A Vintage End

by D'arcy Kavanagh

  “We’re taking them into custody in connection with two murders,” Favreau said.

  And he said it loudly enough that many spectators exchanged looks.

  Murder? In Vaison?

  “What are you talking about?” Yablonski said, getting closer to Favreau and looking angrier with each step.

  Josette Martel was right on his heels.

  The mayor had left his table and he was approaching the scene as well. Behind him by a couple of steps was Philippe Durant.

  Julien Sauvageot moved forward and intercepted Yablonski, holding out a hand to stop the businessman.

  Burke jumped up and jogged over, thinking he heard André Rousseau following him. He got within 20 metres of Sauvageot and Yablonski who had been joined by the mayor, Durant and Martel. Côté and Bonnier were also in the mix.

  Burke snapped a couple of photos and took a short video.

  “This is not the time or place to protest what is happening,” Sauvageot said in a low, non-threatening voice.

  “The hell it isn’t,” Yablonski snapped. He looked at Favreau and jabbed a finger toward the local flic. “You’ve just arrested my security detail. I have a right to know why.”

  “It’s in connection with two deaths in Arles,” Sauvageot said. “We will be interviewing you, Monsieur Yablonski, as part of our investigation. It would be helpful if you would accompany us to the station right now. Otherwise, we will require your appearance first thing tomorrow morning.”

  From his previous observations of Yablonski, Burke had considered him to be someone who could handle just about anything thrown at him.

  Not this time, though.

  Yablonski wasn’t responding to Sauvageot. He just stood there, looking stunned.

  “Monsieur Yablonski has no knowledge about the incidents you’re talking about,” interjected Josette Martel, moving slightly in front of her boss. “Given the circumstances, it is appropriate for him to show up tomorrow morning which I’m sure he will do in the spirit of co-operation – and with his lawyer.”

  Sauvageot looked at Yablonski and gave a half smile.

  “Tomorrow morning at 9, Monsieur Yablonski,” he said.

  “I demand to know what is happening here,” the mayor said, finally finding his voice. “I don’t even know you. You’re not one of our officers.”

  Favreau stepped forward. He glared at the mayor and Burke sensed there was animosity between the two, at least on Favreau’s part.

  “Monsieur Mayor, this is Inspector Sauvageot from Arles and I did tell you a few days ago about the joint efforts of the police forces from Arles, Nice and Saint-Raphaël in connection with the troubles that have surrounded these vintage bicycle races,” Favreau said.

  The mayor puffed up his chest and Burke thought he was going to challenge Favreau. Then he thought twice about it and nodded.

  “You are correct, Sergeant. I recall it now. I will leave this in your capable hands. However, if you require any assistance from my office, I will be happy to co-operate.”

  Burke saw Favreau looked with contempt at the mayor whose last statement was obviously for the scores of bystanders witnessing the exchange.

  Maybe Favreau wasn’t so soft after all, Burke thought.

  A moment later, Burke spotted a TV camera crew jogging to the scene. A blonde woman led the charge, pushing back her hair and juggling a microphone as she approached the flics and the mayor.

  Seconds later, Burke saw another van from a TV station come into the square.

  Somebody had obviously been monitoring police calls – or seen something on social media.

  Burke glanced around and saw several people tapping on their phones. The world was just a quick message away.

  “Please, please, let the gendarmes do their job,” the mayor said, stepping in front of the blonde journalist.

  She wasn’t timid, though, and started firing questions at the mayor and at Sergeant Favreau while her camera operator filmed whatever exchange she was about to have.

  “What are these men being charged with, Sergeant?” the reporter asked Favreau.

  “They are being taken to the station here and charges will be forthcoming,” he said.

  By now, the second TV crew was involved with a reporter, tall, gangly and in his mid 20s, joining the fray.

  “Are the arrests to do with events today?” he asked Favreau.

  “The arrests are part of an ongoing investigation and that is all I will say for now,” Favreau said.

