Текст книги "Taste of Fear"

Автор книги: Jadran Hawke

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 7 страниц)

4

The previous night, John had asked Sovann to do a bit of surveillance work in case Daniel decided to run away. He didn’t. He was too smart to disappear when the police had an eye on him. Or maybe, he was just innocent. There was only one way to know.

John and Sovann showed up at the reception of Groupe Finaris’s headquarters at 8:50 a.m. They were wearing suits, ties and trench coats. They asked for Daniel Dupont without mentioning they were Detectives. Better to keep a low profile at this stage of the investigation.

The receptionist dialed a number, nodded and gave them visitors’ badges. She invited them to sit in the waiting area and asked them if they wanted anything to drink. Black coffee for both of them.

“How did it go with the neighbors yesterday?” John asked.

“They understood,” Sovann said, nodding. “Using a bit of legal mumbo jumbo always works.”

John nodded and smiled. Sovann was tricky but he knew how to get the job done. Whatever six-or-seven-syllables words he’d used would prevent people from gossiping and spreading the word about Liliane Genet’s death.

At 9:08 a.m., John checked his watch and started to drum his fingers on his thigh. He was impatient. At 9:14 a.m., a soft and pleasant female voice spoke to them from behind. “Gentlemen, how can I help you?” she said.

John and Sovann turned around at the same time. John’s pupils dilated and it felt like time was slowing down. The woman standing in front of them was stunning. Brunette. Intense black eyes. Olive skin. No ring on her left hand. Hour glass body shape. Slim jacket. Tight knee-high skirt. High heels. Dressed for success.

She’s gorgeous, he thought.

“We’re here to meet Daniel Dupont,” Sovann said while John was recovering from his short reverie.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Dupont is attending a workshop today,” she said.

“We had an appointment,” Sovann insisted.

“I’m really sorry. It must be a mistake. He won’t be in the office today,” she said.

Son of a bitch, John thought, regaining self-control. Either he lied to me or he modified his plans to avoid us.

“If there’s anything I can do, please contact me and I’ll let Mr. Dupont know,” she said, producing two business cards from her jacket pocket.

John glanced at his quickly. Cécile Lucibello, Human Resources followed by her email address and phone number.

“We’d like to ask you a few questions about Mr. Dupont and Liliane Genet,” John said.

Her lips pinched and her eyes flickered to the side. “Excuse me. Who are you?” she said. Her attitude changed instantly.

“Do you have a minute?” John asked.

“I’m sorry, but I’m expected for a meeting,” she said.

“Can we talk later then? Maybe tonight, after work?” John said.

“I’m sorry. Who are you again?” she insisted.

“Detectives Johnathan Montclair and Sovann Yim,” John said, flashing his police badge. “We’re working on a case involving Mr. Dupont and Mrs. Genet. We can’t tell you more at the moment but we need your cooperation and discretion. It’s really important.”

“Am I… risking anything by talking to you?” she said.

“Nothing at all,” John said. “You have nothing to worry about.”

She hesitated and finally agreed. They exchanged numbers and she told them she would call back in the evening. At 6:30 p.m., Sovann decided to go to Daniel’s house to wait for him. Meanwhile, John came back to Groupe Finaris. Cécile wasn’t done working yet, so he waited for her in a café. He ordered an espresso and thought about her.

She was probably in her early thirties, hardworking and focused on her career. A typical working girl in the city. She had a slight accent. She wasn’t originally from Paris. Most likely, she was from the South of France. Depending on the region, people who lived near the Mediterranean Sea had a way of talking that sounded like music. They were generally out-going and friendly, unlike most people in the capital. John had heard a lot of tourists say that Paris was a beautiful city. The only problem was its inhabitants. He couldn’t really disagree.

Cécile seemed like a very sweet woman, willing to help. John decided that she hadn’t been living in Paris for more than two years. Three maximum. She was still in that infamous incubating period that would transform her into a typical Parisian: cold, always in a hurry, cynical, unsatisfied with life, always complaining and thinking the rest of the country still lived in the Middle Ages.

At 7:00 p.m., Sovann called him. “John?” he said. “Are you with Cécile?”

“Not yet,” John said, pushing his cup of coffee aside. “Still waiting for her call. What about Dupont?”

“Yeah, I just talked to him,” Sovann sighed.

“Doesn’t sound like it went your way.”

“He refuses to answer my questions. He doesn’t bite into the usual legal BS. The guy is educated. He knows we don’t have anything solid.”

