Impure Blood (37 page)

Perand shrugged.

‘Okay.’

Darac held the stare a moment but said no more.

By the time Granot and Bonbon returned, Darac and Perand were back at work. Darac was rereading a copy of a letter Corinne Delage had received from her mother in 1987, just a month before she died. One sentence struck him as particularly resonant, though its meaning wasn’t clear:

Corinne, I will never forget the day you became part of our lives, wandering in like a little lost lamb.

Darac sat back, his mind alive with ‘what if?’ scenarios. He couldn’t shake the feeling that in one of them lay the kernel of the whole story.

* * *

Rue Monteverdi was an impressive street in name only. A glorified alley running behind Rue Durante, it was, however, no more than a short stroll from two significant sites: the Peerless Taxis office, and Rue Verbier, home to the prayer room. Manou Esquebel had advanced about halfway along it when he turned into a space shown on Erica’s screen as the yard of a small industrial unit.

‘This looks promising.’ She showed it to the others. ‘He can only get out the way he went in.’ She switched to a city-view image of the spot. The street boundary to the yard was formed by a head-high wall topped with spikes. Into it was set a gate wide enough to admit a car or a small van. ‘Through that gate, in other words.’

Flaco peered at the screen.

‘Maybe it’s that padlock Florian’s key fits – not the door to the unit. Whatever it is.’

Frankie had already dismissed the possibility.

‘Wrong kind of key.’

‘The wall is handy.’ Erica was still buoyant as a beach ball. ‘Something for us to hide behind.’

Kevin Arnaud was a big man with a big ego and a small mind.

‘We don’t hide, Mademoiselle. We take cover.’

‘You take cover, sweetie. I’ll hide.’

‘Toggle back to the tracker map, Erica.’ Frankie studied it for a second. ‘Can we all see it?’ They were about fifty metres away from the target. ‘Any questions?’

Serge Paulin put up his hand. He was a powerfully built young man with a confident but sweet persona; the sort of lad every mother hoped her daughter might bring home one day. And with any luck, hand on.

‘Might it be easier if I take the laptop?’

‘Thanks.’ Erica gave the case a pat. ‘But I’d better hang on to it.’

‘Incoming.’ Frankie smiled suddenly, prompting the others to cool it for a moment. As the passers-by came alongside, Arnaud made to kiss Erica – a much-used move because it concealed two faces at once. Feinting deftly to her right, she sought Serge’s arms instead. It seemed to have the desired effect. The passers-by passed by.

‘Quite a sidestep you’ve got there.’

‘Really?’ She re-anchored her hair. ‘You’d know, of course.’

‘Sure you don’t want me to carry the laptop?’

‘I’ll manage it, thanks.’

Frankie looked up and down the street and then checked her watch.

‘Okay, as quickly and as quietly as possible – let’s move. Rendezvous at the wall.’

Scooting effortlessly on his toes, Serge Paulin beat the others to it by some margin. There was no sign of a padlock on the gate. Taking up position, he peered around it into the yard. Illuminated by a solitary lamp, it was a paved area bounded by blind walls on all three sides. There was no sign of Manou Esquebel. The industrial unit itself was a small, single-storey L-shaped building with an unfrequented, even disused air. No lights were visible inside. If Esquebel had got in, it couldn’t have been via the roller door set into the short side of the L. Paulin would have heard it.

Without warning, a heavy male body landed on him from behind.

‘Hi, what are you doing?’ The man reeked of spirits. ‘Playing
cache-cache
?
I
wanna play.’

‘Shhh!’

The drunk immediately put his finger across his lips.

‘Do you want the seekers to catch us? Run down to the street at the bottom.’

‘To Ruesorrini?’

‘To Rue Rossini, yes. Go on. And when you get there…’ Paulin gave the man a shove in the back. ‘…count to five thousand before you move again.’

Like an antique vehicle misfiring into motion, the man’s legs gradually picked up the drive as he set off down the street.

Arnaud led the chasers home. Hampered by the laptop, Erica was still some way behind.

‘Did you see Manou…’ Frankie took a recovering breath. ‘…go into the building, Paulin?’

‘He must have got in around the corner – the far end of the long side.’

‘What is this place? Or was, rather?’

‘A small workshop, maybe?’

Flaco shot glances over the wall at the building and then behind her.

‘I don’t get it.’ She took a second look. ‘The layout and the angle means you could back a car into that far corner and no one would see you go into the building. Not even from directly opposite.’

