The inspector dialed quickly. The phone rang twice. “Come on,” he said.
“Customs,” said the voice on the other end.
“This is Inspector Gilliard from le crim. I am calling to alert you to a RAID team that is preparing to board the ship that is approaching Dock 21.”
“What? Why wasn’t I informed earlier?”
“I’m sorry we got a last minute tip.”
“The dock is our jurisdiction. There is protocol.”
“I’m afraid there isn’t time. Lives are at stake. You are welcome to assist. My team and I will be on the dock shortly.” The inspector ended the call.
“Perfect. You better get down there, Inspector.”
The inspector jumped in one of the cars and raced over the bridge and down to the dock.
“Status on the ship?” asked Raja.
“Still closing on the dock very slowly,” said Remy.
“Well?” Raja asked Vinny. “Are you monitoring?”
“Yes, but nothing yet. Hold on—there’s a shortwave signal.” Vinny repeated the message she heard. “Police raid coming. Do not dock. Repeat, do not dock.”
“We’ve got him,” said Raja. “Lieutenant, send in the boats.”
Brevard radioed the two speedboats. They zoomed into view ahead and behind the ship.
The ship's captain cranked up its engine with the thought of running.
“This is the police,” said a loud voice from the PA of the forward speedboat. “Kill your engines and drop anchor, by order of the National Police.”
The ship had no choice but to comply, cutting its engines and dropping the anchor. The RAID team moved onto the dock once the inspector arrived.
The lieutenant called for a larger police river cruiser to join the party, just for good measure. Remy, Raja and Brevard did not relax until they saw Inspector Gilliard and three officers walking up the gang plank onto the ship.
“So far so good,” said Remy, watching through binoculars. “Our men are on board.”
“Nothing more to do up here,” said Raja. “Let’s go down and see if they need any help with searching the ship.”
Inspector Gilliard and his team swarmed onto the vessel.
The captain came out on deck to protest. “What is the meaning of this? We have our customs papers in order, all properly signed and dated.”
“Stand aside,” said Gilliard, ignoring the captain’s protests. “Call your crew up on deck. We are searching this vessel from top to bottom.”
Gilliard instructed two of his RAID team to assemble and guard the crew on the deck while he and the rest of the officers began their search.
When Raja, Remy and Brevard reached the dock, the customs agents were huddled together. One stepped forward.
“I’m going to report this breach of protocol,” said Victor, the agent in charge at Dock 21.
“Me thinks the agent doth protest too much,” said Raja. “Watch them,” he said to Brevard. “One of them is a traitor. He’s got my vote,” said Raja pointing to Victor. The customs agents looked around at one another suspiciously. “Remy, you are with me.”
Once on board the ship, Raja and Remy went below to find Inspector Gilliard.
“How are we doing?” asked Raja, when they found Gilliard in the engine room.
“Nothing yet. We’ve been over most of the ship and found no sign of the girls. Are you sure they are here?”
Raja looked around the engine room. There was nothing there he didn’t expect to see. He recalled the security footage from the fueling depot. He scanned the engine room again looking for what was missing. “Is there a separate storage area for engine supplies?”
Remy had studied the spec sheet and diagrams of the ship. “No, everything should be in this room.”
Raja had seen a half dozen oil drums loaded onto the ship at the fueling depot. There was only one in the engine room. “Has anyone seen oil drums?”
“Yes, outside the galley,” said one of the policemen. “I assumed they were for garbage.”
“Show me,” said Raja. The officer led them to the hall outside the galley. Five fifty-gallon closed drums stood along the wall.
“I sure hope the girls aren’t inside. They would suffocate in minutes,” said Remy.
“Not necessarily.” Raja looked at the raised rim along the top edge. There were holes punched all around the underside to provide air. The holes could be hidden by the metal strap that bound the top on the drum, a strap that was not now on any of the drums. Raja sniffed at the holes, smelling the faint but distinct odor of chloroform. “I believe we have found the girls.”
