Box of Bones (A Captain Darac Novel 3)

by Peter Morfoot

  ‘Little Milton?’

  He followed her down the hallway.

  ‘Definitely wasn’t that. Give me some others.’

  ‘Little Joe Washington?’

  ‘No, it was different. More whimsical.’

  He hardly noticed that she was leading him upstairs.

  ‘Little Smokey Smothers? That’s fairly whimsical.’

  They passed under the loft hatch on the landing…

  ‘No, not that. Oh, what was it?’

  …and entered her bedroom.

  ‘Not Little Junior’s Blue Flames? Songs like “Sittin’, Drinkin’ and Thinkin’”?’

  Orange blossom, wood and fresh laundry.

  ‘No, not that either. But I’ll soon be able to put you out of your misery.’

  A fitted wardrobe occupied the entire wall opposite the bed. She pulled open a louvre door, revealing a large cardboard box sitting at one end.

  ‘Here it is.’ She kneeled and began dragging it out.

  Living with Angeline had taught Darac never to assume control in such situations. But Julie was shaking with the effort.

  ‘Here, let me do that.’

  She stood and took a pace back as he kneeled and pulled out the box. There must have been forty or so LPs and even a few 78s stacked vertically inside. The frontmost album, Texas Blues Guitar, brought a nod of recognition.

  ‘Ah, here’s your Little – Little Hat Jones.’ Another Jones for Frankie, he thought. ‘Your brother had good taste.’

  ‘Yes, that’s the name.’ Standing directly over him, Julie reached behind her.

  Darac picked up the album but then discovered a greater treasure underneath.

  ‘This is really something. “The Blues of Alabama” on Yazoo but with the original Belzona label.’

  She found her zip.

  ‘It’s incredibly rare.’ Still on his knees, Darac was smiling as he turned to face her.

  ‘You were right,’ she said, stepping naked out of her dress. ‘I am reckless. And so are you. You ran toward the gunfire.’ She moved forward, her eyes on his. ‘No one need know. No one need find out. Ever.’

  She was in close. Darac stepped back, his foot skidding on the slick surface of the Belzona record. Instinctively, he bent down to put it back into its sleeve. Off balance, he was a pushover. She straddled him, enveloping him in her nakedness. He felt her hand search for his zip.

  ‘Stop this!’ Shoving her aside, he scrambled quickly to his feet. ‘What do you think—’

  ‘Don’t be mean to me, sweetie.’ She stood, advancing toward him so seductively, it was almost like parody. ‘I want you. Come on—’

  ‘Julie, listen to me—’

  ‘No, you listen to me.’

  He pushed past her and strode out on to the landing. Ignoring a torrent of entreaties, Darac ran quickly down the stairs, grabbed his jacket from the hall stand and jetted a glance back up to the landing. No Julie. He picked up Bastien’s crash hat and turned it around in his hands. There was no B.I. nor any other initials on it. As he put it back, she appeared on the landing, still naked and looking curiously tranquil.

  ‘You’ll be back,’ she said. ‘Sometime. I know you will.’

  Darac turned and closed the door behind him.

  46

  ‘I’ve heard from Julie, Paul.’

  Darac braced himself. ‘Papa.’

  ‘She’s so glad you loved the hoard.’

  ‘Yes… there were some remarkable things. She didn’t say anything else?’

  ‘About what?’

  He gazed out of the window. People were moving around the compound as normal. Beyond the barrier, life on Rue de Roquebillière looked the same as always. ‘Papa, this may seem… Have you actually proposed to Julie yet?’

  ‘I was thinking of doing it tomorrow, actually. By then we will have spent the evening with you, and so… Why?’

  ‘Don’t.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t think Julie is quite the person you think she is.’

  ‘Nonsense. Look, I can’t really talk now but it’s clear we need—’

  ‘Papa, something happened at Julie’s place. Something in her bedroom.’

  ‘I can’t imagine what you—’

  ‘Papa! She threw herself at me. Naked.’ Laughter from below. He moved away from the window. ‘For God’s sake, say something.’

  When his father finally spoke, his voice had a hard, unfamiliar edge. ‘I am finding it very difficult to say anything. It’s never occurred to me that you could stoop this low.’

