Essence of Murder, page 31
‘Good.’
‘We were getting pretty excited about Ralf Bassette in here but we can forget that now, it seems.’
‘Vis-à-vis the cigarette angle, certainly.’ Darac went to a different aspect. ‘Sponsored by the long-suffering Vivienne, the glorified badger game Banda was operating with Lydia Félix as was – is there any more to come from that, do you think?’
‘Not material to the poisoning, I shouldn’t think.’
‘No?’ Darac gave it a further moment’s thought, then binned it. ‘No. Just finally, the live camera link from Banda’s room. Working well?’
‘The sound and pictures froze momentarily a few times but as Erica pointed out, the in-camera recording will be 100% so those moments are not ultimately lost. Consensus here is that it’s going to prove very handy in some situations, especially as the gizmo itself is only slightly bulkier than a mobile phone.’
They ended the call and as Darac tapped in Astrid’s number, Elie Tiron emerged from Reception, announced that she was sorry she had been tied up earlier but was ready for him now.
‘A couple of minutes, madame?’
‘Of course.’
She went back inside as Astrid picked up.
‘I’ve gone out into the corridor, Paul. Go ahead.’
Darac explained what he needed and why.
‘Shit! I thought we’d nailed it.’
‘My sentiments exactly.’
‘But anyway... Drinks out on the drag strip? Sometimes, yes. Coffee, and especially spirits. On Thursday evening? Let me think...’
As his bandmate Dave Blackstock had delighted in pointing out, Darac was a devout atheist. While he waited for Astrid’s verdict, he felt his faith slipping slightly.
‘No, Paul. No drinks for Urquelle at any stage. No one else did, either. Not even water. I’m the only one of the smokers who carries a bottle around.’
Darac loved Astrid’s certainty but he didn’t love dead ends and that is exactly where they found themselves. He had always accepted that there would come a time in his career when he led an investigation up a blind alley and couldn’t find a way out. It was still early days, but perhaps that time had come.
‘OK, we’re back to square one and by now I was hoping to have reduced the number of suspects to just two or three. Until we know exactly how Urquelle met his death, it makes almost everyone here a suspect, in a sense. If that remains the case, 9.30 tomorrow morning may be pushing it for an easy check-out.’
‘Understood. Reluctantly so, but understood. Have you seen Elie yet?’
‘Seeing her in a minute. I’ll let her know how selected things are looking. And of course, I’ll have to question her on any part she may have played in Urquelle’s murder.’
‘Go easy, remember. No third degree stuff.’
‘Astrid, do you know what the third degree is?’
‘No, but it sounds bad.’
‘I’ll go easy. And naturally, if anything else occurs to you about Urquelle, call me immediately.’
‘Listen, we’ll be breaking for coffee in quarter of an hour or so. Shall I come and find you?’
He thought about it. ‘Why not?’
‘In the meantime, I’ll play back that whole episode again in my mind.’
Reflecting that a live feed from the camera in Astrid’s head would be far more useful to the Brigade than its new all-singing, all-dancing gizmo, Darac ended the call and headed back to the building. He made all of two steps before his mobile rang once more.
‘Erica. Got something?’
‘From Urquelle’s mobile. Our friend the deleted email has come through for us again. 53 of them to and from the same person, to be exact. Astrid’s feeling was spot-on.’
Darac began to brighten. ‘Thea Petrova?’
‘Thea “I want you again and again and again” Petrova. Or at least, that’s what she felt at one time.’
‘Her feelings cooled eventually?’
‘Seems so.’
‘Erica, I know you’ve had only a few minutes on this but do you have enough there to piece together a rough timeline for their relationship?’
‘Just creating a slide of it, coming to a screen near you, very soon – or the ops room to be exact.’
‘You know if you and Astrid ever tired of the Brigade, you’d make a hell of a private detective team. But don’t tire of it. That’s an order.’
