The Art of Murder (27 page)

Roger was interested in anything that
had anything to do with making money, as well as the people and
personalities that inhabited that world. Gilles might learn
something from him.

Maintenon was hungry, and wondered just
exactly how long it took to get to Geneva. Far too long, he
reckoned. Just getting out of the city took what seemed like
forever, but metropolitan Paris was one of the most heavily
populated areas in the world, and while a relatively compact city
for its population, it was still a sprawling place. Taking in
satellite towns, villages and suburbs, the train was restricted to
lower speed limits. It was only once they got out into the country
proper, by which time it was pitch black and he couldn’t see
anything anyway, that the sensation of speed, as the wheels clacked
faster and faster over the rails, began to pick up.

The pair of them waited until the crush
was over and then went to find the restaurant car. Gilles groaned
when the train slowed down for the first of many stops. Sleep was
the farthest thing from his mind, and there was just no way. What
if Babineaux got off somewhere before Geneva? It was a distinct
possibility. They had to watch him like a hawk.

Gilles hunch was right. It was a long
way to Geneva. Monsieur Babineaux must have some compelling reason
to go there, but that was the only conclusion they could draw. Due
to being consulted by police in the past on financial aspects of
certain crimes, Roger was not just an expert witness, but also
trustworthy with confidential matters. Quick-witted, adaptable, and
with a seemingly endless repertoire of pithy and amusing
observations, he wasn’t a bad travelling companion.

In the course of a couple of hours
Gilles came to know a great deal about Roger, and his wife and
children, and got a brief snap-shot into his life and work. It was
interesting to find out that Roger had run away from his village,
with its priest and nun-ridden parochial school, and was largely
self-educated. He had been thinking that Andre might miss the odd
night out and male companionship. But it was he who needed other
interests, other friends and experiences outside of work, and what
passed for his home life these days. He found he was enjoying the
trip perhaps a little more than he should. Every so often one or
the other took a little walk to check up on Babineaux. There were
plenty of others who found that train rides required stretching the
legs from time to time, and it drew no unwarranted
attention.

While Gilles couldn’t go into names and
specific incidents, Roger asked the inevitable questions about
police work and Gilles was glad enough to oblige him. It was
something to talk about and helped to pass the time
pleasantly.

“
As for Babineaux, let us
hope that this doesn’t result in nothing more than a bizarre
anecdote.” Gilles sighed from the tiredness, and Roger was nodding
off in sleep as he made the remark.

Roger brightened up.

“
Yes, maybe he has a
mistress, or visits a heroin pusher.” That would make sense,
judging by the look on a very sleepy Roger Desjarlais.

As for Babineaux, he stayed in the
first-class carriage where he belonged, and finally it was time to
lay back and pretend to sleep.

With the constant swaying back and
forth, the clicking of the wheels over the points and the thoughts
racing around in circles inside of his head, and the odd stop where
they had to carefully observe whether the subject got off the
train, it was an uncomfortable night. He might have dropped off,
however briefly, at about four thirty a.m.

***

As the train crept into the station,
they had the plan all set, but Roger suddenly had cold feet about
his role.

“
Seriously,
Gilles.”

“
No. Seriously, Roger. What
did you expect to happen when you called me? I have no jurisdiction
in Switzerland.” Gilles laid it all out again. “Look. I have some
cash. They probably will accept francs, hopefully the cabbies. But
I’ll go to the hotel, get some money changed, and you’ll just have
to follow him. He knows me too well.”

Any real evidence they obtained would
be tainted by several things, not least of which was the unofficial
nature of it, plus the fact that having a civilian doing part of
the legwork was pretty much forbidden by all the canons of the
trade. Yet he had no choice, and if they actually got anything
interesting, there might be another, more properly legalistic way
of getting something that would stand up in a court of law. Most
likely it was nothing anyway. Gilles could think of a hundred
reasons why Babineaux might reasonably go to Switzerland. He didn’t
really have to answer to anybody.

“
What if he spots me?” Roger
was adamant.

“
Chat him up!” Gilles was
equally adamant. “Better you than me. That would be a dead
giveaway.”

“
What if he really is a
killer?”

“
Look, as soon as he gets to
a hotel, go to ground and call me. I’ll be there as quickly as I
can. If he goes somewhere else, keep following him.” Gilles pressed
a package, a couple of beef sandwiches wrapped up in colourful
waxed paper into his hands. “We really don’t have time for this,
Roger.”

It was too early in the morning for
this sort of thing, but in the event, all of their carefully-laid
plans came to naught. The subject caught a cab right outside the
station and all they could do was to tag along in another taxi. It
was singularly uninspired. Some time passed in muted suspense, but
then the taxi ahead signaled a turn.

“
We’re in the heart of the
financial district.” Roger’s quiet announcement confirmed Gilles’
suspicions.

“
Are they open on a
Saturday?”

“
Private counsel by
appointment, and some of the banks, for sure.”

It was hard to say what it all meant.
They trundled in between buses and trucks, momentarily losing sight
of the other cab. Gilles dug in his pocket as Roger leaned over the
seat in front.

“
I think that might be our
friend!” He pointed excitedly at a black saloon car with a yellow
sign on top. “We’re supposed to be meeting up with him. Our train
was late and I think he left in disgust.”

Gilles proffered a wad of small bills
over the man’s shoulder.

It disappeared quickly into an inner
pocket.

“
I’m still leaving the meter
on.” The admonition was greeted by thin smiles and hearty nods from
the men in the back.

