A Vintage End

by D'arcy Kavanagh

  “So, what’s Yablonski all about?” he asked. “What’s his connection to Oradour-sur-Glane and war profiteering – if there is one?”

  “Oh, there is one, you can be assured,” said the thin man.

  There was a long pause during which no one spoke.

  “Bosco Yablonski’s uncle was from the Alsace and he was originally conscripted into the German army,” the thin man said. “He was supposed to be with the Germans, but he got sent back just before Oradour was wiped out. But he remained a soldier with the Germans and made himself useful. You see, he used to run a small bike-manufacturing company before the war. He kept making bikes but this time for the German army. He made them for a couple of years and made a lot of money. Then at the end of the war he escaped to Switzerland with a few members of his family. Then he got into smuggling people into Switzerland – for a good price.”

  Burke recalled reading how Yablonski had originated from Switzerland.

  “And Yablonski and his family have profited ever since from German blood money,” the thin man said. “And now you’re helping him.”

  Burke stared at the two men who, in turn, stared back.

  No one spoke.

  Burke knew then that the two men opposite him didn’t know what to do next.

  And he recognized they hadn’t killed the cyclist back in Arles. If they were indeed murderers, he’d be dead or badly hurt right now.

  He also knew they hadn’t murdered the cyclist for another reason.

  “You have a chance to let us go and to leave Yablonski to whatever fate he deserves,” Talbot said.

  “Are you responsible for what’s happening back in the square?” Burke asked.

  “We are, but that’s punishment for those who support Yablonski,” the thin man said. “They were warned and they chose to ignore that warning.”

  “You’ve broken the law,” said Burke, wondering if Peter was catching all this conversation on the cellphone and, if he was, what he might do with it.

  “If you let us go and don’t tell anyone what you know, we have a chance to right some terrible wrongs,” Talbot said. “And if we’re lucky, we might escape without getting killed. Yablonski is capable of anything – and everything.”

  Burke wondered about Yablonski’s capacity for revenge.

  He also wondered why this middle-of-the-street conversation hadn’t attracted sightseers or passersby.

  And then a car did indeed approach.

  And it stopped.

  And two uniformed gendarmes got it, followed by Sylvie Côté and Julien Sauvageot.

  Chapter 65

  Moments later, another police vehicle showed up, this one a clearly marked car belonging to the local gendarmerie. Two gendarmes jumped out.

  All the police moved quickly toward the two men who stayed motionless.

  “What’s going on?” came Peter’s voice on Burke’s phone.

  He went to answer, but the call went dead. Somehow they’d been cut off, probably at Peter’s end.

  Sauvageot motioned for the uniformed officers to grab Talbot and the thin man. The officers obeyed, being more than a little rough as they handcuffed the pair behind their backs.

  Then Sauvageot looked at the two men, identified them as Christophe Talbot and Gabriel Belcourt, and said they were being arrested on a series of charges including attempted extortion, assault, robbery, public endangerment, use of Nazi symbols, attempted murder and assassination.

  Burke saw Talbot and Belcourt looked devastated.

  But how had the flics tracked Burke and the others? And how did they know Talbot and Belcourt were responsible for the attacks on Yablonski’s character – and his limo?

  Then the gendarmes hustled Talbot and Belcourt into the back seat of the second police car.

  “How did you find us?” Burke asked Sauvageot and Côté.

  “We were following you, Monsieur Burke,” Sauvageot said.

  “Me?”

  “We believed you would somehow make contact today with the people behind Yablonski’s troubles,” Côté said. “You’ve been putting the pieces of the puzzle together for a while and, despite conducting our own investigation, we thought it would be worthwhile to have you and your friend, Monsieur Rousseau, followed in case something developed – like it did last year in Nice.”

  “And, as it turned out, we were correct to do so,” Sauvageot added.

  Burke glanced at Talbot and Belcourt, now sitting in the back of the police car and looking like their world had just ended.

