Box of Bones (A Captain Darac Novel 3) Page 15

  ‘I’m sure you would have.’

  ‘It was the ease with which you spotted it. That’s what got to me.’

  He waited until her eyes met his. ‘You taught me too well,’ he said.

  Her eyes lowered. ‘I suppose I’ve got rather used to being thought well of over the years. By my team, I mean. I don’t care a fig what a string of commissaires divisionnaires have made of me. Or a pompous oaf like Frènes, or even a decent man like Examining Magistrate Reboux. But if I were to lose your respect… I would find that very difficult.’

  ‘You haven’t. Not for a second.’

  ‘I know. I’ve just seen Frankie.’

  He sat forward, keeping a straight face as he reached for her hand. ‘Agnès, I don’t just respect you –’ he ignored the sound of someone tapping at the door – ‘I adore you. Almost as much as I adore Sonny Rollins.’

  Half-laughing, Agnès’s free hand went to her forehead. ‘Oh no, no.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Bé just popped her head round the door at exactly the wrong moment. You know what that means? It’s Foot-Gate all over again.’

  He thought about it. ‘But I put Sonny Rollins in the punchline.’

  ‘She didn’t hear it. She’d already scooted off.’

  His mobile rang. ‘Word’s got round already?’

  ‘Charvet, Captain. I’ve just had Villefranche on. They thought there had been an accident but now they’re saying it’s one for us.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘You know the petit train touristique they have over there? It’s gone into the harbour.’

  30

  The Parade of Lights may have been going full swing in the city but just a few kilometres to the east, the petit train disaster was drawing a fair crowd of its own. Darac nosed his Peugeot toward the quayside, tapping the horn on the off-beats to Bobby Watson’s ‘Love Remains’. As a dispersal measure, it was signally ineffective. Holding the horn down would probably have worked better but he’d refrained out of respect – respect for the Watson tune. He swiped his mobile. ‘Who’s attending, Patricia?’

  ‘Dr Barrau, Captain.’

  ‘Wrong answer.’

  ‘Where are you now?’

  ‘Almost at the Cocteau Chapel. With these crowds, I can only go at walking speed.’

  ‘Got your roof siren?’

  ‘Last time I put it on in a situation like this, somebody nicked it.’

  It got a laugh, at least. ‘You’re only about forty metres away from our cordon now.’

  A uniform appeared through the squeeze. He turned, and walking in front of the car, began clearing the way ahead.

  ‘I’ve picked up some help, Patricia. Any problems with the quayside diners over there?’

  ‘Some people are still dining. But they’ve been cleared right back. It’s a good job it’s not summer. They’d be right on top of us.’

  ‘Absolutely. See you shortly.’

  He restored Bobby Watson to his rightful volume and followed the uniform toward a group of officers policing the cordon. In the cleared area beyond them, Darac counted four, five, six tents – one standing alone, the other five clustered together. He could already picture tomorrow’s headline: CARNAGE ON THE QUAY.

  Reaching the cordon, Darac had a word for his guide. ‘Thanks for the snowplough job.’

  ‘You’re welcome, Captain.’

  Darac indicated the tents. ‘It’s that bad?’

  ‘Bad enough.’ The officer followed his gaze. ‘Oh, I see what you mean. No, the tents grouped together is just a craft fair. We’ve evacuated the people.’

  ‘Thank God for hand-thrown pots.’

  The officer waved Darac through into the safe haven of the crime scene. The floodlit area was a teeming hive of activity: officers, technicians, equipment and vehicles – the cirque du meurtre was in town, alright.

  Ahead, Darac saw the white-clad figure of Patricia signing a couple of technicians out of the red zone. At its heart stood a cube of breeze-ruffled nylon – Barrau’s pathology exam tent. Darac shook his head. One minute, people were trundling around Villefranche enjoying a bit of innocent fun, the next they were being zipped into body bags. Sometimes he hated his job.

  Parking as the haunting lilt of ‘Love Remains’ faded into silence, Darac slipped on his police armband and got out of the car. Radio messages crackled on and off around him. Darac made for the quay where the winch crew appeared to be almost ready to go, aware that all the heads in the restaurants and the apartment houses above were turned toward the action.

