‘He’ll be here shortly. I have to go, Captain.’
‘Get back to me if you learn anything.’
Darac glanced at his watch. It was now almost half an hour since he’d dispatched Granot and a six-strong team to Avenue Celestine, a quiet cul-de-sac on the slopes of Mont Boron. If Vincent Dantier was at home, he still wasn’t answering his phone. Nor was he answering his mobile.
Flaco appeared, accompanied by a man whose short, greased-back hair and wide-eyed expressionless face gave him the look of an antique ventriloquist’s dummy.
‘Captain – this is La Marguerite’s security chief, Monsieur Alphonse Potrain.’
‘If anything has happened to the lady, Captain, I can assure you it didn’t happen because my system or one of my team was—’
‘Be quiet and listen.’ Darac pointed to Lartigue. ‘See that officer? The one drawing a sketch map of the garage?’
Potrain complied immediately as if his will was something out of his personal control.
‘This officer…’ He indicated Flaco. ‘…will escort you to him. You will then take him on a tour of your on-site CCTV setup. Immediately afterwards, you will give him unrestricted access to your control room. Understood?’
‘How dare you talk to me in that manner?’ Potrain’s voice was an indignant bleat, his face an unreadable mask. ‘I’m going to write to your superior… uh… I mean I’m going to…’
To stay his temper, Darac stood very still.
‘Flaco?’
As she led the man away, Darac’s mobile rang. His stomach tightened a little.
‘Granot? Go ahead.’
‘The bastards have got Vincent. Left the same note as yours but for “hers” read “his”.’
‘Shit.’
‘I would’ve rung a couple of minutes ago but we were buttonholed by a neighbour, an old boy by the name of Eric Taglier. Interesting stuff. It seems he calls on Vincent most Friday evenings. The pair are in the habit of toddling down to the old port, having a couple of slow cognacs and then taking a taxi back. But when Taglier got to the house last night, there was no answer and, this is the interesting part, there was a long-wheelbase Mercedes panel van parked in Vincent’s drive. White, unmarked. Taglier could think of no reason why it would be there. Especially as it seemed to be all quiet within and no one answered the door.
It was no more than a crumb of encouragement but Darac eyed it hungrily.
‘This could be good, Granot. What time was that? Did he notice?’
‘Precisely 8.56. Taglier – may Mary Mother of Jesus keep him – looked at his watch.’
‘Fantastic. I don’t suppose he also—’
‘He didn’t take in the registration number. But he said he would have noticed if it had been a foreign plate, though.’
‘Did he notice anything else about the van? Was it new, old, pristine, battered?’
‘It was in good condition and no more than a couple of years old, he thought. One detail: the owner’s manual was sitting on the passenger seat – as if the driver had had to refer to it.’
‘Open or closed?’
‘Open, pages down. Like a tent, he said. Obviously, the driver had been consulting it.’
‘Suggests the vehicle was new to them. That could help us hugely.’
‘Check recent sales, you mean? Not necessarily the case. You might also need the manual the first time you have to replace a light bulb or something. The guy might have owned it for a couple of years.’
‘Yes, point taken. Anyone else up there likely to have seen the van? We need to fly as good a description as we can, as soon as possible.’
‘Avenue Celestine is a cul-de-sac of just fifteen houses, right? I’ve split my guys into pairs and they’re already talking to anyone who’s at home. It won’t take them long.’
‘Good.’ Darac pictured the sparse road layout on the wooded hill that was Mont Boron. ‘What’s the likely access and egress from Avenue Celestine? For a van, I mean.’
‘It had to come off Boulevard Carnot. No one would pay any attention to a white van on a busy road like that but from Carnot to Vincent’s place there are only two… no, three possible routes. Quiet residential roads. We need to widen the search on the ground.’
‘Agreed, and let’s hope someone noted the registration or got a good look at the driver. But we can’t rely on that. I hate to say it, but I think we do need to go down the provenance route, even if the van is two years old. And we’d better add on another two for safety.’
