Essence of Murder, page 35
‘Not particularly good with complicated forms,’ she said, looking over Granot’s shoulder. ‘Especially digital ones.’
‘I’ll scroll. You translate.’
‘OK, Ah, yes, I see... On Tuesday, May 17th this year – that’s the day before the pen purchase of course – Petrova flew into Stockholm from St. Petersburg.’
‘And transferred to a flight for Copenhagen, presumably?’ Perand said. ‘Or took a separate flight the next day?’
‘Uh... No. She stayed at the Hotel Aglund in Kungsgatan, Stockholm for three days and then flew back to St. Petersburg.’
‘Are you sure, Astrid?’ Darac said, his brain, if not his heart, sinking along with the collective mood.
She straightened. ‘Absolutely sure.’
A varied collection of oaths rose into the air and fell flat. Expressing the extent of the setback in his own curious way, Bonbon sat up like a good little boy in his chair. ‘Now where do we go?’
‘Where do we go? Astrid said, perplexed. ‘What do you mean?’
Perand took it upon himself to explain. ‘Thea couldn’t be in two different countries at once, could she?’
‘No, you can’t be in two countries at the same moment, but on the same day? Yes, you can. Definitely.’
Perand got to his feet. ‘Let me see that.’ With the air of a teacher irritated at having to explain things yet again to a slow pupil, he moved in and took charge. ‘Yes, look – the document trail shows just one border was crossed – Russia to Sweden on the 17th; Sweden back to Russia on the 20th.’
‘If she had flown on to Copenhagen, you’re right, Perand. It couldn’t be done. The train, though, is a different story. I have relatives all over Scandinavia and I’ve caught the high-speed service from Stockholm to Copenhagen and vice-versa on several occasions. I’ve never done it there and back in one day but I’m sure it would be possible. Erica, could you check that?’
‘Only too glad to.’
Perand still wasn’t satisfied. ‘But even if you could do that, you’re still left with the border issue.’
‘No, you’re not. Do you know where Copenhagen is in relation to the Swedish mainland?’
‘Well, not exactly. But that’s not the point, is it?’
‘Spanned by a road and rail bridge, a strait of water called the Øresund separates the two countries. Thousands of people commute back and forth across the bridge between Copenhagen and Malmö every day. Taking that route, no official has ever asked to see my passport. Either of them. As it happens, neither is Swedish or Danish but Thea does have a Swedish passport as well as a Russian one. If an official patrolling the train had been feeling picky and asked to see it, one glance at the cover and he or she would have walked right on down the train.’
‘Oh.’ Perand essayed his impression of a spoiled child and nailed it. ‘Well how was I supposed to know local stuff like that?’
The hum of voices started up again and when Erica reported that several trains a day could indeed have whisked Thea to Copenhagen via Malmö in time to purchase the pen, and got her back into Stockholm by nightfall, the place was buzzing.
‘It’s Thea, alright,’ Darac said. ‘Thea Petrova. We’ve got means. We’ve got motive. That just leaves opportunity. Don’t think answering how Thea got the pen into Elie’s desk will detain us for too long, do you?’
Granot was the loudest of a chorus of voices expressing the same thought. ‘Elie’s open door policy?’
Darac nodded. ‘Managers are fond of claiming that their doors are always open when they are patently not. Elie’s nearly always is even when she’s out. It would have been simplicity itself for Thea to have slipped in and done the deed.’
Flaco nodded but her brow was low. ‘What about Barbara, Captain? Not many opportunities to slip into Elie’s office unseen with her on the opposite side of the lobby.’
‘Good point but would Thea have needed to slip in and out unseen? With so many coming and going, some just on a pretext to have a quick chat, it wouldn’t really matter if she were seen, would it?’
‘I see what you mean. No – maybe not.’
‘I’m really not trying to hog the spotlight, people,’ Astrid said, sheepishly. ‘Bu-ut, I think I can give you that pretext. Thea’s I mean.’
‘Go for it! Erica’s smile was as wide as it was warm. ‘We love the Astrid Pireque Show.’
‘Same here.’ Bonbon reaching for his hab-dabs. ‘Best watch of the week!’
‘Hear, hear!’ Granot said.
‘Except for the Barça match,’ Bonbon added, casting Granot a wicked grin.
