‘I still don’t see the connection to Johan,’ Sarah said, glancing from the photograph to the map and back again. Rêmet took the photograph of the Baden youth team from her to study it himself.
‘The football team clinched their title one week before the school’s camping trip, but they did not hold a party to celebrate, until the weekend of May twenty six.’
Rêmet placed the photograph back on the table and then pointed a stubby finger back on the map that Sarah was still holding.
‘This is where the club held their celebration.’
Sarah saw that the dot he was pointing to was only half a centimetre away from the nature reserve.
‘L’hotel Bien Voyagé is half a kilometre from the nature reserve. The team hired out the hotel for the night so that the players could drink and run riot.’
‘Okay, so he was in the area, that doesn’t mean he did it. What was his motive?’ Sarah challenged.
Rêmet ignored the comment and continued, ‘I spoke with several members of the team myself, after I began to investigate. One of the players, a goalkeeper, I believe, told me that things got a little out of control at the party and a couple of the players had come to blows over something silly. One of the players was Boller and according to my source, he left the hotel between midnight and one a.m. to cool off. The goalkeeper said that he and two others went after Boller, to try and calm him down. My source said they didn’t really know where they were, but Boller was looking for somewhere he could either get a drink, or pick up a girl. They weren’t to know that there were no bars in the area. My source told me that they stumbled into a field, and found what looked like a small outdoor concrete cellar. Boller went in, looking for wine, but it turned out the small building was some kind of toilet and washroom facility. It was at this point that the group realised they were at a campsite, and that there were several tents nearby.’
Rêmet took a large sip of coffee, psyching himself to continue with the part of the story that always made his stomach turn.
‘The goalkeeper told me that Boller and one other ran into a little girl who was coming out of the toilet. My source was positioned a little way back with the remaining player so they couldn’t really see what was going on. He told me that he thought the girl had blonde hair, but it was difficult to see in the dim light.’ Rêmet paused again and blinked several times, as he looked for the words to describe what happened next. ‘My source said he saw Boller grab the girl and place his hand over her mouth and then Boller and the other player took the little girl back into the concrete building. My source said he and the other player moved in closer, to find out what was going on. They were concerned about the girl’s safety. They were not prepared for what they saw when they looked through the window of the building. The little girl was being held to the floor by the second player, his hand cruelly over her mouth, while Boller…was rocking back and forth on top of her.’
33
Rêmet removed a soiled handkerchief from his pocket and grubbily wiped beads of sweat from his forehead.
‘My source told me he wanted to burst into the room and stop what was happening, but he was scared stiff, frozen to the spot. Boller had always been a bit of a bully in the dressing room, and my source did not want to cross him. You must bear in mind that Boller was twenty, but my source was only seventeen, and his physical presence was tiny compared to Boller’s.’
Sarah felt sick to her stomach, as she listened to the story Rêmet was weaving. As he spoke, she could picture in her mind the scene as if she was watching a film, but rather than seeing a little French girl, being held captive, all she could see in her mind, was Natalie’s face, crying out for Sarah to help.
‘Oh, God!’ she exclaimed under her breath,
‘My source had a mobile phone with a camera on it, but you must remember that this was five years ago; technology has come a long way since then; it was no smart phone. However, he used the phone to take a picture of what was happening in the facility. The room was dark and the camera did not have a flash but there is enough light to make out the back of Boller on top of the captive girl,’ Rêmet added.
‘You have a photograph of what happened?’ said Sarah
‘Yes I do, but it is not with me now. It was too big a risk to bring all of my evidence with me today. If you will agree to meet with me tomorrow morning, I will produce the photograph then.’
‘Did your source give you the photograph?’ said Sarah, ignoring his question.
‘No, I received it anonymously in the post, a week after I spoke to the goalkeeper.’
‘Why didn’t you take it to the police? Surely that would back up the theory you had presented to them?’
‘I did,’ replied Rêmet, defensively. ‘I gave them the photograph to look at, but they claimed it was too grainy, to make a positive identification of the man with his back to the photographer. Alas, the image shows the back of his head, but not his face.’
‘But what about the little girl?’ she asked, desperately.
Rêmet shook his head, ‘It is clear there is a girl in the photo with blonde hair, but because there is a hand over her mouth and the room was dim, it could not be confirmed that it was indeed Nichole. There are no other distinguishing details in the image to even confirm where it was taken,’ Rêmet added glumly.
‘If all of that is true, Rêmet, how can you be sure it is Johan in the photograph?’
‘My source told me he had taken a photograph, and the image I received in the post, matched what he had told me.’
‘Well surely, with your source’s statement and the photograph, the police would have to listen?’ asked Sarah exasperated that the Swiss police had seemingly turned a blind eye, and indirectly allowed the incident to be repeated with Natalie.
‘You have to understand, mademoiselle, Baden is a small town in Switzerland. The youth team winning their championship was unprecedented and turned those players into local heroes, particularly Boller. I took my accusation all the way to the head of the force, but he told me the evidence was circumstantial at best, and was insufficient to investigate further. He warned me that, if I persisted with my accusations, he would make life difficult for me.’
