by Rachel Green
“This tool chest,” he said, still breathing heavily from the run. “Does it belong to you?”
Etienne nodded.
“And this?” The captain held up the wrench.
Margot had to move closer to watch the Algerian’s reaction. He made no attempt to deny it, but the look on his face was one of surprise rather than alarm.
Chapter 21
The chug-chug-chug of a diesel-powered fishing boat roused Margot from her sleep. She eased herself up in the bed and peered out of the window: on the other side of the harbour, a small group of men were awaiting the arrival of the morning’s catch. It was only six o’clock but she put on a clean Speedo and packed her swimming bag. Raul was still asleep so she eased open the hatch with care and set off for the cove.
She paused as she rounded the headland, watching the dawn break. The sun was a huge glowing orb, fanning rays across the sea and filling the cove with warm orange light. Pierre had called yesterday afternoon to say that officers from the crime-scene squad had searched the area and found traces of blood on the rocks close to where the backpack had been left. It hadn’t yet been confirmed as belonging to Aswan’s father but it seemed highly likely, and there was every reason to believe the blood on the wrench would also be a match. The case against Etienne seemed strong.
The fact it had happened here, in her favourite cove, would take some getting used to. The exact sequence of events might never become known to them but at some point during that night a scared little boy had been out on these rocks. In all probability he’d seen his father get hit in the face with a wrench. And then somehow he’d ended up in the water, struggling before he drowned. Just a few hours later, Margot had come down for her morning swim, oblivious to all that had gone on.
She only swam out a short way and was back on board Carpe Diem within the hour. All was still quiet below deck so she sat up top and smoked a cigarette while the town came to life. When Raul did get up, she went below and brewed a fresh pot of coffee.
“You’ve been for a swim?”
She nodded, and stared at the empty table between them. “Sorry. I should have brought something back for breakfast.”
He dismissed her apology with a wave of his hand and went to the galley to prepare something. He came back with a plateful of ham and cheese, some toasted white bread and a jar of jam, and looked happier with some food in front of him.
“Penny for them.”
“Pardon?” Margot frowned.
There was a pause while he swallowed his food. “You seem distracted. I thought you would be pleased now they’ve arrested the motorboat mechanic.”
Margot placed a slice of toast on her plate and spread it with a thick layer of jam. “Only if they’ve got the right man.”
“You have your doubts?”
“I don’t doubt he was involved. I’m not sure he was the killer.”
“But the wrench?”
“It could easily have been planted. Didn’t you notice the padlocks had been changed?”
“No.”
She finished chewing her mouthful and then swallowed. “Someone must have gone back there before the police arrived.”
“Maybe Etienne did.”
“But why would he lock it with a different padlock?”
Raul shrugged.
Margot shook her head. Something wasn’t right. In all the excitement she’d not had chance to pass on her concerns but she would definitely be paying Captain Bouchard another visit. “That’s not the only thing that doesn’t add up.”
“Go on.”
Margot wiped a residue of sticky jam from her fingertips. “Why would Etienne leave the murder weapon in his own toolbox?”
Raul nodded. “That does seem rather foolish.”
No one could be that careless. Something more was going on here and she would not be so easily taken in.
After breakfast, she walked up the hill to the gendarmerie. Both Captain Bouchard and the young gendarme were in the office behind the screen, hunched over some papers. They both noticed her, and the young man appeared to want to come over, but the captain kept her waiting, taking his time to finish discussing whatever it was that was occupying them. Finally, he straightened his tunic and came to the screen. “Yes, Madame?”
“I didn’t get time yesterday to tell you about the padlocks.”
He rolled his eyes and planted his palms on the counter, looking very bored. “Padlocks?”
“On Etienne’s hut. The first time we went there the chain had been secured with a brass one, but when you arrived it was silver.”
“There was only one padlock at the hut.”
“Yes, but—”
“We have our perpetrator, Madame.”
“You’re just going to assume he’s guilty?”
“He’s confessed.”
Margot flinched. “When?”
“This morning. He admitted to smuggling the migrants and to killing the boy’s father.”
“And he did it all on his own?”
“We have no reason to suspect otherwise.”
“But Paolo—”
“Paolo Bellucci has been released without charge.”
“What?”
“Was that all?”
Margot could hardly believe what she was hearing. It was all too neat, all too cleanly sewn up. While she was still reeling, the captain went on,
“May I suggest you now leave this matter alone?” And then, in a lower tone: “I really wouldn’t want to see you get hurt.”
***
Rue Garenne linked the gendarmerie to Place Jeanne d’Arc and with little conscious intervention Margot found her feet taking her that way. She halted outside the building that housed Judge Deveraux’s office and looked up at the windows, in two minds whether to go in. She couldn’t just stand by and let this travesty of justice continue, but would the judge be any more sympathetic? It seemed unlikely, but Margot wasn’t giving in.
Without an appointment the receptionist said there was no possibility of seeing the judge, but Margot persisted and managed to persuade her to at least ring up. She was told she could have five minutes.