  The two reporters kept up their questions, but Favreau didn’t reply.

  The blonde reporter gave up and turned to Yablonski who had moved away to watch the two vans disappear with his security people. Her camera operator caught the moment.

  “Can you comment on their arrests, Monsieur Yablonski?” she said.

  Yablonski watched the vans disappear up the street and around the corner.

  He turned to the reporter.

  “This is all a huge mistake which I’m sure the gendarmes will soon admit,” he said.

  Burke thought Yablonski was holding it together – but just barely.

  “Monsieur Yablonski will be reserving any further comments until he is aware of the circumstances,” said Josette Martel who was, as usual, at her boss’s shoulder.

  Burke saw a couple more reporters show up plus a photographer. They started to scrum Favreau and, when they got little from him, they turned to the mayor who provided a few responses proclaiming his willingness to help any investigation.

  Burke kept his attention on Yablonski.

  And then Yablonski spotted Burke, his eyes narrowing.

  Burke stared back.

  They stayed that way for maybe five seconds and then Martel whispered something in Yablonski’s ear and they strode off, ignoring questions in their wake from the journalists.

  They disappeared around the corner, presumably to a vehicle.

  Rousseau nudged Burke on the arm.

  “Eager to leave, wouldn’t you say?” Rousseau said.

  “Absolutely.”

  There was a pause.

  “I wonder who’s going to pay their restaurant bill,” Rousseau added.

  Chapter 75

  Burke and Rousseau returned to their friends at the café and, since Ginny and Peter had helped earlier in the day, told them what they had heard.

  Then Burke excused himself, saying he needed to go to the gendarmerie in case something happened.

  He pulled out some euros but Ginny tapped his hand.

  “Put away your money, Paul – and you, too, André,” she said. “Peter and I will handle the bill.”

  “But it’ll be more than … .” Burke said.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “You have more important things to do than squabble over the bill. Besides, you two have provided us with more excitement than we’ve had in years and so the least we can do is pay for your meals.”

  Burke and Rousseau thanked the English couple.

  “Now, off you go and find out what’s going on,” Ginny said.

  “But don’t forget to tell us anything you learn,” Peter added.

  Burke and Rousseau shook hands with both of them and then left, jogging to Burke’s car.

  “You drive, André,” Burke said. “I need to text Lemaire.”

  The drive was maybe five minutes with all the traffic, but it was long enough for Burke to relate in a text what had happened in the Old Town square and to send a few photos and some video. He didn’t know if Lemaire would use the information, but at least the newsman had the latest.

  Burke’s phone buzzed to tell him he had a text. It was from Lemaire.

  “We’re getting updates from the news service, but keep sending stuff,” Lemaire said.

  Rousseau found a parking spot a block from the station. They locked the vehicle and ran to the gendarmerie.

  They weren’t alone when they got to the entrance.

  There were a half dozen police cordoning off the front of the buil
ding. Moments later, Côté, Sauvageot and Bonnier showed up, obviously having finished in the square. They stopped behind the line of officers with Sauvageot talking to one officer.

  Burke saw Côté looking at him. Then, to his surprise, she nodded for him to go to the side of the building.

  “André, would you take some photos and video of the scene here?” Burke asked his friend.

  “Absolutely,” Rousseau said with a smile, taking Burke’s smartphone. “I’m on the job.”

  Burke went over and joined Côté a few metres from the main activity.

  “Are you charging all six with assassination?” said Burke, figuring he had little time for generalities.

  “Off the record?” Côté said.

  “I’m not a reporter so, sure, off the record,” Burke replied, anxious for a real answer.

  “Thanks to your tip about the telescope which, to be honest, the Arles police should have thought of, we’re looking at charges against three of Yablonski’s people,” Côté said.

  “What about the others?”

  “We aren’t sure how far their involvement went, but it seems likely they were involved in some capacity which would make them accessories,” she said.