‘What did he mean by that?’
‘I think he was planning to arrest me for harassment,’ Rêmet said, rolling his eyes.
‘I don’t understand why they wouldn’t investigate. Surely the statement would corroborate what was in the photograph.’
‘I am sure it would have…if…my source had not retracted his statement.’
‘He did what?’
‘A week after he had spoken with me, I approached him to ask some more questions. He looked scared but told me that he had lied to me and had made up the accusation against Boller out of jealousy.’
‘What?’ Sarah practically shouted.
‘I know,’ Rêmet acknowledged. ‘Boller must have threatened him, after he had told me what he knew. I cannot think of any other reason for him to change his mind. Remember, I told you, Boller’s frame was considerably larger than my source’s. Boller was a bully, everybody knew it, but he was now a hero; nobody would speak out against him.’
‘So what happened?’ she asked.
‘I took the photograph to the police, with what he had told me, but when they asked me to reveal my source; I had to tell them that he had retracted his statement. That’s why the newspaper I went to wouldn’t print the story either.’ Rêmet drained the rest of his coffee, before adding, ‘I know it was him!’
Sarah didn’t know what to think. Rêmet’s story had been compelling, and she had found herself wanting to believe what he was telling her. He clearly believed what he was saying. She thought about the Johan Boller she had met last Friday, and then again earlier this week: he had seemed so gentle and sweet. He didn’t sound like the man that Rêmet had described.
‘Are you sure we are referring to the same Johan Boller?’ she asked. ‘Is there no chance there is another Swiss footballer, with th
e same name?’
‘I am certain, mademoiselle,’ he replied removing a picture of Boller on the day he signed for Southampton Football Club. Sarah compared the new image to the first photograph Rêmet had presented, and although he looked a little older, it was the same man.
‘I am just struggling to believe that he would be capable of something…so…sick. I’ve met him several times, and he is not as you described.
‘The devil can be a convincing salesman,’ Rêmet replied matter-of-factly.
‘But he just doesn’t strike me as a…’
‘Paedophile? Why is that? Do you assume they have to be old men?’
Sarah had to admit it was a fair point and when, she thought back to how young Ryan Moss had been when he had taken Chloe, she couldn’t argue against what Rêmet was saying.
‘I read yesterday that Boller was supposedly the last person to see your little girl at the school? That is convenient,’ he continued.
‘That doesn’t necessarily mean he took her,’ Sarah countered.
‘According to the internet, the local police are looking for a red car, n’est pas?’
‘That’s right…’ she replied, trailing off.
Rêmet fished for a further A4 image in his plastic wallet and presented a newspaper article that he had clearly printed from the internet. It showed Boller shaking the hand of a very happy-looking car salesman. They were standing in front of a Red Ferrari.
‘Boller drives a very fancy red car,’ said Rêmet, so that Sarah understood what he was saying.
‘Yes…but…’
Rêmet removed another piece of paper from the plastic wallet. It was another map, but this one was of the county of Hampshire and the New Forest. Rêmet had drawn two circles on the map in bright pen.
‘This is where the body was discovered,’ said Rêmet pointing at one of the circles. Sarah saw it was Dibden golf course ‘This is where Boller lives,’ he added, pointing at the second circle, which indicated Hythe Marina. There was only a small distance between the marks.
‘Surely he wouldn’t be stupid enough to dump the body so close to his own house? That could make him a possible suspect.’
‘Really? Think about it, mademoiselle, did you think he could have been a suspect, before you spoke to me? Why would the police? He is a local celebrity here, isn’t he? Like when he was in Baden; people just don’t expect that he could also be a monster.’
Sarah stared back at him in stunned silence.
‘Let me put it this way,’ said Rêmet continuing, ‘Have the police started to investigate him yet? They know he was at the school. They have probably seen him driving in his red car. A little digging would reveal where he lives but I don’t imagine he is the only Southampton football player living in that area. They have clues pointing at his involvement, but they subconsciously choose to ignore them because of his status.’
‘I’m still not convinced by all this, Rêmet,’ Sarah said, frowning.
The Frenchman looked perturbed by her admission. ‘What is preventing you from seeing the truth, Sarah?’ he said, using her name for the first time that day. It did the trick and got her attention.
Sarah weighed up whether she should share her own theory about the link between Natalie’s disappearance, and Erin’s suspicious death. It was almost ironic that Vincent had laughed at her crazy thought processes, and here she was, doing the same to Rêmet.
‘Okay,’ she said after a moment. ‘My girlfriend was one of the police officers investigating Natalie’s disappearance.’ Sarah paused for breath as she willed herself to utter the next words, ‘She was involved in a serious car accident on Tuesday night and passed away. The police claim she was drunk behind the wheel and that caused the accident, but I don’t believe it. She was a recovering alcoholic and had been clean for nearly two years, I know she wouldn’t have given in to temptation.’
‘I am sorry for your loss,’ said Rêmet, quietly. ‘What do you think happened to her?’
