Stifling Folds of Love

by John Brooke

  Aliette assured her there was no need to come. Not yet. Promised to keep her informed.

  And wondered what to do with that: Used to be such good friends.

  24

  AdrénalineAlors!

  Captain Mathieu Deubelbeiss produced a file and dropped it on the table. ‘Traceurs.’

  ‘No!’ Forensics specialist Jean-Marc Pouliot was momentarily boggled. ‘Are they here now? Where they pretend they’re cavemen swinging through the forest? Ally-Oop?’

  ‘Seems they are,’ said Deubelbeiss.

  Traceurs. Free runners. Also known as parkourists. The term parkour ties the idea of le parcours — a route, a journey — to le cour — a city courtyard. Climbing walls, leaping narrow chasms from roof to roof, the idea is to emulate the challenge faced by early man in getting from point A to point B before the concept of the road occurred. A traceur plots (traces) a course.

  And it did indeed appear that this extreme sport which originated in the concrete jungles of the Paris suburbs had arrived in our provincial city. Mathieu Deubelbeiss explained that the city police had been receiving sporadic complaints from citizens hearing footsteps through their ceilings in the dead of night, ‘but no one thought to think of these traceurs till Sophie here,’ tapping the file, ‘kind of fell into our lap.’ A teenaged girl who’d ended up in hospital after misjudging a jump while following her boyfriend across the city skyline. ‘Saturday night. They only come out at night.’ The girl was an aberration. ‘They’re mainly male, in gangs, mainly from the HLM’s.’ Low-rent apartment blocks in ugly housing projects. All the activity surrounding Pearl Serein had left the matter un-investigated. ‘Too new. Didn’t make the connection till just now. Not at all.’

  ‘They’re not exactly cavemen,’ Aliette ventured. ‘There’s a lot of very calculated style.’

  ‘So we gathered,’ Deubelbeiss agreed. ‘And not your gangs of car-thief druggies, either. Ultra-fit. You’d have to be, the risks they take. It’s like a religion for them, the way Everest is for climbers. They live for it. Sophie says it’s the biggest adrenaline rush of all.’

  Inspector Nouvelle wondered, ‘But do they go around scaring people to death?’

  Deubelbeiss signaled negative. ‘I got the sense they couldn’t be bothered. It seems it’s only about themselves. A challenge. A way of proving themselves, an identity thing.’ He passed her a piece of official paper. ‘Sophie will tell you all about it. Very passionate.’

  ‘Interesting,’ mused Jean-Marc, ‘…from evolutionary psychology to le parkour, so many people tapping into prehistoric imperatives for fun and inspiration.’

  Yes, and even in a dullish mid-sized city. Something was definitely in the air.

  The pale girl in traction in room 454 at Hôtel Dieu already had a visitor — probably a boyfriend. Neither was too happy when the nurse ushered in the police. ‘Mademoiselle Sophie Glarr?’ The inspector met grim, taunting silence. It took a flash of her ID card for the girl to answer, ‘Oui,’ and the boy to back away from the bed. ‘Please. I’d like to talk to you for a minute.’

  ‘What about?’ demanded the boy. Automatic. Automatically surly.

  ‘I’d like to talk to Sophie, monsieur, five minutes…’

  Boy and girl traded glances. White girl, probably local — the pale Germanic face, a Maghreb-tinted boy. Lots of varied young people were finding each other these days, mainly in the HLM’s, anything could happen when you were hanging around waiting for something to do. If they stuck it out and made a life, their babies would be beautiful. Sophie Glarr shrugged — with her eyes. Her face was the only part of her she could move. The boy backed reluctantly out of the room.

  Aliette asked, ‘What happened?’

  ‘I fell.’

  ‘But why were you even up there?’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’

  ‘Not your property.’

  Sophie Glarr shook her head, just slightly, it was all she could manage, but the message was clear: another stupid cop. ‘I go where he goes.’ Her look said, That’s the story, lady. Don’t bother me about ‘property’ because I just don’t care.

  ‘But you slipped.’

  No response.

  ‘Is it fun?’

  Fun? Sophie eyes met Aliette’s. She murmured, ‘It’s about something you’ll never understand.’

