Box of Bones (A Captain Darac Novel 3) Read online

  ‘Police! Gangway!’ Darac tried to remember the routine as he knelt at Marco’s side. ‘You girls alright?’

  ‘Yeah but no thanks to the driver. He bumped right into us.’

  ‘Uh… Okay, he’s breathing. And his airway is… clear.’ Darac began taking Marco’s pulse. ‘One, two…’

  Deep cuts to Marco’s cheek and forehead were starting to bleed profusely. Taking tissues from her handbag, Erica set about staunching his wounds.

  ‘Mustn’t press too hard. Look at the swelling. Cheekbone may be broken.’

  ‘Marco? Can you hear me?’

  The samba float driver joined them. He was shaking. ‘Something happened at the front and then the dragon went—’

  The girls weren’t having it. ‘You were watching that instead of us, you arsehole!’

  ‘Hey, if I hadn’t jumped on the anchors when I did, I would’ve gone right over you, not just bumped you on to your backsides.’

  A shuttering crash to their left. The dragon had finally collapsed, cartoon-like puffs of pink smoke enveloping the wreckage. Darac was still staring at his watch.

  ‘Seventeen. Eighteen… Anybody under that? Twenty…’

  ‘No, don’t think so,’ one of the dancers said, craning her neck.

  Voices washed around them.

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Some guy went under the float. The one at the front.’

  ‘One driver brakes, then they all brake, don’t they? Domino effect.’

  ‘Front wheel went right over the guy’s head.’

  ‘Burst like a melon.’

  ‘Pissed, he was.’

  ‘Look at what he’s caused. Arsehole.’

  ‘I bet it was that drunk,’ Erica said, maintaining an even pressure on Marco’s cuts. ‘The guy who was pushing everyone.’

  ‘Thirty-one… Sounds like it. Any sign of the ambulances? Thirty-three…’

  The dancer acted as Darac’s eyes once more. ‘Can’t see them.’

  Lapel radios buzzing, a wedge of officers spearheaded by Magne was sweeping along the road toward them.

  ‘Keep the road clear for emergency vehicles!’ he shouted. ‘Keep it clear now!’

  Darac relinquished Marco’s wrist. ‘Doubled that makes… ninety-six. Not too fast, considering.’

  The patient’s eyes opened.

  ‘Marco? Can you hear me? Marco? Do you know where you are?’ The drummer’s gaze was fixed, unfocussed. ‘Look at his eyes.’

  Erica nodded. ‘Glassy.’

  Feet trampled around them.

  ‘Move back, everyone!’ Darac said.

  ‘I couldn’t help it,’ the float driver repeated, walking away. ‘I had to jump on the anchors. Got a line of girls right in front…’

  Erica bent low over Marco. ‘Can you hear me, sweetie?’

  He made an affirmative sound in his throat.

  ‘That’s good. Help’s coming, okay? But for now, can you see my finger?’

  ‘Ye-es.’ The word was no more than an exhalation.

  ‘Try to follow it.’ She moved it slowly in front of his eyes. There was some response. Slow, but it was there. ‘Hey, not bad.’ She gave Darac a little nod of encouragement. ‘Okay, let’s try again. Tell you what, Marco, forget it’s a finger. Think thongs and feathers. Swaying. Oye como va…’

  Darac smiled at Erica’s strategy. And it worked: Marco’s eyes held the finger first one way, then the other.

  ‘That’s better. Just concussion, I think.’

  ‘Concussion?’ Marco’s voice was a little stronger. He tried to sit up. ‘Jesus.’

  Darac laid a hand on his chest. ‘Stay still a second, mate. Just in case.’

  Young Freddy came limping up. ‘Marco… is he alright?’ The boy’s face was a mask of concern. ‘I saw him fall.’

  ‘He’s doing fine.’ Erica applied fresh tissues to Marco’s cuts. ‘Did he land directly on his back?’

  ‘He fell forwards, mademoiselle. On to his head. Then he tried to get up and sort of collapsed. I saw it.’

  Magne’s phalanx was almost alongside.

  ‘Where are the medics?’ Darac shouted across to him.

  ‘On their way!’

  Nearby, he could see the TV reporter Annie Provin already doing a piece to camera. ‘Carnival Committee Chair, Jacques Telonne, must come up with a lot of answers,’ she said. ‘And there are decisions to make. Monsieur Telonne, will tonight’s parade be aborted? What steps will you take to make sure citizens are safe?’

