Knock 'Em Dead, page 31
‘Sure.’
‘I need to pick your gymnastics brain.’ Darac saw Granot visibly relax. ‘A hypothetical question.’
‘I didn’t think policemen were interested in hypothetical questions.’
‘You’d be surprised. Jodie, when you were performing a sequence that required a one-footed take-off, would you always use the same foot?’
‘Always, yes. For me, the right.’
‘You wouldn’t suddenly switch to the left?’
‘Oh no. Unless I was carrying an injury but if it were severe enough to make me consider a change as radical as that, I probably wouldn’t perform the routine at all.’
‘Well, thanks, Jodie. You’ve been a great help.’
‘Is that it?’
‘Except to say a big thank-you for all the work you’re doing with your pupil.’
‘No thanks needed. Would you tell him I’ll meet him outside reception later? We’re going to begin with a power walk around the grounds.’
‘You just have,’ Darac said, and ended the call amid some good-natured ribbing of the big man. ‘So we’ve identified what seems odd about the jump. On what we take from that, let’s add something else into the mix. When Férion complimented you on your editing prowess earlier, he referred to his squeamishness, didn’t he? A former journalist, he said he couldn’t imagine what it would be like to cover a war zone. Well, he should have been able to imagine it because for almost twelve months back in the early ’80s, Maurice Férion was part of Libé’s ground team covering the Iran–Iraq War.’
Perand shook his head. ‘No way. The man is strictly showbiz.’
‘I agree. The man we met is exactly that. He shed a tear, you know, when he saw just how much his comedy can still make an audience fall about.’
‘You mean Paillaud’s comedy?’ Perand said.
‘What I mean Perand, or at least, what I’m wondering, is that Maurice Férion may be Ambroise Paillaud.’
A medley of disbelief, doubts about Darac’s sanity and general protests went up.
‘I know. I can hardly believe it myself so talk me out of it, someone. Granot, you first.’
‘The first thing that comes to my mind is... Map’s autopsy on the jumper. He found clear evidence of precisely the rare form of terminal leukaemia Paillaud was being treated for at Clinique Albert Magnesca here in the city. Explain that one.’
‘What if Paillaud and Férion have been planning and indeed working this switch for years? It may have been Férion in the guise of Paillaud who was being treated for cancer, then Férion as Paillaud who jumped in front of the TGV – off the wrong foot, as it turned out. So of course, there would be traces of the cancer in his remains.’
‘Given your scenario, there would.’ Granot began twisting the ends of his moustache. ‘It is possible, this.’
‘And there’s another telling detail. If the Férion who just watched the suicide jump were actually Férion, an expert on Paillaud’s routines, he would have spotted that wrong-footed jump immediately, wouldn’t he? And he would have said so when I asked him about it. He didn’t because he didn’t want us tumbling to the fact that the jumper wasn’t Paillaud.’
Granot was still working on his whiskers. ‘That’s a persuasive point, too.’
‘Bonbon? You shoot me down.’
‘So far so interesting, chief, but what about Paillaud’s everyday life? Yes, he hid from the public eye but he must have been known to many people in La Crague.’
‘But was he? Caroline Rosay seems to be the person he knew best and she described him as a recluse – if indeed it was him she knew and not Férion. She is also dead and cannot help us with that question. And there’s another factor. Paillaud, as the true Férion asserts in his book, was a superb actor. Brilliantly observant and subtle. Partly because you’re so dazzled by the stunts, you don’t even notice that he is acting. You believe him completely.’
‘That’s true on screen.’ Bonbon scrunched his forehead. ‘Real life is one hell of a movie, though, isn’t it? Think of what we’ve just witnessed. If that Férion turns out to be the miserable recluse Paillaud, it was an amazing performance.’
‘Certainly was,’ Perand said. ‘And what about situations where acting doesn’t come into it? What about the various photo IDs you need nowadays? The carte vitale, for instance. If you’re being treated for cancer at somewhere like Clinique Magnesca, you’d have one, wouldn’t you?’