  The door opened, the boy was standing there. ‘Yamakazi,’ he said. Same frank eyes as Sophie’s. Aliette waited for an explanation. ‘In Zaire it means a strong spirit in a strong man.’

  ‘Or woman,’ reminded Sophie, challenging him.

  ‘You have to prove it to yourself,’ said the boy.

  ‘You’re not from Zaire,’ said Aliette.

  ‘It was the name of the first crew — in Paris.’

  ‘Crew?’

  ‘We travel with our friends.’

  ‘What’s your crew called?’ This was posed to Sophie. Sophie’s eyes looked past Aliette.

  She turned. The boy was unbuttoning his shirt. She read AdrénalineAlors! hand-painted in glowing orange across the black T-shirt covering his wiry but obviously muscled chest.

  25

  Some Prehistory

  She walked into Le Cri du Matin on a whim, and found Tommi Bonneau in a corner of the sprawling newsroom, in a cubbyhole next to Births and Deaths. He was on the phone. He nodded a bonjour as he scribbled notes. She backed away. Five minutes later, ringing off, he gestured her in. ‘My source in Cannes. Big time of the year for me. I’d head down if it weren’t the Pearl crisis.’ Tommi looked horrible, like he hadn’t slept in a week. He shifted into business mode. ‘How can I help you, Inspector?’

  ‘I need some background.’

  He shrugged. He did not have to ask on whom.

  She sat down, pulled out her notebook, found a clean page. ‘I gather you’re old friends.’

  ‘B’en, we grew up together. Primary, high school, the whole bit.’ This was no big secret.

  ‘I’m not from here, monsieur.’

  ‘Neither is that fool you work for.’

  Breathing deep, rolling with it, she suggested, ‘Let’s stick to Pearl, shall we? And you.’

  ‘Are you friends with everyone you grew up with?’

  Again. ‘Not me, Tommi. You. Pearl…Please.’

  He smiled. That teasing thing. He asked, ‘You going to tell me your source here?’

  The inspector told him flatly, ‘No.’

  His smile disappeared. He seemed mystified. By stupid police? Tommi sat back in his chair. ‘We all grew up together, Inspector. Except Jerôme Duteil, obviously. But even old Jerôme was a local boy. Different neighborhoods, mind you — only weird Ray Tuche and snobby Didi were born and bred north-enders. If memory serves, Didi even had a class or two with Pearl after he was booted from some posh Swiss school. I told you: This is very local. Our very own fairy tale. Everyone knows everyone in this place. But friends?’ A shake of his head. He waited.

  ‘And what about her?’

  ‘We haven’t said three words in… Lord, twenty years.’

  ‘So you must hate her.’

  ‘Hate her? What are you talking about? Why would I hate her?’

  ‘For ignoring you. For never saying a word. For making your life so difficult.’

  ‘On the contrary, Pearl’s silence makes her better for my story.’ His smirky smile flashed. ‘And she doesn’t totally ignore me. Look at the pictures. My camera knows she’s looking. Always. Mm?’ He rolled his bloodshot eyes, perplexed that she would even suggest such a thing. ‘But it’s not personal, Inspector. It’s a story. I’m a journalist. I’m here to dig out the story. The real story. The story behind the story. You know?’ Tommi sniffed, gruff, dark. ‘I mean, if I did happen to be interested, in the sense of, you know, interested…yeah, sure, I’d probably be pounding the wall, cursing Pearl. But I’m not…’ He sat up, leaned across his desk. ‘Ask her.’

  ‘I will. When I find her.’

  Tommi folded his long arms and considered
Aliette. ‘Where do you think she is?’

  ‘It’s why I’m here, Tommi… Maybe there’s a trail somewhere in the background.’

  ‘What do you need to know?’

  ‘Why aren’t you interested?’

  ‘She’s not my type… Never was.’

  ‘What type is that?’

  ‘I don’t know. She was into sports. I was quiet. I had a camera…’ A shrug, remembering. ‘I was a quiet boy with a camera getting interesting shots of birds, Inspector. It got me my first job, but not too many dates.’

  ‘A quiet boy with a camera?’ Aliette risked a smile. ‘You realize you’re describing the perfect serial killer?’