  Stern-faced, Telonne stepped forward to respond, but Darac didn’t hear any more. Sergeant Magne’s lapel radio blurted out a message. ‘Say again?’ He looked across at Darac. ‘I’ll tell him. Over.’

  ‘I’m alright,’ Marco said, trying to blow a trailing end of tissue paper away from his lips.

  Erica removed it. ‘Good. The bleeding is stopping.’ She applied two fresh tissues. ‘These are the last.’

  ‘Marco? Keep lying there, but can you move everything? Start with your toes.’

  Everything moved as it should.

  ‘I think we can sit him up.’

  Darac and Freddy helped him. Once upright, Marco gave the boy a wink. ‘A tip: never headbutt a road.’ His hand went to his face. ‘Mademoiselle? Thanks, but I can hold these tissues on now.’

  ‘How’s your cheek feel?’

  ‘Bashed.’

  ‘Looks it. There… Got them?’

  Darac felt Sergeant Magne’s hand on his shoulder. ‘You’re needed up at the front there, sir. The guy who went under the float? Some are saying he didn’t fall, he was pushed. Since you are right here, sir… And we don’t have full powers of arrest. Although that’s a bit academic as it turns out.’

  ‘The suspect is held, isn’t he?’

  ‘He got away in the crowd.’

  Darac ran a hand through his thick, wavy hair. ‘Alright. Witnesses?’

  ‘Some. And more coming forward. We’ve started taking statements.’

  ‘We may have got a glimpse of him ourselves. Back view, anyway.’

  A couple of the other samba players joined them. ‘Freddy? How’s Marco?’

  The boy filled them in as Darac took a final look at the fallen.

  ‘You go,’ Marco essayed another wink. ‘I’m alright.’ He indicated his torn jacket sleeve. ‘Better off than my suit, anyway.’

  Darac gave Marco’s arm a pat. ‘Anything’s better than that suit.’ He took out his mobile, telling Magne, ‘Just need to make a quick call.’ Away to his left, the dragon’s handlers were starting to pick over the carcass. ‘Any injuries there?’

  ‘Couple of the guys have ricked themselves pretty badly. Another’s broken his leg, I’m hearing. But they kept the thing airborne long enough so it didn’t land on anybody. That’s the main thing.’

  ‘Indeed.’ His father answered at the first ring. ‘Papa? I’ve got caught up in something.’

  ‘But it’s important I see you, Paul. Can’t you turn whatever it is over to Granot or Bonbon?’

  ‘Listen, I’ll be there. I may be a little late, that’s all.’

  ‘Oh, okay. Good, I’ll see you as and when.’

  ‘Bye.’

  Sirens whooped dissonantly in the far corner of the Place.

  ‘And now, the Parade of Ambulances,’ Darac said. He gave Marco a look. ‘Only be a minute, mate.’

  Erica touched Darac’s forearm. ‘I can’t imagine there’ll be a tech aspect to it, but do you want me to come anyway?’ She glanced at her watch. The minute hand was just reaching Captain Haddock’s beard. ‘I’ve still got an hour or so before I’m meeting Serge.’

  ‘It won’t be pretty up there.’

  ‘I know that. Will you stop treating me as if…’ She was suddenly aware of Freddy and the others. ‘I’ll be fine.’

  ‘Okay, then.’

  A second Police Municipale officer joined them. ‘Captain? They’re all waiting for you.’

  ‘One second. Magne, could you liaise wi
th the medics? Apart from the cuts and the swelling on his cheek, Marco here might be concussed. His pulse is a little fast, but he can move everything.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘I’ll stay with him, as well,’ Freddy said.

  ‘Okay, we’re off. See you later, guys.’

  ‘I’ll go and round up the drums, Marco,’ Darac heard one of the samba players saying. ‘Don’t trust this crowd.’

  ‘Just a second, Erica. Freddy?’

  ‘Yes, monsieur?’

  ‘You do still have the guitar?’

  2

  There was a carnival of its own going on in the squad room at the Caserne Auvare: Darac’s boss, Commissaire Agnès Dantier, was playing host to a delegation from Europol. In a lower key, Lieutenants Roland Granot and Alejo ‘Bonbon’ Busquet were awaiting an instruction from the public prosecutor’s office; and young detectives Yvonne Flaco and Max Perand were catching up on paperwork. Or they had been until Darac had turned up unexpectedly.