‘Check Mercedes long-wheelbase van sales for four whole years? In just over twenty-four hours?’
‘This is the age of the phone. But you’re right. It’s clutching at straws.’
‘Straws? It’s a hell of a long shot, chief. Dealers, garages, private sales… And then there’s the van-hire market.’
‘Hire companies tend to plaster ads all over their vans, though.’
‘It could have been re-sprayed. We need to include rentals.’
‘And we should check out garaging, lock-ups and so on.’
‘Ai, ai, ai.’
‘We’ve traced other things with less to go on, you know.’
‘It’s the deadline that worries me. Just over twenty-four hours? It’s nothing.’
‘So let’s make the most of the time we have. I think we should call just local outlets to begin with. If we don’t come up with anything, we’ll gradually cast the net wider.’ He consulted the duty rosta in his head. ‘Flaco’s co-ordinated phone searches before. I’ll brief her in a minute. She and Perand can head-up the teams.’
‘Perand? Are you sure?’
‘She’ll keep him on track, don’t worry. Look, I’ve got a slog squad going door to door here. I’ll update them about the van, circulate the description such as it is and get more people sent over to you. They can doorstep lower down the hill.’
‘Fine.’
‘Then I’ll ring Charvet and ask him to start drafting in people for the phone-athon.’
‘I’ll get back to you the minute I have anything more.’
Darac sent out Granot’s update as an open radio message and then made two calls. As he rang off, the dog handler arrived.
‘Did you copy that message, Roulet?’
‘I did, Captain. Sounds like a good break with the van.
Still want us to go ahead?’
‘Absolutely. Have you done the scent control yet?’
‘Yes, from a pair of Madame’s shoes.’
‘Right. As you can see, some of the car boots are open. They belong to the owners we’ve been able to find. But that leaves quite a few still locked. I can’t unlock the electronic ones. Erica Lamarthe could do that and she is on her way. But as speed was of the essence I sent for you as well. It’s a belt and braces approach, and probably a wild goose chase, especially now we know about the van, but I don’t care. Alright?’
‘I know how important it is to find the boss, Captain. Just a word of caution. Félix can detect the scent of a live or dead body through the metal of a closed car boot. And he can detect whether there has been a body in such a place or even an object that belongs to the person we’re looking for. But he can’t if that body or object is or was sealed away in some container. That goes for drugs, explosives – anything.’
Darac ran a hand through his hair.
‘So the search can be conclusive but only one way.’
‘Exactly. If we find something, we find it. If we don’t, you will still have to open the remaining boots.’
‘Understood. The boss’s own car has just gone to the lab for further tests, by the way.’
‘I know it has. It was all I could do to stop Félix from jumping on board.’
‘Félix couldn’t detect the boss’s most recent trail down here, could he?’
‘Yes but we wouldn’t know if it was the most recent or not. She will have walked up and down these footways on to the street and into the building every night and morning for years.’
; ‘I’m not thinking – of course. Okay, go for it. I’ll be down here for a little while longer.’
‘It should only take a minute or two.’
Darac looked on dry-throated as Roulet let Félix off the leash. He felt an odd kinship with the animal as it began following its nose through a criss-cross of true and false trails.
‘I’m back, Captain. Potrain’s co-operating fully.’
The words were Flaco’s, returned from her escort duty.
‘That’s good. Now I’ve got a much bigger job for you. It’s going to be arduous and it might give us nothing in the end.’
Flaco’s eyes flared. Whatever it was, she was already relishing the challenge.
Darac spent some minutes outlining the phone-trawl plan and how best to manage it.
‘It’s just the same as you’ve handled before but on a far greater scale. Alright?’
‘Yes, Captain.’
‘Clear on everything?’
‘I am.’
‘So get Perand and decamp to the Caserne. The duty officer is already starting to draft in the help you’re going to need. If we find out any more about the van, I’ll let you know immediately. One more thing.’ He held her with a look. ‘I know you will be exhaustive and systematic. Make sure Perand keeps to the script as well, yes?’
