by Mallock;
He thanked the motorcyclist, closed the security door, and went back up to his office. The first report in the program, which was much older, appeared on the flat screen that covered the west wall of his cave.
Fifteen images per second, black and white, jerky stride and smiles: a group of explorers was parading, white and tall, among an army of Haitians, small with dark faces and toothy smiles. The film seemed to have been restored, but the gray tones were almost completely absent. The whole thing made you think of a Corto Maltese comic book. After the introductory scene, the cameraman had immortalized a celebratory dance, full of feathers and makeup, towering headgear and grass skirts. And then came a shocking sequence, the dinner. Scrawny little monkeys had been tied up and brought in. The natives attached them to bamboo chairs that they slid under the large table. The tops of their heads poked through holes that had been made in the wood. With blows of a machete, the Haitians attacked the heads and, with a twist of the wrist, sliced the tops of the poor animals’ skulls off. With wooden spatulas, the guests could then enjoy their brains while they were still warm.
Mallock gritted his teeth.
He’d seen his share of dead human bodies and horrors, but even he found it impossible to bear seeing animals suffer. Like the sight of a child’s body in the bushes, it made him want to kill somebody, to scream and commit suicide all at once.
The desire to be dead, to no longer be there, in any case on this planet.
Amédée remembered the little monkey playing the piano that he’d glimpsed in his dream. He didn’t push his reflection any further. It wasn’t the first time that such a coincidence had arisen in Dédé-the-Wizard’s life.
End of the first segment of the program. The second was in color and Mallock recognized the Dominican Republic, on the other side of the island of Hispaniola.
At the very beginning of the film, women were rolling cigars, or at least, contrary to the caption, the wrappers for them. After removing the central vein of the biggest and most beautiful tobacco leaves, they smoothed out the two parts on their thighs. The film lasted about twenty minutes and in it Mallock relived the atmosphere of the factories. He even thought he caught a glimpse of the strange Zagiõ with his gleaming teeth, sitting at the entrance to a humidification room.
A second part showed a tour of the island to visit the tobacco plantations. The camera moved through villages typical of the Dominican Republic, with their houses made of wooden planks and corrugated metal; some of them were larger and made of reinforced concrete with reinforcing rods pointing toward the sky. Mallock recognized the trees painted mauve and the ads for the local beer, Presidente. Then he came to the part that had triggered everything. In a shot of an almost completely deserted square, he saw a man accompanied by two bodyguards wearing suits. The man’s skin was gray and his eyes yellow and bloodshot. Mallock thought again about what he’d been told regarding Darbier’s birth. At the end of the shot, he moved out of the frame without his blond eyes having noticed the presence of a camera. Had he realized that he was being filmed, he would probably have seen to it that the video and the journalist were destroyed, and the course of his life, like that of Manu, would have been totally different.
Mallock replayed the sequence several times, trying to discover a clue, a detail, that would help him escape from this enigmatic mire in which he felt he was getting more and more bogged down, swallowed up alive. Nothing! There was nothing to be seen except this bloody old man crossing a bloody square.
Was Mallock blind?
The potted duck was grilled just right.
No more fat and a perfectly crunchy skin.
Amédée put the thigh on three layers of paper towel. Then he put it on a plate before sprinkling on the hot skin a few drops of sherry vinegar, chopped cilantro, ground pepper, and freshly grated ginger.
He sat back down in front of the screen to enjoy his duck.
A cultural channel was showing a very well-documented report on an animal reserve in South Africa. A young blond woman with full lips was explaining in English her strange job: she masturbated white rhinos to harvest their sperm. A new kind of white gold that the country sold at high prices to zoos all over the world. The beautiful woman mimed a mating dance in front of the animal to put him in the mood so that she could proceed to harvest the sperm.
Amédée watched, appalled. He was living in a world reduced to having nymphets in tight jeans jerk off endangered species.
It was better to laugh about it, and that’s what he did.
16.
Paris, Tuesday, December 3, 8 A.M.
The next morning, Anita rang his doorbell at eight o’clock sharp. Mallock’s housekeeper was Mauritanian, and had always been extremely punctual. Small and very buxom, she had a vase-shaped face, a vast black moon. All the good will in the world was reflected in her face. She took care of Mallock’s cave as though it were the most precious of palaces, and of Amédée as though he were the last of the Merovingian kings. Sometimes she prepared little dishes “from down there” for him and put them in his freezer, so that he wouldn’t die of hunger. She was a gem, a black pearl, a marvel of humanity and kindness. Between Mallock and her a bond of fidelity had been woven that was strengthened by an affection that consisted essentially of silences shared and smiles exchanged.
“Good morning, Superintendent. I hope I didn’t wake you up?”
“Well, actually you did; for once I slept like a log,” Mallock yawned.
“How was your trip? Not too difficult?”
What answer could he give?
“Let’s say that I’m not sorry to be back to my apartment and my Anita.”
The Mauritanian woman blushed with pleasure. Or at least Mallock supposed she did. He took advantage of this to return to his bedroom and take out of his suitcase a colored top in size XXXL.
“A little souvenir from over there for my Anita,” Amédée announced.