  And, in a way, it had since they were facing life in prison if convicted on the most serious of the charges.

  What had probably started out as a project to humiliate Bosco Yablonski for his and his family’s past had backfired, and now Talbot’s and Belcourt’s lives were ruined.

  Yablonski had won.

  Burke noticed Talbot and Belcourt looking at him. He couldn’t tell if they were asking him to do something or if they had given up hope.

  Then the police car drove off, leaving Burke with Côté and Sauvageot plus the other two gendarmes.

  Burke was puzzled.

  “How did you know their names and what they’d done?” he asked the two detectives.

  “We’ve been putting together the evidence and, thanks in part to some of your efforts, we were able to establish their identities,” Côté said.

  “But how?”

  “Your suggestion of where they stayed when conducting their attacks was useful and allowed us to get at least one person identified – Gabriel Belcourt. He was the frontman for the group.”

  “From there, we were able to piece together when he registered online for the races and when others did. You see, they used the same IP address which was careless on their part – or a little arrogant,” Sauvageot said. “Once we had that, we were on our way.”

  “But you’ve only arrested them now,” Burke said.

  “We only made the final connections a few minutes ago,” Sauvageot said. “And it helped that we were able to do a little triangulation work on their use of cellphones.”

  Burke recalled how Talbot had been busy on his phone with someone just before trouble erupted back at the square.

  The cops had been listening in? Were they that tech savvy?

  Then he recalled seeing a different-looking police van in the area, parked at a street corner. Maybe that was their mobile tech centre.

  Burke still saw gaps in their abridged story, but chose not to pursue them. He had other matters to pursue.

  “What about the fourth individual – if there is one?” he asked.

  “There is one and he should be in custody as we speak,” Côté said.

  Burke wondered if the fourth person involved had been the man wearing the caterers’ uniform and leaving the scene.

  “Was he working for the catering firm?” Burke asked.

  “That would be him,” Sauvageot said. “I believe your friend André Rousseau was following him.”

  Burke had forgotten about Rousseau and instantly wondered how his friend was.

  As if preordained, Burke’s cellphone rang.

  He glanced at it. The caller was Rousseau.

  Burke looked at the officers before him. Côté and Sauvageot both nodded, and so Burke took the call.

  “You won’t believe what just happened,” Rousseau said.

  “You were tracking down that fake catering guy and, just as you were about to reach him, the police came,” Burke said.

  There was a pause at the other end of Burke’s phone.

  “How do you know that?” Rousseau said.

  “I’ll explain later, Andre,” he said. “But before you go, tell me how the catering guy was planning to escape?”

  “I got close to him, maybe within 30 metres, when he went into an alley and came out on a bike,” Rousseau said. “He started to accelerate and then the flics showed up, stopping him.”

  “Did he look like he was a decent cyclist?”

  Rousseau wa
s puzzled by the question and paused. Then he answered: “He was on an old 10-speed and standing on the pedals when the flics arrived. Was he good? He didn’t ride for long, but I’d say he had good form on the bike. When he stood on the pedals, he was smooth when he accelerated.”

  “Like he was someone who rode a lot?”

  “I’d say yes.”

  “Thanks, André,” Burke said. “I’ll see you shortly. I’m going back to the square in a few minutes.”

  Or so he thought.

  Burke ended the call.

  “What‘s happening at the VIP tent by the finish line?” Burke asked Côté and Sauvageot.

  “That’s another matter of some seriousness,” Sauvageot said. “I expect our young friends who have just been taken into custody are behind it.”

  “We want to see you at the police station in one hour, Monsieur Burke,” Côté added. “We need to interview you.”

  Burke nodded.

  “I want to talk to you, too,” he said. “I believe you have something very wrong.”

  Côté and Sauvageot exchanged skeptical looks.

  “One hour, Monsieur, not a minute later,” Sauvageot said.

  Then the four flics got into their car and drove off, leaving Burke alone.

