Beyond the Grave

by R. W. Wallace

  An awful lot of justification for a big boss to give to someone so far below her own station.

  “I did, however, hear about the work you’re doing, and, frankly, I am worried.”

  Clothilde sidles up to me where I’m standing in the far corner in order to cause as little distraction as possible for Evian, and whispers, “She should be worried, right? With all the sloppy police work that her people have been doing for so long?”

  “Yes. But if she’s as angry as you say, and it seems to be directed at Evian, that might not be the reason she’s upset. I hope Evian will let her explain and not jump to any conclusions.”

  Evian does just that, and doesn’t say a word.

  After a few seconds of silence, Spangero continues. “You were brought to Toulouse to look into the deaths of two young women. Now I learn that you’ve requested the exhumation of not two, but thirty-eight, women and that you’re bringing the work of colleagues into question.”

  “I was brought down here to look into two deaths,” Evian replies calmly. “We quickly discovered that they were indeed murders and not suicides, as had first been concluded. It didn’t take much work to see there was a pattern, which is why we requested the other exhumations. Four of those were obvious matches because of the DNA found on the victims. The rest are most likely linked, too, it’s just going to be more difficult to prove.”

  The anger in Spangero’s eyes is impossible to miss now. “You were asked to look into two deaths.”

  “I was given a case, and I worked it like I would any other. When I see a pattern, I’ve been trained to look into it. If we have a suspected serial killer, it’s our duty to go after him, not look the other way.”

  “You’re not looking for a serial killer, Evian. You’re trying to make the Toulouse police look bad.”

  Evian raises a lazy eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”

  “I know you’ve been looking into who worked on the cases you’ve been investigating. I know you think only you Parisians know how to work a murder case. You’re trying to make us look bad.”

  Evian sighs. “If I make you look bad, it’s going to be because you didn’t do your jobs. If the officers who worked those cases really did do their best, then that’s what it will say in my report.”

  Spangero slams a hand on the desk, making a dying plant on the other end jump and shake its leaves. “I do not want a report on how the Toulouse police does their work! We asked you to look into those two specific cases, and that’s all. You do know how to follow orders, Evian?”

  Jaw working, Evian takes a few seconds to reply. She’s still at parade rest, which means her hands are hidden from the rest of the room, but I can see them clenching and unclenching.

  “Of course I can,” she finally replies, her voice flat. “You will have the report on your desk within the week. It will include information on the four extra girls who we know are linked to the case, though. I cannot remove that knowledge now.”

  She takes a calming breath, steeling herself. “May I make one request, though? We found the remains of a police officer who worked here thirty years ago, one Robert Villemur. He was in an unmarked grave in a small cemetery on the outskirts of Toulouse. Will you allow me to look into his case? He was clearly murdered and it’s generally not a good idea to let the public think they can get away with such action against the police.”

  As Spangero takes her time replying, her eyes never blinking as she stares down Evian, the two other men in the room are as immobile and silent as they have been throughout the meeting. Gonzales’s eyes jump back and forth between the two women, clearly not wanting to miss anything, while Diome’s gaze hasn’t left that poor plant on his desk since he sat down in his own visitors’ chair. He’s listening to every word but isn’t letting any of his thoughts or emotions show.

  “You can look into the case of this Villemur,” Spangero says finally. “But I’m the first to see the report. It will only be shown to the public if it puts the Toulouse police in a good light. This de Villenouvelle business is bad enough, we don’t need to add anything else to it.”

  Evian nods curtly. “I can live with that.”

  “I didn’t ask if you could live with it,” Spangero says. “I gave you an order and I expect you to follow it. And once this case is closed, I want you on the first flight back to Paris.”

  Thirty

  Some sort of silent communication must have taken place between Diome and Evian while I wasn’t looking. When the meeting ends, Evian does a quick trip to the restroom—stalls not going all the way to the ceiling, luckily, so we can wait outside—and then goes right back to Diome’s office.

  He’s the only one there and he’s recovered his chair. He’s using a small water bottle to water his plant but I’m not convinced it’s going to do much good.

  “Close the door, please, Emeline,” he rumbles in that deep voice but Evian has already clicked the door shut behind her.

  This time she sits in one of the visitors’ chairs and her stance is more relaxed. “What happened?”

  Diome sighs and leans back in his chair so it creaks while he steeples his fingers over his flat belly. “This conversation is off the record, yes? If anyone asks, we are talking about how to keep a plant alive in an office with no direct sunlight.”

  “Your plant will be dead in two weeks,” Evian says.

  Clothilde cackles and jumps up to perch on Diome’s desk, feet dangling.

  “Right,” Diome says. “So, as you see, this conversation about my plant really did take place here today.”

  “What’s got Spangero’s knickers in a twist?”

  “I do not know, exactly.” Diome rolls his shoulders as if trying to work a kink out. “I received a phone call in the late afternoon yesterday, saying she would be here very early to talk to me. She also said to make sure you would be here but without giving you forewarning.”

