‘Very difficult for you,’ she said.
‘Yes indeed.’
She smiled. ‘The only problem is that it isn’t true.’
Véronique’s face fell. ‘What?’
‘Allow me to introduce our senior forensic pathologist, Professor Deanna Bianchi.’
‘Delmas didn’t kill Laure,’ she said. ‘Walter Picot was the guilty party.’
‘How… What makes you think that?’
‘Exchange evidence, for one thing. Your daughter put up quite a fight against Picot. Her fingernails were just one source of material from him. And his body bears reciprocal traces of her. DNA matching will confirm it.’
‘I… find this very difficult but I think I can explain how that may have happened. I loved Laure but… she was a tease. She led Walter on. Things must have gone too far and by the time she changed her mind…’ He looked desolate. ‘Need I say more?’
‘Bravo, monsieur,’ Deanna said. ‘However, it wasn’t that kind of exchange.’
‘I say again. It was Delmas who killed Laure.’
Raul Ormans shook his large, patrician head. ‘No, he didn’t. It was Picot who attacked your daughter.’
‘No! What possible reason could he have had?’
‘What reason? The same reason everything else happens around you – to protect your share of the vote.’
‘That is slanderous. And in the circumstances, disgraceful!’
Ormans opened a file and slid a police evidence photo across the desk.
Telonne grabbed it. ‘What is this?’
‘Surely you recognise a shot of a capacitor when you see one? It’s a type that only one single outlet in the area stocks. Or rather stocked. It’s a chaotic place and they hadn’t meant to order them in the first place.’
‘So?’
‘Nevertheless, they sold four of the things in a single transaction six months ago. No one working there could remember to whom they sold them. I found three of them wired into Captain Darac’s stolen guitar.’
Telonne’s hand went to his throat. Véronique looked as if she would gladly have followed suit.
‘And what does that have to do with me?’
Ormans held up his mobile. ‘This is a shot of the remaining one. It was found just now in your daughter’s room. Look.’
Telonne’s face tightened as Ormans scrolled through a series of shots.
Bonbon was up next. ‘We know that it was Picot who subsequently dropped the guitar off at the Caserne.’
Telonne stiffened. ‘You said the handing in of the instrument would go unmonitored, Captain.’
Darac was seething but he was anxious not to do anything that would jeopardise the questioning. ‘That was before we knew it had been turned into a murder weapon. It explains a lot, doesn’t it? Your interest in the process of the amnesty; your sudden interest in jazz clubs. And Laure’s.’
The reference seemed to jog something in Telonne’s mind. ‘Frènes,’ he said. ‘Ring him. And I want a lawyer. Now.’
‘Frènes initiated this case in his capacity as public prosecutor,’ Agnès said. ‘Which means that except to be given a basic check on your rights, you’re not entitled to the services of a lawyer. Remember the system you lectured us so enthusiastically about at the Caserne? Well, this is what that system means for the suspect.’
‘Suspect? You dare to call me that?’
Agnès waved the objection away. ‘Let’s go back to your account of what happened on Terrace Nietzsche.’
‘Yes. That is more like it. When Delmas told us what he’d done to Laure, I was poleaxed. I couldn’t move. But Walter, bless him, went for him. Delmas may be sick but he’s a big man. One blow, that’s all it was. One blow and Walter fell. I ran away, falling halfway down the cliff, practically. And then—’
‘You saw Delmas kill Picot? You’re sure you’re not mistaken?’
‘Yes, I saw him kill him. Delmas! He’s the murderer and I’ll swear to it.’
‘I think, monsieur,’ Agnès said, in an even voice, ‘that it was you who killed Picot.’
‘I’m leaving,’ Véronique said, rising.
‘Stay there, please,’ Bonbon said.
‘This is a scandal! A scandal!’ Telonne’s voice burst out like a jackhammer shattering rock. ‘It wasn’t me who killed him. Why should I? It was Delmas! And he killed Laure.’
‘No,’ Agnès said.