“Okay… Why do you think he’s not cooperating?”

“He could be a very private person. He could be worried about saying something stupid without the presence of his lawyer.”

“Or he could be scared and have something to hide.”

“Yeah. Hard to tell for now.”

“Alright. I’ll see what I can get with Cécile. It should give us a better idea of the guy.”

John hung up and waited for another half hour before Cécile called him.

“Mr. Montclair? I’m about to leave the office now,” she said. “Where do you want to meet?”

“I’ll be waiting at the reception desk.”

Cécile was wearing a red coat, and a brown handbag was swinging in her hand. John recognized the Louis Vuitton pattern and the golden logo. He extended his hand and nodded. “Thank you for your time, Madame Lucibello,” he said.

“Mademoiselle,” she said. “And don’t be so formal please. I’m already pretty nervous about talking with a police officer. Call me Cécile.”

Her tone was still friendly but her voice was shaking a bit. She crossed her arms and seemed to shrug. She couldn’t be cold; they were still in the building. Defensive reaction and stress, John thought. “Relax,” he said. He needed to make her feel comfortable if he wanted her to talk. “You have nothing to worry about.”

She nodded.

“Want to eat something?” John suggested. “We don’t need to do this here.”

She hesitated.

“My treat,” he added to convince her. “Wherever you want.”

She tucked her hair behind her ear and nodded. “There’s a good bistro near the metro station.”

They walked side by side, and John decided it was a good time for small talk. He was right about her, except for her age. She was twenty-nine and had moved to Paris eighteen months ago from Montpellier, where she’d lived her entire life until then. She loved her job and was dedicated. Had broken up with her boyfriend because of the distance and lived alone in the suburbs, but still very close to Paris. Cheaper.

A waiter motioned them to sit next to the window to enjoy the view. There was nothing to see outside, and John told him they wanted to be inside. Warmer.

John didn’t really have the money to invite someone for dinner. Even though his ex-wife was making more than him, he was still expected to provide for his daughter. Plus, the rent in Paris was outrageous; and since the divorce, there wasn’t anyone to split the bill with anymore.

John ordered a ham and cheese sandwich. Cécile looked at him through her long eyelashes and bit her lower lip. She took a salad. John had unconsciously set the level of expectation. Cécile had good manners. She wasn’t going to order anything fancy when he was just eating a sandwich. As soon as he realized it, John regretted his lack of courtesy.

Damn it, it’s not a date, he thought, even though he wasn’t really sure about it. He was the one who had insisted on meeting her instead of interrogating Daniel Dupont.

“I’m on a diet,” she said, as if she could guess his financial situation. She really didn’t need any diet, and John knew she was trying to make him feel better.

“Me too,” he said with a smile.

He really liked her.

5

John took a bite of his sandwich and decided it was time to get down to business.

“Why did you seem reluctant when we asked you about Dupont and Genet this morning?” he said, looking at her straight in the eyes. He wanted to catch any sign of hesitation.

“I didn’t expect that question, that’s all,” she said.

“There is something between them, right?” he asked.

“You probably already know the answer, don’t you? You wouldn’t ask me otherwise,” she said.

“Do you know anything about it?”

She paused. “Just rumors…”

He nodded but kept silent, encouraging her to continue. His eyes were locked on hers.

“Please, don’t look at me like that. I just heard rumors. I’m just telling you what I know,” she said, blushing.

“You didn’t tell me much so far,” he said. “What kind of rumors?”

“Well, rumors, you know how it works,” she said, avoiding his eyes.

“Not really,” he said. “But maybe you can help me.”

“Office rumors, you know. People working together, getting closer and crossing the line.”

“Extramarital affairs?”

She nodded, raising her eyebrows and pouting in an expression of disapproval and disgust. “That’s not what I expected when I came to work here, but seems like it’s pretty common.”

John knew that Liliane Genet was divorced. But Daniel Dupont was married. That’s why he doesn’t want to talk to us, John thought.

“So Daniel Dupont and Liliane Genet are lovers,” he said, using the present tense on purpose. To the general public, Liliane Genet was still alive.

“At least, they used to be. I heard that she broke up with him a couple of weeks ago,” she said.

We’re making progress, John thought. It could be a crime of passion.

“What can you tell me about Mr. Dupont?” he asked.