  A voice shouted from the edge of the quay. ‘Chains are on!’

  ‘Okay. Stand by!’

  Sporadic shouts and counter-shouts.

  ‘Haul it!’

  Raul Ormans joined Darac as the winch’s engine faltered and then coughed into gear. The steel cable began wrapping back around its drum.

  ‘Put those’ – Ormans indicated Darac’s index fingers – ‘into those.’ He pointed to his ears. The cable straightened above the water. ‘Now.’

  Having learned the hard way that it was folly to ignore Ormans’ advice at such times, Darac did as he was told. A moment later, the winch engine emitted an ear-splitting screech as it took the strain and began hauling up the load. Spouting like a giant colander, the petit train locomotive slowly emerged from the water. Once clear, it hung for a moment and then, following another interplay of shouts, swung inexorably into position over a low-loader waiting on the quay. The loader driver started its engine, reversed a little and the docking phase of the process began. It took three attempts, but the loco was finally lowered safely into position. The winch engine relaxed.

  ‘Safe?’ Darac said, tentatively unplugging his ears.

  ‘Safe.’

  More shouts and the crew set about unhooking the chains.

  Ormans indicated the locomotive ‘Exhibit A. I must go and impress that fact upon the boys.’

  ‘Hang on one second, R.O. Before I learn absolutely nothing from Barrau, what happened, roughly?’

  ‘Bonbon’s in the tent. He’ll give you chapter and verse.’

  ‘How many dead?’ he called to Ormans’ retreating back.

  ‘Just one.’

  Darac met Bonbon, the crime-scene photographer and several technicians coming the other way. Bonbon did not look his usual happy self.

  ‘The wrong people die. Have you ever noticed that, chief?’ His hand went to the copper frizz that was his hair. ‘Mate – what a time to come out with that.’

  ‘Hey.’ He gave Bonbon’s cheek a pat. ‘Mama would’ve been the first to have agreed with you.’

  ‘It’s Barrau. He’s getting worse.’ Bonbon mugged the man’s Dracula-like mien. ‘“My preliminary report will be ready within an hour of returning to the lab…”’

  Darac joined in the recital: ‘“A full report will follow once the autopsy itself has taken place.” I know. I’ve had just about enough of it.’

  His tawny eyes round with indignation, Bonbon wasn’t finished yet. ‘Deanna, a world-renowned genius, she’ll speculate at the scene – within reason. Map – he’ll give you opinions you haven’t even asked for. This bastard’ – Bonbon pointed toward the tent – ‘nada. It doesn’t usually get to me but today, it bloody well has.’

  ‘This is a first, isn’t it? Me calming you down.’

  ‘Ai, ai, ai.’ Bonbon produced a notebook and a striped paper bag from inside his overalls. ‘Sherbet Doodah?’

  ‘Pass. So what have we got?’

  As Bonbon stuffed in the sweet and opened his notebook, Darac began scanning the cordoned-off area. It was an evocative sight. In the glare of the floodlights, officers going about their business had the look of a movie crew working on a night shoot.

  ‘Okay – the petit train had finished its stint for the evening. The driver, one Alain Saxe, dropped off his ticket girl, Danielle Veron, backed the coaches into their shed behind the Gare Maritime, unhooked the loco and set off in it to Avenue Galli
eni where he was going to garage it for the night. That’s where he lived, also. Alone, divorced, no children.’

  ‘Parking something like that at home? Unusual, isn’t it?’

  ‘Saxe held the franchise for the service and he owned the vehicle. He didn’t just work for the Mairie.’

  ‘I see.’

  In a strong cross light, a shadow moved massively across the gable end of an apartment house. ‘Granot’s here. Go on, Bonbon.’

  ‘A few people report seeing someone in the cab with Saxe. No description, sex unspecified. You see the biggest of those five tents? The one nearest the water?’

  Darac turned. ‘Yes?’

  ‘The loco, with two aboard, passed behind it. When it emerged a moment later, there was only one aboard. Then – splash! People come running. A couple of them – a waiter and one of the diners – jump in, manage to free Saxe from the submerged wreckage, get him into that rubber dinghy, paddle it to the steps and get him back on the quay.’

  A shadow fell over them. ‘Alright, Granot?’

  A grunted greeting.