Five young women were removed from the drums, none more than eighteen years old. They were all nearly unconscious from the chloroform, but began to revive within half an hour.
Inspector Gilliard returned to the dock and approached the group of customs agents. “We know one of you tried to warn the ship. We weren’t sure which one until now. Fortunately, the ship’s captain was more than happy to tell me for a consideration of leniency. Lieutenant Brevard, you should take Victor into custody.”
Victor wanted to run but his own men, heavily armed as they were, would probably have shot him dead for his treachery. Bravery wasn’t Victor’s strong suit. He hung his head while Brevard cuffed him.
“We’ve got five young ladies on that ship who have been through quite an ordeal,” said Gilliard. “How fast can we get a couple medical emergency units here, Sergeant?” He directed the question to the customs agent who was next in command at the docks.
“Right away, sir,” said the sergeant. He radioed for help.
“As for the Alhambra, if I know my customs regulations, you should be seizing that vessel, isn’t that right, Sergeant?” asked Gilliard.
“Yes, I’m certain you are right.” The sergeant sent his men to secure the vessel.
Remy and Raja stayed on the ship with the girls until the medics arrived. They were traumatized severely, but didn’t appear to be physically damaged. Nonetheless the medics insisted they go to the hospital to be checked out.
“What do you think will happen to them?” asked Remy, as he and Raja walked down the gangplank.
“They are young enough to get past this experience and go on with their lives,” said Raja. “Hopefully those lives will take a better direction.”
Raja and Remy watched as the ship’s crew was marched past them and into police custody. The man running both the heroin and white slavery operation, Yarif Assad, was conspicuously absent.
“Do you think we will ever get Assad?” asked Remy.
“I wouldn’t say never, but my guess is that he is probably already out of France and outside of your jurisdiction. However, on the plus side, it is doubtful he will be back anytime soon.”
Chapter Thirty-four: Holiday Memories
Margaret and Professor Browning stayed in their hotel for two days renewing their marriage. Their second honeymoon started at Hotel Regina, the mid level hotel where they stayed upon arriving in Paris, and took an unexpected upward turn from there. The French National Police, at the request of Inspector Gilliard, had moved them to the upscale Hotel Concorde La Fayette, including a suite on the thirtieth floor that gave them a spectacular view of the city. The city considered that the bizarre circumstance of Margaret’s entire experience was a lawsuit waiting to happen, but there was little reason for concern. The Brownings were not so inclined. The drama, despite being harrowing for both of them, had provided a much needed spark to their relationship. The professor had even been heard whistling in the halls, something he hadn’t done for years. And when Phillip had climbed into the jacuzzi with his wife, Margaret had nearly choked on the complimentary cocktail she was drinking. Neither of them had the slightest intention of suing anyone for any reason. In fact, they were planning to stay in Paris an extra week.
When Margaret got the call to come to the police station to give her statement, Phillip had insisted on coming along. A small part of that insistence was
his concern for her safety but a much greater part was his newfound sense of companionship. The truth was that for the first time in years Phillip could not bear to be apart from his wife.
A police van arrived to pick them up at the hotel. The irony was not lost on Margaret. The short and disastrous ride she had taken in a police van the day her ordeal started was a big part of the reason they were standing at the concierge station in one of the premier Paris hotels. While the Brownings rode to the station, Inspector Gilliard called Raja Williams. Despite his misgivings about having the American loose in Paris, he had to admit Raja had been instrumental in the progress being made. Perhaps his unorthodox methods would be of help again.
“I’ve got the Brownings coming in for a statement,” said Gilliard. “You said you wanted to be here.”
“Yes, I believe we have not yet determined why our Mrs. Browning became so important in Paris. Thanks, Inspector.”
When Raja arrived, the Brownings were waiting to see Inspector Gilliard.
“Hello, Mr. Williams, I didn’t expect to see you here,” said the professor. “Margaret and I would like to take you to dinner, if you have the time. It would give us the chance to properly thank you.”
