Ziggy shook his head violently.
“I didn’t walk in further than the doorway,” he said in French. “You can see he is dead from here. You can … you know … smell it. I went outside because I wanted to throw up.”
Eulalie glanced at Chief Macgregor to check whether he was following this. He clearly was. When he spoke, it was in heavily accented French.
“What was his name?” he asked.
“Henri,” said Ziggy. “Henri Popov.”
“Did he live here alone?”
“Most of the time, yes. Sometimes he had a woman staying for a few days.”
“Any woman in particular?”
“Non. Just different women, you know?”
“Why did you come here tonight?”
“I had heard that this woman,” he glanced at Eulalie, “was in Finger Alley talking trash about us. I came to tell Henri about it. I thought he would want to come to Mo’s with me. Just to talk to her, you understand.”
“Of course.” Eulalie managed not to roll her eyes.
“What time did you get here?” asked Chief Macgregor.
“I don’t know. It was after midnight. Maybe twelve-fifteen.”
“Was his door open or closed when you arrived? Locked or unlocked?”
“It was closed, but unlocked. I was surprised. He normally locks his door.”
“When was the last time you saw him alive?”
Ziggy had to think about this. “It must have been … two days ago. I saw him coming out of the boulangerie downstairs.”
“So, this was after the three of you attacked me?” asked Eulalie.
“After you attacked us, you mean.” He touched a strip of sticking plaster that decorated his jaw and gave her a resentful look.
“Who hired you to attack me?”
Ziggy looked from Eulalie to Chief Macgregor, and back again. She thought he was going to refuse to answer.
“I don’t know,” he said at last. “I never knew who ordered that job. Henri talked about the boss, but he wouldn’t tell me who it was.”
“Was that unusual?” asked Chief Macgregor.
“Not really.” Ziggy shrugged. “I don’t always know who the job is for. Henri knows, and that’s what matters.”
“Who was the third man?” Eulalie asked.
“You mean Louis? He is Henri’s friend. He sometimes brought him in on jobs where we needed three people. I haven’t seen him in days either.”
“Can you tell us anything about him? His surname, his last known address, anything?”
Ziggy shrugged again. “Sorry.”
“Ziggy, Henri, and Louis,” said Eulalie. “Not a Russian amongst you. Why did Henri speak Russian that day?”
Ziggy shrugged again. “He spoke Russian sometimes. His father was Russian. He knew how to say lots of things in that language. He was hoping to get more jobs from the Russians in the future, I think. The Leonovs used us sometimes.”
A commotion downstairs told them that the medical examiner had arrived. Ziggy asked rather optimistically if he could go now, but a junior officer came to escort him to the police station for further questioning. Eulalie was told she could go home. As the medical examiner and her team clattered up the stairs, Eulalie stood and took one last look at the scene. It was a perfect reproduction of the death of Marcel Faberge, from the looping of the rope to the type of plastic bag and tape. The only difference was the knife. It was not one of Fleur’s branded chef’s knives, but a much cheaper variety. Still, it had done the job just as effectively.
Eulalie woke up the next morning wondering if there was a serial killer operating in Queen’s Town.
That the two murders were connected, she had no doubt. This was more than just an attempt to recreate the first murder scene based on media reports. The police had been very selective about what information they had released to the media. Naturally, there had been leaks. There always were when you had civilians, police officers, crime scene techs, and the medical examiner’s people tramping all over a scene.
It was widely known that Marcel Faberge had been suffocated with a bag over his head and stabbed. But Eulalie had following the news reports carefully, and had not seen a single one that mentioned his hands tied in front of his body, or the kitchen knife still protruding from his chest. Those were details known only to someone who had seen the body, or spoken to someone who had seen the body. That still left a wide field.
What possible motive could someone have for murdering a low-level thug like Henri Popov and dressing the scene up to look like a replica of Marcel Faberge’s murder? Why did someone want him dead at all? For Eulalie, his death was inconvenient because he was the only person who knew who had hired the three men to attack her. But that didn’t seem like a good enough reason for someone to kill him.