Frankie checked the angles for herself.

‘Yes, you could. So why didn’t he drive here?’

Erica finally made landfall.

‘He’s inside… Over in the far corner.’ She took a deep breath in. ‘Note to self – get fitter…’ She tapped a slender fingertip on the screen. ‘He’s where the cursor is.’

‘Okay.’ Frankie signalled the backup car. ‘Time to suit up.’

Arnaud gave Erica a look.

‘How accurate is that trace?’

‘It’s a five-metre spread. Of course…’ Another breath. ‘I don’t know how the space is laid out inside the building. But what it means is…’ She performed the calculation on the screen. ‘…he’s somewhere between six and eleven metres the other side of the outer door.’

‘At the moment.’

‘Yes.’

‘So let’s hope he doesn’t move. Or take his trousers off for any reason.’

‘Alright, Arnaud.’ Frankie fixed him with a look. ‘It’s thanks to Erica we’ve got this far.’

‘Yes, Captain.’

Craxe joined them from the backup car and handed out the body armour.

As Frankie suited up, her eyes locked on to Erica’s.

‘Got your radio?’

‘Yes.’

‘Put your earpiece in and go back with Craxe to the car. Listen in but don’t talk to us unless it’s absolutely necessary or you might blow our cover. If we lose Esquebel, you’ll hear all about it. If we ask you, but only if we do, tell us where he’s going. Okay?’

‘Yes, Mama.’ Erica made a moue. But she did as she was told.

The raid party all set to go, Frankie turned to Flaco.

‘Ready, Yvonne?’

‘Ready.’

The men shared a grin. Yvonne was ‘Flak’ to them.

‘You all know what to do.’

With weapons drawn, they advanced silently towards the far corner of the yard. Arnaud held the lead position as they approached the door. Each member of the team had a copy of Emil Florian’s key. But was this the right door? Anxious looks were shared as Arnaud put the key into the lock and turned it. The door opened.

The space beyond was unlit. Arnaud’s torch went on as he stepped quietly inside. The others followed. The air in the room felt like a medium for swimming in rather than breathing. It was a small, shabby space; its only furniture was a quartet of battered old waiting-room-style benches thrown together in one corner. The topmost one was missing its seat, Frankie noticed. A door was set into the far wall. Beneath it, light spilled in a shallow pool. With Paulin and Flaco in close order behind him, Arnaud moved smartly towards it. Muffled voices were heard. One was Manou Esquebel’s nasal whine. The other was more sonorous. Frankie’s ears pricked up. It sounded familiar. Holding up a staying hand, she slipped past Arnaud and listened at the door.

‘Of course it’s good to see you,’ the voice said. ‘But why haven’t you brought the cab round to the door? That’s always been our arrangement in the past.’

Frankie had heard enough. She nodded to Arnaud and took a couple of paces back. With one kick, the door flew open. The team burst in.

‘Police!’

A mirrored wall. Esquebel standing. Half-naked male standing. Half-naked young female lying. Toilet.

‘Face down on the floor! Now! Both of you! Down!’

Shaking, the half-naked man sank only as far as his knees. The sole of Flaco’s boot did the rest. As she grabbed his hands and cuffed them behind him, urine began to trickle between his legs.

‘Keep still!’

Looking exhausted and defeated, Manou remained standing, hanging his head. But then, as if detonated by an unseen hand, his whole body seemed to explode. Fending off his kicks and punches, Arnaud took a couple of blows that might have broken his ribs but for the body armour. It was Paulin who finally quelled the storm, lifting Manou off his feet and charging him hard into the mirrored wall. In a splatter of blood, the miniature muscle man shattered into a hundred pieces and dropped unconscious to the floor. Cuffing him, Arnaud ran an eye over the source of all the bleeding – a gash at the back of the head.

‘Deep but not life-threatening.’

He called an ambulance.

The girl was lying on the missing bench seat. Frankie knelt down next to her.

‘We need two ambulances, for God’s sake.’ The girl looked about seventeen and was barely conscious. ‘Then phone Forensics.’

‘Check.’

The girl began to stir.

‘No… I don’t… want…’

‘It’s alright, it’s alright. You’re safe now.’ Frankie hoped her voice would act as some sort of salve because cradling the girl in her arms was not an option yet. ‘By the book now, everyone. We owe it to the victim. I’m going to take swabs from her. Swabs that I’m sure will positively incriminate Monsieur André Volpini.’

