Bonbon went back to the notes.
‘“Corinne’s parents Jeanne and Albert Groismont were thirty-nine and forty-four at the time of her birth. Tenant farmers. She had an older brother, Antoine…”’ Bonbon closed his eyes to aid the calculation. ‘Fifteen years older, in fact… “All now dead. Corinne married one Yves Delage 2 June 1970 in Paris. No children. Divorced 1978. Yves Delage died 2001.”’ He turned the page. ‘Her rap sheet we know about… “Lived in Nice since ’79. Patchy employment history. Worked mainly as a florist.”’ As if there were a need to illustrate the point, he indicated the flower arrangement. ‘“Retired seven years ago through ill health – rheumatoid arthritis.”’
‘Fifteen years is quite a long gap between siblings with none in between.’
Sitting on the mantelpiece was a shot of Corinne aged about twenty. Smiling at the photographer, she was behind the wheel of a battered Renault Dauphine. Darac picked it up and checked it for an inscription. My first car – June ’65.
‘She’s twenty-four in this shot. About as old as Antoine was in the one of the kitchen.’ Darac looked at it once more. ‘They don’t look a thing alike. In fact, she looks like no one else in the family.’
‘Adopted? There’s nothing to indicate that.’ Bonbon checked through the paperwork. ‘No – not a thing. But there is one detail worth noting – the Groismonts’ birth certificates are re-registrations. The originals were lost during the war, it seems.’
‘The same thing happened to my maternal grandmother’s family. Mairies lost scores of documents through shelling, bombs, fires, et cetera.’ A bureau stood in the corner of the room next to the window. Darac went over to it. ‘What’s in here might help us.’
‘How does Delage connect to the boss, though? That’s the pressing question.’ As Darac patted ineffectually around, Bonbon pressed a pair of catches hiding under the overhang of the lid. The bureau’s writing slope released. ‘And Agnès met her, remember – at the Caserne just last night when Flaco and Perand were questioning Delage. According to them, there were no fireworks, no flash of recognition or anything. On either side.’
Félix padded into the room, back from his searches upstairs.
‘Yes but that doesn’t necessarily mean—’
‘Gentlemen?’ Roulet wore the expression of a man who knew he had an important message to deliver. ‘I’m as certain as I can be that the boss was never here. We had a scent control for her father this time, as well. He was never here either.’
‘Thank you.’ Darac was already thinking through the implications as he flipped his mobile. ‘Lartou? Send the others in now, please.’
Bonbon gave Félix’s ears a scrunch as Roulet put him on the lead.
‘He’s earned one for the road, hasn’t he?’
‘Always.’
Bonbon tossed up a kola kube. The dog caught and crunched it in one.
‘That was really helpful, Roulet.’ Darac turned back to the bureau. ‘Thanks again.’
‘Just before I go.’ He brought Félix to heel. ‘I know you discounted Delage from the Florian killing but since it turns out she almost certainly provided the vehicle for these kidnappings, are you revising that? The cases must be linked, don’t you think? It’s too big a coincidence.’
‘They’re linked at some level, yes. But all we can say for sure is that we need to find the Dantiers as soon as we can. If anything about the Florian case can help us do that, we’ll follow it up, believe me.’
‘I know you will.’ He led Félix away. ‘All the very best, gentlemen.’
‘And to you.’
The contents of the bureau looked promising.
‘Marcel will be here in a second. He can photograph all of this.’
Bonbon took out an embroidered case that was plump with correspondence.
‘Difficult to disagree with Roulet, isn’t it?’ He unfastened its pink ribbon tie and began laying out the pages on a gate-leg table. ‘Though it’s weird to think Delage could hold the key to this thing.’
‘A key, perhaps,’ Darac said, picking up another useful find – Delage’s address book. ‘And because of that, I think we ought to release Manou this evening. I was only delaying it until tomorrow because we’re concentrating on the abductions. Now we know there’s some sort of link, we should do it.’
‘So Erica’s finished the project, then?’
‘She has and all the tails are in place.’
‘In that case, let’s go for it. I don’t suppose any of us was expecting to see our bed tonight, anyway.’