After showering and getting dressed, Eulalie put her tequila-soaked clothes in the washer-dryer and set them going. She suspected that her whole apartment smelled like a still. Then she poured herself a bowl of Froot Loops with milk and settled down at the kitchen table with her laptop. She subscribed to various legal and criminal data bases from all over the world, and used these now to search for murders with similar facts to the Faberge case.
Stabbing cases were as common as one would expect. Plastic-bag suffocation cases were surprisingly prevalent too. It seemed to be a popular way of killing people when you didn’t want to get your hands dirty. The victim’s wrists were usually secured behind their backs, while a plastic bag was knotted over their heads and around their necks. Sometimes the bag was removed after death, in an effort to conceal the murder. It seldom worked.
Eulalie could find only a handful of cases that involved both plastic-bag suffocation and stabbing. In those cases, impatience seemed to be at the root of the decision to use the knife. The victim wasn’t dying fast enough for the murderer’s liking, or the plastic bag was not secure, and too much oxygen was getting through.
She found only two cases where the stab wounds had been inflicted after death. In both, the murderer was motivated by a desire to mutilate the corpse after death. They were frenzy killings in which the victim was known to the perpetrator.
She frowned in thought. Faberge’s death felt more like a panic stabbing than an exercise in corpse mutilation. If Faberge had been taking too long to die, and the killer were afraid of being disturbed, it would make sense for him to finish off the job with a kitchen knife. The fact that Stella Faberge had been due back at any moment, and had in fact missed the perpetrator by minutes, lent weight to this theory.
What the perpetrator hadn’t realized was that the stabbing was superfluous. Faberge’s heart had just stopped beating.
But why would anyone reproduce the whole murder scene – mistaken stabbing included – to dispose of freelance muscle like Henri Popov? It didn’t make sense. No, she corrected herself. It made perfect sense - if they were dealing with a serial killer.
She had phoned the police station before sitting down to breakfast, only to be told that the chief was in meetings for most of the morning. A text message also went unanswered. She knew he took a coffee break at around ten o’clock and decided to drop in then and try to see him. The chief thrived on routine. If it were possible for him to keep his designated coffee break, he would.
“He’s busy the whole morning,” said Lorelei Belfast the moment she laid eyes on Eulalie. “There’s been another murder. He doesn’t have time to socialize in a crisis like this. You should really be more considerate, Ms. Park.”
Eulalie could only admire her zeal in guarding her boss from unwanted intrusions.
“Look, I know he’s busy but …”
“The medical examiner is briefing him right now. I’m sure you’ll agree that’s more important than one of your psychic predictions. But I’ll be sure to tell him you came by.”
Eulalie glanced at her phone. As the time ticked over from 9.59 to 10 o’clock, the door to the conference room opened and Chief Macgregor walked out, preceded b
y the medical examiner. Dr. Stephanie Autry was as immaculate as ever as she sailed through the doorway and into the charge office. She was a few years older than Eulalie, but they had been at school together. No matter how many times they encountered each other over the last sixteen years, she never remembered Eulalie’s name.
“Ms. Park!” It was good for Eulalie’s ego to see how Chief Macgregor’s eyes lit up at the sight of her. At least one person in this place was pleased to see her. “I was just about to have some coffee. Won’t you join me?”
“With pleasure.”
“Dr. Autry, do you know Ms. Park?”
Stephanie Autry extended a manicured hand. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”
“How do you do?” Eulalie shook her hand, just as she had several times before. She reminded herself that Dr. Autry was an asset to the medical examiner’s office and that she shouldn’t let anything interfere with their professional relationship.
Dr. Autry left the police station, but not without a few gracious words to Lorelei Belfast. It was interesting to see the older woman blossoming under the attention. Apparently, she was capable of being charmed.
