Box of Bones (A Captain Darac Novel 3)

by Peter Morfoot

  ‘Why frame Delmas?’ Granot tramlined his forehead. ‘I’ll answer my own question: because he’s fresh out of prison, with a powerful grudge against the gang members, and so made-to-order for the rap.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘It seems significant that Artur told Delmas to leave immediately after Aureuil had been killed. It suggests the killer no longer needed to keep tabs on him. Why? Because there was no one else left in the gang to kill. But vis-à-vis Fouste and the share-out, we believe that there is one person left. Ergo, that person must be the killer.’

  ‘It has appeal, this theory, Paul. It gives us a part motive for why the murderer is killing off the other members of the gang now. The question is – why is he or she killing them off at all?’

  ‘The DVD comes in there, doesn’t it?’ Bonbon said. ‘Turned out to be a big joke. But jokes are only funny when they’re real.’

  Darac’s hand was still in his hair. ‘Whatever that guilty secret is, it’s at the heart of this thing. And the final gang member, the killer, knows all about it.’

  Granot held up his hands, palms outwards. ‘One step at a time. One step at a time.’

  Darac finally ran his hand out of his hair. ‘Let’s go back to Delmas’s departure from Levens. The killer, having finished his work, tells the Rigauds that they can get rid of their guest now. Arrangements are made for him to leave the next day. Arrangements which may well have included tipping us off about Delmas’s whereabouts. But then, something happens, doesn’t it? The call comes in from the killer to keep Delmas there at all costs. Personally, I believed him when he said the Rigauds argued until they were “blue in the face” to get him to stay. But why? What’s happened to change the killer’s plans?’

  ‘To make sure of the tip-off, perhaps?’ Agnès said. ‘The killer says to the Rigauds, “I’ve changed my mind, let’s not let Delmas go – he may evade the police for ever. Keep him there and call them. Say you’ve been a very silly couple to harbour an old friend who’s in trouble but now you’ve had enough of the tension so come and get him.”’

  Darac pressed his lips together. ‘Several things mitigate against that, though – one being that the Rigauds didn’t call us the second Delmas left. My feeling is that the killer is planning to kill again and still needs Delmas as the fall guy. But who could the target be if there’s no one else left in the gang except the killer and Delmas himself?’

  ‘Good point,’ Agnès said. ‘Bonbon – you’re tapping your chin.’

  ‘Ye-es. I was thinking about Delmas’s hesitations. Two of the more telling were when he was asked who had approached him initially about the robbery, and what had prompted his dinner date with Odette.

  ‘I like this Bonbon. Go on.’

  ‘Delmas says they planned it, they say he did. He says Odette seemed fond of him, she says she couldn’t stand him. Yet she did go to dinner with him. Alone. Which, let’s face it, may just have constituted the most glamorous evening of the guy’s life. Remembering his hesitation about who it was who approached him about the robbery, and adding in our suspicions about the Rigauds working for the remaining gang member, I’m wondering if it was Odette who approached him.’

  ‘Odette the link to the gang?’ Darac stared at the floor. ‘Interesting idea. The what-ifs are piling up nicely.’

  ‘They are indeed.’ Agnès picked up her notepad. ‘Let’s get practical. What do we do next? First – Delmas.’

  Darac knew exactly what they should do. But it was risky. ‘Delmas knows who the remaining gang member is, right? If we let him go, he may well lead us to him.’

  Agnès’s feline eyes widened. ‘The remaining gang member aka the killer?’

  ‘It’s not without its risks, certainly. But I can’t see Delmas revealing the name to us. And we haven’t got for ever.’

  Bonbon seemed to like the idea but he had a rider. ‘Delmas has no car or mobile to doctor so the tail would have to be a pavement-artist job.’

  Agnès wrote: Delmas tail: Terrevaste’s team from Foch? on her pad. ‘Agreed, if we do go ahead, but we need to think carefully about this. The timing of the swoop would be pretty crucial.’

  Darac nodded. ‘Indeed. And let’s hope the tail doesn’t lose Delmas, or we may find ourselves dealing with the opposite problem. Even if we’re right about Delmas’s innocent, non-violent ways, should he discover that the remaining guy is the one who dreamed up the plan to cheat Sylvie, he may well lose it and kill him.’