“Competent, smart. He has lots of social and practical intelligence. But at the same time, he’s very bossy, demanding. He’s a control freak, very detail oriented. He hates when people mess with his files at work. He can be very scary…”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s not very stable, emotionally. He’s got a high IQ but he doesn’t know how to manage his emotions. It’s just awful. He gets upset easily and shouts and slams his hands on his desk. Sometimes, we wonder if he’s going to throw his keyboard at us, you know…”

John nodded. Violent behavior. Probably possessive and jealous as well, he thought. But also socially intelligent? Kind of a bipolar guy then. A crime of passion seemed even more plausible.

Cécile glanced at her watch and cleared her throat. “Excuse me, but it’s getting late and I have to catch my RER.”

John remembered she lived outside Paris. She had to take the RER, the suburban train, in addition to the metro.

Shit. We were just getting started…

“Sure, I understand,” he said reluctantly. “Before you go, is there anything you want to tell me about Mr. Dupont or his relationship with Mrs. Genet? Anything special or unusual?”

She shook her head but didn’t look at him, like she was holding back. “No, nothing.”

She’s lying, John thought. “Alright, thanks for your cooperation Cécile. I really appreciate it,” he said.

He asked for the bill, paid and walked to the metro station with her. Both of them were silent.

“You’re sure there’s nothing more you want to tell me?” he asked one last time when they arrived at the turnstiles.

She shook her head.

John looked around him, scanning his environment. An automatic thing to do at night. But also a habit after ten years in the police. He was used to detecting possible threats and suspicious behaviors.

“Alright. You’re going to be okay? Isn’t it dangerous for you to carry such an expensive bag at night?” he said, pointing at her Louis Vuitton purse.

She smiled. “It’s a fake one.”

“Real or fake, I can’t tell the difference. And I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t make any difference either for this group of guys on the left,” he said. She instinctively started to turn her head, but John gently touched her chin and stopped her. “Don’t look at them. Look at me. Trust me, they’re here,” he warned her.

She stared at him and John felt his guts twisting. His index finger was still on her face. She was beautiful.

“I’ll be fine. Thank you, Mr. Montclair,” she said, with a confident voice. She didn’t push his hand away.

John lowered his arm.

“Don’t be so formal,” he said smiling. “Call me John.”

She smiled. “Good night, John. Good luck with your investigation,” she said.

He nodded and watched her go. Then he turned around and pretended to walk out of the station. As he expected, the three men who had been idling suddenly got into motion, pushing themselves off the wall.

Bastards, he thought.

He saw them running. He rushed back inside and jumped over a turnstile, pushing a man who was about to get in as he did. “Sorry. Emergency,” he said.

“Hey! You!” a voice shouted behind him. A controller.

John ignored him. He’d lost the three men. There were five different directions, each one leading to a different metro line. He had no idea which one to take. Cécile hadn’t told him where she lived exactly, so he couldn’t guess which line she was supposed to take.

Shit!

A woman screamed. He recognized her voice. It was her. The three men were attacking Cécile. The voice was coming from the right. John sprinted in her direction, and in less than eight seconds he saw them. A man with a leather jacket was pulling Cécile’s bag while the other two were grabbing her arms. One of them had sunglasses and the other was wearing a baseball cap.

John kept running, his feet pounding the ground. Leather Jacket heard him coming. He turned his face and his eyes grew bigger when he saw the huge fist approaching. He didn’t have time to avoid it, and John smashed his face. Blood shot through his broken nose. His head bobbed up and down. He fell on his back, both hands on his face.

The impact had helped John slow down, and he stood at an angle in front of Baseball Cap. His mouth was open in an O. A punch was too risky, John decided. The man was too close to Cécile and he could hit her by accident. In a split second, he fired a low kick, his shin biting the flesh of the man’s thigh. Baseball Cap screamed, touched his leg, lost his balance and joined his friend on the floor.

The third man was shaking. Behind his sunglasses, John knew his eyes were wide open. In terror.

“Get the fuck out of here,” John said in a low, threatening voice.

Sunglasses immediately turned away and ran for his life.

John picked up Cécile’s handbag and handed it to her. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?” he asked, examining her face. She was pale; in shock, but safe.

Cécile was unable to speak, but she managed to nod.

“Forget about the train,” he said. “Let me drop you home.”

She nodded again. John grabbed her by the arm and looked up. People were gathered around, cell-phones in theirs hands, taking pictures and videos. But nobody came to help.

John shook his head in indignation. Pathetic, he thought.

