Merle: A French murder mystery (A Jacques Forêt Mystery Book 2)

by Angela Wren

  Pelletier shook his head. “I doubt it. Contract killers would make a better job of obliterating any identifying features and would remove the hands too. If he exists on the database, we may find him from his fingerprints.”

  “But you’re not hopeful?”

  “No. From his clothes I’d say he was a casual labourer, possibly a traveller. I’ll await the pathologist’s report. For now, I just need to know what you can tell me about all of this.”

  Jacques poured the coffee and took the stool opposite Pelletier. He opened his notebook and read the details.

  “I was called to the scene at 3.36am. Gaston phoned me. I took the bike and arrived at the scene at 3.57am. I secured the scene as quickly as I could and escorted the three of them to the bar and questioned them. Their stated reason for being in the north pasture was so that Rouselle could reclaim land that Fermier Guy Delacroix had taken.” He looked up at the Magistrate, discarded his notebook and sighed. “This argument between Delacroix and Rouselle has been going on for years. When I was gendarme here it would flare up every couple of months. Delacroix died recently, and I think Rouselle saw his opportunity to resolve the boundary issue before Delacroix’s only relative arrives from Canada. I told Rouselle to deal with the issue legally and respectfully. Delacroix isn’t even in the ground yet!”

  Pelletier took off his spectacles and began to clean them on his handkerchief. “And what about the body?”

  “I couldn’t get anything out of them. But they know more than they are saying. When I asked them if they knew who the person might have been they hid behind silence. I am certain that in the time between my being called and arriving at the scene they made some sort of agreement amongst themselves.”

  “I think you’re right. I’ve questioned them individually, and they are all responding in exactly the same way. Who do we lean on?” Pelletier replaced his spectacles and stared at his coffee.

  “Gaston. He’s got a record. It’s from a long time ago but it’s there and you can use it as a lever. You might also want to remind him that there have been occasions when he has taken too hard a line with visitors to the campsite which I’ve had to smooth over. He doesn’t need to know you’ve got that from me because news travels fast and extensively in this village, but he won’t be pleased if you do remind him.”

  “And if he doesn’t crack? Who’s next?”

  Jacques thought for a moment. “I think Gaston will give, but if not then try Rouselle. He blusters a lot and likes to shout and demand his rights, but essentially, he’s an honest man. Whilst I was questioning them in the bar I noticed Gaston and Pamier exchanging glances. Those two are colluding about something, I’m sure of it.”

  Pelletier picked up his coffee and drank. “Any unsolved cases, Jacques?”

  “Everything on my desk before I left the service was resolved apart from the disappearance of Juan de Silva. I am also aware that Gendarme Clergue has had some recent correspondence from the family in Spain and has been asking questions in the village. But nothing new has come of it. And Pamier is also implicated in that case.”

  “Ahh. Interesting. We’ll get a positive identification first.” Pelletier pushed his half-drunk coffee away. “I’ll need a formal statement from you when you’re next in Mende.”

  “I’ll come in first thing on Monday.”

  Pelletier nodded. “How’s Beth?”

  “She’s well, thank you, and has been making plans for some sort of future here in France.” He smiled.

  “She’s decided to stay?” Pelletier stood and put his notebook in his coat pocket.

  “It’s a very difficult decision for her and she is still working it through. She has to make her own choice, Bruno, and I’m being patient. However long it takes, I will be patient. But, she told me yesterday that she was thinking about opening a photographic studio in Mende. Apparently, it was something that Old Thierry, an elderly photographer whose been here in the village for many years, suggested to her a couple of days ago. That’s where she is this afternoon, making enquiries with an estate agent.”

  “And you? How do you feel about that?”

  “I couldn’t be happier.”

  ***

  The last of the properties was the one that had especially captured Beth’s interest. It was the place that Old Thierry had once used when he worked full time and had a family to support. It was just off the Boulevard du Soubeyran, and in the twenty years since the old man had last been a tenant it had been a hairdresser’s, a mobile-phone outlet, and a stationary shop with lengthy periods in between of vacancy.

  Beth stood opposite the front of the property and consulted the papers the Estate Agent had given her. Hmm, good frontage. She moved across the narrow street and peered in through the window.

  “This would easily take a large display. A wedding photo, maybe. No. I know: a scenic display to create a background. Then here, towards the front, a wedding photo with a low table or display unit laid with a small bouquet and a wedding album. Hmm.” She took a couple of steps back and knocked into a tall, thin man in a dark green hoodie.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said and stepped closer to the window.

  The man just grunted and moved on swiftly. Beth looked down the street after him. Some people have no manners! Checking the immediate space around her was clear on both sides, she moved back again and considered the interior. The short counter at the back would be sufficient for taking telephone calls and handling payments. But what about the walls? Some displays for cards, I think, just like the shop at home. Over there…some pictures and a display unit to hold framed and unframed prints, perhaps. Then she thought about all the old cameras and lenses she had collected from Old Thierry on Tuesday. I’d need some sort of shelving that is just out of reach and I could create a display. The old box camera could go up there, the 35mm…the three lenses… In her mind’s eye, she had furnished the space completely.