Granot shook his head. ‘We didn’t find one but anyway, you’re talking about the carte vitale smartcard that was introduced only recently. The originals were quite basic things. Didn’t even carry a photo. And usually, once you get on a system with a particular identity, you can keep it through any number of upgrades. And it can serve as a springboard for obtaining other cards, and so on.’
The point met general agreement.
‘This puzzles me,’ Erica said. ‘Why would Paillaud and his ghost-writer want to exchange identities? What was in it for Férion except to die a grisly death now when in a couple of years or whenever, he could have just slipped away in a haze of morphine?’
Darac nodded. ‘Quite. That exercises me more than some of the more technical issues of this thing. There are a couple of pointers, perhaps. To save anyone bringing up the database...’ He flipped open his notebook. ‘What Férion refers to in the autobiography as Paillaud’s “travelling circus of a family” eventually fetched up in Paris after being kicked out of La Crague. Férion, now 67, was himself born in Paris, registered as Maurice Rémy Férion. The mother is named as one Scarlett O’Hara, spinster, which I think we can safely assume was an alias, as was Scarlett’s Elysée Palace address.’
‘Do you think?’ Bonbon said, his foxy eyes twinkling.
‘The father...’ Darac continued, squinting at his entry. ‘... Jonny Férion is cited as a musician of no fixed abode. I’ll come back to Jonny shortly.’ He closed the notebook. ‘Remember Paillaud’s mother, real name Annette, gave Ambroise the middle name of Pernod, a favourite tipple of hers? Férion’s middle name is Rémy as in Rémy Martin, the cognac house. I’m putting the conclusion a bit before the proposition here and I know it’s tenuous but I’ll bet Paillaud and Férion were half-brothers. So there might have been some filial loyalty there, a bond strengthened by the chaotic circumstances of their childhood, a time of unusual license for the young Paillaud but also of deprivation and humiliation, something he firmly attributed to the odious Montand dynasty of La Crague.’
‘If all those ifs hold good,’ Bonbon said, ‘Férion and Paillaud could have bonded over something like that, and dreamed up a long-term plan to deprive and humiliate Montand. Armani always says revenge is a dish best served cold. Even though in this case, only one of the conspirators would live to see it.’
Paillaud wouldn’t even have to move house for the pleasure, Darac thought to himself. ‘And that brings us back to the new will I’m absolutely sure Paillaud made precisely to deliver that dish to the table.’
Bonbon wrapped himself into an affirmative sort of position in his chair. ‘Agreed, on that one.’
‘Flak – we haven’t heard from you yet.’
‘Question, Captain: if Paillaud is passing himself off as Férion, what do we do next? Practically, I mean.’
‘Answer: act on the results of a DNA swab test I set up just now.’
‘Férion agreed to take one?’ she said. ‘Or did we have enough to sanction it?’
Darac shook his head. ‘All we have are anomalies and some pretty compelling theories which might explain them. So no, I felt we didn’t have enough, officially. However...’ His customary half-smile made its first appearance in some hours. ‘As we speak, Wanda is plying Férion with drinks. A sympa sort of person, she’s going to clear the table of glasses at the end of the session and while Férion goes to the toilet, or waits in the car, she will go to work with a swab kit. And now I come back to said Jonny Férion, Maurice’s father who died seven years ago. He had a record of drug abuse, some minor dealing and got into the occasional fight over it which led to an arrest and a swab taken. Our new test couldn’t prove for certain if the Férion we know is Paillaud, but it would determine if he is Maurice, son of Jonny, half-brother of Ambroise through mother Annette.’
‘All well and good,’ Granot said. ‘If your scheme with Wanda works, I have no objections. But will it work? And obtained like that, there could be legal implications. With Luxembourg calling the shots, increasingly.’
‘A positive result, though, would provide grounds to authorise a proper DNA test.’
Granot gave a qualified nod. ‘Let’s hope so.’
‘Just to show I’m still paying attention,’ Erica said. ‘I have another question. If Paillaud is pretending to be the down-on-his-luck Férion, he isn’t fraudulently assuming the identity of someone who is rich and famous for gain, is he? He already is rich and famous. And you are certain he didn’t kill Caroline.’