  “Was she really planning on coming here, or did she make that up?”

  “From what I understand, she was scheduled to come, but only this afternoon. She made the journey last night instead of this morning.”

  Evian runs a hand over the new bracelet, making my little finger tingle. “I guess that could explain the crappy mood, if she hasn’t had any sleep.”

  Diome shakes his head. “The mood was the same yesterday.” He has a way of pronouncing every word exactly, and with great care, which, mixed with his deep voice, makes him sound poised and calm and thoughtful. It makes him feel trustworthy—which is a feeling I’m not entirely sure I should trust.

  “So, which part of my investigation made alarm bells go off on her end, do you think?” Evian asks.

  “You tell me, Emeline. You tell me. I have not heard a lot of details of the work you have done here. I have kept my distance, as we discussed before your arrival, so that I would not influence you or make it too clear who had wanted you to come to Toulouse in the first place.”

  “Spangero knows.”

  “Yes, but not many others. Anyone above my paygrade will know, but nobody below it. At least, they will not have learned it from me.”

  Evian narrows her eyes. “So you’re telling me that if I meet someone here who knows you’re the one who requested my presence, they will have gotten the information elsewhere?”

  “Yes. Quite so. Do you know of someone who knows?”

  Clothilde is following the conversation like a tennis match, her head going back and forth, back and forth. I appreciate that she’s staying quiet so we can follow the conversation. I’m also kind of surprised at how seriously she’s taking all this. I’m used to a moody teenager who doesn’t like to take things seriously, who lets herself get distracted by anything. But since the moment Evian showed up in our cemetery to exhume her, she has been one hundred percent focused on the case.

  Guess all she needed was proper motivation.

 
; “I haven’t really talked to that many people around here yet,” Evian replies to Diome. “But I’ll keep my ears open if the subject comes up.”

  “And how is Malik Doubira working out as a partner?”

  Evian smiles, the first genuine one of the day. “He seems great. Thank you for assigning him to me.”

  Diome nods gravely. “I believe he has great potential. Let me know if you need anything or anybody else, yes?”

  “I’ve already contracted the help of Nadine Tulle for research,” Evian says. “I was planning on perhaps including more people, but now I think we’ll stay with a restricted group.” She runs a hand through her short hair, making a few strands above her left ear stand up. “In any case, I guess I’ll mostly be focusing on figuring out what happened to Robert Villemur.”

  The chair creaks as Diome leans forward to place his folded hands on the desk. “Yes. Let us follow orders. There may still be ways to discover some things.”

  Maybe I should have seen it coming, but I’m genuinely floored by the implications of what he’s saying. He really did expect Evian to find something suspicious within the ranks of the police force in Toulouse. He knew the deaths of Lise and Manon, who were both buried in our cemetery before we left, were not isolated cases.

  He probably also knew that someone would try to put a stop to it at some point. I just hope he’ll be looking into it on his end, as well. Evian will be forced to keep her focus where the big boss ordered her to keep it.

  “There’s a definite link between Villemur and some of the murdered girls,” Evian tells Diome. “But maybe I’ll keep that link less obvious in my reports from now on.”

  “Yes,” Diome agrees in his deep rumble. “That might be best. In any case, I am also curious about what happened to this man. How did a police officer’s disappearance not result in more consequences?”

  Evian touches the bracelet again. “I’m curious about him, too. Having him as a first step suits me just fine.” She gets up from the chair and levels Diome with a serious look. “I expect you to make sure I’ll be allowed to make the steps that come after.”

  Diome gets up and shakes her hand before she exits the office. “I will do my best.”

  Thirty-One

  “Okay, what just happened in there?” Clothilde asks me as we follow Evian through the police station. “Is that Spangero woman our bad guy?”

  “That scene certainly didn’t make her look too good,” I reply. “But let’s not jump to conclusions yet. She might have other motivations for stopping Evian than covering for a murderer.”

  Clothilde studies me, a tiny frown marring her forehead. “What other motivations could she have? She outright forbade Evian from looking into the deaths of more young women. She’ll only let the public know about you if it makes the police look good.”

  “And that’s the point that makes it at least possible that she doesn’t have any nefarious intentions. She’s head of the Judicial Police of the entire region. She needs us to look good. Finding out there’s been a serial killer on the loose for over thirty years does not make us look good.”

  Clothilde ponders my words as we stroll down an empty corridor with closed doors every three meters. The only light comes from fluorescent bulbs overhead, and had Clothilde still been alive it would probably have made her look pale and ghostly. That’s certainly the effect it has on Evian.

  “Or she’s our bad guy,” Clothilde says, making me think of a grumpy teenager for the first time in quite a while.

  So I smile at her, happy to recognize my friend even if it’s not particularly flattering. “She could be,” I agree. “And we’ll keep it in mind. But before we can start throwing out accusations—or rather, have Evian throw out accusations—we need proof.”

  Clothilde scoffs but I’m sure she’s taken my warning to heart. She’s a smart girl, after all.