  She glanced down at the sheets in her hand and re-read the details.

  “And yes, as Thierry said, the back room is still available too.” Mounting the single step, she pressed her nose against the glass panel of the door and tried to see through the glass of the closed connecting door into the second room, but there was just an impenetrable greyness.

  Turning around, she looked at the properties across from where she was stood. A café, that’s good, there will be plenty of people passing by. A patisserie…mmm, all those cakes mean lots more people in the vicinity. That’s got to be good. And a small boutique, even better, lots of young women around who may need a wedding photographer. Even better!

  “Thierry was right about that too. This is an excellent location.” She checked the paperwork for the third time. “I need to do some maths,” she said and folded the papers, put them back in her bag and made her way back to the Estate Agent’s Office.

  ***

  Hidden in the shadows a few doors down from where she had been standing, Luciole pulled at his green hoodie, hitched his rucksack further up his shoulder and moved back onto the street. He’d recognised her instantly as the woman at the hunting lodge he’d been watching on Tuesday. He had nothing else to do and now, he was curious. Thinking there might be a useful opportunity, he followed her at a distance and frequently moved from one side of the street to the other and back again.

  When she went into the Estate Agents’ office he continued on a few metres, crossed the street, and hid in a small alley and waited. When she re-emerged, she was with another woman and they were talking. He followed them back to the property and this time they went inside. He went into the café opposite and, after ordering, took a seat by the window. The woman behind the counter was watching him. He took off his hoodie and leered at her. She looked away and got on with her work.

  About an hour later the two women came back out onto the street, talked for a few moments and then shook hands. The woman he’d seen at the chalet went left down the street towards the Tourist Information Office, the other woman went in the opposit
e direction.

  Luciole pulled out his phone and switched it on.

  That job. Easy. Next week. Know where. Meet me. Need money. Luc

  His text sent, he pocketed the phone, gathered his hoodie and rucksack together and left, a wide grin on his face.

  monday, october 26th

  “Sorry, I’m a little late, Michelle.” Jacques breezed in to the small meeting room on the floor below his own office at the Vaux Investigations building. “I had to call into the gendarmerie this morning and my business there took a little longer than expected.” He threw his coat over the back of one of the chairs and settled himself in another. “So, what have you got for me?”

  “It’s not good. The claiming in advance and the drawing of money from cash machines on the company credit cards is endemic within one team. All the senior managers and some of their immediate sub-ordinates are working their expenses in the same way. We’ve also discovered that the credit cards are being shared between some senior managers and their more junior staff.”

  Michelle produced a file and pushed it across the table. “In there you’ll find a link and a password to a folder that we’ve created with all the electronic copies of the papers we’ve examined. There is also a file in that folder that lists the names of those we believe may be involved.”

  Jacques flipped open the cover of the file and leafed through the first couple of pages. “Which team?”

  “The principle project team that works directly to Édouard.”

  “So, that’s Madeleine Cloutier and her people?”

  Michelle nodded.

  “And which directors?

  “All of them except Roger Baudin, the HR Director, and Philippe Chauvin.”

  Jacques raised an eyebrow, “In other words all the directors who work directly to Édouard. It’s good to know that Roger is honest as he manages all of the group’s finances and…” Jacques stared past Michelle as a realisation came into his mind.

  “Roger Baudin’s mobile phone records. I’ve been looking at those over the last week and we only have call histories for two phones.”

  “Yes, that’s right, his personal phone that he sometimes uses for business calls over the weekend or in the evenings and his office phone. But he always itemises everything exactly, even the occasional personal call on his business phone, for which he never claims.”

  “I see. So why does he need a third phone?” Jacques stared straight ahead. “Why would you want a third phone?”

  “Jacques? Are you asking me that question or just—”

  “Sorry, I was thinking out loud. It’s nothing, and thank you for all the work you and your team have done here,” he said taking the file and putting it in his bag.

  “Jacques, how are you going to use this information? I mean…are you going to take it to the police?”

  “I’m not sure yet. But if there is any kind of petty theft within the Vaux Group, it needs to be identified and dealt with, and Alain and Édouard will make the final decision on what action is to be taken. My current investigation has stalled. Someone is, or some people are, lying. Having this information means that I may be able to apply some pressure to help me break the deadlock.” He picked up his coat.

  “There’s one more thing. Madeleine Cloutier claims expenses for a meeting in Rodez every Friday. A couple of months ago, I asked her why and she told me to mind my own business. The thing is, the project that the meeting was to support was finalised fourteen months ago. It’s true we do provide support following the completion of our contracted input but that is usually only for about three months. I made a couple of phone calls to the previous client and it appears she has not been to see them since her last contracted visit in January. The other thing you need to know is that there is a large branch of C and C Consulting in the centre of Rodez.”

  “Which means she is either going to see C and C, or someone else in Rodez, or she is going somewhere completely different for some reason. Have you challenged her again?”