‘The police told me that she had said she needed to investigate something on her way home to see me, but she never arrived.’
‘Did they say what she was going to investigate?’
‘No,’ replied Sarah glumly. ‘Apparently she didn’t say. She had been speaking to Natalie’s uncle in the afternoon so I can only assume that she went back to speak with him. I believe that she must have been close to finding out what had happened and the person responsible for taking Natalie, killed Erin too.’
‘Why do the police think she was drunk?’
‘They did a blood test when she was found and it said she was over the limit,’ replied Sarah.
‘How would the killer have gotten the alcohol into her bloodstream, if you believe she wouldn’t have voluntarily accepted it?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Sarah, letting out a sigh and cupping her face in her hands. ‘Maybe…maybe…whoever it was drugged her and forced it in? I don’t know.’
‘Is it possible that she could have figured something out about Boller?’
‘I don’t think so,’ replied Sarah, ‘and that’s why I’m struggling to accept that Johan did this thing to Natalie.’
Rêmet glanced at the watch under his sleeve and said, ‘It’s nearly six o’clock and I need to eat. Let us go our separate ways for now, Sarah, and we will meet again in the morning, so I can show you the photograph of Boller and Nichole. Maybe a night’s rest will help us both think clearer tomorrow.’
Rêmet stood up and started to place the plastic wallets and papers back in his briefcase. ‘I am sure he is the man, Sarah. And…maybe…he was also responsible for the death of your girlfriend. We’ll meet here in the morning and put a plan together of what we can say to the police. Do you have the name of someone at the police we can speak to?’
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘What time shall we meet?’
‘I’ll phone you in the morning, when I am ready, and then we will meet. Okay?’
Sarah nodded, ‘Do you have a place to stay tonight?’
Rêmet said he hadn’t, and so Sarah gave him directions to the West Quay Retail Park, which had a couple of hotels nearby. Rêmet thanked her, spun on his heel, placed the satchel bag over his shoulder and headed out of the door. She had no idea whether he would find a room, but she imagined in his line of work, he had become resourceful and would be okay. Sarah drank the remains of her smoothie and left payment on the table to cover Rêmet’s drinks, before strolling towards the car park and, ultimately, home.
SATURDAY
34
Something stirred Claude Rêmet from his sleep. He rubbed his eyes and blinked several times to try and help his eyes adjust to the darkness of the room, but it was still no good; he couldn’t see a thing. He reached out and found the glass of water he had left on the bedside table, and took a sip from it. He grimaced at the taste of the hard, British water. He put the glass back down and tried to remember the events of the night before.
Following his brief, yet worthwhile, meeting with Sarah Jenson, Claude Rêmet had followed her directions and had headed over the railway bridge, above the train tracks, through the Toys ‘R’ Us car park and then turned right, in the direction of McDonald’s and a couple of inexpensive tower blocks that advertised themselves as hotels. The first had claimed to be full for the night, as there was a wedding booked the following day, and several guests had checked in a day early, to avoid getting stuck in traffic on the big day. Rêmet had casually glanced around the hotel’s lobby, and silently pitied the couple who had decided that this would be the venue for their dream wedding. He didn’t pity their lack of money or religious consideration; he pitied their lack of taste.
He had swiftly turned on his heel and headed to the next tower. This one advertised cheap rooms Monday to Thursday and as he rightly presumed, the room rate was double over a weekend. That didn’t matter, however. As far as Rêmet was concerned, when he finally proved that Boller was guilty of the abduction and murder of two children, newspapers globally w
ould be queuing up for his story. He might even sell the movie rights!
Thankfully, the young lady behind reception said there was one room still available for the night, although it was going to cost £100 and wouldn’t include breakfast. This suited Rêmet fine, as he despised the British idea of breakfast: lots of meat fried up in a pan, dripping in fat. It made his stomach turn just thinking about it. The pretty receptionist told him the room could either be accessed from the lobby, though it was quite a walk, or it could be accessed from street level, which was probably the most direct route he could take. She jotted down a small map and he headed for his room.
During his varied stays in different countries, over the years, following the big stories, he had had the pleasure of staying in some luxurious hotel rooms. He had also had the displeasure of staying in some of the grubbiest hotels that Eastern Europe had to offer. As he surveyed the room that would be his resting place for the night, he thought it certainly wasn’t the worst place he had ever stayed in: it had a double bed, small television set and an en suite housing a small shower cubicle, basin and a toilet. But he had expected more for the £100 it had cost him. Still, beggars couldn’t be choosers and it would serve its purpose.
Rêmet had dropped his small satchel bag, containing a change of underwear and some toiletries, on the bed, along with the briefcase that contained the various maps and photographs he had shared with Sarah earlier. He had then quickly and efficiently stripped off and jumped in the shower. Once he was dry, and felt more awake, he put his clothes back on with the change of underwear and looked at himself in the mirror. He hadn’t shaved in a couple of days and he had a healthy amount of hair forming on his chin and cheeks. He would have described himself as rugged, while any other casual observer probably would have used the word, “scruffy”.
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