirmed the victims’ DNA against samples from a lady’s razor, a toothbrush and a hairbrush from Villa Jasmin. Same with Harry. Your clients are dead.’
Trent nodded. ‘Thank you.’
‘Do we believe him?’ said Latour, as they drove up the adjacent hill back towards Seillans, perched like the decoration on a cake, in the distance.
‘Like all good soldiers under interrogation, he gave us a sprinkling of the truth.’
‘But he’s lying to us.’
‘Of course,’ said Benoit. ‘But, when he says he’d sacrifice himself to protect the Matteson girl, I believe him.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he has the air of a man who once failed to protect someone he loved and is determined never to repeat that mistake.’
‘Are you going to give him access to his laptop?’
‘Tempting. We’ve nothing to lose and we’ll be there to supervise.’
‘And if he decides to wipe all his data and we can’t stop him?’ said Latour.
‘Then we’ll be no worse off than we are now.’
‘If we release him, do you take his word he wouldn’t try to escape?’
Benoit laughed. ‘What do you think?’
Caron eased past the tough root encroaching on her path, glad of the protective suit, already heavily discoloured by clay. Looking back at Dugrippe and the others, she gave a thumbs-up before plunging into the undergrowth on all fours, wriggling and squirming to avoid sharp stones on the baked ground digging into her ribs.
Despite the early hour, the heat was oppressive under the tangled canopy of the maquis and, under her layers, she sweated copiously, to the delight of freshly-disturbed insects who began nibbling at her face as she tried to move further into the scrub.
Only a couple of metres in and it became so dark that she was forced to flick on her small torch to try and get her bearings and pick out detail on the ground. In the extra illumination, there seemed to be a faint animal track running through the dense shrubbery and about ten metres along, a wider space, free from roots, where she would at least be able to turn around for her return to the layby, should she be unable to penetrate deeper.
Caron hauled herself along the track, panting with the effort, which only excited the insects more, making them dart towards the invisible gasps of carbon dioxide, exhaled in her breath.
At the entrance to the small clearing, she felt something sharp beneath her suit. Feeling around, she picked up a small object and held it up to her torch. With a tremor of disgust, she realised it was the bone of a finger, totally denuded of flesh.
With some difficulty, she retrieved an evidence bag and slid the digit inside.
‘Putain,’ she mumbled, pulling herself into the tight clearing. The heat was unbearable. The insects were unbearable. The confinement was unbearable. With a strenuous effort, in the cramped space, she pivoted around to face the way she’d come in, then buried her face on her arms to get her breath back. She pulled the radio to her mouth.
‘It’s impossible. We’ll have to cut. I’m coming out.’
Preparing to move, she paused when a twig snapped deep in the gloomy tangle of undergrowth behind her. Caron pivoted to shine her torch at the shadows but saw nothing.
More rustling reached her ear. An animal crawling through the jungle of roots, probably. Again, Caron shone her torch and this time, at the limit of its range, the faint light was thrown back at her by two unblinking eyes, watching her from the shadows.
Caron didn’t wait for a better look. She dropped the torch and engaged every sinew to drag herself back towards the sunlight but, in her haste, caught herself on every obstacle successfully navigated on the way in.
Stymied by a particular root, she yanked hard to extricate the sleeve of her suit from its grip and, in so doing, dislodged something held above ground by the canopy of tough branches, which landed in front of her path to freedom with a thud and a half roll in her direction.
Passing through Seillans, Latour pulled the Citroen up to the barrier closing the D19, just west of the village. A gendarme indicated a back road in the same direction as the ‘Deviation’ sign but, when Latour held his ID to the window, the barrier was moved aside.
Two minutes later, they drew to a halt behind the welter of Police and FFP vehicles strewn across the carriageway. CSIs were roaming the layby in protective suits, carrying serious cutting equipment. Dugrippe stood apart, talking to Gagnon, Rolland and Coulibaly. He raised an arm in greeting.
‘Anything?’ said Benoit, staring up at the banked hillside. In daylight, he could see the slope was covered in tough grass which gave way to impenetrable scrub, rising steeply beyond the man-made cutting. Gnarled old roots blocked passage and only a small aperture, suitable for an animal to pass, offered a way into the dense undergrowth.
‘We’re barely able to get up there with cutting tools, never mind walk around in that stuff,’ said Rolland.
‘It’s thick with lavender, rockroses, tree heather and a dozen other roots,’ said Dugrippe. ‘It could take days to cut a path and search properly.’
‘So, a good place to hide body parts then,’ said Benoit.
‘Body parts?’ said Dugrippe.
‘Severed heads and hands,’ said Benoit.
‘Food?’ said Latour. ‘You mean the dog we saw last night.’
‘It wasn’t a dog,’ said Benoit. ‘It was a wolf.’
‘A wolf?’ exclaimed Rolland and Dugrippe in unison.
‘We only saw it for a split-second, boss,’ said Latour.