“Monsieur, you’re too kind! My God, how beautiful it is!”
Mallock assured her that it wasn’t anything much. Nonetheless, he received two big, smacking kisses in gratitude.
“Shall I make you breakfast?”
“Thanks very much, but I’ve got an appointment on the square with one of my collaborators and a friend.”
In fact, Mallock had decided to follow Manuel’s trial very closely. He had set only one condition: he would never have anything whatever to do with any lawyer, prosecutor, or judge. Julie and Kiko, Manu’s wife, would serve as an interface between him and this world that he’d come to detest.
How had justice managed to become so vague? The lawyers, who were chiefly involved in clientelism, did not know their briefs, judges were subject to influences, and most of the judgments were stained by ideological subjectivity, money, and incompetence. Confusions of genres, confusions of punishments, confusions of minds. The commercial tribunals were a bad joke, and the criminal courts as well. If to that the frenzied influence of the media was added, one arrived at a game that should never be played!
For Mallock, the matter was settled.
The current situation could be a defendant’s worst enemy or his best friend. Double-edged sword. If justice was blind, it was unfortunately not deaf to the crowd’s cathartic howls, nor to those of demagogues of all kinds. The mote and the beam: things changed their dimensions totally depending on the camp to which one belonged. With the arrival of the twenty-first century, objectivity, common sense, and moderation were no longer more than moribund words. The solution? Accept this unhealthy game for fear of being its victim.
In Manuel’s case, they had to find an “angle” that was very demagogic and politically correct, a single one, and stick to it. Figure out a way to keep the young man from being classified on the “dark” side of the Force. If Tobias Darbier could be qualified as a “fascist” or “Nazi,” his killer would automatically acquire every virtue. No matter w
hat he had done, and no matter why.
Money would also be necessary, because it always made the scales of justice tip to the right side.
Let’s make it simple: compassion and cash, and the cake is baked.
Amédée was ruminating on these dark thoughts as he left his apartment to meet Julie and Kiko in one of the cafes on the square.
The little esplanade, which gave on the rue de Rivoli, had been made into a pedestrian zone one year after Mallock bought his apartment in the rue Bourg-Tibourg. And for a few months, the superintendent had taken advantage of this to have breakfast there before going to police headquarters. Then, there had been the Visages de Dieu case, and he had stayed away from the place. Because the pharmacy across the way brought back macabre memories.
Today, he was resuming his old habits for the first time.
“Oh my God, I can’t believe it. Mooosieur Superintendent!”
The owner of the Paris-Marseille couldn’t believe his eyes.
“I thought you must be mad at me, or too famous to deign to continue to eat at my humble little establishment.”
“What kind of guy do you take me for, César?”
Mallock had decided to call him by that name. Still his mania for giving people nicknames. César’s first name was Gérard, and for Mallock, that didn’t really go with his Marseille accent, so thick you could cut it with a knife. Moreover, Gérard bore a certain resemblance to the famous actor who played César in Marcel Pagnol’s famous dramatic trilogy. The same generous nose and the same stoutness.
“Wow! Check out those girls,” Monsieur Gérard-César exclaimed. “Damn, what lookers!”
Mallock didn’t reply. Instead, he walked over to meet Julie and Kiko. He kissed them on both cheeks, at the same time casting a furtive glance at César’s astounded face. The great superintendent had known far greater triumphs, but this one was not to be neglected.
Every satisfaction, even minor ones, perhaps especially minor ones, should be seized these days.
It has to be said that Julie was more than pretty in the little blue-eyed brunette way, and Kiko wasn’t bad, either. She somewhat resembled Margot, who owed her Asian facial features to her Vietnamese father. In Kiko’s case, what was small —her nose, her breasts, and her buttocks—was as appetizing as what was large—her black braid, her mouth, her intelligence, her legs, and her eyes.
Mallock recalled that Julie had told him that Kiko always slept with her glasses on, so that she would see clearly in her dreams! What he didn’t know was that she no longer did so since her husband Manu had disappeared. Even without glasses, her nightmares had become only too painfully precise.
All three of them sat down at a round table from which they could look out on the esplanade. Julie ordered a double espresso, Kiko tea with lemon, and Mallock three fried eggs:
“Without fat and with Tabasco, please, César.”
“I have only Espelette peppers.”
“Then let’s have Espelette!”
Mallock would have preferred to wait for the arrival of his eggs. He was already feeling nostalgic about Mister Blue’s cantina. But Julie began the conversation:
“We’ve already lost the first round, between the lawyer and the prosecutor. The issue was whether the procedure should be expedited or preliminary. Although they didn’t go into the cases foreseen in the code of criminal procedure, they nonetheless agreed on a flagrant infraction by assimilation. Without our being able to oppose it, the police immediately carried out, not a simple visit to our home, but a compulsory police search. That’s why I couldn’t show you, as soon as you got back, the video or the prints Manu made from it.”
As always, Julie’s explanations were particularly precise. Moreover, she had studied law before joining the police’s criminal investigation department. She had not come up through the ranks, like her companions, but entered by the high road. Mallock was glad about that. She was not easily fooled.