As a stretch to his fellow lieutenant’s bonhomie, Bonbon’s reference to FC Barcelona may not have spanned the Øresund but it was still a bridge too far for Granot. ‘Pah! Le Gym for ever!’ he bellowed, and in his black eyes and red face surreally displaying his beloved OGC Nice’s team colours. ‘Don’t listen to the Catalan fool, Astrid. Carry on.’
‘I think I’d better. Yes, in a conversation I had with Thea yesterday, she expressed what I felt was genuine interest in taking my next painting course here. I knew it was in early April but I couldn’t remember exactly when. She said “No problem,” she herself would check. Next year’s teaching calendar is up in Elie’s office so A: Thea had a perfectly legitimate reason for paying a visit. B: Yes, I take your point about the traffic in and out of the office, Paul, and yes, Barbara works hard and she can practically see around corners but she does abandon her desk from time to time. Elie abandons hers far more frequently. All Thea had to do was to wait until neither of them was in situ and she could have planted the pen totally unseen.’ She made a moue. ‘Sorry – not quite as exciting as before, that, was it? And a bit long-winded, but I bet it’s what happened.’
‘I wouldn’t bet against you, Astrid.’ Darac said, once again expressing the feeling of the meeting. ‘Ever.’
Bonbon twisted himself into an unlikely contraposto in his chair. ‘So, we’ve got means, motive and opportunity on Thea Petrova. The only thing we haven’t got is Thea, herself. So, my dear friends and colleagues, I repeat what I said a few minutes ago: where do we go from here?’
In one of those insights some may have attributed to the fertility of Darac’s imagination; some to his talents as an improviser; and others to a more prosaic source – being able to recognise an inescapable conclusion to a sequence of events when he sees one – Darac knew exactly where to go and how to get there. ‘I think we can prove she’s guilty.’ Smiles, nods and asides bobbed up and down in the wave of positivity that broke around the room. ‘It just needs a little preparation. Astrid, when it comes to taking statements from the students, who would you say is likely to be the most compliant from Mathieu Croix’s course?’
‘Compliant as in unlikely to make a fuss?’
‘Yep.’
‘There’s a husband and wife combo – the Calons. The husband, Jérôme, is your man. Compliant as crème anglaise, he is.’
Darac grinned as he made the note.
‘Perand? You’re interviewing Jérôme. Choose one of our colleagues from Foch to assist you.’
Perand shared a look with the leader of his comedy fan club and with a combination of eyebrow semaphore and nodding, completed the deal. ‘Done, chief.’
‘And which two of Zoë’s students fit the bill, Astrid?’
‘Uh....’ She pursed her lips. ‘I wouldn’t call her compliant in a submissive sense at all, but the rather beautiful older lady, Cinzia Veri comes to mind.’ ‘I don’t think she would have a problem cooperating with the authorities. Especially if – don’t kill me, Erica – it was Serge who was asking the questions.’
‘Astrid!’ Erica said, essaying exasperation rather than murderousness. ‘Despite my best efforts, butter-wouldn’t-melt Sergie here already believes he’s God’s gift to women.’
The young man was already blushing. ‘I’ve never believed that!’
‘Serge?’ Darac said, stifling a grin. ‘You’ll be charming Cinzia. And to go to the ball with you, there are three Cinderellas from Foch still left to choose from.’
‘He turned. ‘Davide? I promise to have you back before midnight. OK?’
‘I’ve heard that line before.’
A second pairing sorted, Darac asked Astrid for another nomination from Zoë’s class.
‘It might seem strange but the very up-for-it Monique Dufour might work well. She’s the class clown and I think she’d think it was a bit of a hoot to be questioned.’
‘Granot – think you can handle her?’
‘Yes, but only if I have...’ He turned to make his selection. ‘Mojamé by my side. Alright with you, Mo?’
‘Honoured, Lieutenant.’
‘Now your students, Astrid.’
‘May I ask what the exact purpose of these non-contentious interviews is?’
‘Principally, to lull Thea into thinking that we’re whisking through everyone quite quickly – hence the need for a nice, smooth start. And that will send her a message, won’t it?’
‘It will?’
‘It will. More on that later.’
‘That’s good to know,’ Erica said, her face a study in cluelessness.