‘I saw it in the village last night, cool as you like,’ said Benoit. ‘Daniel too. And twice I’ve encountered it on this spot.’
‘What’s it doing here?’
‘I think it’s found a food supply and it’s sticking around until it’s exhausted,’ said Benoit.
‘Blood Summer,’ mumbled Latour.
‘Wait,’ said Rolland, nodding up the hill. ‘Nina’s in there.’
‘What?’ exclaimed Benoit.
‘That opening in the roots,’ said Rolland, pointing. ‘She’s the smallest so she volunteered to crawl in and look around.’
‘Shit,’ said Dugrippe, pulling out his radio.
‘Get her out of there,’ barked Benoit.
‘Nina,’ shouted Dugrippe, into the radio. ‘Abort. Abort. Can you hear me? Over.’
No reply. The five officers ran to the base of the bank and tried to scramble up the steep slope, shouting Caron’s name. At that moment, a blood curdling scream rang out from the undergrowth.
‘Here,’ said Benoit, brandishing a bottle of Evian.
‘I’d prefer a cognac,’ said Caron, sitting cross-legged on the tarmac, smoking a cigarette, her torn and dishevelled protective suit in a ball at her feet. ‘Sorry about screaming. It was a shock.’
‘I can believe it,’ said Benoit.
‘Can we tell who it is?’
‘The flesh has been gnawed away and insects and birds have eaten the eyes,’ said Benoit. ‘It looks like she was blond but, for the rest, we’ll have to rely on DNA and dental.’
‘And the smaller bone?’
‘Definitely a human hand, according to Grace.’
‘Quick decomp though.’
‘Speeded up by the digestive system,’ said Benoit. Caron squinted quizzically at him. ‘A wolf, judging by the teeth marks.’
Her mouth dropped open but, before she could respond, Coulibaly called him to the huddle of forensic officers working around the canvas sheet.
‘Dental is a no-go,’ said Coulibaly. Benoit forced himself to look down on the decomposing head, stripped of soft flesh. ‘The jawbone’s been smashed with a heavy object like a hammer or a crowbar to get at the teeth. They’ve been destroyed.’
‘All of them?’
‘Every last one,’ said Coulibaly. ‘And those they couldn’t smash are missing. Pulled out with pliers.’
‘Jesus,’ said Benoit. ‘Still, we’ll have DNA.’
‘Even if it’s a match, that only takes us so far,’ said Coulibaly. ‘We can do a comparison against what we already have but we need a baseline confirmation from a different source if you want official ID.’
‘We’re working on it,’ said Benoit. ‘Meanwhile…’
‘Get the head off to Nice and let Gueyrande work her magic,’ said Coulibaly, nodding. ‘She’ll do you a facial recon, get you a likeness. DNA will give us skin pigmentation and eye colour. May take a few days.’
‘But it’s definitely a woman’s head?’
‘No doubt,’ said Coulibaly. ‘Men have thicker bone in the skull and a more prominent supraorbital ridge. See how smooth the brow is.’
‘Age?’
‘Fully mature. Mid-twenties to mid-thirties.’
‘Any sign of a male head?’
‘We’ll look as hard as we can but given the terrain, it’ll be slow going,’ said Coulibaly. ‘We’ve asked for the dogs and we’ll send up a drone. If you could avoid shooting it down.’
‘Strip the hillside clean if you have to. But find those remains.’
23
Benoit and Latour followed Caron and Rolland’s car up the hill and back to the ICP. Inside, Gagnon was alone studying photographs taken on the night of the fête.
‘Where’s Daniel?’
‘Out tracking down more photographs,’ said Gagnon, standing to stretch his legs. ‘He knows the locals so he skims through what they show him, makes a contact list of people in them and sends someone round with a pen drive. It’s cumbersome but methodical.’
‘Any shots of Renfrew in the main square?’
‘Not yet,’ said Gagnon. ‘I’ve set aside half a dozen snaps of Renfrew walking through the village but, so far, no sign of him talking to anyone.’
‘And Baseball Cap?’
‘I’ve isolated a few men wearing caps. Nobody jumped out at us.’
‘Load them up,’ said Benoit, gazing at the display boards where Latour had added Trent’s details and history with a mugshot taken after his arrest.
‘Ex-marine?’ said Rolland, following his gaze.
Caron put an unlit cigarette to her lips. ‘Explains how someone even older than the boss could put up such a fight.’
Benoit snaked a glance in her direction and she winked back. ‘How are you doing with the laptop?’
‘Trent knows his shit,’ replied Caron. ‘I’ve used the two best password software tools I know. Nothing. Want me to get more aggressive?’
‘Trent said if we try to access the drive without the code, we’ll release a virus and wipe it clean,’ said Latour.
‘Could be bluffing,’ said Caron.
‘But it’s possible?’ said Benoit. Caron shrugged. ‘Then you have until tomorrow to crack it.’