  ‘It’s the old classic this, isn’t it?’ Bonbon grinned, his tawny eyes twinkling. ‘Did he fall or was he pushed?’

  Darac handed Granot the witness statements. ‘The consensus is he fell.’

  ‘Fell? I thought pushed was the call.’ Bonbon took a white paper bag from his pocket. ‘Sheep’s eye, anyone?’

  No takers.

  ‘Granot?’

  Shifting his bulk, Lieutenant Granot peered into the bag like a polar bear contemplating a hole in the ice. ‘What are they, really?’

  ‘Liquorice and nougat.’

  ‘I’m on a diet, suddenly. What about this push call, chief?’

  ‘The couple who read it that way were some way off. Those nearer reckoned the chaser was trying to pull the victim out of the way of the float, not push him under it.’

  ‘If he didn’t push the guy, why did he run off?’

  ‘No one saw him do that. He just wasn’t there when they turned around.’ Darac gave the report a nod. ‘It’s all in there.’

  Granot gave a little grunt as he skimmed through the witness statements. ‘I see you haven’t added a description yourself?’

  ‘I’ll give you one now.’ Darac drew up a chair. ‘1972 Gibson SG Standard. Cherry finish. All original hardware and pickups. Serial number—’

  ‘Not of your guitar.’ Granot shook his jowly chops. ‘Of the chaser.’

  ‘Alright, it’s not a Brigade case, strictly speaking. Or at all. But that guitar is worth a couple of thousand euros, you know.’

  ‘I know. We all know, especially Flak and Perand, who are co-ordinating the search. But possible homicide trumps theft, doesn’t it? Even of your 1972… whatever it was.’

  ‘Gibson. SG. All original.’ Leaning back in his chair, Darac craned his neck around Granot. ‘Anything yet, Flak?’

  ‘Foch have got several uniforms working on it, Captain. No eyewitnesses as yet. And so far, nothing on a personal camera. Looks as if people only had eyes for the dragon. But there’ll be TV and CCTV to check later. The thief could well have been picked up there.’

  Perand gave the stubble-blackened side of his face a slow scratch. ‘For the time being, Lartou and his telly addicts are only looking at the murder/accident/suicide moment.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘Speaking of that?’ Granot picked up his pen. ‘You saw him, didn’t you?’

  ‘Only from the back. Navy blue jacket; red scarf; balding. But the witness statements from the business end of the thing aren’t much better.’

  Bonbon peered over the mountain range that was Granot’s shoulder.

  ‘“Tall”; “medium height”; “stocky”; “slim”.’ He nodded. ‘Useful.’

  ‘Well, they all agree he had a goatee beard. That’s something. And a couple of the later ones said they’d be able to pick him out of an ID parade. I asked Astrid to take her sketch pad down there. Or tablet or whatever she’s using now.’

  ‘“Balding.”’ Granot completed Darac’s description with a conclusive stab on the full stop. ‘Yes, it seems no one paid much attention to the chaser. It was the victim, the loud and drunken Monsieur Michel…’ he checked the surname, ‘Fouste, that drew all eyes.’ He turned the page. ‘I’ll just continue with these. Talk amongst yourselves.’

  Bonbon wrapped himself back into his chair. ‘Why all the mayhem? Floats stop and start all the time in parades, don’t they?’

  ‘People seeing a man’s head explode is why. One of the dragon handlers fainted dead away at the sight; another fell over him, breaking his leg. That made the beast slew to one side. For a second, it looked as if it might collapse on to the crowd.’

  ‘What about the float your mate was on?’

  ‘All the driver’s fault. Transfixed by what was going on at the head of things, he bumped into the samba girls in front of him and then jumped too hard on his brakes. The thing submarined and the band toppled off it like skittles.’

  ‘And it was while everyone was picking themselves up and so on that—’

  ‘Someone saw my guitar lying unattended, grabbed it and made off into the night.’

  Making a trenchant point to the Europol delegation, Commissaire Agnès Dantier arrived on the scene at that moment. The visitors concurring vigorously, they began forming an orderly group behind Granot’s desk.

  ‘But that’s enough on the European Court. May I introduce my second-in-command, Captain Paul Darac?’

  Agnès’s eyes met his. A discreetly raised brow was answered by an almost imperceptible nod. Assured that everything was fine, Agnès introduced the others, made a couple of observations, and led the delegation away.