‘Astrid?’
‘Oh, right. Uh... I’d steer clear of Claudine Bonnet. Her sister Babette would probably be a good choice. Alan Davies is an interesting one. He’s excellent company and so on but he’s very much an individualist. The type who likes to set his own course rather than go with the flow.’
‘So steer clear of him, too?’
‘Not sure. Although he was well aware of the media hype implications of terms like “have-a-go hero,” he did believe Urquelle was worthy of respect for what he did that day. And while we know he was wrong to have assumed it was accidental, Alan was grateful to him for killing the scumbag that was Eddy Lopes. And he’s the only one I’ve heard say that he hopes Urquelle’s killer will be caught and soon. Except in a general way, no one else seems to care about that, particularly.’
‘For our current purposes, do you think he cares a little too much?’
‘Perhaps.’ She pursed her lips. ‘Yes, not Alan, I think. Although Ralf Bassette was a suspect, he didn’t realise that, of course. I’d go for him, I think. Another charming, interesting guy. Especially if he commissions a portrait from me. ’
‘Ralf it is. Bonbon, you’re in the frame. OK?’
‘Appropriate, considering they’re artists.’ He turned to the remaining uniform from Foch. ‘Marcel, watch and learn.’
‘If you say so, Lieutenant.’
Darac then told Perand, Granot, and Bonbon how he wanted their interviews to go and when to start them. Then he turned to Flaco. ‘Flak, you and I are going to interview Thea.’
‘Right, Captain.’ The slightest smile played on her lips. ‘What will be our approach?’
‘I’ll tell you in a second. Erica?’
‘Command me.’
‘This is what I would like you to do in the meantime.’
6.11 PM
In Geneva, Benjamin Lejeune was now over three hours into his life-saving heart operation. At the Hôpital St. Roch in Nice, with her loved ones in attendance or nearby, Noëmi Tardelli was in the throes of bringing a new life into the world. That was the upbeat take on things. The more sobering was that Benjamin’s operation was also a life-threatening procedure that was only about half-way through; and that “complications” were endangering Noëmi and her six-weeks premature baby.
Darac wasn’t expecting to hear from Frankie until her father was recovering from his operation. There had been no word from Suzanne at St. Roch for the past two hours. Darac had considered texting her at several points in that time, and he tried to convince himself that it was only because he had to concentrate so completely on the case that he hadn’t. Tried and failed.
Darac’s admiration for Astrid’s drawing technique only deepened as Thea opened the door to her room and he studied her face up close. The set of her cheekbones; the Slavic tilt of her eyes and their smoky stare; the full, sharply-lined mouth; and above all, that queenly mien. Astrid had captured it all perfectly.
‘Madame Petrova, thanks so much for allowing us to squeeze you in to our schedule.’
‘In my country, Captain, when the police ask to see one, one sees them. Please come in.’
Thea repaired to the desk and gestured Darac and Flaco to sit in the chairs she had drawn up facing her.
‘If you have no objection, we’ll be using this.’ He took the Brigade’s battered old sound recorder out of his bag and set it on the desk between them.
Thea signalled her assent with a slight sideways incline of her head, a slight fluttering of her eyelashes, and a slight shrug of the shoulders. If recording their “chat” was an imposition, she had succeeded in implying it was only a slight one.
‘I’m sure you’ve noticed we’re talking to everyone here. It just helps us keep track.’
‘Track.’ Another nod, frontal this time, and accompanied by a knowing look. ‘Of course.’
He turned to Flaco but, her attention appeared to have been captured by the top-of-the-range cosmetics littering the dressing table away to their right. It was a nice touch, Darac thought.
‘Officer,’ Darac said. ‘The list, when you’re ready?’
‘Oh, sorry, Captain.’ Essaying a one-woman-to-another look, she smiled at Thea as she bent to retrieve her tablet. Thea gave not even the slightest of smiles in response.
‘You can tick Madame Petrova off.’
‘Right.’ Flaco scrolled a list of names, reading out each one under her breath. Under her breath, but just loud enough to hear. The last name was Elie Tiron’s.