‘I’ll make very sure, Captain.’
A uniform arrived as she took her leave. The young man had the apologetic look of someone who knew he was on a fool’s errand. Needing time to think, Darac didn’t welcome the interruption.
‘Sir, the building supervisor is waiting outside and wants to know when the garage will be back to normal. Some of the residents are getting annoyed.’
‘Nallet, isn’t it?’
‘Yes sir.’
‘Nallet, tell the building supervisor to go fuck himself with my compliments. When the cordon tape comes down, he can have his fucking garage, and not before.’
‘Yes uh… it’s a woman, sir. A Mademoiselle Fort.’
‘Well tell her to go fuck herself, then.’
The boy saluted and left at the double. Lartigue and Potrain followed him up the ramp, en route to the camera stationed at the entrance.
‘A white, long-wheelbase, unmarked Mercedes van, chief?’ Lartigue called. ‘There are a lot of those around.’
‘We only need to find one of them. How are the cameras looking?’
‘One more to check at the top here and then I’m going to the control room.’
‘Coverage?’
‘If all the cameras are working, it should be wall to wall.’
‘They are, I keep telling you,’ Potrain said. ‘Everything here is state of the art.’
‘Keep me posted.’
Lartigue gave an affirming wave as Darac’s mobile rang.
‘Granot?’
‘Most of the neighbours were at home last night. It seems just two were out. The family who live in the first are away on holiday; the couple who live in the other are out somewhere. I’ve left a note asking them to contact us when they return and I’m going to post a guy, I think, just to make sure. So far, including Taglier, only four people noticed the van. They thought it a bit unusual but that’s all. No one saw it arrive or leave but putting the accounts together of when they saw it wasn’t there, it arrived no earlier than 8.30 – just after Agnès must have dropped Vincent off – and left no later than 9.30.’
‘Only a sixty-minute window? That’s useful.’
The sound of scuttling paws signalled Félix’s return. Darac’s pulse speeded up.
‘Listen, I’ll send that out in a second, Granot. Got to go now.’
‘We found nothing,’ Roulet said, managing a smile.
Darac exhaled deeply.
‘Thank God, eh, Captain?’
Darac unpeeled his gloves and stroked Félix’s head as he padded to and fro at his feet.
‘What a crying shame this all is,’ Roulet said. ‘The boss set to retire and everything.’
‘Yes.’ This wasn’t the time. ‘Thanks, Roulet.’ They shook hands. Darac sent out Granot’s update and then repaired to a quiet corner. Energy flowing through him like an electric current, he leaned back against a roof pillar and started to think.
What was really happening here? Motives, targets, timing, a number of questions needed working through. He began by dismissing the idea that the whole thing might be a government exercise. Staging fake kidnappings? Not even the current administration would go that far. But if the kidnappings were real, he was more than ever convinced that the Sons and Daughters of the Just Cause were not. Not as a terrorist group, at least. So where was the truth? Paths led off in all directions but there wasn’t time to explore them all. He needed to be decisive. And he was. Only one interpretation made sense to him.
‘While Rome burns, you hide? I must say I’d expected—’
It was one sneer too many. And it was the wrong time. Seven years of frustration with Frènes surfacing all at once, Darac grabbed the man’s overalls at the collar and shaped to slap his face. A familiar voice cried out.
‘Darac – don’t!’
It wasn’t Erica’s words that halted him. It was the horrified look on her face.
Hit someone. Make love. Play the guitar.
Darac pushed Frènes away, sending him into a spluttering spin.
‘He chose the wrong moment. I can’t be dealing…’
Erica shook her head.
‘I don’t want to hear it.’
Clutching his forehead, Frènes sank to his knees and vomited. Erica went over to him, laying a hand on his heaving back.
