Tourquai (19 page)

Field Mouse Pedersen struck the table with his paw.

“But . . . now I get it,” he said. “
Logistics
. . . get it? Procurement? Someone’s trying to be funny. Domaine d’Or is an escort service.”

“Jasmine Squirrel and Emanuelle Cobra are escort animals,” said Falcon. “And if it’s as the superintendent says, that Oswald Vulture had information about Domaine d’Or’s business transactions in his computer—”

“Vulture is running some kind of brothel operation!” Anna exclaimed. “And his colleagues at Nova Park who testified that Vulture would never do anything criminal?”

Ècu had to smile.

“Okay,” said Bloodhound, standing up. “Damn good, Falcon, I have to say. Damn good.”

Ècu straightened up.

“Pedersen,” Bloodhound continued. “Get the final story on Llama and Lamb. And Falcon and Anna, see about finding the auditor, Wasp. If you don’t find him, bring in Cobra. Get her to tell everything she knows about Squirrel. Hell. This may loosen things up a little. Was there anything else, Jan?”

Buck shook his head. He was just as impressed as the others at Falcon’s nighttime detective work.

6.2

A
lfredo Wasp was in the phone book, and he had nothing against them coming by and asking their questions. He was waiting at his office on emerald green rue Primatice, one of Tourquai’s many dark, gloomy backstreets that were neglected in order to keep up all the grandiose avenues. Wasp worked alone, the office more or less resembled a living room, and apart from a failed attempt to create a sort of ficus jungle in the little alcove toward the street, the result was pleasant.

Anna Lynx and Falcon Ècu were shown to a worn couch, where they sat down. Wasp, dressed in a stained but well-ironed suit and a hard-knotted bow tie around his neck, offered them coffee, which they both refused.

“We would like to ask a few questions,” Ècu began, “about a company that you’ve audited. Domaine d’Or Logistics.”

“That rings a bell,” Wasp replied, smiling.

“It’s a company that . . . doesn’t have any business operations,” Falcon said in order to help refresh his memory.

“I have lots of those,” Wasp chuckled contentedly. “You might say it’s somewhat of a specialty for me.”

“Companies without operations?”

“That’s right,” Wasp nodded. “You have no idea how many large companies and organizations there are that, instead of liquidating some small subsidiary, let it lie fallow. Someday perhaps it will be activated again, and until then I take care of the formalities.”

“How many such . . . fallow companies do you take care of?” asked Anna.

“A couple thousand,” Wasp replied. “It varies.”

“A couple thousand?” Anna repeated.

“It sounds like a lot, and it is quite a lot, I guess, but if you’re careful, and I am, it’s not hard.”

“But Nova Park . . . ?” asked Falcon.

“A typical example,” Wasp answered. “Venture capitalists start and close down operations at a furious pace. They let their companies go in rotation.”

“And Domaine d’Or . . . ?” asked Falcon.

Wasp nodded, asking the police officers to remain seated while he disappeared into something that resembled a broom closet by the outside door. After only a few minutes he came back with a binder under his wing.

“Here,” he said. “Domaine d’Or.”

He folded back a half-dried palm leaf, sat down in the armchair, and leafed through the binder, stopped here and there and scrutinized something a little more carefully, but then quickly went forward. This went on for several minutes.

“No,” he said. “I’m sorry. Nothing. The most remarkable thing is that the company has existed for so many years.”

“And these payments of payroll taxes and health insurance premiums?”

“There have been employees in the company. Nothing strange about that.”

“But no income?” Falcon pointed out.

“No. Only personnel expenses. That may seem strange, but it’s not unusual. There may be legal reasons for choosing to allocate expenses and income. Later, when you look at the operation organizationally, you bring the various entries together.”

“Did Vulture go in for a lot of this type of shadow games?”

“Vulture? You mean Oswald Vulture, who was killed last Monday?”

“Yes.”

“Well, Vulture wasn’t born yesterday exactly. But he kept to the rules most of the time.”

“And the operation that was run in Domaine d’Or?” asked Anna.

“But Inspector,” Wasp replied in an impatient tone, “that’s just the point. No operation was being run. Here, you can see for yourselves.”

Wasp pushed the binder over to the police officers, who leafed through the formal questionnaires filled out with a typewriter.

“We’ll borrow these,” said Falcon, shutting the binder. “As evidence.”

“That’s fine,” Wasp nodded, getting up. “Although I really wonder what it’s supposed to prove.”

The police officers were on their way out to the street again when Anna couldn’t refrain from slowing down her steps and asking the question that still lingered.

“Excuse me,” she called back. “But why were you surprised when we asked about Vulture? Wasn’t it at his request that you managed Domaine d’Or Logistics?”

“No. No, not at all,” Wasp replied. “True, Nova Park paid my fees, but it wasn’t Vulture who was my contact with respect to Domaine d’Or.”

“It wasn’t?”

“No, not at all,” said Wasp. “It’s all in the binder. The owner of all the shares in the company is a Jasmine Squirrel.”

“Squirrel?” said Falcon. “Is it Squirrel who is behind Domaine d’Or? But what about Vulture?”

