“Who was that?” Geneviève asked, walking up on Claude.
“What…? Oh... that was Doctor Beringer,” Claude said, caught by surprise. “She was discussing some new findings related to our case.”
“She’s quite attractive,” noted Nicolas, watching her skirt sway as she stepped towards the street.
“I hadn’t noticed,” Claude said, lying to the younger officer. “Where’s Guy?”
“Parking the car as always,” Nicolas said.
“I’m going to be late for my meeting,” the senior officer said, hearing the clock chime throughout the lobby. “When I get back, we’ll talk about your meetings.”
“What do you make of the doctor’s visit?” Nicolas asked.
“I’m not sure,” Geneviève said. “I don’t think Claude will admit to anything, either.”
***
The public-address announcement was repeated every five minutes, reminding drivers that the zone in front of terminals was meant for letting passengers out and not for loitering. Benito knew the timing since he’d been sitting in his rental car for the past two hours, watching for his target to leave the building.
Misleading the clerk at the vehicle registration office, he got information on Hector Dupont, including a special access pass he was afforded as a director at the airport. Learning this, Benito proceeded to the parking complex where he soon spotted the red Peugeot he spied Detective Benoit entering on their date.
“Your plan seems simple,” Giuseppe said, sitting in the passenger seat. “But it depends on the woman being willing to sacrifice herself. What if she decides he’s not worth it? What is your backup plan?”
“From what I saw,” Benito said, “she’ll accept the exchange. You’ve seen the photos Angelo took; the woman is young and naïve.”
“And a police officer,” Giuseppe said. “I’m sure she’s received some training on how to handle being abducted, if nothing more than hand-to-hand combat. Are you ready to subdue her if she becomes difficult?”
“Of course,” Benito said, grabbing his backpack and showing off the Taser. “I’m sure this will be enough.” Turning back to the terminal, he spotted their target leaving the building, making his way towards them and his vehicle.
In minutes, the Italians were entering the expressway behind Hector Dupont, following him towards the city. “Which part of the city do you think he lives in?” Giuseppe asked as road signs identifying the Verduron district appeared.
“We’re close,” Benito said, speeding up and changing lanes to keep the car in sight. “The registration is for an address in Saint Antoine.” Slowing down, he saw Hector preparing to exit, causing him to cut off the truck he just drove past.
Sitting at a traffic light, Hector Dupont was oblivious to the Italians who were following him. With the change in the signal, he proceeded to his apartment complex. Moments later, he pulled into the driveway and next to the security kiosk, punching in his code to enter.
Seeing the Peugeot turn into the building entrance, Benito slowed down long enough for Giuseppe to see Hector entering his pass code to open the gates. “The building has security gates and cameras,” he said as Benito pulled to the curb. “Taking him at his apartment will not be easy if this was part of your plan.”
“Have faith my friend,” Benito said. “I’ll gain access for both of us.” He noted the property management listed on the front of the building. “You forget I have a legitimate job which I can parlay into almost anything. One call to the manager and we’ll have freedom to execute the plan, trust me.”
Taking out his laptop, Benito was soon searching an online map, looking for the location of the property management office. “Seems we’re only a few kilometers from their business,” he noted, pointing to the red dot on the screen. “Give me twenty minutes at the most, and we’ll be a step closer.”
“This better work. The merchantman will only be available for a short period and we can’t be late,” Giuseppe said, alluding to the passing freighter Southern Warrior sailing toward Genoa.
Thinking of the general vicinity of the office complex, Benito was soon parking the car outside the building. Grabbing the satchel and two cardboard tubes from behind his seat, he headed towards the central lobby.
As Benito disappeared behind the glass doors, Giuseppe pulled out his cell phone and called Alberto Scuderi.
“Hello, Giuseppe?” the voice asked.
“Yes, Alberto, it’s Giuseppe. It turns out Signore Russo will be able to complete his contract on time,” he said, describing their current situation for abducting the police woman. “He has a simple plan which will work, just as long as the police woman concedes to protecting her lover.”