‘It’s… the heat,’ he gasped between spasms. After a further outpouring, he righted himself and wiped his mouth with a handkerchief. Silk soiled in the line of duty. ‘Thank you, Mademoiselle. That was kind.’ Breathing heavily, his face had the appearance of wet clay. Holding the handkerchief to his mouth, he turned to Darac. ‘After this is all over, you will be required to attend a disciplinary hearing. You face suspension and the likelihood…’ He paused to catch his breath. ‘The likelihood that criminal charges will be brought against you.’ At last, it seemed Frènes had a winning hand. And Darac himself had dealt him the cards. He smiled. ‘I have a witness.’
‘Fine,’ Darac said. ‘What’s done is done. Let’s pick it up. Erica, I’m not sure we really need you on this but now just so we cover every angle…’ She was still not looking at him. ‘Erica?’ She turned to him but it was as if there was a shutter in front of her eyes. ‘There are about twenty cars in this garage with locked boots. We’ve had a sniffer dog go over them from the outside but just in case there’s anything, can you get into them?’
‘We have a warrant?’ she said to Frènes.
‘Duly issued.’
‘Okay.’
She picked up her case and walked briskly towards the first vehicle. Frènes, recovering fast, turned to Darac.
‘I came looking for you because I wanted to formulate our response.’
‘To?’
‘To the DCRI and to the Tour de France authorities, of course. When this threat business was being discussed in Monaco, neither I nor Examining Magistrate Reboux was consulted. We were not even informed about it until it was concluded. Did we object? Yes. Did we complain? No. And now look what’s happened.’
Darac recognised the progression. In a few short sentences, Frènes had gone from righteous indignation through pain nobly borne to triumphalism – the turgid trajectory of a stunted spirit.
‘Our first priority is to get on with the search, monsieur. And why should we make any response to them, anyway?’
A car alarm sounded a single stentorian note, a full stop to Darac’s point. Silencing it, Erica opened and then closed the boot and moved on to the next vehicle.
‘Why?’ Frènes seemed genuinely astonished. ‘Because the terrorist group they so loftily pooh-poohed have struck. And they will strike again. Possibly at the Tour peloton, tomorrow. The race must be stopped, clea
rly.’
‘Think.’ Darac looked Frènes hard in the eyes. ‘The Sons and Daughters are not a terrorist group. There’s no intelligence whatever to support that conclusion.’
Another stentorian full stop.
‘Then who do you think has kidnapped Commissaire Dantier?’
‘Why would a terrorist organisation threatening the Tour want to kidnap Agnès? She isn’t the mayor. Or the Tour chief. Or even the most senior police officer in the city. And think of the timing. Using a cut-out note of all things, the so-called SAD issued the threat on Friday afternoon. In the manner requested, the authorities responded saying they were seriously considering their demands and asked them to get in contact. They failed to do so. Instead, only a matter of hours later, SAD leave notes saying “Our cries have not been heard.” For one thing, there had scarcely been time to hear them, had there?’
‘Notes? Plural?’
‘Yes. Vincent Dantier has also been kidnapped.’
Frènes brightened.
‘The current and a previous commissaire. That constitutes high profile, surely?’
Darac ran a hand through his hair.
‘Their snatching Vincent Dantier as well as Agnès convinces me more than ever the notes are a smokescreen. Not in the way originally envisaged but a smokescreen, nevertheless. Kidnapping the commissaires is the crime. The root of it is personal, not political.’
‘Personal.’ Frènes made an unconvinced sound in his throat. ‘Why?’
‘The most likely thing is that someone they put away, or perhaps an associate of that person, is exacting revenge by taking them away. Nothing else makes sense.’
Another car alarm. Frènes pointed a stubby finger at Darac.
‘If what you say is true – that a released convict or a relative is out to settle a score – why have they gone to the trouble of erecting this whole terrorist charade? Why haven’t they just abducted the Dantiers and had done with it?’
‘To send us off in entirely the wrong direction, thereby wasting precious time.’
Frènes assumed the look of a conjurer pleased with a deft sleight of hand.
‘But no one believed the threat from the outset.’
‘That’s true, and I can’t explain why they didn’t put forward a more convincing case. Perhaps they’re imbeciles. We’ve both come across our fair share of them over the years.’
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