  ‘Was Saxe alive at that point, Bonbon?’

  ‘Who knows? Thanks to that arsehole—’

  Granot cast an eye over the exam tent. ‘Barrau’s on the job, then?’

  ‘Oh yes. Thanks to him, the only pathology I can give you is what the two rescuers have already told us.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘That they thought Saxe “looked” dead. Once back on the quay, they tried to revive him anyway.’

  ‘They felt for a pulse?’

  ‘After a fashion. They weren’t exactly on top form themselves, by then. Although it’s only a few metres deep where the loco went in, it still must have been quite a production number for them.’

  ‘I certainly couldn’t have done it. Where are they now?’

  ‘We sent them home.’ Bonbon shook his head. ‘There’s a lot of questions here, aren’t there? Did the other person in the cab with Saxe kill him before he hit the water? Did he drown—’

  ‘You’d think that just once,’ Granot said, raising an accusing finger. ‘Just once, that mental midget Barrau might actually help us at the scene.’

  ‘Fuck this, guys.’ Darac strode off toward the exam tent. ‘Enough is enough.’

  Darac found Barrau completing a form over the dead body of the victim. The rest of the pathology team had already left.

  ‘At last.’ Barrau scrawled a signature. ‘Trolley!’ A couple of cheerful-looking men in whites stepped forward. ‘You can take him.’

  ‘We know within a minute or two when Saxe was killed,’ Darac said. ‘What killed him?’

  ‘My preliminary report will be—’

  Darac moved in close. ‘We’ve taken this shit long enough, Barrau. You are a fucking disgrace. Give. Me. An. Opinion!’

  The morgue boys froze.

  Barrau looked so shocked that for a second, Darac thought he might just spill. Instead, he fixed the statues at his feet with a wide-eyed stare.

  ‘You… you are a witness to what he just said. So are you.’

  ‘No, I didn’t catch it, sir,’ the older one said.

  ‘Me neither.’

  Unzipping a body bag, the older man looked enquiringly at Darac. ‘Can we have him now – Monsieur Saxe here? Only, my wife will be getting aerated. I’m not really supposed to be on tonight.’

  Barrau gave a sour little grin. ‘Alright. I see.’ He turned to leave. ‘But you have not heard the last of this.’

  Darac grabbed his arm and stopped him. ‘Dr Carl Barrau, I’m placing you under arrest.’

  ‘What?! Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘Captain – no!’ the older man said.

  Yanking his arm, Barrau tried to move off. He made no progress. ‘You are making such a mistake.’

  ‘I am placing you under arrest for refusing to assist a police officer in the course of an investigation when instructed to do so.’

  Barrau’s lancet-sharp eyes began to swim with uncertainty.

  ‘Further, Doctor, I am arresting you for obstructing—’

  ‘It was… a blow with a blunt instrument – possibly a cosh which fractured cervical vertebra C2. Breathing and heart would have stopped almost immediately.’

  ‘Thank you. This is how it is going to be from now on, Barrau. Understand? When I or any of my officers ask you for an opinion, you will give it. And if you run to Frènes over this, remember that I too have grounds for an official complaint.’ Finally, Darac released him. ‘And believe me, I will lodge it.’

  Rubbing his forearm, Barrau stormed out of the tent like a reprimanded child.

  Silence. The morgue boys looked at each other and then at Darac.

  ‘Captain? That was un-fucking-believable.’

  ‘Could you really have arrested him?’ the younger one said.

  ‘I could, though it wouldn’t have stuck for a second and he’ll realise that, I’m sure. But it would’ve made a stink and he must know that this stonewall approach he’s been getting away with… it’s not best practice, put it that way.’

  ‘You’ve had your moments, Captain. We all know that. But “I’m placing you under arrest!”’ He gave his younger colleague a slap on the arm. ‘Brilliant!’

  ‘Thanks for the selective hearing, guys. I owe you both one.’

  ‘Pah,’ the older one said. ‘I would have paid to see that.’

  Darac looked down at the body. ‘Broken neck… Did Lami log Monsieur Saxe’s effects in, by the way?’

  ‘Yeah. He gave everything to Officer Lartigue.’

  ‘Chief?’