“As far as I know he has absolutely nothing to do with this,” Wasp replied.

6.3

T
here were two interview rooms connected directly to the jail on the bottom floor at rue de Cadix. They were generally called the “north” room and the “south” room, and they were furnished identically. A short table with two chairs on either side, a mirror along the wall—which could be seen through from the other side—and a single lightbulb hanging down from the ceiling, the room’s only illumination. On the table was a small tape recorder to which a microphone, fastened to a small tabletop tripod, was connected. The equipment looked old-fashioned.

They were sitting in the north room. Without knowing why, Anna Lynx preferred the north room. She glanced at Falcon, who was sitting next to her. He was making a few quick notations.

They had picked up Emanuelle Cobra on the way back from questioning Alfredo Wasp. When they came into her office, she had sighed heavily.

“What do you want?”

The feeling that first time they stepped into the massive office had been slightly absurd, the sexy, glistening black secretary misplaced in a modernistic office chair behind a small desk in front of the overwhelming view of Tourquai’s futuristic skyline. Today the magic had disappeared. The situation was different, they knew more than they had known then, and besides, Cobra was apparently exactly what she appeared to be.

“Only a few short questions,” said Falcon.

“But not here, down at the station,” said Lynx.

Now they were sitting in the north room. Falcon was noticeably nervous, aware of the fact that both Buck and Bloodhound were watching from outside. He started, stumbled through the formalities, stated, to the tape recorder, the date and time, who was present, and what it concerned. But when he was about to begin the interview itself, Anna took over.

“We know you’ve answered a number of questions before,” she said. “Forget about that. Now we want you to tell us about Domaine d’Or Logistics.”

“Tell about what?”

“The company paid your health insurance and workmen’s comp. Is that correct?”

“And salary,” said Cobra nonchalantly. “I got a salary, too.”

“Excuse me, but weren’t you paid by Nova Park?” asked Falcon.

“Listen, on that pitiful secretary salary you don’t get far,” Cobra smiled scornfully.

“And to get a salary from Domaine d’Or required that you performed what services?”

“The way it usually works.”

“Would you like to tell us about these services?”

“I’ve already done that. For your blushing colleague here,” Cobra answered, nodding toward Falcon, who blushed again as if he were programmed.

“I would really appreciate it if you’d tell us again,” said Anna.

“I went with males, most often older males, up to their anonymous but rather luxurious hotel rooms and did what they asked me to,” Cobra replied.

“You were paid by Domaine d’Or to prostitute yourself?” asked Anna.

“Little lady,” Cobra replied, giving Lynx an inexpressibly tired look, “I’ve been at it a little too long to think that sort of thing is hard work. You can call me what you want—”

“And with whom did you negotiate your pay?” said Anna.

Cobra showed interest in the question, but she did not answer immediately.

“What do you mean?”

“The compensation from Domaine d’Or,” said Anna. “How was it decided? Who decided how much you would get paid?”

“Is this still about Oswald?” Cobra asked, turning directly toward Falcon. “Or is it about something else?”

“Answer the question,” said Falcon, looking down at the table.

“Jasmine Squirrel,” said Cobra, meeting Anna Lynx’s gaze. “Jasmine paid me.”

“Jasmine Squirrel?” Anna Lynx repeated, articulating every syllable, so that the substandard tape recorder on the table would not mistake it.

“Yes.”

“Domaine d’Or is an escort service,” Anna stated. “Why does Nova Park pay administrative fees to run an escort service? Why does Nova Park pay Squirrel’s bills?”

“You must be joking,” said Cobra, and she turned toward Falcon again. “If she hasn’t figured it out yet, she probably shouldn’t be a cop. But she’s pretty. Maybe I can arrange a job for you, lady?”

“We’d like to hear you tell us,” said Falcon politely.

He felt that he was forced to take over the interview from Anna. The bosses were watching, and until now he had made a pale impression, he realized that. Now he leaned across the table, the very image of attentiveness.

“Oswald Vulture was Jasmine’s john to start with. That went on for ages, until Jasmine got tired of it. Then she placed me outside his office, so he got what he wanted without wait time, so to speak. ‘Administrative fees’ was probably the least he paid—”

“It was Jasmine Squirrel who got you the job at Nova Park?”

“Dictation isn’t my strong suit,” Cobra smiled.

“Do you realize that sex trafficking is a serious crime, and that Jasmine Squirrel is going to pay dearly for what you’ve revealed?” asked Falcon Ècu.

He was troubled by the ease with which Cobra told her story. Considering both of the bigwigs were on the other side of the mirrored glass, this interview was hardly something to brag about, at least not from a technical angle.

Emanuelle Cobra raised one eyebrow.

“Have I been disobedient, Falcon?” she asked.

Involuntarily he blushed again.

“Why would I want to back her up?” she continued. “Haven’t I brought in enough money?”

Falcon’s blush intensified, and he stammered the next question.

“How . . . would you . . . describe Jasmine Squirrel and Oswald Vulture’s relationship . . . recently?”