  “In the murders of both the cyclist and the old man?” Burke said.

  “Yes,” Côté said. “We’re sure the other death, involving the homeless man, is an entirely different incident.”

  “What about Yablonski? You didn’t bring him in,” Burke said.

  “We’re looking into everyone’s involvement, Monsieur Burke,” Côté replied. “We’ll see how the interview goes tomorrow morning with Monsieur Yablonski.”

  “Have you dropped the assassination charges against the three young men you arrested earlier today – Talbot, Belcourt and the other guy?”

  “Grégoire Holz and, to be accurate, we never actually charged them with assassination or attempted murder,” Côté said. “However, they’re still facing other serious charges and we will be continuing our interviews with them.”

  “OK, Sergeant Côté, would you tell me one thing, totally off the record again?” Burke said.

  “Maybe.”

  “Do you think Yablonski was behind his security people killing those two men in Arles?”

  “Monsieur Burke, you’re a clever man, but sometimes you’re a little too impatient,” Côté said with a sly smile. “We can only think what the evidence tells us to think.”

  “That sounds like it came from a scene in a movie.”

  “I know but it’s true,” Côté said. “I will tell you that I believe more truths will be discovered as we investigate. There’s a great deal more to learn in this case.”

  Burke nodded.

  “Now I must re-join my colleagues,” Côté said. “This promises to be a long night and tomorrow a long day. I’m sure we’ll be talking again – and soon.”

  Chapter 76

  André Rousseau showed Burke his photos and video, all of which were better than anything Burke would probably have produced.

  Burke thanked his friend and sent the photos and video to Lemaire, ensuring the newsman knew Rousseau had been responsible for the work; maybe his friend would get the credit which was fine by Burke.

  Then Burke tapped out a quick text about the ongoing interviews and the no-assassination charges against Talbot, Belcourt and Holz. It was well into the evening, but he expected Lemaire – and Antoine Pastore plus most of the other editorial staff – would be hard at work.

  Lemaire was quick with a response: “Excellent. Updates, updates, updates. BTW, what’s your overall thought about today?”

  Burke knew the question was Lemaire’s code for getting an opinion from Burke which he would reshape into a blog with Burke’s name attached to it.

  Burke kept his reply simple: “Occasional moments of good racing overwhelmed by a bomb, people getting poisoned, several arrests and general chaos.”

  He wondered what Lemaire could fashion out of that. Probably something a little sarcastic with some hyperbole tossed in. There would be drama, too.

  “I don’t think much more is going to happen here so maybe we should go home,” Burke said to Rousseau.

  His friend didn’t reply; instead, he pointed to the side where the two TV crews from the Old Town square were setting up.

  The show had moved sites.

  “Maybe we should stay a few minutes more,” Burke said.

  “Not a bad idea,” Rousseau said.

  But nothing really happened. The reporters quizzed the cops forming the line and didn’t get anything. They shouted a few questions at Sauvageot, Bonnier and Côté, but were ignored by the three flics who soon entered the building, chatting among themselves as they did so. Then the reporters started talking to bystanders which, Burke figured, was essentially just a way to kill some time and hope someone might produce a snappy comment for them.

  “I think we can go now, André,” Burke admitted.

  Rousseau nodded.

  Twenty minutes later, they were back at the gîte. Rousseau pulled out a small bottle of cassis he’d brought and poured them both a healthy measure.

  “This has been one wild day, Paul,” Rousseau said, toasting Burke with his glass.

  Burke held up his glass in response.

  “I wonder what tomorrow will bring,” Rousseau added.

  Then Burke’s cellphone buzzed with a text.

  It was from Antoine who kept it short: “Value of Yablonski’s companies down 25 per cent on the markets. Likely to get worse.”

  Burke told Rousseau about the text. Rousseau whistled and shook his head.

  “He must be losing millions,” Rousseau said.

  “He’s too close to the arrests to be able to shake off the impact,” Burke said.