‘Better check this thing is still working,’ Darac said, pressing a couple of buttons. ‘Seems to be alright. Just do a little test.’ He pressed record and sat back ‘One, two, three. Talking with Madame Thea Petrova in a moment. Interview six. One, two, three.’ Darac rewound and pressed play. In a loud and clear voice, the trio heard Elie Tiron say:
“This has been a complete waste of my time, Captain—”
And then Darac interrupting her:
“—As it turned out, yes it was, madame but...”
Darac shot forward in his seat, knocking the device to the floor in his panic. Flaco made a grab for it and hit stop, but not before the recorded Darac concluded his remark to Elie:
“... we didn’t know that at the start, did we?”
‘Uh, I... think we’ll continue without the recorder, Madame Petrova – it’s not behaving. If that’s alright with you?’
A nod. Business-like or curt? And was that suppressed anger in Thea’s eyes or resolve? Darac couldn’t tell. But of one thing, he was sure. His plan had got off to a promising start.
‘Officer,’ he said, turning to Flaco. ‘The time grid now, please.’
7.16 PM
Throughout the building, students were stepping out of their showers and into their formal evening attire. The Villa’s celebrated celebration dinner, an experience Astrid had described as the “best nosh bash this side of Le Chantecler ” was due to begin in just half-an-hour.
With two exceptions – Darac and Serge Paulin – the contingent from the Caserne was gathered in the ops room. In the manner of fighter pilots waiting for the instruction to scramble, the banter was inconsequential, comedic, and never once referred to the challenge that lay ahead. If indeed it did: there was no guarantee that the instruction, coming via a held call on Granot’s phone, would be delivered at all. But if it was, it would consist of just one word: “Now.” Granot’s role was to acknowledge and then, when the moment was exactly right, to give the counter instruction. The rest was down to Darac.
‘Nice of the kitchen to let us have a copy of tonight’s menu,’ Bonbon said. ‘No Hab-Dabs Criant in the dessert section, note. I must have a word with Chef.’
Granot performed his particular take on the Gallic shrug, a championship standard example. ‘Steak au Poivre à la Jean-Claude? Who would want a dish like that?’ He checked his headset for slippage – there was none. ‘Apart from every non-vegetarian on the planet. Still, I’m glad Monsieur Martin Darac will be able to enjoy it on our behalf. Richly deserved after his contribution to the case.’
‘Was there one?’ Perand said.
‘ “So, the poison wasn’t in the scent, then?” I think it was. Well worth a free gourmet dinner.’ The faux grin disappeared. ‘There’s Loup-de-Mer en Papillote on as well, you realise. Loup! De-mer!’
‘I’d settle for a bowl of the Soupe aux Truffes,’ Erica said, breaking a bread stick in half. ‘Can you imagine?’
Raul Ormans was engaged in the neglected time-passing classic that was the twiddling of one’s thumbs. First one way, and then the other, he was quite the virtuoso, it seemed. ‘Soupe aux Truffes? I had that dish once. Three-star Michelin place in Paris.’
‘Verdict, R.O?’ Lartigue said.
‘It was... nice.’
Staring wistfully into the distance, Erica was moved to nod. ‘What an inspiring story.’
‘So what’s the worst meal anyone’s ever had?’ Perand said, and the waiting game continued.
7.18 PM
The luggage room door was open only the merest crack but it provided a view of the comings and goings in Reception, nevertheless. As long as Darac kept quiet and made no extravagant moves – he had Barbara in tow to ensure he didn’t – no comer or goer would have spotted him. Two further pairs of eyes were looking on from similarly hidden viewpoints.
He felt a throb against his chest. ‘Take over a second, would you, Barbara?’ he whispered, and took a step back. She nodded and slipped stealthily in front of him.
The text was headed “Addition to Tomorrow Night’s Set List?” and it was from DMQ bandleader Didier Musso. With Barbara evidently relishing her watching brief, Darac had no qualms about reading further. The proposed addition was a cool, funky blues the band hadn’t performed in a while: Billy Cobham’s ‘Red Baron,’ a “personal request” from a mate of Didier’s. Band members were asked to cast their entirely free vote by typing the single word “Yes” or “No, I have neither the time, talent, perspicacity, nor the inclination to make such a last minute...” And so on it went for a half a dozen more lines. Darac voted as he was supposed to and as Monday night’s rehearsal felt like a very long time ago, he ran an eye over the rest of the list to refresh his memory.