  The smile earned a spontaneous laugh. ‘I’m flattered…I think. No, we were pals when we were kids, but by the time we got to the point of liking in a boyfriend-girlfriend way, we’d gone our separate ways. She was really into her tennis, and…I don’t know. Jocks, I guess.

  ‘Like Remy Lorentz?’

  ‘He was an asshole then and he’s an asshole now. For me it was birds and mon appareil…’ patting his trusty camera, there on the desk at his right hand; ‘all I cared about. Yes, we’ve always known each other but our paths never crossed again till all this.’

  ‘The story.’

  ‘C’est ça.’

  ‘I wonder why she never sues…I mean — if it’s no longer personal.’

  ‘Because as soon as she sues, she admits she’s a star. A hero! Our Pearl rolls through ’em like the mountain rain. Beautiful!…I’m no shrink, but I think she hates the idea of all that responsibility. Lots of dissonance there for sure. One of these days we’re going to find out where she goes to work it out. In the meantime, we can imagine her turbulent passion, Pearl’s fingernails clawing into the next man’s back. Eh, Inspector?’ Aliette recoiled. He smirked. ‘One wonders how to please her. And who? That’s the key to a happy ending. No?’

  She recovered. ‘Everybody wants one.’

  ‘Néon scared her…Obviously. Why did she feel the need to run?’

  Aliette signaled no, she wouldn’t go there. Background, Tommi…back, back. She asked, ‘But how did Pearl suddenly arrive on the scene? Is there a beginning prior to the beginning of Pearl Serein and Didi Belfort that I should know about?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ Not really wouldn’t do — not with seven suspicious deaths. ‘Was she in a convent? Was she living in America?’

  ‘With her American mother? I believe I know who you’ve been talking to, Inspector…Either of those would be excellent starting points. The boring fact is she was with Remy Lorentz and — ’

  ‘With?’

  ‘They were going out. She was teaching kindergarten — no way she could be a member of that place on what she was making — he was earning his keep batting balls to members. She would come to play with him there. Somehow Didi Belfort got her number, called, she said yes. And it started.’

  ‘What do you mean, somehow?’

  ‘That has never been clarified. If you people bring her in for questioning, do me a favor and ask her how she got hooked up with Didi. My readers would love to know.’

  ‘We wouldn’t tell you, Tommi.’

  ‘Well, maybe in court. This would definitely come to light in court.’

  ‘Maybe…’ Maybe in court. ‘His cousin says he was on his way to give you a beating on Friday morning.’

  ‘Didi?’ Tommi laughed, delighted. Then surmised, ‘He may have been a bit perturbed after our encounter at Diabolik.’

  ‘Which you neglected to mention.’

  Tommi met her eyes. ‘I believe I mentioned seeing him there. I may not have mentioned his state of mind. So much of what I do depends on the exclusive, Inspector. Please don’t take it personally. And I’ll do same for you. OK?’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Didi’s got a good eye for space. The rest of him’s out to lunch. Drug addict…Didi couldn’t beat an earthworm. Anyway, I never saw him. I was not quite home on Friday morning.’

  ‘Could you prove that?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Nice girl?’

  ‘So far, so good.’

  She asked, ‘Why not ask Remy Lorentz how Didi got her number?’

  ‘I did. He just spat at me. Total cretin, I’m not kidding. My readers would never consider Remy Lorentz to be one of Pearl’s boys. Socially, he’s just not in the same stratosphere. It’s prehistory — you kiss below a certain level, it doesn’t register.’ With an imperious wave of his large hand, Tommi dismissed Remy Lorentz.

  ‘And the others. Were you friends? Before?’

  ‘It was a big school. You knew people, kind of…but we were all too different. Ray Tuche was an arrogant mental case and Didi was living in another century. You learned how to work around those kinds. Bruno Martel was…just boring, basically. Bruno surprised a lot of people later on with his success. Me for sure. Georges and Jean-Guy were OK, I suppose. But different crowds. Pierre and I were in the camera club together, but, you know…’ A shrug. ‘We could talk about photography but not much else. We drifted apart. We all drifted apart, the way everyone drifts off and into their own life. It’s normal… No, it was just Remy. And Pearl. Same street. But too much history. I doubt I’d have ever run into any of them again if they hadn’t moved me over from birds.’

  ‘Then it was war.’