  Although I’m trying to stop Clothilde from making accusations, my mind is moving in much the same direction as hers, just with more warnings and stop signals along the way.

  In the entire Judicial Police, Spangero has only one person above her, the Judicial Police Chief of Staff in Paris. If someone of her caliber changed her schedule to come to Toulouse from Bordeaux, basically in the middle of the night, to make sure Evian didn’t poke at things she didn’t want poked, it means important forces are in play.

  There is no doubt that the woman was angry. The question is why. Is it anger that Evian risks discovering something that will make Spangero look bad? Does Spangero indeed have some connection with de Villenouvelle or whoever else was in league with the man for all the killings?

  Or was her anger based in fear? It could be fear of losing her position, or fear for herself. Someone could be threatening her.

  “I’d love to have some info on Spangero’s family situation,” I say out loud, half to myself and half to Evian, to plant a little seed.

  “Why? Is she your type?” Clothilde’s smile is huge and impish. “You never did tell me what you look for in a woman. Is powerful and angry your thing? I’m not sure the whole alive/ghost thing is worth pursuing.”

  I can’t help but crack a smile. “Ha ha. Very funny. I was just wondering if she has some vulnerabilities that could be exploited.”

  Clothilde stops in her tracks, her eyes wide. “You want us to blackmail the woman?”

  Evian arrives at her desk and as she sits down, she huffs a laugh.

  It’s eerie how sensitive this woman is. It’s like she’s following our conversation word for word. I wonder how she’s arguing the logic in her own head. Does she think she’s hearing voices? Is she taking our dialogue for her own thoughts?

  Evian starts up the computer at her desk and exchanges a few words on the weather with the grandmotherly woman at the next desk over. She doesn’t seem overly upset about the encounter with Spangero—but I suspect she’s very good at hiding her feelings and is probably mulling everything over much the way I’m doing.

  “Really?” Clothilde says as she jumps up to perch on the elderly officer’s desk. “We’re going to look for ways to put pressure on the big boss?”

  “No,” I tell her. “That’s not what I meant. And I certainly hope it’s not what Evian has in mind, especially if she’s working on the office computer on the police network.” I’m far from being up to speed on modern technology, but I’ve picked up enough during overheard conversations in the cemetery and passing comments over the last few days to know that anything can be monitored.

  Always assume someone’s watching.

  “I meant that I’d like to know if she has some vulnerability that someone else could exploit.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like a family member that’s being threatened. Or someone who will get the job he wants or get into the school she’s dreamed of for years, so long as Spangero does as she’s told.” I consider my own words, and add, “Although I hope it’s not any of those last two, because that would be frankly disappointing from someone of her caliber and position.”

  Clothilde swings her feet back and forth, her hands under her thighs. It’s like being back in the cemetery, where she always sat like this on her own tombstone. “Oh, okay,” she says, losing interest now that we’re not the ones doing the blackmailing. She turns to look at the officer on whose desk she’s squatting, squinting at whatever is on the woman’s computer screen.

  I take up position behind Evian and watch as she opens a window with Doubira’s name and picture at the top.

  Could you find us a decent restaurant for lunch? she writes.

  Sure, Doubira replies almost immediately. Any special requests?

  I like this guy. He realized something was going on this morning but doesn’t ask about it outright. And now he’s wondering if Evian wants to eat in a place with lots of police officers or in a place without them.

  We’ll be visitin
g Villemur’s brother or sister, Evian types. Find something close to wherever they live.

  My heart jumps in my throat at the idea of seeing my brother or my sister again but I force myself to focus. Evian wants to see them to learn more about me. No matter which brother we’re talking about, my sister is the better bet with that goal in mind.

  “Go for the sister,” I say into Evian’s ear just as Doubira’s next message pops up.

  They’re in different parts of the city, he writes. No preference between the two?

  Maybe go with the sister first, Evian types. Then adds to herself, “Women are more perceptive.”

  Close enough to the truth. Seems like she is arguing that whatever I tell her is common sense and her own subconscious.

  Do you want us to go see Nadine before we leave?

  Evian licks her lips. Glances at her watch. It’s only ten. I think we should try to fit the interview in before lunch, she replies after some rumination. Make sure Tulle will be here late this afternoon and we’ll see her then.

  She doesn’t want to see the efficient Tulle too soon. She hopes the woman will find some interesting information before she has to officially take her off the case. Off the case of the dead young women, anyway.

  I’m kind of curious about what the research whiz will be able to find on my history.

  A new message pops up from Doubira. Got Caroline Sanchez’s (the sister) address. It’s across town. Do you want me to call ahead?

  Make a call pretending to sell something, Evian types. I don’t want to lose too much time but I’d rather she didn’t have time to prepare for our arrival.

  What kind of preparation is she expecting? She’s not suspecting my sister of having had anything to do with my death, surely?

  Are we taking your car? Doubira asks.

  We’re taking the metro, Evian replies and she actually growls at the computer, making the lady at the next desk look over in surprise. “If I have my way, I’ll never drive in this city again.”