“Their relationship?” Cobra repeated, shaking her head. “I don’t know. She extorts money from him. He lets himself be extorted. And I’m sitting in the middle of it all, which makes the situation tolerable for both of them.”

“When did they last meet?” asked Falcon.

“No idea.”

“How are the payments from Vulture to Domaine d’Or made?”

“Is it my salary you’re talking about now?”

Falcon disregarded the reply, which reduced the brilliance of his question.

“When you say that Vulture let himself be extorted for money,” he continued, with forced aggressiveness, “what exactly do you mean?”

“That she extorted him for money.” Cobra sneered.

“Were there threats?”

“Little friend, how else do you imagine it would be done?”

“Written threats?”

“No idea. Darling falcon, do you feel like you’re starting to be done with this now?”

Cobra concealed a yawn behind the tip of her tail.

On the other side
of the mirrored glass Buck and Bloodhound followed the conversation. Buck made continuous commentary on the interview with small outcries: “Oy!” “Fantastic!” and “We didn’t know that, or did we?” Bloodhound did not reply.

From the captain’s comments it seemed that he was impressed; everything Cobra said he perceived as sensational. In reality there was little new that came out, Bloodhound thought. They were in the middle of a murder investigation; prostitution was not WE’s concern. The purpose of interviewing Cobra was to create a basis for the next interview, with Jasmine Squirrel. It was Squirrel who was interesting, and as soon as they were finished, the inspectors would bring her into the station.

“Oy,” Buck commented. “She has apparently extorted him for money. We didn’t know that, did we?”

The superintendent couldn’t bear it.

“I’ve got to go,” he said, although he could just as well have stayed another half hour. “If anyone says anything spectacular, I guess you can call.”

“Spectacular?” Captain Buck repeated. “But this is spectacular, the whole thing.”

Bloodhound left.

In the north interview
room Falcon Ècu was forced to continue the attack. He changed tactics, and instead of asking questions he tossed out theories.

“Vulture must have felt pressured,” said Falcon, “since someone knew so much that was unfavorable. He must have wanted to change the situation. He must have been prepared to do whatever it took—”

“You think so?” asked Cobra. “I think he thought I was worth it all, and a little more. Wouldn’t you think so?”

Falcon could not produce a sound, and nervously leafed through his papers to find a new thread to tug on.

Anna Lynx was about to explode.

She had been sitting silently, observing her colleague being annihilated by the meddlesome latex tart. Centuries of gender roles were being volleyed back and forth across the wobbly table, and Anna realized that this behavior, this ancient game between male and female, was what marked the investigation from the first moment. Bloodhound and Ècu’s way of excusing and dismissing Cobra’s lies; that never would have happened if she had been a he. The same way with Squirrel. Without a doubt the superintendent would have pushed harder, if the squirrel had been less attractive.

This double standard was exactly what Anna had talked about at the seminar at the Crisis Center. Gender that overshadows species. Gender that drew a veil in front of Falcon’s eyes, meaning that he did not see the hard-boiled criminal before him but was instead confused by Cobra’s attributes. It was loathsome.

Anna got up from her chair.

Surprised, Falcon fell silent in the middle of a line of reasoning. Cobra leaned toward the lynx.

“Your lies,” said the police officer, “are not impressive. C’mon, don’t you get it that you’re in a really bad situation? Weren’t you the one who extorted Vulture for money?”

“No.”

“I’m asking you again,” Lynx repeated, leaning even farther across the table so that her large claws moved right next to the snake’s shiny black head. “Weren’t you the one who extorted Vulture for money? Weren’t you the one who conveyed the offer to Squirrel?”

“No.”

“Were you the one who exhausted Vulture so that finally he no longer accepted what you were up to? Were you the one who pushed him to make an ultimatum and change from your little fatted calf to a major problem?”

Cobra was about to answer, but Lynx pressed her large paw against the snake’s mouth and silenced her. The gesture was so aggressive that the chair on which Cobra was sitting tipped backward.

“C’mon, think it over now, little tart,” Lynx advised.

The supercilious gleam that had been in Cobra’s eyes was less distinct when she answered.

“It wasn’t me. I don’t know how or what Jasmine said to him.”

“When did you last speak with Jasmine Squirrel?” asked Lynx.

Cobra closed her eyes. She sat like that awhile, absorbed in thought, and then she looked up. It was impossible to interpret her facial expression.

“I was just wondering if you were going to ask that . . .” she said lingeringly.

“C’mon, listen careful now,” Lynx hissed, “because now we’re asking.”

“ . . . I was wondering about that on the way here. What I would answer. If you asked that question.”

Lynx cast a quick glance at Falcon. He didn’t know what Cobra was talking about either.

“But I decided to answer truthfully,” said Cobra, with a malevolent smile. “Because I think it can be verified. The last time I spoke with Jasmine was on Monday morning. She called at work. It was after Oleg Earwig left Oswald’s office. She called and said that she thought it was time for me to go down in the elevator and have a cigarette out on the street.”

Falcon and Anna Lynx stared at the snake.

“Just what I thought,” Cobra smiled. “I knew you’d be interested.”