‘As you put it so nicely. Urquelle and Petrova met for the first time four years ago at a trade show in Vienna. From that first night, it was full-on and increasingly frequent sex all the way until 18 months ago when things started to get more casual.’
‘How does that show itself?’
‘Things like Urquelle suggesting they stay at a particular hotel in Lausanne as they had before and she replying that she’ll have to be on a tight leash because her boss will be around. Next time, perhaps. But when it comes to the next time, she may not make the show at all. Whenever they do get together again – and it happens, just less frequently – it inevitably turns into the same steamy sex-fest as before. But with a difference.’
‘That being?’
‘If the later emails are anything to go by, the steam seems to have been generated mainly by him. And very mechanically, too. He starts using words like “screw” and “shaft” and while the man had a limp, it seems he wasn’t limp in other departments. Very proud of his “tool,” he was. She, on the other had, no longer refers to it or to the act itself at all. And when she had done so earlier on, incidentally, her language was intensely passionate rather than crude – referring to how much she craved his body and how he was the only one et cetera. Naturally, he fired similar things back to her, once or twice referring to how dead his marriage was since he’d met Thea.’
‘Interesting.’
‘I tell you the sense I have about these two. I think her passion for him waned when she realised she was not the sole object of his, which was something he claimed in several emails early on.’
‘More and more interesting. Before this few days, when was the last time they got together?’
‘Uh... February. In Dubai.’
‘And?’
‘Not much was said, or rather written. “Your room at 7?” “Make it 8.” Things like that.
‘Since then, any references to meeting up this week?’
‘Yes and no. In early May, Urquelle wrote: “See you in summer?” Thea replied: “September, perhaps.” No mention of the Villa so maybe it wasn’t planned. Maybe it came as a surprise to them both.’
‘Thea had taken courses at the Villa before so her presence here isn’t that surprising. Gérard Urquelle had never set foot in the place. Vivienne had, of course. Taught by Astrid, herself. Hmm. We need to talk to Thea, obviously.’
‘I recommend fire retardant overalls.’
‘Point taken.’ Another question emerged from the maelstrom. ‘She kept calling someone, didn’t she? From here, I mean. Astrid saw her a few times, speaking animatedly but at a discreet volume in Russian.’
‘We can’t access her mobile, though. Not without a warrant and that will take time. Although...’
‘Yes?’
‘I do of course know her number from Urquelle’s phone.’
‘Of course you do and this is a murder case for God’s sake. I’ll ring Frènes later to authorise it. In the meantime, go for it. I’ll take responsibility if shit and fan come together at some point. I’ll plead a breakdown in comms and general confusion. Usually works.’
‘Good, I’ll get right down to Thea’s calls. It will just yield numbers and names, of course.’
‘It could still prove very useful. And Erica, I loved your analysis of her email exchanges with Urquelle. Top work.’
‘I’m underpaid. You know that, don’t you?’
‘I know.’
They ended the call and Darac finally made it back into the lobby. If anything, he felt the stacks of papers and cards on the receptionist’s desk were higher than before.
‘You still there, Barbara? Or shall we send in a search party?’
‘Still here, Captain. Computer still down. Damned things.’
Partly because he was a soft-hearted soul; partly because he had told Astrid that he would; and partly because he sensed it would be more effective, Darac took it very easily with Elie Tiron from the start. His first impressions supported Astrid’s assessment of her friend. Elie did indeed appear to be a sympa soul and one glance was enough to suggest something else: “Tridi’s” nonconformist personality was something to which Elie was clearly attracted but had only latterly sought to emulate. Coloured shocking pink, and cut super short, her radical hairdo was a copy of a style Astrid had sported some months back, and Darac also detected a family resemblance to some of her mannerisms of speech and body language. Of course, Elie may have always expressed herself in this way but there was no doubting who was following whom in the rad-chic stakes. The room was replete with photos of staff, tutor and student groups, snaps from holidays and the like, and in every shot in which Elie appeared, her hair was brown, shoulder length, and cut in a far more conservative style.