  Michelle shook her head. “I’ve just left it. When I asked her about the claim before she became very aggressive. She accused me of interfering and questioning her integrity and she practically physically threw me out of her office.”

  Jacques smiled. “Leave it with me.”

  “Hélène, I wanted to ask you some more detailed questions concerning the letter that was sent to Nicolas Durand.”

  “We’ve already talked about this, Jacques, and I told you I didn’t recognise it.” She crossed her legs, wrapped her linked hands around her knee and smiled.

  “Yes, but I’ve had the IT team do some checking for me. They have an audit trail that puts the original letter in a folder on the network that you access and that clearly shows that you altered the text of the file.” He placed in front of her a printout showing the path and her name against the changes made to the file.

  “As I said, Jacques, I don’t remember the letter and anyone could have used my computer when I wasn’t there. I’m always forgetting to log out.” She shrugged and grinned.

  “So, you are openly admitting that you have shared your log-in details and password with other people, which is against company policy. How many people have that information, Hélène?”

  “That’s not what I—”

  “You said,” he interrupted, his tone hard and commanding, “that anyone could have used your computer. But in order to access that particular folder they would have to have your password and log-in. How widely have you shared those details?”

  Hélène stared through narrowed eyelids but said nothing. Jacques let the strained silence fester. He remained still and determined, watching his interviewee as a hawk eyes its prey.

  “I haven’t shared my log-in or password,” she said in a harsh whisper.

  “So, you’re now admitting that you changed the letter, are you? Because if you are, then I want to know what else you have told me that isn’t true?”

  Hélène raised her hand. “No, that is not what I’m saying. I don’t remember the letter and I haven’t shared my log-in. I don’t know who changed that letter or how they did it.”

  Jacques nodded and turned to a different page in his notebook. “On your application for your job here at Vaux Consulting you said you had previously worked in Orléans and that you resigned that post after 18 months.” He looked up from his notes to see that she had a fixed smile on her face. She gave him the smallest of nods of agreement.

  “But it’s not actually true, is it, Hélène? Do you want to tell me what really happened?”

  She pushed her spectacles up to the bridge of her nose. “I didn’t get on very well with my boss and we agreed that perhaps I should look for another job.”

  “That’s an interesting interpretation.” He consulted his notes. “According to the information I’ve received from that employer’s HR manager, you were sacked after eight-and-a-half months. Can you tell me why?”

  “I don’t see what this has got to do with you or your work?”

  “I’ll remind you, shall I?” Jacques pulled out a lengthy letter on which he had highlighted certain phrases and paragraphs. “In Orléans, you were pulled up about your conduct in front of a senior manager on a number of occasions which resulted in an informal warning. You received a formal warning about your time-keeping, your high absences because of illness, and for taking time off without explanation. You received a further formal warning because of a series of system security breaches. Two weeks later you went out for lunch, came back drunk and, when prevented from entering the building by a security guard, you became aggressive and abusive. The security guard made a formal complaint. You were then formally disciplined for being drunk during working hours and asked to leave. You did not respond by the due date and your contract was terminated.” Jacques looked up. “What else have you re-invented or re-interpreted, Hélène?”

  She played with the hair at the back of her neck and turned away.

  “Alright. Let’s look at your time in Rou
en, shall we? Your employer there was most accommodating and sent me copies of various documents, including your application for the post they eventually awarded to you.”

  Jacques pulled out a photocopy and presented it to her. “This section here,” he said pointing to the top of the second page, “is how you recorded your previous employment record then. This shows that you were unemployed at the time of completion of the form and that you were out of the country prior to that.”

  “That was true,” she snapped. “I was in Belgium.”

  Jacques smirked. “For two years? Are you sure about that? I can’t help noticing that the period you have put on this application covers your spell of employment in Orléans and your period of unemployment. Making false declarations seems to be commonplace to you.”

  Hélène stood. “I don’t have to listen to anymore of—”

  “Yes, you do.” Jacques was on his feet and at the door barring her exit before she had had time to take a step. “SIT DOWN!”

  Hélène’s face blanched at the fierceness of his tone as she backed away and, after a moment’s hesitation, resumed her seat.

  “Your connections with C and C Consulting, is there anything new that you want to tell me, or anything that you’ve said previously that you want to change?”

  “No.”

  “And you’re absolutely certain about that?”

  “Yes.”

  Jacques shook his head in disbelief, collected his papers together and left the room. He walked quickly along the corridor and ducked into a small store room and hid behind the door which he held ajar. A few moments later, he heard footsteps and Hélène walked by as she spoke into her phone. Once she had passed by, Jacques moved quietly out into the corridor and listened until she exited onto the stairwell. He had heard enough and he noted the time on the envelope from Rouen and drew a ring around it.

  That conversation on the surveillance camera footage should be very interesting!

  As he moved out onto the landing, his phone rang. It was Magistrate Bruno Pelletier, and he was required at the gendarmerie.