‘You will regret this, all of you.’ The words came out in a growl. ‘You have absolutely no grounds for making such an allegation. All you have is supposition and innuendo.’
‘We also have Pierre Delmas,’ Darac said. ‘He was in Château Park and heard everything you and Picot said.’
Telonne gasped. ‘But Delmas was up in Lev… He wasn’t in the park at the time. No, no. Of course he was in the park. He killed Picot. I saw him.’ Between the strips of tape, Telonne’s face was ashen. ‘Véronique – help me.’
‘You’re on your own, Jacques.’
‘Delmas was there and he heard everything, monsieur,’ Agnès repeated. ‘Everything.’
‘It’s his word against mine.’ He raised a finger, stabbing the air. ‘And Delmas is a known felon. A convicted criminal. His word against mine? Me! Jacques Telonne! The king of Nice! No one will believe him.’
‘We all believe him,’ Darac said.
‘Do you?’ Ashen was giving way to crimson. ‘Bring him in, then. Let’s hear what this worm has to say.’
‘We can’t,’ Darac said. ‘He’s dead. Died before we could get to him, in fact.’
Telonne gave the table a triumphant rap. ‘I thought so. You’ve been bullshitting me. Trying to intimidate and confuse me. Hot air. That’s all.’
Darac took something out of his pocket. He kept his hand closed around it as he set it on the desk. ‘Not quite.’ His hand opened. Telonne was none the wiser. ‘It’s Delmas’s MP3 player. Never went anywhere without it. Helped him with his tinnitus.’
‘So what?’
‘Let’s listen, shall we?’
Darac pressed the play button.
‘Did it go well? At the quayside?’
Telonne’s mouth fell open. The recorded voice was hollow and blurred. But it was recognisably his.
‘Of course it did, Jacques. Where are you parked?’
‘At the far end of the terrace.’
‘Have you got my money? Two hundred grand, we said.’
‘Versatile machine, isn’t it?’ Darac said.
‘It’s in the boot.’
‘Get it.’
‘Not until after I’ve joined my friends down on the Promenade…Whoooosh! And Laure’s remains appear right there in front of us.’
Darac’s eyes were burning into Telonne. ‘You’re screwed. Delmas recorded the whole conversation.’
‘No, no, no. The sound is terrible. You can’t tell who it is.’
‘Yes, you can. All the more after it’s been cleaned up.’
‘It’s a trick. A trick to catch me out.’
‘It is conclusive evidence,’ Agnès said. ‘And we have another witness. R.O.?’
Ormans waved a remote at a wall-mounted TV. All eyes were on Telonne. As the picture fizzed into life, he shuddered.
‘No! You said I didn’t have to…’ His hand went to his mouth. ‘Turn it off!’
It was Laure.
‘Turn what off?’ Darac said. ‘Her life-support machine?’
Telonne gasped. ‘She’s—?’
‘Alive? Oh, yes.’
‘I… don’t believe you. It’s another trick… I was… It’s a trick!’
Ormans picked up his mobile. ‘Erica? Rack it back and then pan.’
The picture on the relay pulled back into a wide shot.
‘That is an intensive care bed,’ Deanna said, following the picture. ‘That is her respirator… On the wall at the back there is a display giving the time and temperature in the room. You might like to check your watch against it, monsieur – this is a live picture. And
the person in the white coat there is Dr Tan, whom you know…’
‘She is dead.’ Telonne looked frantic now. ‘I saw Picot light the… It’s a trick. You’ve rigged this up.’
Agnès raised her eyebrows. ‘So you saw Picot lighting the rag, now?’
‘Go to the heart monitor, Erica,’ Ormans said. ‘And then give the mike to Dr Tan.’
A steady trace. Telonne shook his head. ‘It… it… it’s not connected up.’
Véronique threw up her hands. ‘She’s alive, you idiot!’