“We mustn’t fail, Giuseppe,” the older Italian said, groaning as the young woman massaging him pressed down on his spine. “We only have one opportunity to use the passing freighter. If we miss it, we’ll have a much harder time seeing the woman into Italy.”
“I understand,” the young man said. “I’ve already arranged for a boat to take us out to sea. It’s just a manner of timing as you know. I’m confident all will work out,” Giuseppe said just as Benito emerged from the lobby. “I’ll contact you later.”
Opening the door, Benito tossed the tubes into the back, then placed his satchel behind the seat before getting in. “And we are in business my friend,” he said, holding a business card with a series of numbers.
“And those will allow us access?”
“Not just access,” Benito said. “But complete access. Gates, laundry, sauna, the whole complex is ours to roam,” he bragged, starting the engine.
“I’m not sure I want to hear how you pulled this off,” Giuseppe said, somewhat in awe of his companion. “So, we can walk about with immunity? What is the next move? We know they have cameras recording all the movement taking place outside the vehicles and the utility buildings.”
“We just need to conduct a short survey of the occupants,” Benito said, pulling in front of a local café. “After ten or twelve patrons see us, they won’t notice anything strange when we enter Monsieur Dupont’s apartment and subdue him.”
“Why are we stopping?”
“I’m a bit hungry,” Benito said. “A need a little something for the drive back to town.”
Getting back to the issue of meeting the renters,” Giuseppe began, “after meeting all those people living in the complex, the police will have plenty of witness and descriptions of us. Do you have a plan to handle that?”
“Do you trust me?” Benito asked.
“I’m not sure I have a choice in the matter,” Giuseppe said.
“After you buy me dinner tonight, I’ll explain and show you how we get around the issue you just mentioned,” Benito said, grabbing his order from the counter.
“And what makes you so sure I’m willing to buy dinner?” Giuseppe asked.
“You have the means, don’t you?” Benito asked. “I mean, you own your own pizzeria in Toulon, manage certain affairs for others... you must be paid well for all those things.”
“You’re well informed, Benito,” Giuseppe said. Maybe too well informed, he thought, taking a drink of his coffee. “Let’s get back to the city and make our plans, shall we?”
Chapter Twenty
The hourglass spun in circles as the computer searched for clues to the inquiry. Raising her glasses, Sergeant Dubois ran her fingers over the bridge of her nose, the indentations ever present. “God, I hate these damn things,” she sighed.
“I think you look good in them,” Julia said. “They’re rather fashionable.”
“As if anything we wear in uniform could ever be considered a fashion statement,” Claire said, joining in her friends’ laughter. “Come on computer, get a move on.” She tapped the screen with her pen.
“It’s not a race horse, Claire; you can’t whip it to the finish line,” the woman said.
“I know, but it would sure be nice if we could,” the officer spoke as the file was opening on her screen. “Fin
ally.” Typing in some new commands, the file flashed several times before settling on a new page.
“I’m done for the day. Are you joining us for drinks?” Julia asked.
“What, um... no, I’ve got a few original files I’m trying to clean up. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Claire said, dismissing her co-worker.
“Ok, then,” the other woman said walking out of the office.
Shifting her attention to the file labeled as a summary report, Claire read, “Hakim Talib, male, age 28, a citizen of Algiers, Algeria.” She scanned down to the next paragraph, “...was remanded into custody on 2 July. Suspect was cleared by medical staff and housed in the detention cell D-5.” Jotting down the details, she read on. “On 4 July, the suspect was transferred to the interrogation center at Ile d’If until further notice.” Looking through the remaining pages over the next five minutes, all she found was typical patrol officer jargon.
“What do they mean by Ile d’If center, I wonder?” she asked herself.