  ‘We need the killer alive,’ Bonbon said. ‘For a number of reasons.’

  Darac gave Agnès as neutral a look as he could manage. ‘It’s your call.’

  ‘It would be tremendously useful to know if the Rigauds had been able to tell their man that Delmas has slipped the leash. If he does know, whatever he was planning will presumably have gone on hold; if he doesn’t…’ She let the implication speak for itself.

  ‘Come on, Proux – ring,’ Bonbon said, taking a paper bag from his pocket. Nestling stickily inside was a collection of ball-shaped blobs on sticks. ‘Lolli-plop, anyone?’

  Granot plumped for a fat pink one. ‘Here’s a thought. We could always go in for a bit of good old-fashioned policing. We could arrest the Rigauds and scare the shit out of them to find out who they’re working for. Malraux’s back at work, I hear. He’d do it and thank you for the job.’

  Darac’s mobile rang. Sharing a look with the others, he put it on speaker.

  ‘Proux here, Captain. Delmas was telling the truth. Rigaud did indeed go to the shop. He bought a pre-paid SIM card. And he’s bought others recently.’

  ‘Hop là,’ Bonbon said, giving the air a punch.

  ‘Proux? We need that SIM card.’

  ‘It’s probably just a burner, Captain. One call and dumped.’

  ‘I know but we can find out the number it called.’

  ‘If that was to a prepaid as well, it won’t help us much.’

  ‘Get it anyway. And arrest the Rigauds and bring them in. Impound their computer while you’re at it.’

  ‘Arrest them on what charge?’

  Darac kept his eyes on Agnès. ‘Accessory before and after—’ She shook her head.

  ‘Complicity with a person or persons unknown…’ She nodded. ‘…to commit murder.’

  ‘Check. I’ll have them at the Caserne in about… forty-five minutes.’

  ‘Good man.’

  Agnès picked up a desk phone. ‘Let’s get really active. I’m releasing Delmas.’

  57

  Laure was barely awake when the door flew open.

  ‘You think I was just going to let you ruin everything I’ve worked for?’ Her father stomped toward her. ‘Get out of that pit. Now!’

  Laure scrambled up, jagging her feet against the duvet, backing herself into a corner. But he stood flailing, suddenly, snagged on leads bridging two stacks of equipment. They fell like demolished tower blocks as he came at her again, dragging the wreckage behind him.

  Laure ducked under his arm as he made a grab for her. She tried to spring forward but the mattress was like quicksand under her feet. He grabbed a handful of T-shirt and slammed her back hard against the wall. Winded, her guard went down. It was then that she saw he was carrying a newspaper.

  ‘Read it.’ He thrust it into her face. ‘Read about who you killed!’

  She punched through the paper and looked into her father’s eyes. For the first time in her life, she felt scared. He wanted her dead. She could see it. Wanted her dead just to keep his campaign sweet. Those hating eyes… She thrust her fingers into them, making him yelp and stagger back. There was a chance. Using the wall as a springboard, she pushed off and dived headlong on to the floor. She got to her feet, her father pawing the air behind her like a tormented bear. It was then she saw a figure leaning casually against the doorframe, watching.

  ‘How far do you think you would’ve got dressed like that?’ Walter Picot’s eyes slid to her groin. ‘Just a T-shirt?’

  Laure was her fath
er’s daughter in everything. She weighed her options.

  ‘Tie him up,’ she said. ‘And you can have me. Knock him out. Kill him – anything. I don’t care. He wants me dead.’

  He smirked. ‘Why do you think I’m here?’

  ‘Listen, you can…’ The realisation began to dawn. ‘You can fuck me.’

  ‘I wouldn’t fuck a skank like you to save my life.’

  ‘I’ve… I’ve got money. Lots of it. And I can get it.’ She spun around frantically, as if the cash were lying there in plain sight. ‘You can have it. All.’

  Finally disentangled, her father walked past her. ‘Goodbye, Laure.’

  ‘No! Papa! I’ll change! Stop! I won’t do anything like that again! You can’t… Please!’

  Without looking back, Telonne closed the door slowly behind him.