Then he heard a familiar voice. “Hey! Hey! You!”

The controller.

“What?” John said, glaring at him.

“Ticket, sir,” the controller said. “I saw you jumping.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” John said. “Look around you. I came to help this lady.”

The controller suddenly became aware of the two men on the floor. “I’ll need you to stay where you are, sir. I need to call the police,” he said.

John flashed his badge. “I am the police,” he said. “Now get out of my way.”

In the car, John and Cécile were quiet. He glanced at her from time to time but she kept silent. He was worried about her but also wanted to continue with the questions. It was delicate, though. She might not appreciate it.

“Liliane Genet,” she suddenly said. “She was known to be voracious. Lots of people said she’d had multiple partners besides Daniel. Everybody knew about it but it was one of these subjects we weren’t supposed to talk about. Daniel had made it clear he’d fire anybody talking behind his back.”

John kept silent, listening religiously. She was finally telling him what she really knew.

“They were both into…” she said, hesitating. “Sexual games, you know. Role playing, fetishism, that kind of thing.”

“Okay,” John said.

Cécile shook her head as if she realized she was making a mistake. “God, this is so embarrassing. I really don’t think I should tell you about that. If he knows, he’s going to kill me…”

“Cécile,” John said. “If Dupont is the person we suspect he is, he might actually kill you. Literally.”

“What are you talking about?” she said, now looking at him.

“Your hands would be manacled behind your back. Then, he’d rape you. That’s what happened to Liliane Genet,” John said.

She joined her hands to her mouth. “Oh my God,” she said after a moment. “Are you serious?”

John nodded. “Can’t be more serious than that. That’s why we need to find out if Dupont is our man.”

There was a long silence. Then she swallowed once and decided to help him. “He’s a member of a BDSM private club. It’s called Le Club Coquin. Liliane Genet told everybody when she broke up with him.”

“Any idea why she did that?”

“He can be very childish. Like I told you, he’s very weak emotionally. When he’s upset or feels threatened, he likes to be mean. I guess she had enough of him and wanted to piss him off by revealing his secret at work,” she said.

John nodded.

“That’s all I know,” she said. “I swear.”

“I believe you,” John said. “I think we’re arrived. You’ll be alright?”

She nodded but didn’t open her door. She seemed to think about something. Then she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

“Thank you, John,” she said softly before disappearing in the night.

6

The next morning, John and Sovann went back to Groupe Finaris. They knew Daniel Dupont would refuse to talk to them. It didn’t matter. They had other plans. And they weren’t alone. While John had been busy with Cécile the night before, Sovann and a team of Detectives had managed to collect names of people working with or close to Daniel Dupont and Liliane Genet.

Their goal was to confirm what they already knew from Cécile about Daniel Dupont. They needed more information. Details. Incriminating elements if possible. Unlike the day before, they didn’t hide their identity. They were clearly identified as police Detectives, and they expected everybody’s full cooperation.

Indeed, the death of Liliane was all over the news that morning. Somebody had told the media. John and Sovann weren’t really surprised. Liliane Genet had a key position. She was important. She couldn’t just disappear without being missed. She was needed at work. Someone would notice. And her death was kind of unusual. She had died in an embarrassing way, and the press had been too happy to have something sensational to publish. John and Sovann just didn’t expect the media to be informed that fast.

The police were now under pressure. The general public knew about the case. The murderer was still free, unpunished. He could still strike. If Daniel Dupont was the man, John wanted to have enough proof to send him before a judge. At the very least, he needed to convince his superiors to setup a surveillance team, 24/7, to confirm any serious suspicion. He had to be able to justify the expense in time, money and man-power. And this morning, it was exactly which he was determined to do.

Their approach would be general. No questions would target Daniel Dupont directly. People couldn’t guess they were actually following a lead. For that reason, John had decided they wouldn’t start with the human resources department. It was too obvious. They had to make everything look natural.

At lunch time, John let the rest of his team continue without him. Solving the case was important to him, but he had even more important things to do. Twenty minutes later, he parked his car, ready to use his influence as a police officer, which was extremely rare.

“Mr. Montclair,” the lady said. “We haven’t seen you for a while.” Her tone seemed to imply that it was actually a good thing.

“Hello, Mrs. Denis,” John said. “I’m good, thanks. How are you doing?”

“Ah! The flu, the flu! Nearly all the kids are sick. But not Claire. Not yet at least.”

“Can I see her?” John asked.