Moving back to the first page, she noticed a link to another file. Peering over her shoulder, she hesitated, hovering the cursor over the blue lettering before clicking on it. In moments, another report appeared, this one from the police medical officer.
This report included text and a recording of a conversation between the doctor and his patient, Hakim Talib, according to the headings. Grabbing a disc from her drawer, she copied the recording.
Printing out the reports, she placed the paperwork and the computer disc in the lining of her jacket before shutting her computer off. “This is something Greg will want to see and hear,” she muttered to herself, shutting off the lights while closing the office door.
Walking out of the police headquarters, she headed away from the crowd waiting for the evening trolley and pulled her phone from her purse. Dialing her brother-in-law’s number from memory, she was soon greeted by his voice.
“Good evening, Claire. What a pleasant surprise,” he said.
“I was wondering if you’re free for dinner?”
Glancing at his watch, he noticed it was almost six in the evening. “Sure, where are you?”
“I’ve just left the office,” she said. “Can we meet at La Cantine near Rue Sainte, say... eight o’clock? It’s important, Greg,” Claire said, emphasizing the term.
“Fine, I’ll call them and set a table aside for us,” he replied.
Stepping onto the trolley, Claire ended the call. “Thank you, see you then.”
“Who was that? Louis asked.
“Claire. She wants to meet for dinner,” Gregory said.
“Did she say what it was about?”
“No, she didn’t. Just that it was important,” he said, sitting behind his desk. Putting the restaurant name into his computer, he soon found the number and dialed. In a few minutes, he had secured a table for Claire and himself. “I guess I better get cleaned up,”
***
“Who is dropping you off tonight?” Detective Masson asked, glancing at his partner past his feet resting on the desk.
Dropping the folder on her desk, the woman looked at the soles of size twelve Chukka boots. “I usually catch a ride with Claude,” Geneviève said, leaning to one side. “But he’s not back from his meeting. Which one of you are heading my way? Nicolas, how about you?” She tossed a wad of paper at the younger detective.
Losing his focus from the computer screen, Nicolas Berger glared at the culprit of the intrusion. “I’m making plans, so it’ll have to be Guy or someone else,” he said, turning back to the listing of four-star restaurants for the city.
“Come along,” Guy said, grabbing his coat and motioning for the woman to follow him. “I’ll drop you off at the front gate. It’s just a brisk 1000-meter walk to the villa from there.”
Grabbing her blazer and purse, Geneviève followed Guy Masson out of the office as Nicolas picked up the phone, dialing a number from the computer. “Yes, good evening,” he said. “La Cantine? Can I get a table for two for this evening? Yes, eight o’clock will do fine. The name, um... Berger. Thank you, see you then.” He replaced the phone, a tremble to his hand.
Grabbing his coat, he left the office, racing to his car. Pulling out, he fought the urge to cut across the other lanes to the exit, lest he incur the wrath of a senior officer heading home. Darting around, he noticed Guy and Geneviève several cars ahead, pulling onto the boulevard.
Finally, after thirty minutes of wrestling with the other commuters, Nicolas pulled into his apartment complex and parked. Making his way to the third floor, he was soon in his studio, stripping out of his work suit and cleaning himself up for the evening.
After making their way from the city center, Guy pulled his car to the curb in front of the gates leading to the police academy grounds. “You going to be ok?” he asked, glancing at Geneviève.
“Yes, I’m sure,” she said. “And thanks for dropping me off. Hopefully this won’t be a recurring event.” She slid out of the passenger seat. “Bonne chance, Guy.”
Showing her ID to the security officer, she strolled the sidewalk towards the residences. Each step gave her a moment to think through her relationship with Hector, and how their investigation into the Italian prowler was impacting it. He doesn’t deserve having to look over his shoulder all the time, she told herself.
Nearing the Administration offices, a shadow appeared from behind, causing her to flinch. Twirling around, Geneviève nearly caught the cadet from Senegal with a back-handed punch. “I’m so sorry,” she said, catching herself before impacting the man’s face.