‘As certain as makes no difference – his alibi is one of my oldest friends. And just to trail our brand new blockbuster, Granot and I are now seriously questioning whether Caroline’s murder was directly connected to Paillaud’s new will.’
Everyone talked at once.
‘Hey, hey! We’ll get to that. We’re still on the B-Picture at the moment. Go on, Erica.’
‘Paul, honestly. You are such a tease!’
The observation met general support.
Darac retired to safe ground. ‘Remember Agnès’s dictum? “Everything in its time, everything in its place.” ’
Scarcely mollified, Erica continued. ‘As you’ve outlined it, Paillaud hasn’t coerced or robbed anyone. He hasn’t committed actual bodily harm. And if there is no causal connection to Caroline’s murder, has Paillaud committed any crime at all?’
‘As a rule, deception is too low down the scale to interest us but it is definitely a crime and if Paillaud is alive, he has definitely committed it.’
‘Even if he stands to gain nothing from it?’
‘Well, we don’t know what he may gain from it yet, do we? But I take your point.’
Granot stirred in his seat. ‘Erica, have you had time to look at Caroline’s computer?’
‘For anything on your missing will files, you mean? No, but I’ll get to it later on.’
The door opened and in walked a young woman with feather-cut pink hair, grey shorts and a navy blue T-shirt bearing the word oof in large pink letters.
‘Hi, people. Hot one out there, today.’
‘If it’s not Astrid,’ Bonbon said.
‘Then I don’t know who is.’ Darac gave her a smile and motioned her into the chair drawn up next to him. ‘Or you can join me here on stage.’ He indicated the desk. ‘If you like.’
‘Flying visit. I’ll stand.’ A large cardboard-backed pad flopped out of her tote bag as she set it down and with a soft slap, performed a forward roll on to the floor.
‘You haven’t gone digital then yet?’ Perand said, channelling bonhomie from somewhere.
‘No. Still skin and bone.’
‘Not you. Your media shit, I meant.’
The pad made an effective if unwieldy fan. ‘You can lap a lot more air with this than a tablet.’
Darac took out his mobile. ‘How have you fared with the photos of Férion I took at Café Thurién, Astrid?’
‘You tell me.’ As Darac scrolled screens, she riffled pages. ‘Beat you. I call it Man Minus Breton Shirt, Garrulous Manner And Glass, Wearing Toupée, Dyed Eyebrows Et Cetera, Doing The Splitz.’
‘Catchy,’ Bonbon said.
In a sort of non-digital reprise of Erica’s earlier presentation, Astrid displayed her handiwork to the team.
‘This anything like your Ambroise Paillaud?’
53
On summer evenings, the palm-flanked arc of the Promenade des Anglais pulsed to a complex rhythm: road traffic, strollers, joggers, skaters, cyclists. Darac joined a loose knot of pedestrians at the kerbside and took the opportunity to stand still for a moment.
On the far pavement, members of the headlining James Clarence Orchestra were arriving en masse for their set, trudging past the Winged Victory monument that stood sentinel over the Jardin. Darac was irresistibly reminded of a New Orleans-style funeral band, the solemn march before all heaven broke loose.
Darac glanced at his watch. Paillaud or Paillaud’s ghost would be well on his way back to Paris by now. Earlier, Astrid’s mock-up likeness had succeeded only in preaching to the converted. Those who, like Darac and Granot, leaned towards the theory that Férion and Paillaud were one and the same person were not persuaded otherwise; the rest remained unconvinced. Uniforms were then dispatched to enlarge the test group. As Rafal Maso had entertained both the man calling himself Férion and Paillaud at La Poche, he was shown relevant photos alongside Astrid’s work. He could draw no firm conclusion. Hosting Rafal’s Monsieur Férion in Vence and then Saint-Jeannet, Sonia Bera and Daniela were drafted in to help, also. Neither had a definite view. With blanks drawn all round, Darac decided to wait the three days for Wanda’s unauthorised DNA sample to come back from the lab before taking this aspect of the investigation further.