The organ note blared. Bed? What did that mean to Darac now? His mobile rang, halting the slide into mawkishness. If there was any wallowing to be done, it could wait.
‘Granot – you au fait with everything?’
‘Lartou’s just filled me in. Thank God you didn’t find…’
‘Yes, yes, yes.’ He put the phone on speaker. ‘What’ve you got?’
‘A couple of things. Giraud, the guy from Croix Noire Autos in Saint-Laurent confirmed no one accompanied Delage when she bought the van.’
‘Didn’t he think it odd that a woman of that age was buying such a vehicle?’
‘He did but she seemed to know what she was doing. She stalled it several times when she drove the thing away, mind you. But now we come to the interesting part. Have you located her bank statements?’
‘Not as yet.’
‘First thing you should’ve looked for. Anyway, I’ve got copies here. Listen – on January 17th, €9,500 was paid into her savings account. That was the week before she bought the van for that same sum. And there’s no corresponding withdrawal from any of her other accounts.’
Darac and Bonbon shared a look.
‘So Delage was a front for someone else.’
‘For the true purchaser of the van – indeed. The van driver himself, perhaps – the man with a way with CCTV cameras.’
One name was all they needed.
‘How was that money paid in, Granot? Say it was by personal cheque and I’ll never make you listen to Ornette Coleman again.’
‘Bloody hell, I’m tempted to say it was. But it was a cash deposit. She paid it in herself. Mixed denomination notes.’
‘Shit.’
In the doorway, the booming voice of Raul Ormans heralded the arrival of his forensics team for the night. Erica and Marcel – the unit’s long-serving photographer – made up the trio.
‘You had two things to report, Granot?’
‘Yes, I’ve looked through Delage’s rap sheet…’
In her light, prancing gait, Erica moved purposely into Darac’s eyeline and, pointing at Delage’s landline phone, raised her eyebrows enquiringly. Still sensing there was some sort of issue between them, he smiled and nodded.
‘I can’t see any contact with the boss or with Vincent,’ continued Grant, ‘Hers is far too petty a record to have interested the Brigade Criminelle.’
‘Not the cat poisoning?’
‘It was dog poisoning. No – Foch dealt with that. And she got off.’
‘What do you think the relationship is between Delage and the true buyer of the van?’
‘Hard to say, isn’t it? At this stage.’
An unpalatable thought struck Darac. Leaning back in his chair, he ran a hand through his hair.
‘Let’s hope they’re closely related or at worst, friends. If it turns out he was just a guy she met in some bar or whatever, it’s going to be a lot harder to crack this thing.’
‘In other words, it’s better for us if they’re in it together – all the way.’
‘Absolutely. Keep digging, Granot. Listen, I’ve decided to have Manou released this evening. Unless events overtake us.’
‘Yes – why not? Perand’s having a little tête-à-tête with him as we speak, by the way.’
‘Drop in on him, will you?’ Darac could picture Granot’s reaction. ‘I want to be sure he’s exploring the possible Manou–Florian–Delage link properly.’
‘Do I have to do everything around here?’
‘Can you think of anyone better?’
‘I’ll be in touch.’
Flipping the mobile shut, Darac finally ran the hand out of his hair. It seemed to release an idea.
‘How’s this, Bonbon? Prepare yourself – the reasoning’s thin. It could be Delage and the van purchaser are close.’
‘Go on.’
‘The van cost €9,500. She paid in €9,500. Not 9,750, 10,000 or whatever. Where’s the margin? If she were doing it as a business proposition, there would be commission of some sort, surely?’
‘Maybe he gave her that separately. Up front, possibly.’ Bonbon gestured Marcel over to the table. ‘Or in kind.’
‘Told you it was thin.’
‘It may yet be right… Marcel – can you photograph all these letters I’ve laid out? And there are more in the case.’
‘Sure.’
Brandishing a call list, Erica joined Darac at the bureau.
‘Already? That was quick.’
‘I feel dirty but before we left, I went to your friend Santoor at the DCRI. He had the records ready and waiting.’