“You’ve got good reflexes, officer,” the cadet said, gathering himself. “If you’ll excuse me.” He continued his march towards the office building. At the top of the stairs, a senior instructor stood, applauding softly at Geneviève. “You’ve still got it, Detective Benoit.”
Blushing at the complement, she waved to the instructor. “You taught me too well, Margot,” she called as she continued to the villas. But, Hidecki-san instructed me in ways you never could, she thought, recalling her sensei from the dojo in Cherbourg.
Finally, she reached the small residence assigned to her. Entering, she tossed her blazer across the chair and pulled her pistol from its holster while releasing the magazine, rendering the weapon safe. Kicking her shoes off, she padded barefoot into the small kitchen and began preparing something to eat.
As Geneviève was settling down for the evening, her partner Nicolas was leaving his studio to pick up his date for the evening. Taking the slip with the woman’s address in his hands, he placed it into his car’s navigation console and selected ‘go’ while starting the engine. Soon, he was following the blue line and a red dot showing him the way to Francine LeBeau’s apartment.
***
Reaching the restaurant, Gregory caught sight of his guest stepping out of a taxi. Walking up to the driver’s window, he pulled his billfold out, “How much?” he asked, surprising Claire.
“Eight euros,” the driver said.
Passing over the money, Gregory stood back as the car drove away. “You should have told me you needed a ride,” he said, giving her a brief kiss on the cheek.
“I didn’t want you driving across town just to drive back again,” she said. “Plus, you never know who might be watching. I hope you don’t mind the sudden call, but I’ve got some interesting news for you,” Claire said, waiting behind a couple conversing with the hostess.
“Let’s hope it’s good news, then,” he said, stepping alongside the hostess. “We’ve a reservation; the name is Richelieu,” he told her, using his alias. “Like you said, you never know.” Taking Claire’s elbow, he trailed behind the hostess as they were shown to their table.
Taking their seats, they scanned the menu as the waiter took their drink orders. In minutes, they soon placed their dinner order before Gregory began their conversation. “So, what is new and exciting?” he asked, sipping his wine.
“Have you heard of Ile d’If?”
“
Of course. It’s the ugly rock out past the harbor where the old fort stands, why?”
“It seems your friend from Algiers is spending his time there,” she said. “And he’s been there for more than just a day or two. Seems an agency has arranged for him to occupy one of the cells,” she explained, taking a gulp of her Pinot grigio.
“I wonder if it’s possible to pay him a visit,” Gregory asked as their salads were brought to the table. “Can you be certain of this?”
“I read the reports,” she said. “There are even several audio files between your friend and his physicians. If I had to guess, he wasn’t a willing partner in what was being discussed.” Nibbling at some of her salad, she continued. “At one point, he mentioned working at appliance repair facility north of the city.”
The expression on Gregory’s face changed as he heard about the warehouse. “No specifics?” he asked.
“No names, but he provided enough details to find a location,” she said. “Friends of mine toured the facility but found nothing worth mentioning. Just a few old suits and a carton of empty wine bottles.”
Gregory's mind reeled from hearing about the items left at the warehouse. We took every precaution; we should be fine, he told himself. Turning his attention back at Claire, he continued asking his questions. “So, my North African friend is doing well?”
“From what I gather, yes, he is,” Claire said. “However, I’m only looking at a small part of information. Everything was contained in one file, you understand.”
“Does the facility have many members, caretakers, attendants, those sorts of people?” he asked, formulating a plan to double-cross Nazim.
“It’s well-staffed,” she said. “A compliment of a dozen is on-site at all times, not to mention those caring for the guests, why? What are you wanting to do?”
“I need a reason to discredit a former business associate,” he said, sipping his wine. “This person’s ego might be his undoing if he had the right information. Is there a need for special identifications at the facility?”
“I can ask a few innocent questions, I’m sure,” the woman said.
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