Obscure Intentions

by Anthony J Harrison

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe book a room on a cruise ship, take a few days away from the city just to relax and not worry about things.” Putting her hand on his, she continued, “Claude, the work, the criminals, it’ll still be here when you get back. I promise not to catch all the bad guys while you’re gone,” she teased, smiling back at him.

  “I’ll think about it,” the detective said. “Now, let’s find out what the officer’s working with Sergeant LeBlanc have for us, shall we?” He grabbed his coffee cup before climbing out of the car.

  Since the break-in at Geneviève’s apartment, the officers patrolling the neighborhood had been trying to find any person of interest who they deemed suspicious. Ambling into the small police office’s, Claude and Geneviève were escorted to the small conference room where Sergeant LeBlanc was waiting.

  “Bonjour, Captain, Detective,” he said, motioning to the two empty seats at the table. “I’m happy to say we might have a possible lead on your suspect,” he said, nodding to Geneviève. Dimming the lights, he keyed the projector to the first image. “This gentleman has been seen in the vicinity over the last two weeks,” he explained, displaying the image of Benito Russo.

  “Who is he?” Claude asked, slurping his bitter coffee.

  “An Italian by the name of Russo,” the sergeant said. “He’s here working for a firm based in Milan on an urban development plan. We’ve contacted the consulate and they’ve confirmed the passport as genuine.” He clicked the next image to the screen. “Here we have him meeting with a local merchant. He admitted to looking for a young woman he’d met earlier the week before.” LeBlanc advanced the image to show the Italian talking with the shopkeeper.

  “That’s Monsieur Jules,” Geneviève pointed out, seeing the image.

  “Yes,” the sergeant said. “He confirmed later in the day Monsieur Russo asked about you by name, Detective Benoit. He even went as far as asking about a gentleman you were seen with, someone who owns a red Peugeot.”

  “Hector?” she muttered, looking at Claude.

  “Is this person someone we need to know about, Detective?”

  “What, uh... no. I mean, he’s an acquaintance. Monsieur Hector Dupont is his name; he’s head of security for the airport,” she said. “We’ve seen each other socially on one or two occasions,” she explained, blushing at her admittance of the affair.

  “You might wish to discuss the case with him,” Claude said, glancing at his partner. Turning to the sergeant, he continued. “Have you brought this man in for questioning yet?”

  “No, we haven’t done so yet,” the officer said. “We encountered him at Monsieur Jules’s market, but before we could detain him, we were called to the waterfront to help in a quarrel amongst some Hungarian soccer fans.”

  “Do you have an address on this man?” Geneviève asked.

  “No, just that he was renting an apartment off Avenue Clot Bey,” LeBlanc said. “We haven’t followed up on it yet. But it's on our docket for each patrol to review.” He held up their daily status sheet each officer received before starting a patrol.

  Holding one sheet, Claude noticed the sergeant had followed proper protocol by listing specifics about the person of interest without revealing their name. “I’ll take this for my records sergeant. If given an opportunity, sergeant, the next chance you get, detain the individual,” the detective said. “It’s easier to apologize for a mix-up to a potential tourist than to the next of kin of the victim.” Tossing his empty cup in the wastebasket, he motioned to Geneviève. “Let’s go. Thank you for the briefing, sergeant,” he said, nodding to the officer as he walked out.

  Finally, outside the station, Claude leaned against his car, his hand stroking his chin.

  “Don’t you think you were a scant rude to the sergeant?” Geneviève asked.

  “Why? Because he didn't realize our suspect was standing in front of him and did nothing,” the senior officer said, stepping away from the car. “He’ll be a better officer for the rebuke, trust me.” Spinning around, he turned to Geneviève challenging her, “And why did you just sit there and let him go like that? We’re talking about a person who was in your apartment, aren’t we?”

  Several of the uniformed officers from the station had stopped outside the building and took in the exchange between the detectives. Each of them was surprised at the manner which the female spoke to her partner being the greatest concern.