  Chapter 66

  Burke jogged back to the finish area.

  No one, it seemed, had left. The place was noisy with spectators, and ambulances coming and going. He heard the MC request people to stay calm and allow the emergency personnel to do their jobs.

  Burke found Ginny and Peter at their table in the beer gardens.

  “I’m so sorry, Paul,” Peter said. “The battery on my phone picked that time to go dead. What happened?”

  “I’ll tell you in a little while,” Burke said. “What’s going on here?”

  “Four people have been taken out of the VIP tent on stretchers, some of them hooked up to IVs,” Ginny said. “Whatever went on in there seems pretty serious. Once the victims were loaded into the ambulances, the drivers got going as fast as they could. Some went onto the road toward Avignon and some went in another direction, maybe toward the hospital here in town.”

  Burke saw the three TV crews were filming with a couple of journalists doing reports before the cameras. He wished he could get closer to hear, but it was impossible; there were just too many people between him and the journalists – and the entrance to the VIP tent.

  Burke took a moment and texted Lemaire with a brief rundown on events.

  Once again, Lemaire responded within seconds: “Getting reports here but keep on it.”

  Moments later, Burke saw André Rousseau squeezing his way toward them.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Burke also saw Yablonski’s favourite muscleman and three other equally bulky individuals walk toward their boss who was standing by the side of the stage.

  Burke wondered where they had been. It seemed during a crisis like this that they should have been right at Yablonski’s side, ready to protect or to pounce, depending on what the occasion demanded.

  Burke saw the Saint-Raphaël muscleman shake his head at Yablonski who then looked at the other two returnees who also shook their heads. In turn, Yablonski stiffened for a few seconds, not moving, just frowning.

  “There’s a lot of … .” Rousseau started to say when Burke grabbed him by the arm and pointed toward Yablonski’s returning security staff.

  “Did you see any of them when you following that caterer?” Burke said.

  Rousseau looked and then shook his head.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Just curious,” Burke said.

  More EMT staff came out carrying two stretchers with patients, a man and a woman, both hooked up to fluid bags. They wasted no time in placing the pair into one of the bigger vans and then they jumped in. A moment later, with lights flashing, the van started moving along the narrow street. Once it cleared the crowd, the driver sped up.

  Burke heard the siren from the EMT van start to blare and hoped the two victims inside would be OK if they could get to Avignon in time. The trip wasn’t too far, about 60 kilometres, but the main route was often thick with traffic, especially on a Saturday. The good part was that the main Avignon hospital had a solid reputation.

  “Look, more people are sick,” said someone close to Burke.

  He turned and saw EMT personnel bringing out two more stretchers carrying people. They loaded a male patient who was connected to an IV into one van. The transfer of the other victim, an elderly woman, seemed more urgent as a tall man bent over the patient, running his fingertips around the patient’s throat and then feeling the chest. When he spoke to the EMTs, they listened carefully and nodded.

  And a minute later, as the tall man who was obviously a doctor jogged back into the tent, the two vans were on their way. The van with the patient hooked up to the fluid went to Avignon while the other van turned toward the Vaison hospital.

  Sirens filled the air.

  And still the crisis continued with two more EMT vans and a pair of small firefighting vehicles stopping not far from the tent entrance.

  Four EMT medics and a half dozen uniformed firefighters rushed into the tent. Minutes later, they were back out with loaded stretchers and quickly driving off.

  The crowd waited and watched.

  And the TV crews kept filming.

  Chapter 67

  Ten minutes later, the parade of EMT vehicles was over, but Burke kept watching. He couldn’t see much, but didn’t want to miss anything in case. Mostly, the gendarmes and plainclothes police, who included Daniel Bonnier and, a few minutes later, Côté and Sauvageot, were interviewing people at the entrance of the VIP tent.

  Burke thought if someone wanted to rob a bank or a shop in town, this would be the time since every flic was busy.