  “If he wasn’t involved himself,” Rousseau replied.

  Burke had wondered about that point since the arrests. Had Yablonski’s security people acted independently and killed two people? Or had they taken action under his orders? Burke couldn’t see them freelancing since Yablonski seemed to keep his people on a tight leash.

  “It’s hard to believe he didn’t know something beforehand,” Burke said.

  The words lingered silently in the room.

  “I wonder why there was no ‘Courtesy of ---‘ sign that showed up at the VIP tent after everyone started to get ill,” Rousseau said, going in another direction.

  “There was no need,” Burke replied. “The catering company was named after him: Yablonski Caterers – Avignon.”

  “But who made all those people ill? Yablonski’s catering company?” Rousseau said.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “What about that kid who was dressed in a catering uniform?” Rousseau said. “You know, the one you got me to follow.”

  “I would wager he did something to the food that triggered all those reactions,” Burke said. “I would also bet he doctored the food when everyone’s attention was drawn to the explosion in the countryside – a nice, well-planned diversion. And then when people started to get ill, he left the VIP tent.”

  “But what could he have done that would produce such an immediate response?”

  “Claude told me it’s quite easy to contaminate or poison food in some capacity,” Burke said. “It would take only a little bit of the wrong thing and suddenly you have some serious issues.”

  “Like slipping in some peanut oil or shellfish oil into the food without any notice?”

  “I would think so.”

  “And if someone with a serious allergy to peanuts started to eat food laced with peanut oil, that person could die,” Rousseau said.

  “It’s definitely possible.”

  “So, why would that kid … .”

  “Grégoire Holz,” Burke interjected with the name.

  “Why would he take such extreme action? He had to know that what he was doing could end up with someone getting seriously ill or even dying.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that
as well,” Burke said. “And I don’t have an answer. Maybe it was a misjudgment. Maybe he only wanted to make a few people nauseated and didn’t anticipate such dramatic consequences although that’s a little hard to believe, given how clever most of the other actions have been. Regardless, it was incredibly dangerous. But somehow I don’t think Holz acted alone. I think everything that happened against Yablonski – the explosion in the countryside and the tainted food – was planned by Holz, Talbot and Belcourt together.”

  “But, Paul, don’t you think someone with the catering company would have wondered about Holz? After all, he was a new face,” Rousseau said.

  “That’s a good point. I think he probably told anyone who was curious that he was a local hire out of Vaison and that he was just helping out on the final race.”

  “Fair enough, but it still leaves us wondering why they’d take such drastic action,” Rousseau said. “I mean, what they did before had serious overtones, but they never tried to really hurt anyone.”

  “Don’t forget the furniture tacks on the road to Nice,” Burke asked.

  Rousseau shrugged and admitted that had been a dangerous stunt.

  “But other than that, I agree with you, André,” Burke said. “The car bombing in Arles was only meant as some kind of message. Burning Yablonski in effigy really was no danger to people even though there was a crush of bodies. It’s almost like Talbot, Belcourt and Holz, when they got to Vaison, were no longer interested in embarrassing Yablonski. They wanted to hurt the people who supported him. They turned truly dangerous almost overnight.”

  “Now it seems they’re going to pay the price,” Rousseau said.

  Burke was still puzzled why a group of university graduate students went from pulling silly stunts to committing criminal acts.

  He also wondered where Bosco Yablonski fit into all the recent events.

  Chapter 77

  At 5 a.m., unable to sleep any longer and with his mind spinning, Burke got up, made himself a coffee, pulled on a jacket, went outside and sat in a chair on the gîte’s patio. The sun hadn’t begun rising, but the birds were in full voice.

  He still had questions he wanted answered. But he doubted he’d be able to find the information himself. He’d probably have to wait for the police to sort out the entire Yablonski situation and that could take weeks, even months. At that moment, it seemed everything was in the hands of the police and prosecutors.