‘I know we have work to do,’ he said. ‘But the postcards...’ He indicated the cork board behind Elie’s desk. ‘It’s impossible not to look at them.’
‘You can see the ones Tridi has sent, can’t you?’
‘The kitsch ones with the hand-written captions, at a guess.’
She smiled. ‘Yeah.’
He recognised a couple of images from a recent DMQ tour of Scandinavia.
‘Who’s been to Copenhagen?’
‘Me. This May. Just for a few days.’
One card in particular rang a bell: a depiction of a wooden panel bearing intricately carved letters in Arabic script. He examined it more closely. ‘This is from the Islamic art museum, isn’t it?’
‘Yes! The Davids Samling Collection – although Tridi says that’s tautology because “samling” means “collection” in Danish.’ She swivelled in her chair. ‘Beautiful, isn’t it? The panel is from a pulpit, they think – a minbar.’ She swivelled back. ‘You know it, obviously.’
‘My band played the jazz festival there last year. Some of us went along to the museum. Luc, our bass player loved this particular thing and checking out the catalogue description, he said: “You’ll never guess where they found this. It’s from a minibar.” He wasn’t joking, sadly.’
Elie laughed. ‘That’s priceless.’
‘Yes, Luc will never live that one down.’ It was time to get serious but unless he was angry, Darac’s habitual expression wasn’t one to strike fear. ‘I mentioned work. Shall we?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Let me go over what I know of your involvement with the so-called “have-a go-hero” Gérard Urquelle, and if I leave out anything significant, perhaps you would fill me in.’
Elie immediately looked under siege but Darac felt that there was nothing obstructive, evasive or even defensive in how she responded to what followed.
‘Do you have anything to add?’
‘No. I was obsessed, Captain, and I admit it. I hated him and still do. But I believed ultimately that he hadn’t killed Karen. Or the gunman.’
‘I do.’
She looked astonished. ‘What?’
‘I believe your suspicions were entirely correct.’
‘But the eyewitness – Marut. What about his testimony?’
‘False. There’s no need to go into it in detail but we all believe that not only did Urquelle pay Marut to lie in court, he subsequently killed him to keep him quiet.’
‘Marut is..?’
‘Dead? Yes. Murdered? Yes, we believe so.’
Unable to speak for the moment, Elie sat back in her chair.
‘I would love to be able to give you a moment but we have some way to go.’
‘I should have gone with my first instincts,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I knew Urquelle was an out-and-out bastard.’
‘Did you kill him, Elie?’ he said, gently, and not having the faintest idea how she could have done so.
‘No, Captain, I didn’t.’ She took off her glasses, dabbed her eyes and didn’t continue until she put them back on. ‘But I salute whoever did.’
‘Do you think that person may have been Vivienne Urquelle?’
Elie shook her head. ‘Tridi asked the same question. No. Emphatically. Though, Lord, if anyone had more reason.’
A knock at the door.
‘I know that knock. Is it alright?’
‘Yes, yes.’
‘Come in, Barbara.’
She hovered in the doorway. ‘I’ll need to trawl around in here for some stationery et cetera, shortly.’
Elie looked to Darac once more.
‘We’ll be about five minutes,’ he said, glancing at his watch, and hoping that Astrid would have come up with something since they spoke.
‘I’m not quite ready yet, anyway. I shall return in ten.’
Barbara took her leave as briskly as she had come.
Elie caught Darac’s look.
‘Don’t be fooled, Captain. Behind that hard, no-nonsense exterior lies an even harder no-nonsense interior. But I don’t know what I’d do without her. Especially with not having Clarice here this week of all weeks.’ Turning to the postcard board, Elie indicated a shot of an apartment house façade in which there was scarcely a straight line to be seen. ‘She’s on a Gaudi jag in Barcelona. Lucky thing.’
‘Indeed.’