“Flat white okay?” Chief Macgregor asked as they retired to his office.
“Perfect, thanks.”
“A full autopsy has not been done yet, of course, but Dr. Autry was able to give me some preliminary findings after a superficial examination of the body.”
He took the two cups of coffee he had made and put them down on either side of his desk, inviting Eulalie to sit down.
“While the scene was superficially arranged to resemble the murder of Marcel Faberge, there were certain crucial differences. Marcel Faberge showed no signs of having been overpowered, or of having resisted his attacker. Henri Popov, on the other hand, was knocked out by a heavy blow to the head.”
“Right temple.” Eulalie nodded. “I thought I noticed some bruising on that side. That wasn’t what killed him, was it? A blow to the head? The temple area can be tricky.”
“Dr. Autry thinks not. There are signs that Mr. Popov and his assailant fought. The victim had bruises and contusions on his knuckles. But the blow to the temple seems to have been decisive in taking him out of action.”
“Does that mean the plastic bag was applied after he was already unconscious?”
“It seems so, yes. He took a much shorter time to die than Marcel Faberge did.”
“And did the stabbing happen before or after death?”
“Dr. Autry can’t be sure until she has performed the full autopsy, but it looks as though it happened afterwards.”
“Someone went to a lot of trouble to make this murder appear identical to that of Marcel Faberge.”
“Yes, they were clearly engineered by the same person, or possibly a copycat.”
“I’m leaning towards copycat at the moment,” said Eulalie.
“I don’t know what to think.” Chief Macgregor drank his coffee and stared into the middle distance. He had always struggled to understand the motivations of his fellow man. Paradoxically, this had turned out to be an asset in his line of work. Where others jumped to conclusions, he kept probing until he uncovered the truth.
“What lines of enquiry are you planning to follow?” asked Eulalie. “I don’t want to duplicate your work.”
“We’ll re-interview Ziggy, now that he’s had a few hours’ sleep. He knows more about this than he’s saying. Not that he’s deliberately withholding information, but he doesn’t understand the significance of what he has seen and heard. I’m hoping we can find the third member of their gang. He might have been taken more deeply into Henri’s confidence. Perhaps we can find out who hired them. What about you?”
“It sounds like you’ve got everything in hand here,” said Eulalie. “I’d like to follow my new lead in tracking down Bibi.”
“The one you messaged me about? Or have you dreamed about him again?”
“No, but just knowing that he is stuck in that damp, awful place until we find him is driving me crazy. I have to keep looking for him, even if I have no new information. But in this case, I do.”
“You said you’ve figured out who was hired to kidnap him?”
“Someone was shopping around for a guide to taken them into the deep forest and help them abduct Bibi. As you know, there’s a tiny community of ex-villagers just off Finger Alley …”
“Living in Majestic Towers,” said Chief Macgregor. “Yes, we know about them. Detective Wright questioned everyone in that building.”
“I bet he didn’t get any answers. The villagers, whether ex or not, don’t talk to the police. But when I went in there yesterday, I was told that a kid named Pietro – a known associate of Jimmy the Knife – had been asking around for someone to help him kidnap Bibi. I want to get hold of that kid and find out who hired him and where they took Bibi.”
Chief Macgregor showed no emotion, but Eulalie could tell from the intentness with which he was listening that this was important to him.
“Will you let me know if you get a lead on the child? I can have a squad of officers at the docks at a moment’s notice. Our last search was unsuccessful because the area was too broad and unfocused, but we can be back there in a heartbeat.”
“Thanks, it helps to know that.”
“In the meanwhile, the governor’s office is in a panic because someone tipped off the media about the similarities between the Popov murder and the Faberge murder. One news outlet has already used the words ‘serial killer’ in a broadcast.
“Oh, dear.”
“The governor hates anything that tarnishes Prince William Island’s image as a stable, business-friendly island. Serial killer rumors are the last thing we need right now. Governor Montand wants this case put to bed fast.”