‘Not just empty promises, then.’ He took the printout. ‘There’s no computer to worry about so that will save time.’
‘And she has no mobile either. I just checked the answerphone – nothing. And nothing recoverable on the cassette. But the tap is already on the line.’
At the table, Marcel’s flashgun began to fire.
‘A tap – just like that?’ Darac held the first page so they could both read it. ‘Outgoing calls first.’
Erica leaned forward.
‘There are no speed-dial numbers on the phone, by the way.’
‘Right.’
Nothing seemed significant.
‘Let’s look at the incoming numbers.’
Again, the cupboard was bare. But finally, by dint of their absence, a couple of things did strike them: Delage hadn’t made or taken a call with anyone on the day of Florian’s killing, or of the Dantiers’ abduction.
‘In fact,’ Erica said, re-anchoring her hair as she straightened, ‘for a woman of her age, Corinne Delage doesn’t use the phone much.’
‘She never had children so there are no daily or weekly chats to them or to grandchildren. Not many friends either, by the look of it.’ Darac folded up the pages and slipped them into his pocket. ‘When we get out of here, Erica, I’m going to release Manou. How confident are you your tracking device will work?’
‘One hundred per cent.’
He loved her certainty.
‘Have you had time to brief Frankie on what she has to do?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘What does it involve, exactly?’
‘Basically, just following a cursor around a map on a laptop screen. There are one or two trickier aspects but she’s got them down. If any user issues do arise, I’ll be in the car with her, anyway.’
‘Depending on how we progress tonight, so might I.’
‘I’ve had a chat with one of the live tails we’re using from Foch, by the way – Officer Terrevaste.’ She smiled with comedic insincerity. ‘He thinks my tracker isn’t necessary, won’t work and while we all flap around uselessly, it will be him and his mate who save the day.’
‘Well you’ll show them.’ A different thought gate-crashed the party. ‘Listen, before that all gets underway, have you got time for something?’
‘Depends what it is.’
‘Could you cross-check all the Delage numbers you’ve just given me against the phone records of the other principals? That’s Florian, Manou, and Agnès and Vincent. You’d be looking for links, obviously. It’s not your job, I know.’
‘I thought Granot was king of the paper chasers?’
‘He is but he’s on other stuff. Could you do it?’
‘I’ve got to go back to the Caserne first but yes – no problem.’
‘That’s great – thank you.’ He fished Delage’s phone records out of his pocket. ‘And I’m going to have her address book photographed in a minute. I’ll email it over.’
‘Right.’
‘So keep me posted, yeah?’
‘I will.’
She didn’t move.
‘That’s it,’ Darac said lightly.
‘Yes, I’m going.’ Colour flushing her cheeks, she smiled awkwardly. It seemed there was something she needed to say. But couldn’t.
‘Just keep me posted, okay?’ Darac gave her elbow a squeeze. ‘Thanks, Erica.’
‘Uh… sure.’ She turned to go. ‘See you later on, maybe.’
Darac returned to Delage’s address book. Leafing quickly through it, he found no entries of obvious interest.
‘Marcel – can you photograph this as well, please?’
‘Double page per image okay?’
‘As long as it’s all legible, I don’t mind how you lay it out.’ Darac tossed it over to him. ‘You get anything yet, R.O.?’
Raul Ormans was dusting the telephone for prints.
‘Haven’t found a match with any of our principals – including Florian and Esquebel. A man has been in this room, though. At least one.’ He gave a nod to the sofa, an overstuffed two-seater with wooden inlays on the arms. ‘They sat there. Delage sat in the armchair. I’ve already emailed the prints to Archive. Probably nothing, but you never know.’
‘Absolutely.’ A nagging question returned. ‘Bonbon upstairs?’
‘I can’t see him down here.’
Darac found him going through a chest in Delage’s bedroom. He gave a little snort.
‘There’s one of these in each of the drawers.’ He held up a wave-shaped bar of turquoise-coloured soap. ‘Sweet, eh?’