  ‘No, Inspector. Then it was love. I heard about Didi and Pearl. I saw a story that fit perfectly with where they’d put me. I went for it. Added some local value to my product. Voila.’

  She put her notes away, eased back into her coat. ‘Any idea where she might be?’

  ‘None. That damn cop…’

  She warned him silently. His eyes were bleak. Extending a hand, she thanked him for his time.

  26

  Transcript of Interview With Remy

  Chief Instructing Judge Gérard Richand opened the inter-office courier envelope and removed the transcript of a recorded interview conducted by Inspector A. Nouvelle with Remy Lorentz.

  AN: Remember me?

  RL: No.

  AN: I saw you at the club the other night.

  RL: Good for you…What the fuck am I doing in here?

  AN: Surely this has been made clear. You have to explain your relationship to Pearl Serein, and —

  RL (sound of subject hitting bars with fist): I’ve told five different people! We are just friends!

  AN: — and anyone else who might be connected to her situation.

  RL: This is bullshit!

  AN: Please. You mustn’t speak like this…Especially to the judge. He will assume you have something to hide and keep you here till he finds out what.

  RL (silence for extended moment): She was terrified. She needed someone. Anyone could see it.

  AN: I tend to agree… But Judge Richand wasn’t there. You have to stay calm and lay it all out for him.

  RL: Thanks for nothing.

  AN: You know, monsieur, in point of fact, she did have someone.

  RL: Who?

  AN: Us. The police.

  RL: That Néon? He’s a jerk-off.

  AN: Perhaps it’s all just bad timing. Your movements on Tuesday evening two weeks ago?

  RL: We went through all this on Sunday…On Tuesday I finished my teaching day with Maître Pugh. I practiced alone for a bit. I went for a run, I came back to the club, I had my shower and left.

  AN: Where did you go?

  RL: To see a friend.

  AN: Pearl Serein? (Silence…) You did say she was your friend.

  RL: No.

  AN: Which friend, then?

  RL: A friend who has nothing to do with this insanity. My movements can all be accounted for.

  AN: A friend who has a key to her friend’s place in Pearl Serein’s building? That friend?

  RL I have a friend. That’s all.

  AN: Monsieur Lorentz, frankly, this thing with Madame Saxe, I don’t understand the attrac —

  RL: It
is none of your business!

  AN: It could be. It really could. (Silence…) You are right, for the moment. But we do need to understand the confluence of your, ah, friendship with Madame Serein with Madame Serein’s relationships with Messieurs Pugh, Belfort, Tuche, Duteil and Angulaire.

  RL: What about the other two! Why don’t you pin those on me as well, you useless —

  AN: No one is pinning anything on anyone. But neither Monsieur Gagnon nor Martel was known to play tennis. Although I will get to Monsieur Martel in due course…Now, to return to Tuesday evening. You were the last person to spend any meaningful time with Maître Pugh. I hope you understand this and that it is vital that you account for —

  RL: We worked on his goddamn backhand! One hour. Two hundred and fifty francs. That’s it.

  AN: Madame Serein said you were going to work on his serve.

  RL: She does not know anything about my life or my business.

  AN: You said she was your friend. (Silence…) Why would she mislead us? (Silence…) Any thoughts?

  RL: Mislead you?

  AN: You say backhand, she says serve. Why? (Silence…)

  RL: Are you serious?

  AN: Obviously I am, monsieur. Any thoughts on this contradictory information?

  RL: I have no idea.

  AN: Why were Maître Pugh and Monsieur Belfort fighting in the locker room?

  RL: That has nothing to do with me.

  AN: Was it about Madame Serein?

  RL: Usually, yes.

  AN: What did you work on with Monsieur Belfort on Friday morning?

  RL: Nothing much. He was too hungover, as usual. Probably drugged out of his weird mind, as well. I tapped a few balls his way. Put in my hour… Total waste of money, but that’s his problem.

  AN: Why did you start a fight with Raymond Tuche on Saturday evening?

  RL: Because he’s a drooling ass and he was making a horrible scene.

  AN: But what did it have to do with you? (Silence…) From what I understand, you did not accompany Madame Serein to the party…in fact, you were actively preoccupied with at least two other women there. No? Why? (Silence…)