Chapter 21
Mid-morning was not the best time of day to locate Jimmy the Knife or his cronies, but Eulalie couldn’t wait. She needed to get hold of Pietro and find out who hired him to organize the abduction of Bibi.
Fortunately, she knew exactly where to find Jimmy – fast asleep in his tiny apartment off Finger Alley. The door was locked, but a slim pick inserted into the lock popped it right open. The apartment was dark and smelled strongly of stale pizza and unwashed human.
She found Jimmy in the bedroom.
“Hey, Jim.” She prodded the roll of blankets. “Wake up. I want to talk to you.”
The blankets twitched, but no reply came.
She prodded him again, harder this time. When there was still no response, she pulled at the blankets to untuck them and let in some of the chilly morning air. This caused a gingery head to pop out of the covers.
“The hell?”
“It’s Eulalie, Jimmy. I need you to answer one question for me and then you can go back to sleep.”
“I’m already asleep,” he mumbled. “Come back at a civilized hour.”
“If I have to come back, it will be with Chief Macgregor in tow to arrest you as an accessory to kidnapping.”
There was a small earthquake under the blankets and Jimmy’s head popped out again. This time, he looked much more alert.
“Kidnapping? I never kidnapped anyone in my life. Not my line of work.”
“Hey, I hear you. I was as surprised as you are. But your buddy Pietro is definitely involved.”
“He’s not my buddy.”
“Sidekick, protégé, whatever you want to call him.”
Jimmy gave a huge yawn and scrubbed his hands over his face. “I prefer occasional business associate.”
“Right. Occasional business associate. Whatever. Where can I find him?”
“Why are you looking for Pietro? What’s he done?”
“He’s been going around Majestic Towers looking for a guide to take him into the deep forest, so he can snatch a nine-year-old kid.”
Jimmy tutted and shook his head. “That’s bad, girlie. I don’t agree with that at all. You don’t hurt kids.”
“Your sentiments do yo
u credit, Jim, but it’s too late. The child has already been hurt. He was snatched five days ago. We’re trying to find him. I know his parents well. It would really help if we knew where to find Pietro.”
Jimmy thought about this. It wasn’t that he had any particular objection to snitching. He snitched all the time when the price was right. It was part of his stock in trade – information for sale. But in this case, he was being offered nothing in exchange except for a chance to do the right thing. Normally, this would not have been enough motivation, but Jimmy had a soft spot for children.
“Okay, fine.” He scribbled an address down on a piece of paper and handed it to Eulalie. “He’s staying with a girl at this address. She has a day job, so she will probably be out at work, but Pietro will be asleep like a civilized human being. Just like I’m going to be as soon as you get out and leave me in peace.”
Eulalie slipped the scrap of paper into her pocket. “Thanks, Jimmy.”
The address he had given her was not in Finger Alley, but closer to the downtown neighborhood where Trixie’s was located. Pietro was coming up in the world, or perhaps that was just his girlfriend.
Eulalie spent the ten minutes that it took her to get to the address planning her approach. Pietro wouldn’t be nearly as easy to manipulate as Jimmy. Kidnapping was a serious offence, and he would not be keen to admit to it. Some diplomacy would be needed to make him talk. Eulalie stopped off at home to pick up her favorite negotiating tool – her Smith & Wesson Shield 9mm.
When she got to the apartment building, she walked around it twice to get the lay of the land. Pietro’s girlfriend rented a third-floor apartment on the south-eastern corner of the building. If Eulalie wanted to get in through the window, which she did, she was spoiled for choice. There was a sturdy drainpipe, a fire-escape, and exposed decorative brickwork on the four corners of the building. The brickwork created a convenient ladder of hand- and foot-holds that stretched all the way from ground level to the roof. The architect had clearly never heard of cat burglars.
The Complete H-Series of The Eulalie Park Mysteries Page 19