  “You need another cup of coffee,” she said, sliding into the passenger seat.

  Yanking the driver’s door open, Claude settled behind the wheel. “That’s it, I need more coffee?”

  “For the moment, yes,” she said, staring ahead and avoiding his gaze. “There’s a bakery near the school. we can stop there,” she suggested, directing him to their destination.

  “I expected you to show more emotion,” Claude said, driving through the traffic circle. “The sergeant is giving us the person who violated your privacy. Doesn’t learning this inspire you to want this man in custody?”

  “What if Captain Duval is right?” Genevieve asked. “What if this man is just one of several out to abduct me, like the first one? So, we detain him, but if he’s the second, who’s saying he’s the last one? There could be more, and I’m interested in getting them all.”

  Pulling the car to the curb, Claude placed it in park and shut the engine off. “Ok, say you’re right and there are one or two others; what would you do?”

  Geneviève turned to face her partner. “The man's a foreigner, so he most likely is getting help from someone locally,” she said. “We need to find out who the person or persons are, then we apprehend them all. Until then, we’re just plucking petals off a flower.”

  Snickering at the metaphor, Claude replied, “At least we’d get to the one in charge.”

  “We know who’s in charge of this; it's Khalid - he’s behind it,” Geneviève answered, her voice growing louder. “His ego can’t take being bested by a woman. It’s part of his nature, part of his culture,” she said.

  “I agree,” Claude said. “But who’s the Italian helping him? What part do they play in all this, heh? Are they repaying a favor, or is it a debt the Algerian is calling them in on? Let’s not forget this all started with the drug smuggling we uncovered with the inspectors from Scotland Yard.”

  Slouching back in her seat, Geneviève sighed. “Which one takes priority though?” she asked, the frustration in her showing. “If we apprehend the Italian, does he give us Khalid? Or another Italian? And what of the shipping company and the drug smuggling? If we catch them, do we get enough information linking their activities back to Khalid? It all goes back to him.”

  Cracking his door open, Claude glanced back the young woman. “First thing is a fresh cup of coffee, then we can make our plans, ok?”

  Stepping out onto the sidewalk, she looked back at him, “Just as long as you’re paying this time. I can’t afford to keep you caffeinated every day, you know.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Weaving the police car amongst the containers and the slow-moving cargo vehicles, Detective Berger felt like a rally car driver on his trek to Dakar. Passing a container trailer, he approached the dock where the freighter belonging to Papillion Transport was secured. Parking behind the warehouse, Berger and his partner Detective Masson walked towards the corner of the building.

  “It’s gone,” Guy exclaimed.

  A wide expanse of blackish green water greeted Detective’s Masson and Berger as they returned to the berth where the freighter De Gaulle once sat. The fog, hanging low on the horizon, obscured the view of the harbor and the lone tug guiding the freighter towards open water.

  “The report said it wouldn’t leave for another two days,” Berger said, reading his notes.

  “Come on, we’re going to find out what the hell is up,” Guy said, trotting towards their car.

  Making the short drive to the harbormaster’s office, a solitary watchman met them at the door.

&nb
sp; “Where is Monsieur Clerc?” Detective Masson asked showing his police credentials.

  “He’s on his way to Terminal A for a meeting with the union leaders,” the watchman said. “The longshoremen are threatening a strike. It’s my understanding they want a five-euro-an-hour pay increase for the junior laborers. They make up 65 percent of the workforce on the docks. If they can’t get an agreement signed by tomorrow, the harbor comes to a standstill.”

  Hearing the clerk mention this provided Guy and Nicolas with the reason for the M/V De Gaulle’s sudden departure. “Who’s responsible for dispatching the tugboats?” Guy asked.

  “We are. All the vessel movements are coordinated from this office. There’s fee’s which needs to be paid, signing of documents,” the man said. “It’s not like your pleasure craft for fishing or water-skiing. Much of the taxes and fees are used to pay salaries for everyone,” he explained, folding his hands on the counter.