Dr Tan looked into the camera. ‘The patient inhaled very little smoke, which was crucial. She will need extensive skin grafts to her buttocks, legs, feet and back. That process is well established and the prognosis is therefore good. A very tough young lady, she has already given a brief verbal statement. And named names. I have placed her in an induced coma…’
Darac continued over the doctor’s voice. ‘You see, your right-hand man Picot didn’t kill her. He drugged her because he wanted her to experience what it is like to be burned to death. But first, he told her that was what he was going to do.’
‘No… I don’t believe… How can you know that?’
‘Because she told us. He administered the drug in a dose he calculated would wear off in the furnace. He did that, obviously, so she would suffer to the maximum possible extent.’
‘Shut up!’
‘She came round just as we were dragging her out of the thing. I wish you’d heard her screams, Jacques. I’ll hear them for the rest of my life. Loud, unbearable screams as all that flayed skin on her back—’
‘Alright! Alright!’ A weird sound came out of Telonne’s mouth; a sort of half gasp, half cry. ‘It’s over.’
‘Did you kill Walter Picot?’ Agnès said.
‘Yes!’
As Telonne lowered his head into his hands, a collective sigh went up in the room.
‘Did you conspire with Picot to kill your daughter, Laure Telonne?’
‘Yes!’
The door flew open. Frènes marched in. And was by his master’s side in a flash.
‘This is beyond anything I have ever—’
Agnès held up a hand. ‘Before you say anything else, Frènes, be aware of the kind of man you’re getting into bed with. Monsieur Telonne has just confessed to one murder, complicity in a second, and there’s a lot more to come.’
‘Get out of here, you miserable little crumb,’ Telonne said to him. ‘Get out!’
Utterly deflated, Frènes sat down, instead. The golden goose had finally laid its egg and it was rotten.
Frankie had said nothing until this moment.
‘Monsieur Telonne, why did you seek to have Laure killed?’
‘Because… she was evil. She wanted me finished.’ The man’s face clouded with incomprehension. ‘I built this city. Why wasn’t she proud of me?’
‘Greed,’ Agnès said. ‘Greed was your undoing. Thanks to Monsieur Delmas’s recording, we know that somewhere in the bowels of the city lie the mortal remains of unregistered workers. People who died because of your corner-cutting methods. Your ex-partner Stéphane Chayer knew about it. He told you about a safety deposit box that contained an incriminating photo. A photo that would become public knowledge on his death. You had to retrieve it. And commissioned So-Pro to accomplish that.’
‘It was a joke! A lousy joke!’
‘But you didn’t know that until it was too late. Afterwards, you got on with building your empire but there were people who could wreck everything for you, weren’t there? People who had cheated Delmas out of his share of the reward money. A share he’d given up to his daughter. A daughter to whom he wanted at last to show his love.’
‘I didn’t know they had cheated Delmas. That’s the truth. Picot told me about it only a matter of days ago.’
‘And he would never have told you but for the fact that against all the odds, Delmas survived prison. Carl Halevy tried to kill him and was killed himself in the process. It was then you realised you’d been given an ideal opportunity to rid yourself of everyone connected with So-Pro; people who were in a position to cause you all sorts of trouble down the line including sinking your political ambitions. You set up the scheme with Picot and the Rigauds. We were bound to think it was Delmas who was killing off the gang one by one, weren’t we? All you needed to do at the end of it was kill the true killer, Picot, and there you were – free.’
Telonne smiled as if he had actually achieved his goal. ‘Yes. Free. Free of them all.’
Frènes stood with almost ceremonial gravity. ‘Monsieur, be assured that you will not remain free a moment longer. How could you have dared to even contemplate adding your name to the honour roll of great men who have held office in our city? And on a point of information, Nice is not the city you built, as you are so fond of saying. When looked at in its totality, the contribution of Telonne Construction to our urban environment’ – he snapped his fingers dismissively – ‘is infinitesimal.’
Unable to raise any sort of hurrah at the point, Darac shared a look with Frankie. And then Agnès gave him a nod.
‘Jacques Bertrand Telonne,’ he said. ‘I am charging you with the murder of Walter Picot…’
* * *
Darac gave Frankie a ride back to the Caserne.