  Bonbon was standing just inside the tent entrance. Conveying that he had only a second or two’s grace, he performed an ecstatic fist pump. Then, checking behind, he calmed himself and laid an index finger over his lips.

  ‘You should’ve seen it, Lieutenant…’ the older man called out. A dig in the ribs from his mate made the penny drop. ‘Oh, yeah. Later.’

  ‘Mademoiselle Veron is here,’ Bonbon announced. ‘The young lady who worked with Monsieur Saxe on the train. She has kindly offered to identify his body for us. And she would rather do it here.’

  ‘Just a second, Bonbon.’

  No order needed to be given. As the younger one swapped a body bag for a sheet, the other readjusted the lie of Saxe’s head and quickly combed his hair. The sheet in position, the boys retreated into a corner. ‘Alright, Lieutenant.’

  Bonbon took a pace back and smiling into the wings like a stage MC, held out an arm. Danielle Veron appeared, took his arm and looking anywhere but at the sheet, walked unsteadily forward.

  * * *

  A cool onshore breeze was blowing and Danielle seemed glad of the police blanket someone had draped around her shoulders.

  ‘Let’s get into my car,’ Darac said. ‘It’s got a good heater. Would you like an espresso or something?’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  As he switched on the engine, the CD player launched into Bobby Watson’s ‘Blues For Alto’. Darac reached to turn it off.

  ‘Could you leave it on, please?’

  He lowered the volume a couple of notches. ‘You like jazz?’

  ‘I like music. I need something normal.’

  ‘I know. This is weird, isn’t it?’

  ‘I can’t believe it.’

  He turned on the overhead light. Danielle was about twenty, with short dark hair and a lean, broad frame. Under the blanket, she was wearing a zipped jacket bearing an insignia embossed with initials.

  ‘What does FFN stand for?’

  ‘Oh, it’s the National Swimming Federation.’

  ‘You’re a swimmer? You can see I’m a brilliant detective, can’t you?’

  She gave the slightest of smiles. ‘I’m ranked fourth in the eight-hundred free. If you can call that being a swimmer.’

  ‘Fourth in…?’

  ‘The country.’

  ‘Fourth in the whole of France? That’s fantastic.’

  Sh
e stopped staring at the fascia for a moment. ‘The girl ranked third is only fifteen.’

  ‘Well, good for her.’

  ‘That’s what my sponsors thought as well.’

  ‘Ouch.’

  ‘Exactly. I was working for Alain just while I got something sorted.’

  ‘I can’t swim at all so I’m still in awe.’

  ‘You can’t swim?’

  ‘Not a stroke.’

  She gave him a look and for a moment, Darac sensed she might offer to teach him. ‘You should learn,’ she said, returning her gaze to the fascia.

  ‘Let’s talk about Alain.’

  Danielle told him that she’d known Saxe since she was a child. She found him a nice enough guy and a decent employer. She didn’t hold it against him that he’d tried it on with her a couple of times since she’d gone to work for him – she could look after herself. She knew of no next of kin except a frail and somewhat fearful aunt. It was to save the old lady a visit to the morgue that Danielle had volunteered to identify the body.

  ‘Where did Saxe drop you this evening?’

  ‘By the steps under the station. I went into Nice. To the Parade of Lights.’

  ‘The dragon up and running?’

  ‘I think so but I left before it really got going. Somebody had a radio and once I heard what had happened here, I came straight back.’

  ‘Please don’t take this wrongly…’

  Anticipating the question, she reached into the slanted pocket of her jacket and without any sort of rancour, handed him a train ticket.

  ‘There’s no barrier or anything and I hadn’t thrown it away. Fortunately.’

  Assuming it was hers, the time stamped on it at Nice’s Gare Thiers put her out of the frame as the person who was in the cab with Saxe and then wasn’t.

  He handed it back. ‘Thank you. Did you see anyone who knows you, by any chance? On the train?’

  ‘Yes, I met a couple I know on the platform in Nice. We rode back together.’

  He took their names. ‘Did Saxe often give other people lifts in the cab? Perhaps to drop them off on his way home?’

  ‘Not that I know of.’ She sat forward and undraped the blanket from her shoulders. ‘I’ve warmed up, thanks. It was the shock, I think. I don’t usually feel the cold at all.’