  After another half hour, the crowd began to disperse.

  “Well, Paul, I think we’re going to move on,” Ginny said. “If you and André finish here and want to join us for dinner later, contact us. Our hotel is just a couple of blocks away.”

  Both Burke and Rousseau thanked her and Peter, saying they hoped to see them later.

  As Ginny and Peter started to filter their way through the crowd, Burke spotted Côté and Sauvageot leaving the VIP tent and get into a car.

  Burke checked his watch. He had 10 minutes before his interview with the two flics. He took a couple of minutes and sent in more photos and videos to Françoise Lemaire. He dashed off a quick email about what was happening and promised to send more info later.

  “What now, Paul?” Rousseau asked.

  “I have to go to the police station for a conversation with Côté and Sauvageot, but I wonder if you would do one thing for me, André,” Burke said.

  “I expect it doesn’t have anything to do with going and getting a table in the Old Town,” Rousseau said, smiling.

  “I want you to stay here and watch Bosco Yablonski and his security detail,” Burke said. “I doubt you’ll see anything special, but you never know. If they leave, just see in which direction they go. Don’t follow them, though.”

  “What are you thinking?” Rousseau said, his smile gone.

  “I’m not sure, but I have a feeling Monsieur Yablonski is worried about those three young men taken into custody.”

  Rousseau frowned at Burke’s suggestion, but didn’t say anything.

  Burke didn’t elaborate, just slapped his friend on the arm and then went and retrieved his bicycle from the security compound.

  Ten minutes later, using a thin cable he had under his seat, Burke locked his bike by the entrance to the Vaison police station and went in, wondering what was going to happen next.

  Before he could approach the front desk in the small foyer, Burke heard someone call his name.

  It was Julien Sauvageot off to the side by the security entrance. The flic was motioning for Burke to follow him.

  They went through the security door. There was a metal detector, but Sauvageot told Burke to
ignore it.

  He led Burke down a short hallway into a small, plain, windowless office that resembled the other police offices Burke had seen.

  Sitting in one of the chairs was Sylvie Côté. Behind the desk was Sergeant Pascal Favreau looking annoyed.

  Sauvageot motioned Burke to take the middle seat and then he dropped into the chair on the right side.

  With four people in the cramped office, Burke felt surrounded by the police. Maybe that was the intention, he thought.

  “We have some questions for you, Monsieur Burke,” Favreau said.

  “All right, but I have one or two for you as well,” Burke said.

  “We’ll consider your questions later,” Sauvageot said, taking charge. “You told us when we arrested Talbot and Belcourt that ‘we had something wrong.’ What did you mean by that?”

  Burke noticed Favreau didn’t seem pleased to be displaced as the leading officer, but Sauvageot didn’t seem to care if he ruffled the older flic’s feathers in Favreau’s station house.

  “You said you were charging Talbot and Belcourt with murder,” Burke said. “Whose murder, to be accurate?”

  “The murder of Luc Houle.”

  Burke dug into his memory for the name. It seemed slightly familiar. Then he had it – he was one of the cyclists entered in all four vintage bike races.

  “Is he the cyclist who was killed in Arles?” Burke asked.

  “Yes and don’t forget, Monsieur, that you’re the one who told me his death wasn’t an accident,” Sauvageot said.

  “I did tell you that,” Burke replied.

  “Well, we have evidence that indicates Belcourt, Talbot and Grégoire Holz are responsible for the death of Monsieur Houle who was one of their little group.”

  “And who is Grégoire Holz?” Burke said. “Is he the man who was wearing the caterers’ uniform that you arrested this afternoon?”

  “Yes.”

  Burke nodded. He knew all four identities now.

  “How strong is the evidence against the three you arrested?” Burke asked.

  There was a pause and then Sauvageot said: “We cannot divulge that, but it should be sufficient for convictions.”

  “Well, I don’t think they did it,” Burke said.