‘I wanted Marco’s killer so dead, I can’t tell you. But what that girl went through.’ He took in a deep, nourishing breath. ‘At least she didn’t come to until we were dragging her out of the thing. I’ve never seen anyone in so much pain.’
‘Burns. There’s nothing worse. And think of the mental scarring.’
‘She was scarred from the beginning, wasn’t she?’
‘Having a megalomaniac psychopath for a father isn’t the best start in life.’
Darac wouldn’t be sending her roses, nevertheless.
‘I meant to tell you that it’s Marco’s funeral the day after tomorrow. And then on Thursday we’re holding a memorial concert at the club.’
‘May I come? To the concert, I mean.’
‘I’d love you to.’
She put her hand on his knee.
‘Remember Rama?’ he said.
‘Sticks? Of course.’
‘He’s flying in especially.’
‘That’s lovely.’
‘And the city is going to put something together, too. Featuring JAMCA and the various other youth bands Marco worked with over the years.’
Frankie went to speak, hesitated, but then seemed to feel the moment was right, after all. ‘I’m going to tell you something I’ve kept from you. Last year, I was obliged to investigate Marco. A girl’s father made an allegation against him.’
The complaint had obviously gone nowhere or Darac would have heard about it. Nevertheless, the thought made his blood boil. ‘Listen. Marco may have been—’
‘Yes, yes – he was innocent. Completely. The father was “annoyed” the girl had been dropped from one of the ensembles and was just—’
‘Being a complete fucking arsehole.’
‘Exactly. No, no, I soon discovered that Marco was propriety itself with the kids.’ She gave Darac another look. ‘He did his best to seduce me, though. Royally.’
Darac gave her a look. ‘Well, he had very good taste.’
They left that one there.
‘What’s the latest on Freddy?’
‘Freddy… We’re back with mental scarring, I’m afraid. Big time, the poor kid. Among other things, he’s talking about never playing again.’
‘He will.’
‘I think he will, too. I’ve made him a present of one of my other guitars, actually. And I’m going to keep an eye on him, I’ve decided. Take him under my wing.’
Frankie was interested in the view to her right, suddenly. Whatever it was.
Nothing was said for some moments. And then Darac slowly shook his head. ‘I don’t know, Frankie… You’re born. You die. If you’re lucky, you have some good times in between. What the hell is this all
about?’
‘That’s what you’ve always thought, isn’t it? I mean, you’ve always been happy thinking about life and death like that.’
‘I suppose I have. It’s just… What do you think?’
‘Ask me when I’m dead.’
Darac gave a little chuckle. He could have said so much at that moment. Instead, he put his hand on hers and squeezed it.
It was a good two hours later that he arrived back in the Babazouk. There was a hand-written note on his doormat.
I was here earlier but had to go. Ring me, Paul. Whatever time you get home.
All love, Papa xx
63
They drove through radiant light and blue shadows to the cemetery.
‘That must have been tough.’ The Peugeot rolled to a gentle stop. ‘Finding them in bed like that.’
Martin stared at the gates. ‘I’ve got no moral high ground when it comes to sex. Julie can live any way she likes. It’s just that in this… big romantic thing I had going on in my head, there was only room for two.’
‘There’s got to be trust in a partnership, Papa.’ He hadn’t forgotten his own feelings for Frankie. ‘Or what’s the point?’
‘Trust…’ Martin said, looking his son in the eye.
‘Let’s go in.’
‘A moment.’ The effort of composing himself showed in every line on his father’s face. ‘I’m sorry, Paul. I’m so sorry for not trusting you. For not trusting you to tell the truth when you have never lied about anything in your life.’
‘I lie every day. And not just to suspects.’
‘You’ve never lied to me. And I should have remembered that.’
He put a hand on his father’s cheek. ‘Come on.’
They paused at Sylvie’s grave, its stèle removed for the addition of her father’s name.
‘Did he find out before he died?’ Martin said. ‘That it was Picot who convinced the others?’
‘Yes. You can hear him saying the name aloud.’
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