  58

  The marketing people had assured Martin that ‘Julie’ was a potentially strong brand name. It was a complex scent, citrus top notes emerging from its spice base in ever-surprising combinations as it warmed and then faded on the skin. For the time being, it existed only in prototype form and so its dedicatee would have to make do with a sample vial and design sketches in lieu of the all-important packaging. But it still made a special gift. Together with a diamond solitaire ring, it was extra special.

  The whole thing was a surprise. He’d told her he wouldn’t be able to make it this evening and so she had decided to spend a quiet night in. It was with some relief that he’d spotted her motorcycle in the side entry as he’d driven past. It would have been like her to have taken off somewhere on a whim. That’s why he was early. That, and to give her time to dress for Le Chantecler for dinner.

  It should have been one of the happiest moments of his life. But as he parked his car and walked down the avenue to her villa, a profound ache of sadness tempered the thrill. He’d wanted more than anything for Paul to warm to Julie, to welcome her or, at the very least, accept her. He still couldn’t fathom how low the boy had sunk. To lie in the way he had… Julie had been magnanimous about it. ‘He’ll come round,’ she’d said. ‘Eventually.’ Until that happened, Martin knew he would feel like only half a man. He needed them both.

  He reached the villa and for the third time in the past half-hour mounted a paranoid search of his jacket pockets. Of course they were still there: the perfume vial in the left, the ring box in the right. He checked his shoulder bag. Yes, his portfolio of sketches hadn’t been teleported into space.

  And then he saw the second motorcycle, jacked up on its stand behind her big yellow Suzuki. Jet black and bigger still. He smiled. So this was how she was going to spend a ‘quiet evening in’ – she’d bought the second machine she’d been talking about. So that made… what? Two motorcycles, a car, a racing bike, two mountain bikes and at least one pair of rollerblades. Julie was a girl who liked to be on the move, alright. Another ten minutes and she would have been astride her new toy halfway to San Remo. Thank God he’d arrived when he had.

  Passing the bikes, he took the path around to the back of the villa. With every stride, he felt a satisfying familiarity balancing the uniqueness of the occasion. To be tuned into the rhythms of another’s life, to swim in the same tide; it was as essential to him as food. First, it was the sound: the strains of some rock outfit playing upstairs. Then it was the smell: water gurgling into the drain under the downpipe, notes of hibiscus and limes drifting in the steam. He didn’t need to be a great detective to interpret these clues. It was just an everyday thing – Julie taking a long, hot shower to music.

  Patting his pockets one last time, he put his key into the lock and entered the kitchen.

  59

  Darac’s pan bagnat was sitting half-eaten on the dashboard.

  ‘Had enough of that?’ Bonbon said.

  ‘Not really hungry.’

  Bonbon reached across.

  ‘You’ – Darac watched it disappear – ‘have it.’ His mobile rang. ‘It’s Terrevaste.’

  ‘About time.’

  ‘This is Darac.’

  ‘Delmas got off the tram at Pont St Michel.’

  ‘That’s where he was picked up this morning. Then where did he go?’

  ‘He headed west on Pont René Coty. On foot.’

  Darac pictured the bridge: wide, straight, exposed. ‘That’s just about as difficult as a tail job gets, isn’t it?’

  ‘For a novice, perhaps.’

  Bonbon shared a look with Darac. Terrevaste was an ace tail man. He was also an ace pain in the arse. ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘Voie Romaine. I’m behind him. And I’ve got another man in front. I’ll have a third, shortly.’

  ‘Romaine? The Pasteur Hospital’s straight ahead of you.’

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘What you don’t know is that he hasn’t got an appointment. We’ve checked all that.’

  ‘Fine.’

  Bonbon leaned in to Darac. ‘They employ a hell of a lot of people. The final gang member may work there.’

  Darac gave him a nod. ‘Okay, Terrevaste – we may as well drive up now. And before you say it, we’ll stay well back until he finally makes landfall.’

  ‘We are perfectly capable of dealing with any confrontation that transpires.’

  ‘Nevertheless. Keep us updated regularly now, alright? If you don’t, we might blunder into the wrong spot and blow the whole thing.’

  ‘Very well. Out.’

  ‘People on mobiles,’ Bonbon said, wiping his hands. ‘Everywhere nowadays. If Delmas happened to turn around, he wouldn’t have seen anything out of the ordinary.’