In contrast to the frosty reception downstairs, Judge Deveraux greeted her warmly. She came out from behind her desk at a sprightly pace and indicated two armchairs by one of the windows.
“Can I get you some coffee?”
Margot nodded; the judge briefly returned to her desk and called through to her secretary. She moved with a gracefulness that belied her age, and Margot couldn’t help noticing how toned her calves were, how straight her spine. Perhaps she’d been a dancer in her youth. When she returned to her seat she sat with her legs crossed, knees towards Margot.
“Thank you for seeing me at such short notice,” Margot said.
“The pleasure’s all mine. What can I do for you?”
The secretary came in with a tray of coffee. Margot waited while he set it down on the table between them. When he left, she said,
“I understand Etienne Hamidi has confessed.”
The judge lowered her eyes while she poured the coffee. “Yes. And I heard you were instrumental in leading us to him. You certainly have been very determined to get to the bottom of this case.” She handed over a cup and leaned in, conspiratorially. “I probably shouldn’t say this but I admire your persistence.”
“May I be direct?”
The judge seemed surprised. She left her cup untouched on the tray and then leaned back in her seat. “Feel free to say anything you like to me.”
“I really don’t think Etienne is guilty.”
There was a pause while the judge gathered her thoughts. She seemed disappointed that this was the subject Margot had brought up. “The evidence is all there. The victim’s blood was found on the wrench. An eyewitness saw him taking his boat out the day before the bodies were discovered. We’ve now recovered the boat and found additional DNA evidence. Add to that his confession and the case against him is strong.”
“Where
did he confess?”
The judge seemed puzzled. “Where?”
“Was it at the gendarmerie?”
“I presume so.”
“Did he see anyone beforehand?”
“I have no idea. Why would that be relevant?”
Margot allowed a pause to develop. She felt the need to choose her words carefully.
“Etienne seemed surprised that the wrench was found in his toolbox. I was there. I saw his reaction.”
“What are you implying?”
“I think someone planted it. They broke into his hut and replaced the padlock with a different one, probably thinking no one would notice. But it had definitely been changed.”
“And who do you believe did that?”
“Either Paolo Bellucci or his brother, Enzo. When I heard them talking at the garage it was clear that Etienne was just an accomplice. And now Enzo is trying to use his influence to get him off.”
The judge’s body language changed. Her eyes briefly glazed over and Margot shifted on her seat, fearing she’d overstepped the mark. Before she could backtrack, however, the judge continued,
“Madame Renard—”
“Call me Margot.”
She smiled maternally. “Margot. Please believe me when I say this to you, I find few things more detestable than people with influence using their position to try and interfere in the judicial process. No one is above the law, no matter how rich or well-connected they may be. Throughout my career I’ve made it my goal to prosecute anyone and everyone I believe to be guilty, regardless of what feathers it might ruffle. But we have to have evidence. And there simply is nothing we can use against either of the Bellucci brothers.”
“It wasn’t Etienne who tried to burn down my house.”
“We have no evidence to suggest who was responsible.”
“It was someone who wanted to shut me up.”
“All I can say is I’m glad they failed.” Judge Deveraux offered one last smile before her tone turned serious again. “As far as this case is concerned, however, the evidence is clear. Etienne Hamidi has been charged with murder and that is the end of the matter.”
Margot walked sullenly back to the harbour and when she got to Carpe Diem found Raul cleaning the deck with a hosepipe and brush. He turned off the water and gave her a cheerful look, but all she could offer back was a sad little face.
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
She frowned. “Sorry?”
“At the shops.”
She got his meaning and shook her head. Raul followed as she went below and sat down in the salon.
“I didn’t go to the shops. I went to see Judge Deveraux.”
“Oh. I see.”
“They’ve charged Etienne.”
“And Paolo?”
Margot tightened her jaw. “Paolo’s getting away with murder.”
Chapter 22
Seated on the harbour wall, Margot took off her pumps and handed them to Raul. She swung her legs over the side and searched the rocks below for a suitable place to jump down. The flat top of a large boulder provided a convenient landing spot. She reached back up to take the bunch of flowers that Raul was still holding onto.
“Do be careful.”
“I will.”
Margot remembered the day Aswan’s body had been found and how she’d watched the teenage boys leap effortlessly down the beach of rocks. Now that she was here doing it herself, however, it wasn’t as easy as it had looked. The gaps between the boulders were large, and she had to pause between each jump, concentrating hard. She couldn’t help worrying how slippery the rocks might be, how much it would hurt if her foot got stuck. Twenty years ago she would have done it without thinking.
She made it to the water’s edge without mishap and looked down at the smooth brown rocks on either side. Close up, they all looked the same and there was nothing to distinguish the spot that had proved to be Aswan’s final resting place. A wave came in, forcing her to step back. She chose a rock at the edge of the waterline and wedged the flower stalks into a slit.
“Rest in peace, little boy.” She transferred a kiss with her fingertips.