“They’re about to go to lunch, Mr. Montclair,” she said, annoyed.

“That’s why I’m here. I’d like to take my daughter to lunch.”

The school-teacher looked unhappy.

“Well, I’m not supposed to let her out, you know. Imagine if all parents did the same?”

“It would be chaotic and as a law enforcement official myself,” John said, pausing long enough to make her understand he had no time to waste, “I appreciate your eagerness to maintain order in our society.”

She looked at him, her lips pinched. “Well… I could make an exception for you, Mr. Montclair. But it cannot become a habit.”

“Of course,” he said, showing his teeth.

John took his daughter to a nearby restaurant and ordered pasta for both of them. He hadn’t seen her for a month. He’d been too busy and had missed all available week ends they were supposed to be together.

“Are you okay Dad?” she asked.

“Of course, baby,” he said. “I’m always happy to see you. I really missed you, you know?”

“How much did you miss me?” she asked, smiling.

John joined his hands together in front of him, then spread his arms wide open. “That much!” he said playfully.

Claire giggled. “Okay!” she said.

“How’s school? Did you make new friends?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yes. A lot!”

“How many?”

She cocked her head to the side and held four fingers in the air. “Six!” she said proudly.

John chuckled. “You mean six,” he said, showing his left thumb and his opened right hand.

She nodded.

“How’s Mom? Does she have a new friend?” John knew he shouldn’t ask but he couldn’t help it. He was curious even when he wasn’t working as a Detective, and even when he knew it would hurt.

Claire nodded again. “But he’s ugly.”

John laughed. “Daddy looks better?”

She nodded. “He has only one blue eye. I don’t like it.”

“What do you mean?” John asked. “He’s got only one eye? Like a pirate?”

She shook her head this time. “The other eye is brown. It’s weird.”

“Aw, I see. Well, your mom probably thinks it’s beautiful. One blue eye, one brown eye. Pretty rare,” he said. “He came home?”

She shook her head. “No. I saw him outside. He was talking with Mom. She told me he was her friend.”

“Okay. Come on, finish your pasta. You’re going to be late for school,” he said, realizing time was flying.

Then his phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number.

“Montclair,” he said.

“John, it’s me. Cécile. How are you doing?”

John smiled. “Hey, Cécile. I’m great. How are you?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” she said. “I heard you were in the building for your investigation. I was wondering if you wanted to have lunch with me? My treat. It’s my way of saying thank you for last night.”

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” he said. “And you already said thank you.”

“I insist, really,” she said.

“Well, I’m having lunch with my daughter, actually.”

There was a silence, as if she was processing that new piece of information. “You have a daughter?” she said, surprise in her voice.

“She’s five. Her name’s Claire.”

“Hellooo, Cécile,” Claire said loudly.

“Did you hear that?” John asked. “I think she already likes you.”

Cécile laughed. “That’s adorable,” she said. “Say hi for me.”

“She says hello,” John said to Claire. “Stop playing, eat.”

“Is it a family lunch?” she asked.

“No, we don’t have any family lunches anymore. Her mom and I are divorced.”

“Aw, I see. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t. It’s okay, I’m fine with it,” he lied.

Silence again.

“How about tomorrow?” she asked.

“Tomorrow?”

“Lunch, I mean.”

“It might not be a good idea,” he said. “We’re officially investigating now. People might see us together. It’s not very professional, you know. And I don’t want to go to the other side of the city just to avoid that.”

“Correct,” she said.

Silence.

“Thanks for the offer, though,” he said after a while.

“No problem,” she said. “Enjoy the time with your daughter.”

“Thanks.”

John hung up and asked for the bill. They were late and Claire had to go back to school.

“Is she your new friend, Dad?” she asked.

He smiled and sighed. “I don’t know, sweetheart. I don’t know.”

“Is she pretty?”

“Yes, she is.”

“You like her?”

John nodded. “Yes.”

“So ask her to be your friend Dad,” Claire said. “It’s easy!”

John paused and looked at his daughter, amused.

“Good idea,” he said. Then he seriously thought about it. Claire was right. Why not? Plus, Cécile was the one who had initiated the conversation. So John wouldn’t look like a pain in the butt by asking her out.

“Yeah,” he said out loud. “I should do that.”

He took his phone and hit the call-back button.

“Cécile?” he said.

“Yes?”

“How about dinner? Tomorrow night,” he said.

He could tell she was smiling. “Sure,” she said. “See you tomorrow, John.”