  ‘Now, back to our top story,’ Bonbon said, clocking that Granot had finished reading the statements.

  The big man tossed the pages on to the desk. ‘Here’s a summary: those nearest to the incident believe that Fouste fell under the float under his own steam, that the chaser was trying to prevent him from so doing, and that he then must have left the scene while everyone was gazing at the stricken Fouste.’

  Granot’s desk phone rang. ‘It’s Lartou. How’s the CCTV looking?’ He listened for some moments, and then, eyeballing Darac and Bonbon, gave an encouraging nod. ‘And that was on the CCTV? What about the chaser? Sure? Okay.’

  Darac performed some modest air guitar. And then repeated it more extravagantly.

  ‘Oh yes, on to the theft of the century, Lartou… Indeed it was the captain’s guitar. In all the mayhem, the kid left it on the float… Well, just do your best. That’s it.’ He hung up.

  ‘It’s clear on the CCTV that in trying to avoid the chaser, Fouste lost his balance, failed to grab an offered hand, and stumbled right under the float.’

  Bonbon shook his tawny head. ‘Splattered all over the road… He should’ve just taken a bollocking from the guy.’

  ‘And the chaser?’ Darac said. ‘Although it’s academic now.’

  ‘No shot of him – well, not of his face – on either CCTV or broadcast TV. There’s material from one further camera to check out, though. Should be available tomorrow. Some sort of technical problem at the moment.’

  ‘Okay.’ Darac swiped his mobile. ‘Astrid? You hook up with those eyewitnesses yet?’

  ‘Yeah, a couple of them. Still a few to see.’

  ‘You can give your pencils or your stylus a rest. The chaser’s in the clear.’

  ‘You won’t be needing my sketches?’

  ‘Doesn’t look like it. Sorry I wasted your time.’

  ‘Hey, my rate’s the same whether you use what I do or not. And I’m keeping my pencils out – there’s a whole new portfolio in this for me: After the Carnival, a Post-Apocalyptic Vision of… Something. They’ve got the dragon up, by the way. Be good as new by tomorrow, they think.’

  ‘I’ll tell Erica.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Got to go.’ He ended the call. ‘Okay, this all seems to be heading in a conclusive direction. If there’s anything on the guitar, leave me a message.’

  Once outsi
de the squad room, his mobile rang almost immediately. The number wasn’t familiar.

  ‘Monsieur Darac?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It’s Freddy. I’m sorry to ring, monsieur, but Marco gave me the number. I hope you don’t mind.’

  ‘No, no. How’s he doing?’

  ‘Good. Well, concussed like the mademoiselle said, but they’ve let him go home.’

  ‘Excellent. Thanks for calling.’

  ‘I also want to say, monsieur, that I’m done in about losing your—’

  ‘You didn’t lose it.’ Darac gave duty officer Béatrice Lacquet a wave as she buzzed him out of the building. ‘Some arsehole stole it. We’ll get it back. Don’t worry.’

  Bzzzzzzzut!

  In a freshening wind, the hand rail was cold to the touch as Darac took the steps down into the compound.

  ‘If you don’t, monsieur, I’ll pay you what it’s worth. If you don’t mind waiting.’

  Darac smiled; Freddy was a sweet kid. ‘Mate, don’t worry about it; it’s insured. In any case, we’ll get it back. Whoever took it doesn’t know what they’re up against, do they?’

  ‘No, I guess not. Uh… If you put flyers in all the music shops and that, you know – flyers with a picture and details of the guitar and “stolen” on it, that would help.’

  Those flyers were already being printed, Darac knew. ‘Nice idea. We’ll do that. And a lot more, Freddy.’

  ‘Yeah? Cool. But I shouldn’t have just left it there like that.’

  ‘Hey, shit happens.’ Should he have said that? ‘It could have happened to anyone. Right?’

  ‘Thank you, monsieur. Thank you very much.’

  Darac ended the call and headed for his car. When he got there, Vice Squad Head Captain Francine Lejeune was pulling into the adjoining space. They exchanged greeting kisses.

  ‘Heard about the fun and games, Frankie?’

  ‘Just now on France Info,’ she said, sweeping a cloud of kohl-black hair from her forehead. ‘Gruesome.’ Her voice, a perfectly enunciated yet soft contralto, made a concept like ‘gruesome’ seem all the more horrible, somehow. ‘And then confusion reigned, by the sound of it.’

  ‘For a minute or two, it did. I was there.’