‘But all this brings me to a question of my own.’
‘Vis-à-vis your diminished resources, what will happen later?’
Darac spent the next few minutes outlining how things might go. Although Elie had no choice but to accept the situation, he was pleased she did so with good grace.
‘Would you mind if we left it there, Captain? I need to go and eat something. Missed breakfast.’
‘Of course.’ He got to his feet. ‘But I must advise you against missing breakfast. Lieutenant Granot, with whom you liaised earlier, is something of an expert on nutrition and he reckons breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Alongside lunch and dinner, that is.’
Elie was smiling as she picked up her handbag and walked out into the lobby.
‘Aren’t you going to lock the door?’
‘What is there to steal? Besides, Barbara needs to come in.’
‘Oh, that’s right.’
‘Don’t even close it, usually. People can see at a glance if I’m in rather than knocking and waiting.’
Across the lobby, some progress appeared to have been made in the transformation of paper mountains into smaller peaks.
‘Hey, where are you going with my date?’ Astrid said, emerging from the lift.
‘Nowhere,’ Elie said. ‘Late lunch for me. See you later.’
‘I suppose I’ll just have to make do with him, then.’
Earning a quizzical glance first from Barbara, then from crowd control officer Emil Balaise at the door, Astrid linked arms with Darac and the pair headed out on to the parvis. Below, Barthélémy Assako had advanced his wheelbarrow to the upper parterre. Everything else remained as it had fifteen minutes before.
‘Walk and talk?’ Astrid said. ‘Or bums on balustrade?’
‘The latter. If there’s a sudden emergency, we might be faced with an uphill not-much-fun run to get back.’
‘Good point. Top of the steps?’
‘It’s where I called you from earlier.’
‘Let’s relive that madness.’
They unlinked arms and sat turned in to one another.
‘Elie was smiling when you left the office just now,’ Astrid said, slipping on her shades. ‘Thank you.’
‘That’s alright. Tridi.’
‘Aah... I was wondering how long it would take you to discover my pet name. And, considering what we’ve all been to each other – me and the Brigade – I bet you’ve wondered why I never shared it with you before.’
‘Do you know? I did.’
‘Some other time, I’ll tell you. But use it, by all means.’
A voice from below.
‘Mademoiselle Pireque?’
Astrid turned and looked down. ‘Barthélémy – didn’t hear you.’ She indicated the barrow. ‘You’ve oiled out the squeak.’
‘Oh yes.’ He smiled but it faded as he gave Darac a suspicious, even hostile, look.
‘This is Captain Paul Darac of the Brigade Criminelle. But don’t worry, he isn’t giving me the third degree. He’s a friend. Of a friend.’
All was well.
‘Monsieur,’ Barthélémy said, the smile returning.
‘Beautiful gardens,’ Darac said, realising it was a lame comment and resolving not to add “And how many assistant gardeners do you have?” to compound the felony.
‘Thank you. There are four of us in the team.’
‘Right.’ At least he hadn’t added “before you ask.”
Barthélémy turned to Astrid. ‘Tisa has done another painting for you, mademoiselle. It’s in my bothy.’
‘Bless her! Busy now, Barthélémy, but I’ll come along later.’
‘Alright, mademoiselle.’ A nod to Darac. ‘Monsieur.’
Darac smiled by way of a valediction and Barthélémy wheeled the barrow silently away.
‘Sweet man, that,’ she said, watching him for a moment. ‘Tisa, his daughter, is eight.’ She turned back to Darac and looked at him in a way he felt she never quite had before. ‘Tisa has no hands, Paul. No hands and only one of her forearms reaches what would have been her wrist. Born that way. And she draws and paints beautifully. A lovely, amazing, kid.’
‘Born that way,’ Darac repeated, one of the themes of the day crashing back into his head. ‘I just don’t know how parents... Anyway, look – Tridi?’
‘Now you’ve used it not just to tease me, does it work for you? The name?’