  “What’s the penalty for moving a vessel without permission?” Nicolas asked.

  “For a merchant vessel? It’s ten-thousand euros for the first offense,” the clerk said. “And a letter of reprimand is filed with the Maritime Commission. If a vessel owner receives enough reprimands, they’ll lose their berthing rights and be kept out of French waters.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “This company, Papillion Transport might have enough influence to overcome a fee of 10,000 euros,” Nicolas said, explaining his theory. “Not to mention they could have a plant inside the Maritime offices to miss route certain paperwork, even destroy records.”

  Turning to the clerk, Guy Masson asked, “How would you deliver a letter to a company at fault of missing payment?”

  “We send it by courier,” he said, walking around the counter to unlock the door for his co-worker. “Morning Claudia,” he said, greeting the woman. “We’ve all the respective addresses for the companies sailing from Marseille.”

  “What address do you have for Papillion Transport?”

  “Give me a moment, I’ll look it up for you.” She walked to a desk and powered up the computer.

  Finally, after five minutes of pacing the small office, the clerk produced the address for the detectives. “They filed a request to change their address from here to one in Toulon,” he explained, pointing out the note for them. “A copy of the letter was likewise sent to the principal owners of the company as well. One copy went to Monsieur Emilio Carbone in Brest while the other was dispatched to Arnaud Guerini in Lyon.”

  “Do you recall the date Benoit and Lemieux questioned the staff?” Masson asked his partner.

  “No, I didn’t think I needed to keep track of their investigation.”

  “Come on, then,” Guy said. “We need to learn if this date aligns with their session with the company staff,” He walked towards the door and turned to the clerk. “Merci, monsieur.”

  ***

  Detective Benoit sat in quiet thought while sipping her coffee, watching a solitary figure walking through the park. “Can you see that man, Claude?” he asked nodding toward the park.

  Setting his coffee down, Claude shifted his chair until he identified the person she was alluding to. “What about him? He’s taking a stroll through the park,” he said, turning back to her. “Is he doing something illegal? Maybe spying on someone we can’t see?”

  “He has the same rough features as the photo from Sergeant LeBlanc,” she said.

  “And you can tell that from a hundred meters, can you?”

  “I’ve got younger eyes than you do,” she teased, ribbing her partner. “He’s taking a seat and pulling something from his bag,” she said, describing his actions to Claude. “What if he’s making notes on the best place to abduct someone, or his escape routes, or...?”

  “You’re being paranoid now,” Claude said. “But, if you promise to sit still, I’ll take a stroll past him to decide if it’s worth facing a harassment suit,” he said, getting up from the table.

  “Don’t forget your coffee.”.

  Starting his way across the boulevard, Detective Lemieux entered the park, walking in the opposite direction so he could approach the man, moving towards Geneviève. Several children occupied themselves on the swings under the dutiful eyes of their mother. The closer he came, the more defined were the man’s features, which were nothing like those from the police photo. Claude continued strolling past the gentleman who had sat and began sketching the city skyline on an artist’s pad.

  Giuseppe Ricci looked up from his sketches and nodded politely at the officer strolling past him. Benito was right. The police are getting more active, he thought, brushing dust from the paper.

  Rejoining his partner, he tossed his cup in the trash. “He’s sketching the city,” Claude said. “And unless he’s an expert at theatrical makeup, I don’t think he could’ve grown a beard in 24 hours.” Looking at his partner, Claude could detect the worried expression on her face. “We need to give Sergeant LeBlanc and the rest of the officers a chance to find this Italian again. We can’t go chasing ghosts at every turn.”

  “Just an hour ago you argued about him arresting this man, now you’re saying to give them a leeway,” Geneviève said. “Which one is it supposed to be, Claude? Point out their failure or give them a break?”