  ‘You can look straight at Terrevaste and not see him, anyway. I asked Astrid to draw him once. Even she couldn’t recall his face.’ He waggled the gear stick. ‘Right, let’s get up there.’

  Starting the engine scattered flurries of piano notes into the air like breeze-blown leaves. To avert the inevitable protest, Darac reached for the on/off switch.

  ‘No, leave it on,’ Bonbon said. ‘That doesn’t sound too bad for once. Quite nice, even.’

  ‘I’ll tell Didier. He’ll be thrilled.’

  ‘This is the Quintet?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, the pain of losing Marco still etched deeply in his face. ‘It was.’

  Bonbon glanced across at him. ‘One call, mate. That’s all it takes.’

  As if on cue, Darac’s mobile rang. They shared a look. No – things like that didn’t happen. Checking the caller ID, his pulse began to race. ‘Erica – anything on the man wearing the parka?’

  ‘Sorry, no. But I do have a couple of other things.’

  ‘Ah.’ He bumped the wheel with his fist. ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Agnès and Granot are questioning the Rigauds. They haven’t said anything so far. But I’ve made progress with Artur’s mobile. There’s just one call out on the new SIM. Made at 9.26 this morning. Probably to the killer, or why the subterfuge?’

  ‘Indeed. Was he calling another prepaid? Say no.’

  ‘It was to a prepaid.’

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘The call wasn’t taken. But a voicemail message may have been left, presumably saying that he hadn’t been able to hold on to Delmas.’

  Bonbon leaned in to the phone mike. ‘Was there any call in, Erica?’ he said.

  ‘None.’

  ‘That may be why Artur made a run for it earlier. He’d tried to warn the killer that Delmas had gone but wound up having to leave a message. And then we arrive. Anxious it may not have been picked up, off he goes either to call again or maybe even to tip the guy off in person.’

  ‘Did you hear that, Erica?’

  ‘Yes, yes.’

  ‘You could well be right, Bonbon, and we’re in the same boat, aren’t we? We don’t know if the killer heard the crucial message either. Plus we have no ID for him and never will from the mobile.’

  ‘I’m not giving up on that yet,’ Erica said. ‘I’m playing around with something.’

  ‘Work your magic, Eri
ca. And work it quickly. You said you had a couple of things?’

  ‘I saved the best until last. I’ve got a positive ID on the man in the DVD. The red-faced man with the odd sense of humour.’

  ‘Excellent.’

  ‘His name was Stéphane Chayer.’ She spelled it. ‘Born 17 August 1952; died 19 May 2003 after a long illness.’

  ‘Those dates tally with our ideas. Chayer… Chayer… Who was he?’

  ‘Now that’, Erica said, ‘is the really interesting part.’

  60

  Elise unwrapped the turban from her damp hair and, turning on the lights flanking her mirror, scrutinised her neck with almost forensic intensity. ‘May need a little collagen… Where’s that miserable excuse for a daughter of yours got to?’

  Gazing into his own mirror, Jacques Telonne smiled contentedly. Lifting the wings of his collar, he threaded the tie around his neck. ‘Isn’t she in her room?’

  ‘No, she isn’t. And she said she was coming with us. Perhaps she’s been kidnapped. But no – that’s too much to hope for.’

  ‘If she’s not back in time, we’ll go without her.’

  A relay from the front doorbell sounded in the room.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ Telonne said. ‘As you’re not decent.’

  * * *

  ‘Good afternoon, Monsieur Telonne.’

  Seeing Darac, Telonne shuddered as if he’d been punched. But then, like the trouper he was, he produced the broadest of smiles; a touch dry-lipped, perhaps, but broad and white and perfect.

  ‘Captain Darac?’

  ‘Please call me Paul, Jacques. If I may.’

  ‘Paul, thank you – yes. And certainly, you may.’ He turned the grin on Bonbon. ‘It’s Lieutenant Bosco, isn’t it?’

  ‘Busquet. I’m a Catalan, not a… wherever people called “Bosco” come from.’

  ‘Yes…’ Telonne glanced at the glinting hockey puck on his wrist. ‘Unfortunately, you’ve caught me at a bad time. As it’s the final evening of Carnival, I have to be here, there and everywhere shortly.’