  Darac sank back on to his desk, toppling a stack of files. One by one, they began to flutter slowly to the floor. ‘Surely you believe what I’m saying?’

  ‘I do not. It’s sick. You are lying to prevent what is an entirely natural—’

  ‘No. I’m not.’ Like egg-timer sand, the files continued to fall. Darac pictured Julie’s nakedness. He could describe it to his father. Describe her breasts, her sex – even its particular scent. Now that would convince him. ‘Papa, listen to me…’ He couldn’t bring himself to go any further. But then he realised he shouldn’t have to. ‘You don’t believe me but you believe a woman you’ve known for four months?’

  The sands of time continued to run out. As the final file fell, it seemed the pair had nothing left to say to one another.

  47

  Steady rain did nothing for the marshalling yards at La Bocca, except slightly muffle the clinks and squeals of the rolling stock as Darac got out of his car and jogged across the parking lot to Granot.

  ‘Malraux joining us?’

  ‘He’s off sick. Psoriasis.’

  ‘I noticed the odd patch on his hands when he was working with us.’

  Granot gave Darac a sideways glance. ‘He’ll come round, you know. Your papa.’

  ‘Ah, yes?’

  ‘Don’t make out you don’t care.’

  They entered L’Hippocampe and crossed the lobby to the lift. The doors closed behind them.

  ‘I do care. But I’ll tell you this: even if he does come round, I may not.’

  ‘What would that achieve?’

  Darac turned to him. ‘Do you believe what I said about Julie?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So should he.’

  ‘He should. But you can see why he wouldn’t want to believe it, can’t you?’

  ‘Let’s leave it there.’

  Nothing more was said until the doors opened at the top floor.

  ‘So why do you think Paulette Aureuil wants to see us, Granot? To tell us she’s glad she doesn’t have to live a lie any longer?’

  Granot made a huffing noise in his throat. ‘And risk a lawsuit from the bank to get the reward back? I doubt it.’

  ‘Have you had time to go through their papers?’

  ‘Haven’t had time to have a shave, a shit or a haircut.’ Granot looked nostalgic suddenly. ‘As my old grandmother used to say.’

  ‘Colourful lady.’

  ‘It was grandpa, really, but it’s a better gag with her.’ He indicated a door. ‘This it?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  Granot rang the bell. ‘Erica find anything on their computer?’

  ‘Not as yet.’

  The door opened. Paulette Aureuil’s eyes were red with grief. Barely glancing at their IDs, she said nothing as she let them in. Wiping his feet, Darac noticed a broad damp patch just above the knee of her navy-blue dress. He gave Granot a look. Perhaps they should leave immediately, and let Paulette sob in peace.

  ‘She sent for us, remember,’ Granot whispered, as they followed her into the apartment.

  ‘Well, let’s see how she holds up.’

  A Labrador scampered solicitously around her as she led the pair into the living room.

  The patio doors were closed, framing the Golfe de la Napoule in flat tones of grey.

  Directing them to a cushion-strewn sofa, Paulette subsided onto a stiff-backed armchair. The dog sat on the floor next to her and keeping a
weather eye on the visitors, settled his chops over the wet patch on her dress.

  ‘We understand what a terribly difficult time this must be, madame.’

  ‘Oh, do you?’

  Paulette patently didn’t believe Darac. But her sarcasm encouraged him. Perhaps her face, swollen as a flooded field, had absorbed all the outpouring it was going to.

  ‘We can empathise, at least.’

  ‘Have you made any progress? That’s what I want to know.’

  ‘We have strong suspicions about who may have murdered Jean. And we are currently doing all we can to apprehend that person. But before we get on to that, we’d like to show you some faces. Is that alright?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  Granot fired up his laptop. ‘Clearer image than on my mobile. Some of these names have been in the news but it’s only your possible personal connection with these people that we’re interested in.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘This is Michel Fouste.’ Granot angled the screen toward her. ‘Is he personally known to you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘As far as you know, was he known to Jean?’

  A shake of the head.

  ‘This is Alain Saxe.’ He waited. ‘No? Okay… What about Carl Halevy?’