Raul held onto her forearms to help her climb back up. Some passers-by looked on in surprise when Margot clambered inelegantly over the concrete barrier. She dusted off her hands and sat still, recovering her breath.
“That was a nice gesture,” Raul said.
“His mother’s not here to do it.”
“I’m proud of you.” He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. “If it wasn’t for you no one would even know his name.”
True, but Margot felt little satisfaction. In every other respect he was still anonymous. A statistic. A ghastly photo on the front of a newspaper. And if Raul was thinking that this meant closure he was sorely mistaken. Justice was a long way from being done.
***
They called in at her house to check on progress. The carpenter still hadn’t started work and, if anything, being boarded up for a few days had only made the place smell worse. Margot lingered in the sitting room where the lumpy black marks of Hugo’s record collection still scared the floor.
“Looks like I’ll be homeless for longer than I thought,” she muttered and turned as Raul approached. “I’d better move into that hotel.”
But Raul firmly shook his head. “You’ll do nothing of the sort. You’ll stay on board Carpe Diem with me. It’s the safest place.”
Margot smiled. Having him as an ally was about the only good thing to come of this.
She went upstairs and sorted through the remainder of her clothes. Most still stank of smoke but a few things had escaped unscathed. She packed what was salvageable and binned the remainder. While Raul was taking her bags back to the yacht, Margot called Pierre.
“I want you to tell me everything you know about Enzo Bellucci.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“Why?”
“You really need me to explain?”
Margot exhaled in frustration, making no attempt to cover the phone. “Come on, Pierre. I was the one who told you he’d got a shipment coming in. Quid pro quo and all that.”
“It’s being dealt with by the drugs brigade. I’m only a lowly lieutenant.”
“But you still have contacts.”
Pierre’s exasperation came back down the line. “Margot.”
“Yes?”
“You really must leave this to the professionals now. Please, I really don’t want you getting involved.”
After a few more words they hung up. It had been a longshot expecting him to give out any information but she’d been itching to take her frustration out on someone. And it didn’t really matter. There were other ways of finding out.
***
Margot wasn’t keen on using her phone to do an internet search on gangsters in the local area and so, after lunch, she went to the internet café in the library. The East Wing was a modern addition with a fancy first-floor restaurant and panoramic windows that looked out over the sea, but Margot ignored the view and installed herself in a booth in the corner. She typed “Enzo Bellucci” into a search engine. The first thing that came up was a link to his shipping company: EDB Transports Maritimes. According to its website, it was a large outfit with shipping routes all over the world. Enzo was listed as chief executive, but there was no biographical info and no photos. She switched to the images tab. As Paolo’s older brother Enzo must have been at least in his mid-forties and several of the images that came up fitted that profile, but since she hadn’t got a good look at him at the garage there was no way she could be sure.
There were no newspaper articles, nothing on social media, though that was not surprising – gangsters were hardly likely to be big on Insta.
She looked up the business information on Paolo’s garage and found Paolo listed as sole director. Running out of ideas, she drummed her fingers on the desktop. Maybe if she phoned the office she could get Enzo’s home address, pretend she h
ad a parcel to deliver or something. It was a pretty lame idea but she jotted down the number just in case.
Some noisy new arrivals broke her concentration. Looking up at the clock she saw that it was 15:05. She’d told Raul she would only be gone an hour. She quickly deleted her search history, gathered her things, and headed for the exit.
She paused on the concrete steps to light up. While she was exhaling her first lungful, her eyes alighted upon a man standing on the opposite side of the street, and it could have been déjà-vu: the heavyset man with the buzz cut was staring straight back at her. Margot’s blood instantly turned cold. This time he was slower to react and their eyes stayed locked for a good few seconds. But then she came to her senses, stubbed out her cigarette and hurried down the steps. The man turned quickly on his heels and slipped away.
He headed down Rue de la Libération, walking fast but not quite running. Meandering tourists kept getting in Margot’s way, reducing her view to glimpses between bodies, and she had to brusquely push through. For a man of considerable size he was moving with speed and she had to jog to keep him in sight. He turned left into Rue Blanqui, hurried down the steep narrow laneway. By the time she next caught sight of him he’d gone all the way down to the plaza where the lane joined the quayside and the old ship’s canon pointed out to sea. When Margot reached the same spot, she glanced swiftly around. The promenade was thronged with pedestrians and the man was nowhere to be seen. She halted, stamping her foot in frustration.
***
Margot took a roundabout route back to the harbour, checking over her shoulder to make sure no one was following. All was quiet on the deck of Carpe Diem so she went below where she found Raul dozing on the sofa, a cushion over his face. Cheese crumbs littered the table, and an empty wine bottle was rolling around on the floor. She tutted as she picked up the bottle, and set it down harder than necessary on the table-top. Raul woke up with a series of surprised unhappy grunts.
“I thought you might have been worried about me,” Margot said as he cranked himself into a seated position. “I would have stayed in the library if I’d known you were sleeping.”