Julie went on:
“As you might expect, the pressures didn’t stop there. Through the intermediary of the Attorney General and the general prosecutor of the appeals court, the Minister of Foreign Affairs sent orders to the magistrates of the court instructing them to see to it that ‘everything is done without delay and with the most rigorous objectivity.’ I was furious. The result was that Manu was charged the very day he returned, and despite his condition, by a registered letter sent by the prosecutor assigned to the case.”
Julie was still angry: “Two days later, when Manu was still in the hospital, the preliminary indictment had already been written and the legal action against him begun.”
Since he got back, Mallock had distanced himself from this case that made him uncomfortable. And then, it has to be admitted in his defense that he had to devote time to other investigations. Now he felt a little guilty about that. Julie was dying of worry about her brother and the acceleration of the legal procedure had greatly increased her anxiety. She needed help and support.
“I’m going to return to the case and knock on a few doors. Darbier had no family. If pressure is being exerted, it’s coming from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. I don’t understand why. There may be a trap here somewhere . . . I hope they haven’t hidden things from us.”
César interrupted them to set their tea, coffee, and fried eggs in front of them:
“Bon appétit, Superintendent. I’ve also given you a bottle of worecheustèreusôce.”
There wasn’t time to laugh at his pronunciation of Worcestershire sauce. Julie went on:
“We have to act very quickly, Boss. The warrants were served implacably. I’ve never seen article 122 applied so swiftly. A warrant for appearance as soon as Manuel landed on French soil, and the committal order yesterday. He’s to go to prison tomorrow . . . ”
She tried to continue her presentation of the case but a torrent of tears began to flow from Kiko’s eyes. And from Julie’s as well. The word “prison” used in connection with someone dear to you is one of the most difficult things you can hear. Mallock knew that very well. He felt powerless and a little ridiculous with his fried eggs and two pretty girls weeping at his table. He decided to keep quiet and let them cry all they needed to. A woman full of tears mustn’t be pushed too hard. And two of them . . .
When Julie began to speak again, she had recovered her composure and lucidity:
“Fortunately, the judge has been . . . relieved. Now Judioni is handling our case.”
Mallock grimaced. That could be good for Manu. But he himself would have difficulty. Jack Judioni was a media hound who would soon end up in politics. On the right or the left, wherever he was made the best offer. Being made a chief candidate in return for services rendered, that was a classic trade.
“And for Manu—where are we?”
“Antoine Ceccaldi, the lawyer my father hired, has been questioning him constantly. But unfortunately he hasn’t obtained even the beginning of an explanation. Manu doesn’t remember anything. He offers no reason for his act, and swears he knew neither the victim nor anything about his earlier extortions. As for the notorious statements he made when he was arrested, he doesn’t understand what they mean, if they mean anything.”
“Don’t be furious with me, but, uh . . . what about pleading insanity?”
“We thought about it. Ceccaldi had several psychological evaluations made to see to what extent he could in fact plead temporary insanity, or base his defense on an unstable psychological profile. The results came in yesterday. Apart from his fear of the dark, Manuel was declared to be sane and responsible for his acts. And since there’s premeditation, even the act itself can’t be justified in that way. It’s for all these reasons, Boss, that I asked you for this private meeting outside the office. We’re worried sick and don’t see any way out.”
At this precise moment, Kiki glanced furtively at Julie. The ploy couldn’t escape Mall
ock.
Besides, it was probably done on purpose.
“Are you going to tell me what you’re hiding from me?”
Kiko drew herself up before she said:
“Well, here it is. Manu has always had terrible headaches. One day, I heard him mention a man in the building who heals using magnetization. Manu wasn’t interested, but I insisted.”
Looking at her, Mallock guessed that in Kiko’s case the meaning of the verb “insist” must be very close to “command.” Probably because of that superb mouth with finely-shaped corners and the pretty, jutting chin.
“After about ten sessions,” Kiko continued, “Manu, though not totally cured, felt genuine relief. His headaches were less severe and their frequency decreased. The magnetizer explained to us that he owed what knowledge he had to a great master who practiced hypnosis under acupuncture. In fact, he never stopped telling us how much he admired Master Kong Long. According to him, Long was capable of miracles and had specialized in cases of amnesia that Western science could not cure.”
“And you think it would be advisable to resort to this person again now?”
Mallock’s tone was negative, almost mocking.
Kiko didn’t appreciate that:
“If you have a better idea, please tell us what it is! It’s easy to criticize when . . . ”
Julie laid her hand on Kiko’s leg to make her stop talking, and then turned to her superior:
“Boss, what would we be risking? Manu’s amnesia is keeping us from getting anywhere. And then there’s a good chance the jurors will see it as simple dissimulation.”
Mallock had not foreseen this proposal; his plans were different.
“What we have to look for above all is extenuating circumstances. And I don’t see where they can be found other than in this Tobias Darbier’s past. Not in Manuel’s. We have to work with what we have, and if we continue to discover horrible things about Darbier, we can always claim that Manu knew about them and that it was the shock of the killing that erased everything. That may be the truth, moreover!”