“I would enjoy that if we can leave it open for the moment. I have a few loose ends to tie up.”
“Yes, that should be fine. We’ll be here another week, at least.” He looked at Margaret and they both giggled.
“The inspector is ready,” said an officer who had just walked up. “Follow me.”
When the Brownings got up, he said, “You, too, Monsieur.”
Raja followed the Brownings into what looked like a small conference room. From the one way glass on one wall he surmised it was actually a hastily converted interrogation room. Despite the obvious rapture that had engulfed the Brownings, the police were still concerned about lawsuits, and Gilliard was given direct orders to do nothing to antagonize the Brownings. The artwork on the walls looked familiar to Raja. It had come from the inspector’s office. The typical hard interrogation chairs had been replaced with cushioned upholstered ones.
Inspector Gilliard did the interview with Phillip holding Margaret’s hand. She outlined what the police already knew. She had been out shopping and had returned to the antique shop she had seen the day before. What she saw next had horrified her. The problem was she remembered little of the events other than seeing the tattoo on the killer’s neck, which she could describe in detail. There was no question it was the tattoo worn by Bruno Laurent. Everything else was a blur or a complete blank. With Bruno now dead, Inspector Gilliard was about to conclude the interview and let the Brownings leave. Sensing that, Raja asked Gilliard if he could speak to him privately. Gilliard asked the Brownings to wait, and excused himself. Outside Raja opened the door to the viewing side of the one way glass and extended his hand to Gilliard.
“How did you know?”
“I remembered the pictures from your office.” Gilliard and Raja looked into the room where the Brownings sat. “What do you think?” asked Raja.
“I think that woman has been through enough. Bruno must have known she saw him and he was behind the attempt to kill her. Now he’s dead. That’s what I think. I have a feeling I shouldn’t ask, but I will. What do you think?”
“I think there is more.”
“More what?”
“That’s what I’d like to find out.”
“You think she knows more than she’s saying?”
“No. But, I think she saw more.”
“If she hasn’t remembered by now, the memories must be repressed.”
“I may be able to do something about that.”
The alarm bells started ringing in Gilliard’s head. “Hold on now. Are you a trained psychologist?”
“No.”
“Well, then, at least, let’s bring in a professional. We have one in the building. I think he even does hypnosis.”
“Whatever you want, Inspector,” said Raja.
Gilliard called in the forensic psychologist, a Dr. Sands. After Gilliard gave him the rundown on Mrs. Browning, he asked, “Do you think it could be a repressed memory?”
“Not exactly. We call it psychogenic amnesia,” said Dr. Sands. “It is a form of dissociative amnesia where the patient, having experienced trauma, created a fugue state separating herself from the events.”
“But she clearly remembers the tattoo.”
“Fascinating,” said the doctor. “She has sublimated the tattoo as a fixated symbol. I must make a note.” He scribbled into a small notebook.
“I need to know if you can do anything about it?” asked Gilliard.
“Well these things can be unpredictable. However, a hypnotic trance may give us access to the memories.”
The doctor went into the room with Gilliard and Raja.
“Mrs. Browning, we would like to try something, if you are willing,” said Gilliard. “On the chance there might be additional data you can’t recall, I would like to have Dr. Sands try hypnosis.”
“Will it be safe?” asked the professor.
“Oh yes,” said the doctor. “I am a professional with a degree in hypnotherapy from Vienna. It will be perfectly safe, I can assure you.”
Dr. Sands sat down in front of Margaret. “I need you to relax.”
The doctor tried several varied techniques but could not induce an effective trance.
“I don’t think this is going to work,” said Margaret.
“Yes, I agree,” said her husband. “I think we should stop.”
Gilliard said, “Dr. Sands, is this going to work?”
“Obviously these memories are much too traumatic to be reached at this time,” said the doctor. “You see, the brain uses the amnesia as a defense mechanism. It is also possible that Mrs. Browning is one of those strong-willed individuals who is resistive to hypnotism. It is a little known and less understood fact. As I said, it is difficult and sometimes unpredictable.”