  More head shaking. There was just one image left to show.

  ‘This photo has been all over the media,’ Darac said. ‘So I’m sure you recognise it as Pierre Delmas. He was the only gang member to be sent down for the Société Provençale robbery of 2003. The robbery, I need hardly add, for which your husband subsequently earned a reward of two million euros.’

  ‘I’ve seen the photo.’

  ‘Think carefully. Have you ever—’

  ‘I’ve never seen him in the flesh.’

  It was perfectly possible that Paulette knew nothing of her husband’s connection with Delmas but Darac had to pursue it. ‘Have you ever wondered about the So-Pro robbery, madame? About the great good luck Jean enjoyed in coming across what he did up at Coaraze?’

  The e-photo frame Darac recalled from his previous visit had been set down on the drinks cabinet. As if he were keen to take part in the conversation, a beaming Jean faded up on the screen.

  ‘Enjoyed? Well, he’s not enjoying it much at the moment, is he?’

  ‘We know it’s difficult,’ Granot said, picking up the reins. ‘But this is going to come out anyway and there probably never will be a good time to hear it.’ She stiffened. Granot went on. ‘We strongly believe that the So-Pro gang never intended to keep the spoils of the robbery. We believe their sole aim was to claim the reward offered for its return. We further believe that Delmas and the other names we gave you were Jean’s accomplices in the scheme.’

  ‘No. Rubbish. Complete rubbish.’ A catch in the voice. ‘How dare you?’

  Sharing her distress, the dog whined and then barked.

  ‘Quiet, Domino.’

  Darac got to his feet. ‘I’m afraid everything points to it, madame. But we can conclude this another time.’

  ‘I didn’t ask you to come here today so you could throw allegations around!’

  Making an effortful noise, Granot hauled himself up from the foamy depths of the sofa. ‘It’s only natural that you would want to be kept updated on our search to find Jean’s killer but we don’t usually come out—’

  ‘I didn’t ask you here to be updated. I asked you here because of the burglary.’

  ‘What burglary?’

  ‘From our safe.’

  Granot could not conceal his irritation. ‘Yesterday, the officer who came to take away your computer asked where you kept your personal papers. You did not mention a safe.’

  ‘The paperwork is kept in the bureau, and you’ve taken that. There’s hardly anything in the safe but some jewellery and a few other odds and ends.’ She rose. ‘This way.’

  The dog managed not to trip Paulette as he crossed and re-crossed in front of her en route to the bedroom. A sub-Dufy oil of the Baie des Anges hung on one wall. The safe, a simple affair, lived in a recess behind it. Three turns on the tumbler opened it. She took out two plastic trays and set them on a dresser.

  Darac shared a look with Granot. They knew that every article of value had been recovered from So-Pro. But one or two unspecified low-value items from the inventories had not been found, nor had claims been made for them. Had Bonbon been along, he would probably have been able to put a tentative value on Paulette’s jewellery collection. At first glance, it looked modest.

  ‘Is it a piece of jewellery that’s missing, madame?’ Darac said.

  ‘No.’ She pointed to a space on one of the trays. ‘It was there. A DVD.’

  ‘A DVD of what?’

  Paulette shook her head. ‘I don’t know. Not for sure.’

  Granot clicked his tongue. Mourning or no mourning, the woman was continuing to annoy him. ‘Madame, you’ve demonstrated that you know the combination to the safe. So you had access to the missing DVD.’

  ‘Yes but Jean told me never to watch it.’ She hesitated, embarrassed. ‘He knew I wouldn’t like it. Jean was always very considerate like that.’

  ‘You thought it was porn?’

  She looked Darac in the eyes. ‘We never needed muck like that, you understand. But if it wasn’t, I couldn’t think what else it might be.’

  Darac was already forming theories. ‘So what was it doing in your safe?’

  ‘I thought Jean must have been looking after it for someone else.’ Granot gave her a look. ‘Truly. Someone at the cab firm, probably.’

  ‘How long had the DVD lived in the safe?’

  Paulette shrugged as if she’d never considered the question before. ‘Since we moved in, I suppose.’

  Since So-Pro, in other words. ‘And when did you notice it had gone missing?’