The held-down organ note suddenly became a huge chord in Darac’s head. The soap, he knew, was from a boutique savonnerie in Villefranche, a favourite of Angeline’s. Darac’s antipathy to Corinne Delage grew even stronger. It seemed all wrong that the old crone shared anything with his lover – particularly something as personal as a scent; the smell of their shower, an undernote of sex. And now of memory.
‘People do strange things.’
Bonbon nodded.
‘Make a good title for my autobiography if I ever write it.’ He took a last look around the room. ‘That’s it for in here. You came looking for me?’
They started back down the stairs.
‘Yes. Did Paris ever get back to us on Florian’s brother? They must’ve contacted the man by now.’
Bonbon stiffened.
‘No they bloody haven’t…’
Darac’s mobile rang.
‘…Haven’t got back to us, I mean.’
‘We should follow that up.’ He glanced at the caller ID. ‘It’s the duty office.’
‘Béatrice Lacquet, Captain. I have Astrid Pireque here – the street performer you asked to come in and draw the bearded man and a couple of other likenesses? She’s done them but says she’s remembered something else about the Rue Verbier incident. May she…’
‘Yes, put her on.’ Darac smothered the mouthpiece. ‘It’s Medusa.’
‘Captain?’
‘Hi, Astrid. Happy with your efforts?’
‘Albrecht Dürer couldn’t have produced a better likeness.’
‘Then we’ll use them straight away. You’ve got something more?’
Bonbon came in close.
‘Yes. About the incident on Rue Verbier. I don’t know why I didn’t remember this earlier but when the bearded guy walked off after the collision with the man in the white suit, a woman hurried after him. To ask him if he was okay, I assumed.’
‘Had the woman been watching the act also?’
‘No. She had just arrived.’
‘Describe her.’
‘Didn’t see her face. But she was small, old, a bit bandy-legged.’
‘Wearing?’
‘It was… a green cotton dress. A flower print. Hibiscus, I think it was supposed to be.’
/> ‘Delage,’ Bonbon whispered.
‘What happened next?’
‘The bearded guy either didn’t hear her or deliberately ignored her. I think it was that, actually. Anyway, he carried on walking. Quite a lot faster.’
‘Was she pushing a shopping trolley?’
‘No. Should she have been?’
Darac kept his eyes on Bonbon.
‘This is very important, Astrid. Did you see the old woman and the man in the white suit together at any point?’
Bonbon nodded, seeing the implication. Astrid’s recollection had put Delage right back in the frame for Florian’s murder. If Beard could have injected the man on the run, so could she.
‘Together in what way, Captain?’
‘Within touching distance.’
‘No, she came into the picture after he’d run off.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Absolutely certain.’
‘We just need a positive ID on this old woman we’re talking about. Would you ask the duty officer to show you a flyer of one Corinne Delage?’
It was done.
‘Yes, that’s her. Definitely.’
‘Thank you, Astrid. Once again, you have pointed us in a very useful direction. And saved us a tremendous amount of time.’
‘I should be on commission.’
‘Yes, I don’t know what form this might take but we owe you.’
‘Give me a job, I keep telling you.’
‘Make sure they give you a ride home. Thanks again.’ He gave Bonbon an encouraged look as he flipped his mobile shut. ‘It’s coming together.’
‘The bearded man and Corinne Delage…’ Bonbon’s foxy eyes twinkled – there were chickens in the yard ahead. And a nice hole in the fence. ‘How’s this? Delage was there when Beard injected Florian. Afterwards, she follows the victim, perhaps hoping to be there when he drops dead. Then she sees him join the prayer meeting – joins it in the vulnerable back right-hand corner position. A sitting duck. She goes off, acquires the shopping trolley somewhere and comes back. Good, she thinks, he’s still alive. Then she rams him in an attempt to destroy the evidence of the puncture mark on his arm. Or maybe she did it just to add insult to injury. She is the despising type, let’s face it.’
‘Yes…’ Darac was staring at the floor. ‘The bearded man didn’t want to know her earlier, did he? He hurried away from her, anxious no one saw them together. Why?’ He looked up. ‘Maybe because of what he was planning to do next – the kidnappings. With Delage’s name on the sales receipt for the van, it was essential she remained in the wings. Instead, she put herself centre stage.’
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