“I take it that is a no.”
“Inspector, I think I might be able to help,” said Raja.
“What do you have in mind, Raja?” asked Gilliard.
“I can assure you, sir, that this woman will not be hypnotized,” said Dr. Sands.
“I don’t need to hypnotize her,” said Raja. “I just need to talk to her.” He looked at Inspector Gilliard.
Gilliard nodded his approval.
Raja looked at Mrs. Browning. “Margaret, would you mind talking to me for a couple minutes?”
“No, not at all,” said Mrs. Browning.
“I need everyone to clear the room,” said Raja. “You can stay, Professor, but please sit there and be quiet.”
“Okay, let’s give the man some space,” said Gilliard. He dragged the protesting doctor from the room.
Raja told Margaret to relax, but stay alert. Then he had her concentrate on the tattoo, which was all she could see from the incident at the antique shop. “Is anything happening?” he asked.
“No, I just see the tattoo.”
Raja asked her to recall something from before the incident and then after, back and forth, until suddenly the incident went into motion and began to replay in Mrs. Browning’s mind.
“I see something else now,” she said.
“Tell me what you see?”
“I am looking through the curtain at the shop window.”
“Go on.”
“Yes, I’m looking through the curtain and I see the man in the chair. He is hurt. Then I notice the man with the tattoo. It is the man whose picture you showed me.”
“Bruno?”
“Yes. He has the tattoo on his neck.” Margaret opened her eyes. “It was horrible. He beat the man.”
“I understand. Close your eyes. Okay, continue.”
Margaret did. “Bruno said something I couldn’t hear. Then he looks back behind him. Someone else is there. Another man. Bruno looks back as if to get approval. When the man nods, that’s when Bruno shoots the poor man in the chair
. There was blood everywhere. Uggggh.”
“The man who nods, what does he look like?” asked Raja.
Margaret squeezed her eyes closed for a few more seconds. “He is a little man.”
“Yes. Go on.”
“A little bald man with round glasses.”
“Okay, Margaret, we are done,” said Raja. Margaret opened her eyes.
Raja’s head pounded with the realization of who Margaret was describing. He turned to the glass. “Did you get all that?”
Through the intercom, Gilliard’s voice said, “I sure did. Mrs. Browning, you were very helpful. Professor, you can take Margaret back to the hotel. I’ll have an officer drive you.”
Raja had to warn Vinny. He had already stepped out of the room and called her phone.
Chapter Thirty-five: The Scorpion
Vinny had been trying for days to get access to the floor safe she knew contained key evidence. Finally an event arrived that even the cabarets couldn’t ignore. It was a religious holiday in Paris celebrating a French priest who had sacrificed himself to turn the tide of an important battle, making him a martyr and earning him Sainthood. The club was empty. Marcelo had chased everyone out for the day and locked the place up. Vinny had decided it would be the perfect time for her to break into the safe she had located in the floor of the back room. She had waited for Marcelo to leave and then broke in. With everyone out of the place it wouldn’t matter how much noise she made. She was in the back preparing her safe-cracking tools, when she heard a noise. Someone else was in the next room. She covered her tools with a rug and walked out.
“Vinny, I didn’t expect to see you here today,” said the little accountant, Henri Duchamp. “You should be going to church, yes?”
“I guess I’m not that religious,” said Vinny.
“Like me, you are an independent soul. Yet, you are a caring soul. I see you have taken a liking to the girls.”
“For sure.”
“And you want to help them, yes?”
“No question,” said Vinny.
“I have grown fond of them as well. But you must understand. Everyone has their place, their role in the world. Some people exist simply to be used and thrown away. Others are there to use them. C’est la vie. It is as you say, the law of the jungle. Take yourself, for example.” Henri peered at Vinny with his beady, dead-black eyes.
C'est la Vie (Raja Williams Series) Page 18