  ‘This morning.’ Her eyes welling up, she touched one of the earrings she was wearing. ‘I wanted to put these on.

  They were Jean’s favourites.’

  Darac felt sympathy for anyone who was grieving. In lieu of expressing it more directly to Paulette, he gave Domino’s head a stroke. ‘You used the word “burglary”, madame. Were there any signs of a break-in?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘How do you know that Jean didn’t get rid of the DVD himself?’

  ‘It was still in the safe after he went out… for the last time. I saw it when I put a brooch back in there. I don’t care that the blasted DVD is gone.’ She shuddered. ‘But it means someone has been sneaking around the apartment. Someone got into my bedroom. Anything could have happened.’

  ‘We’ll need to get Forensics in here, madame,’ Darac said. ‘Dust for prints, and so on.’

  She nodded. ‘I understand.’

  ‘And we’ll have to take the safe contents. We’ll give you a receipt.’

  ‘Alright.’ She touched her earrings, anxiously. ‘Could I—’

  Granot shook his head. ‘We’ll need those, too.’

  Darac gave him a glance as he swiped his mobile. ‘We could just take photos of them.’ Granot shrugged. ‘Is that alright, madame?’

  Paulette essayed a smile. ‘And could I have a guard here, do you think? Please? Just for a day or two?’

  ‘We’ll have officers in the building and in the immediate vicinity anyway, asking questions. But I think it would be a good idea to assign someone.’

  ‘What a relief. Thank you.’ The larger crisis came crashing back into her head. ‘But I have to say again that Jean had absolutely nothing to do with that robbery.’ She began to take off her earrings. ‘Nothing!’

  * * *

  Granot pressed the button for the lift. ‘Do you believe this DVD exists?’

  ‘I don’t disbelieve it. What do you reckon – footage from So-Pro?’

  ‘I don’t know. Why keep such a thing, exactly?’

  ‘To shop the others? Or blackmail them? No – that doesn’t work, Aureuil was part of it. To prevent himself being shopped or being blackmailed by the
others? Or maybe the DVD was part of the haul – nothing to do with the gang.’

  Granot’s portrayal of disillusionment had been known to make examining magistrates weep. ‘And I thought we’d finished with So-Pro itself.’ The lift arrived. ‘It was Delmas, clearly. The thief.’

  Darac nodded. ‘Getting into a cheap safe like that would be child’s play to him.’

  ‘Did he do it before or after he killed Jean, do you think?’

  ‘How about during? Aureuil caught him in the act and that was that. We know Delmas moved the body.’ He gave Granot a salutary look. ‘If it was Delmas who killed him.’

  Granot’s mood was dropping faster than the lift. ‘Alright. Let’s hear it.’

  ‘Even if Delmas did kill Aureuil, I’ve had a thought about the other killings. I like your idea that we could deduce the number of gang members by dividing the reward total by the amount of each share.’

  ‘Hallelujah.’

  ‘Four hundred thousand into two million gives us five. Five gang members altogether. But what if those shares were meant to be split more ways? What if Saxe, Fouste, Halevy and/or Aureuil were team leaders, each with people working for them? Those team members would obviously take their cut as well. Right?’

  Granot shook his head, depression beginning to give way to irritation.

  ‘I need the paperwork! Until I get that, all I’ve got is speculation. Informed speculation, but still speculation.’

  ‘I know. And even when you’ve got it all, it could take weeks to sort out – longer.’ He threw an arm around the big man’s shoulders. ‘But if you can’t do it, nobody can.’

  Granot acknowledged the compliment with a shrug. He looked his age, suddenly. ‘One minute, we’ve got five gang members. Next minute, we’ve got any number of them. And that means…’

  The lift doors opened.

  ‘Exactly,’ Darac said. ‘It means the killings may not be over.’

  48

  Walter Picot put down the phone and rammed on his hard hat. Through the mud-spattered site-office window, he caught sight of Jacques Telonne arguing the toss with a contractor.

  ‘Look at that. Squeezing his balls over a few euros. Cheap fucking bastard.’

  ‘I don’t think you should talk about Monsieur Telonne like that.’