“
No problem.” Roger seemed
to have taken charge in terms of travel and local transportation,
although Gilles probably could have managed on his own.

“
Nice town.” Gilles was
trying to make conversation, while completely familiar with how odd
it must or could look.

Perhaps the man bought into it, but
they would never know. A lot of people were bilingual in
Geneva.

“
It looks like we’re here,
or wherever your friend is going.” The driver looked at them in the
mirror. “The Credit Suisse.”

After a quick and non-verbal
consultation, Roger got out. Gilles waited in the car for a moment,
and then told the man to drive another block or two after watching
Roger’s elegant back and hat disappear into the gleaming front
doors of one of the most famous banks in the world.

Then he asked the fellow to pull over
and made sure he had enough for the fare. He walked back on the
opposite side of the street. With a little luck, he could find a
good vantage point and wait for somebody to come out again. He
hoped for luck. He hoped it wouldn’t be too long. His back ached,
his head swam with the scenarios, and his belly rumbled in
complaint, as this morning they were afraid to take a chance on the
dining car. There were a few stops on the way into Geneva, and
Babineaux might exit the train at any one of them.

It might be a long day in a strange
town with not much to do but to try and blend in and not draw
unwanted attention. In three minutes he was across the street,
loitering in a doorway, chain-smoking Roger’s last few cigarettes
and wondering just what in the hell he had gotten himself into. One
way or another, he had some explaining to do when he got back to
Paris. Another thing, sooner or later they might find a telephone
and let somebody know where he was and what was going
on.

Checking in a window, Gilles was
grateful to see that at least in terms of physical appearance he
fit the profile of a half a dozen other men in the area. Not
everyone was in the typical banker’s garb of pin-striped suits with
a bowler hat and an umbrella. He’d always thought that an English
affectation, but it seemed to hold true here as well.

Trying to watch the doors of the bank
while trying to do look like he was doing everything else could
wear on a man after a while.

***

Babineaux spent a half an hour in the
bank and then came out with Roger not far behind, sporting a
full-colour brochure and a confident look. He imperiously waved at
the first cab, then in a moment of amiable confusion, offered to
share it with Babineaux! But Babineaux must have asked where he was
going, and Roger in a moment of decision made something
up.

Babineaux waved over another passing
cab as Roger took his time about getting in the one he had engaged.
With a look at Gilles, he made a motion with his hand and then
seemed to be consulting with the driver. Gilles began sauntering
across the street in a moment clear of traffic and watched the cab
bearing Babineaux ease into the stream and then zoom off. Gilles
thought that neither the driver, nor the occupant, looked back in
the mirror, but one can never be sure.

He opened up the door and dropped in
with a sigh. Pedestrians passed on the sidewalk, oblivious to all
but their own fates. Gilles wondered how the guilty found life in a
city, where you were on display at all times, and everybody ignored
you. It probably made them as paranoid as all hell.

“
Driver. Follow our friend
in the other car.” Roger nodded at Gilles. “How have you
been?”

It was an attempt at humour, perhaps an
attempt at subtlety. Roger’s Swiss wasn’t bad. The driver had ears,
after all.

“
Fine.” Gilles eyeballed the
cabbie. “So.”

“
So.” Roger was holding
something back for later. “Yes.”

He turned half sideways on the
seat.

“
We’re going to another
place. It’s right nearby. He didn’t recognize me, or if he did,
he’s damned good.” The driver ignored them, but Gilles wondered how
good his French might be in this international centre. “I did
recognize the name of the firm. He was quite open about
it.”

“
Ah.” There wasn’t much to
be said, but this was one of the nightmares of working with someone
completely untrained.

Roger was scribbling away at a notebook
as they motored along about fifty metres behind the other
cab.

“
Here’s the name. Les
Societe Anonyme des Marchands.” Roger gave him a look. “One of our
more active friends on the Exchange.”

Gilles pondered the meaning of all
this.

For all he knew, Babineaux was
travelling on official company business. That was the trouble when
a case went cold—you never knew what was a crucial moment. They
simply didn’t have the time or the means to tail every single
person involved twenty-four hours a day.

“
Oh, look, Gilles.” The
place where Babineaux’s cab stopped was an unremarkable building,
with gold lettering on the front windows, up on the second floor
overlooking the street.

Fairly bright interiors with white
venetian blinds on every window gave a professional impression of
solidity and trust. The lower level was all shops and
cafes.

“
Hmn.” Gilles was keeping an
open mind.

This was giving few clues and no
inspiration.

“
Pull up a little farther
on.” It was Roger’s turn to proffer a thick wad of small
bills.

The driver took one look, noting the
French francs and the beaming face of Roger. He gave Gilles a quick
look and took the money.

“
All right, gentlemen.” It
was all he said as he put it away in a bulging wallet.

“
Can you adjust that mirror
a little bit?” Roger had the right idea.

“
But of course,
sirs.”

Perhaps he had seen it all
before.

Chapter Twenty

When Gilles arrived back at
the office

When Gilles arrived back at his office
two and a half days later, he was well-rested and
refreshed.

They had returned to Paris the previous
afternoon and he had plenty of time to lie up and finally take care
of the persistent stubble on his face. It was strangely deflating
to find the office empty, although there was a lingering haze of
cigarette smoke, the usual overflowing ashtrays, and still-wet
coffee rings on the desks, including his own. He’d have to speak to
them about that.

He was just settling in when Andre
sauntered in, gave him a curt nod and sat down to go through a
stack of case notes. Then Le Bref came in.