The girl became more obviously agitated. Frankie came in a little closer.

‘There, there, you’re safe…’

Flaco’s sense of outrage went up several notches.

‘This is Volpini? The lycée principal?’

‘That’s right. Will you help me, Yvonne? Yvonne!’

‘Yes… Yes of course.’

‘Arnaud – who is she? Come on – the rest of her clothes and things are on the floor next to the toilet.’

He went over to them and picked up the girl’s purse.

‘Paulin? Arrest Monsieur Volpini. Pay particular attention to your wording. When I’ve finished with…?’ She shot Arnaud an enquiring look.

‘Anne-Marie Sosa, eighteen.’

‘When I’ve finished with Anne-Marie, I’ll take an initial statement.’

And then she would call Darac.

* * *

With Granot and the others listening in, Frankie’s report concluded with an account of Volpini’s confession to the rape of Anne-Marie Sosa and an unspecified number of other girls.

‘He had no choice, we had every conceivable piece of evidence against him and he knew confessing would reduce his sentence slightly.’

‘And naming the other five key holders to the room won’t harm him, either. Legally.’

‘Indeed.’

‘Any of them work at the lycée?’

‘None. Judging by the addresses, they are all reasonably well-to-do middle-class types, though. The yard and the building belong to one of them – a Thierry Ranson. Armani’s organising the trawl, a five-point simultaneous strike.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘In exactly four minutes, Volpini’s friends are going to get an early morning call they will never forget.’

Raul Ormans caught Frankie’s eye. Indicating the fingerprint sample he was holding, he mouthed ‘Florian’s’ and pointed to the top of the toilet tank. She blew him a kiss as Darac continued.

‘So Manou was the driver.’

‘He was on hand both to take the drugged victims to the room – usually as the result of a call for a cab home – and to drive them away afterwards. He never took part in the rapes themselves, according to Volpini. It seems Esquebel wasn’t lying about that, remarkably.’

‘Good for him. How long had it been going on?’

‘Eighteen long months and we didn’t know a thing about it until Emil Florian got himself murdered. R.O.’s just found a print of his here, by the way.’

‘Excellent. What did Volpini say about Florian’s murder?’

‘At the time it happened, Volpini was waiting for him here. They were going to “go hunting” – that was the term he used.’

‘Using the water bottle ploy?’

‘Volpini had little faith in it. He was going to introduce Florian to the joys of roofies. When he didn’t show, he assumed he’d got cold feet. He says he had no idea that Florian had been murdered, and I believe him. Volpini has come completely apart and you know what that does – the bastard hadn’t the energy to lie.’

‘Bonbon’s saying something, Frankie – hang on.’

Frankie caught Ormans’ eye.

‘Any other prints, R.O.?’

‘Some. Remains to be seen how many of them match the other key holders but it’s looking promising.’

Darac came back on.

‘We’re wondering why Volpini went anywhere near the Rue Monteverdi room once he knew we were investigating the murder of one of the key holders. Should have been a sign to stay well away, surely?’

‘Except for one thing. After my visit to Volpini, he and the others got their heads together. They realised we may have acquired Florian’s key but what good was that to us without an address to tie it to? Nevertheless, they thought it…’ her tone supplied the quotation marks, ‘…“prudent” to discontinue their activities here. But they couldn’t just abandon the place – there was video equipment, a computer, DVDs, sex devices, sofa beds and other highly incriminating stuff lying around. So they decided to clear it. Ranson volunteered to do the fetching and carrying and to clean up. Volpini helped him. When they had had enough for the day, all that was left were a few battered old benches. They were going to dump those later. Ranson drove off, dropping Volpini at Bar Brindisi around the corner. Several bars later, he clapped his ravening eyes on poor young Anne-Marie Sosa. He knew he shouldn’t but he couldn’t help himself. His pockets were stuffed with roofies and he still had the key to the place. Yes, the lovely, soft and springy sofa beds had all gone…’ Frankie was starting to really feel it. ‘But no matter, Volpini thought, he’d use one of those filthy old bench seats. Well, he didn’t want to scrape his knees on the floor, did he? Now all he had to do was wait for the right moment to spike Anne-Marie’s drink.’ Frankie’s stomach turned over as she remembered Volpini had offered her a drink in his apartment.