The traffic stopped and Darac crossed. Setting down his guitar case at the agreed meeting place, he gazed back through the helter skelter towards the Baie des Anges. He loved these on-the-cusp times of day. Orange-streaked azure over glittering sapphire, the sky and the sea would soon lose the horizon that separated them, forming a vast continuum of bluish purple. Two infinities becoming one, it was a thing of immense promise. Tonight, he felt it more than ever.
Away to his left, a woman wearing a white sundress was picking her way through the crowds towards him. A woman with luxuriant black hair and green eyes. Darac was still gazing out into the bay when an unfamiliar perfume filled his nostrils and he felt a hand close on his. He turned. They kissed for a long time.
‘Frankie, your call was the happiest of my life.’
‘Christophe and me. It’s over. For good.’
Darac closed his eyes and held her tightly. He went to say something but no words came. It didn’t matter. He felt sure they would have all the time in the world to talk and besides, they had gone over a couple of things that needed to be said during the call. Yes, Frankie had been on the line to Marseille when Darac had rung her mobile from the Caserne – but only to decline their offer formally. For his part, Darac had explained that he’d spent so long trying to find Angeline because he felt the need to tell her face to face that he never wanted to see or hear from her again. Other things were not broached and possibly never would be. How Frankie could have believed that Darac might have welcomed Angeline back into his heart at her expense was something he couldn’t fathom. That Angeline’s spiteful dig about re-finding his mother might have given Frankie even a moment’s pause had not occurred to him at all.
It was Darac who finally spoke. ‘Where will you sleep tonight?’
‘At my place, I think, Paul. Join me. And it is my place, incidentally.’
‘Christophe?’
‘Gone to stay with a fellow designer. Laura. Lives in Miramas. Tall. Trim. Blonde. She’s 27. And so creative.’
‘And lives so near Marseille.’
‘Yes, what a coincidence. It transpires they’ve been lovers for the past five years. Half the time he goes away...’ Her tone supplied the inverted commas... “on business”, they couple up. Laura has been ever so good about sharing him with me, he says. By default, she’s had the lion’s share, actually. I can’t even remember when I last slept with Christophe.’
The self-denial. The guilt. The heartache. Darac couldn’t believe what they had put themselves through. ‘Frankie – all this time, we’ve...’
‘I know. Great detectives we are, aren’t we? I was even wrong about him not wanting to lose me. It wasn’t love. It was ownership. And on that theme, he will no doubt want to move his things out in stages. To make life as difficult as possible.’
Darac cradled her face in his hands. ‘Let’s make it easier. I’ll load everything of his into a van and drive it to Miramas.’
‘Paul...’
They kissed once more.
Should an old friend have caught sight of Darac at that moment and tried to sneak past unnoticed, a double bass would not have made a helpful accessory. Neither would a companion announcing to anyone who would listen that Darac was with a woman and jo! how fabulous she was!
‘Roll call. The one with the big fiddle and his head down – that’s Luc Gabron who you’ve met before. The one walking backwards with her eyes on stalks...’ He gave her a wave. ‘That’s Trudi Pachelberg. Not sure you’ve had the pleasure.’
‘She looks fun.’
‘And then some.’ His eyes slid to the security guards. ‘Shall we? I’ve got your ticket.’
‘Uh-huh.’
He picked up his guitar case and they walked towards the entrance arm in arm.
54
Hervé Montand’s hand hovered over the plan like God reaching towards Adam.
‘The new buildings and courts increase Centre Sicotte’s overall footprint by some 15%.’ His kickback on the deal was a mere 10% but it all added up. ‘So we’re agreed then?’ He looked into Tina’s eyes and smiled. ‘Work can start immediately once everything is settled.’
Deepak whispered something in her ear.
‘Yes, that’s right.’ Tina eyeballed Montand. ‘We spoke of a 20% footprint increase originally, monsieur.’
‘You don’t know how close you came to having flats crawling with racaille from Paris and Lyon overlooking your grounds, each with a free membership to your new facilities, and called Apartements Yolande Bertrand in honour of your hated, sorry beloved, mother. Better a slightly smaller spa, isn’t it? But if you can stomach the other thing, don’t sign.’