  “I was wrong...” he said as his cell phone rang. “Hello? Yes, Nicolas, we’ll be there in a few minutes,” he replied, ending the call. “Come along, Masson and Berger have some new information on Papillon Transport they wish to share. While I get the car, grab me a fresh coffee please?” he asked, tossing the empty cup in the trash.

  Watching her partner turn the corner, Geneviève went into the bistro and bought Claude another cup. “Merci,” she said, paying for the drink as Claude tapped the horn as a sign for her to hurry. “Impatient old man,” she muttered, walking away from the counter.

  Finally, after a twenty-minute course in driving patience through traffic, the detectives arrived back at the main police office. Taking the elevator, they were soon back in their office where Guy and Nicolas were discussing the disappearance of the M/V De Gaulle from earlier.

  “What do you have for us?” Claude asked, setting his coffee on his desk.

  “Last night, we located one of the freighters from Papillion sitting at the docks,” Detective Masson said. “Going back this morning to begin our surveillance, the ship was gone. Poof. Vanished into thin air.”

  “But the harbormaster’s record shows it should still be in the harbor,” Nicolas added. “And according to the clerk, no vessel enters or departs without documents and fees.”

  “Of course,” Geneviève said. “Money makes everything so much easier.”

  “When I pressed the clerk about a vessel being fined, he said they send a letter to the owners by courier,” Masson said. “So, being the good detectives, we asked for the address for Papillion they have on file,” he started, holding a slip of paper in his hands. “And low and behold, Papillion requested a change of address to Toulon,” he stated, passing the notice to Claude.

  “Pull the file, Geneviève,” Claude said. Taking a large gulp of his coffee, he pulled his pad from the desk drawer.

  Sliding the file from the cabinet drawer, Geneviève opened it before handing to the senior detective. “We did our initial questioning on the 20th of June,” she said, pointing out the date.

  Studying the notes, Claude noticed the same thing. “They submitted the change of address on the 22nd according to this. Which goes along with your notion of possible inside information on our investigation and where it was leading.”

  “And we can’t forget the secretary’s statement,” Geneviève said. “She said the owner was out of the country, but who’s saying he wasn’t in Toulon negotiating a new lease for office spaces?”

  “The tax office in Toulon would have records of the new business,” Detective Berger said. “It wouldn’t take much to get our hands on those. Not to mention something simple as electrical and phone service
s being in their company name.”

  “He’s right,” Guy said. “We keep looking for a single instance when we should be thinking about it from a business viewpoint.”

  Leaning back in his chair, cup in hand, Claude followed the logic in Guy’s statement. “Nicolas, you mentioned it first, so you take the utilities angle in Toulon,” he said. “And Guy, you begin looking at merchant business leasing prospect. You walked the streets there, use some of your old connections,” he instructed, taking another gulp of coffee. “Geneviève, you look for a money trail. Let’s see how they pay their fees at the harbor master’s office and find the bankers.”

  “And what are you going to do?” she asked.

  “I’m going to have a talk with Captain Duval about Sergeant LeBlanc’s report,” he explained, getting up from his desk. “I’ll be back.” Claude left the room, closing the door behind him.

  “What’s with LeBlanc’s report?” Nicolas asked.

  “It turns out the sergeant came across the prowler the other day,” Geneviève said. “During a chance encounter, he and another officer met an Italian at a local market. While talking with the shop owner, they found out he was questioning the merchant about me. The problem is the sergeant didn’t realize it until after he returned to the station and read up on the previous report,” she said, sipping her coffee.

  “Didn’t they get any information on this man?” Guy asked.

  “Oh, they did,” she said, pulling a copy of their daily incident report from her pocket.

  Taking the copy, the detective scanned it before speaking. “His name is Benito Russo. Lives in Milan working for an urban development company,” Nicolas read aloud. “Did they do a background check on him?”

  “Yes, and so far, he’s legitimate,” Geneviève said. “The sergeant found out a general vicinity of his apartment, and the patrols will concentrate their efforts to try to locate him,” she said, brushing her hair from her eyes.