Double Murder in Attractive Districts

by Agnès Ruiz

  “What’s happening with your friend?” she continued. “Who assaulted the officer standing guard at your parents’ home? You or Grégoire?”

  “What? But no! It’s Grégoire... Well, I mean, somebody came to kidnap Grégoire from my parents’ house.”

  Rachel was stunned by this unlikelihood. She had expected anything but that.

  “How’s that, kidnapped... it makes no sense!”

  “I do not know.”

  The young woman clasped her head in both hands.

  “That’s enough! She needs to rest,” the nurse warned, with her voice full of reproaches.

  “No,” Annabelle protested.

  She tried to dismiss the nurse, who was uncompromising.

  “I’ll tell the doctor. We’ll put you under sedation if you do not calm down.”

  “It is important. Grégoire is in danger,” Annabelle insisted.

  Her eyes implored the nurse as much as the police.

  “Tell us everything, without being in a rush,” Rachel Toury recommended.

  The detective received a stern look from the nurse. But this did not dissuade her. On the contrary, she remained ready to intervene for the good of her patient.

  “We were at our parents’ house, and then a huge guy came in. He had a hood on his head. He... he pushed me and threw himself on Grégoire to take him away. He had a weapon with him and threatened Grégoire. Did he kill the officer?

  “He’s in the hospital too, in surgery,” Rachel simply replied.

  Can he talk?

  Rachel hesitated to give that information. Why did Annabelle ask this question? Did she say the whole truth? Was it possible that she was sincerely interested in the wounded police officer’s fate? Or was she afraid that he would come up with another version of things?

  “And Grégoire?” Jeff eluded in turn.

  “I used his car... and tailed the pick-up.”

  “A pick-up? What color was it?”

  “Gray. Why? ”

  “Nothing. Go on, Annabelle,” Rachel urged her.

  “What else do you want me to tell you? The pick-up stopped where you found me. I was careful, I swear...”

  “Not enough, obviously, given your condition,” the nurse said.

  Annabelle touched her temple, as if this gesture enabled her to remember.

  “When I turned round, there was this guy... He hit me.”

  “You say the gray pick-up was where you parked the car?”

  “Yes. I have to go back. They’re keeping Grégoire. He must be rescued.”

  Once again she tried to get up. The nurse got angry.

  “We’ll handle that, Annabelle. That is our role. We’ll comb the place. Meanwhile, regain strength and listen to the caregivers, they know what they are doing.”

  “Heard,” she grumbled.

  “I’ll give you back your purse. It was on the floor, at your home,” Rachel said handing it back to her.

  For a moment, they shared an astonished, worried and suspicious look, all at once, either because of the conversation or other things. The detective was sure of nothing.

  “Would you like to have your boyfriend notified?” Jeff asked.

  Rachel found the question relevant. Why did Annabelle not speak of him, indeed? She had thought only of Grégoire.

  “Jonathan... Yes. But I can take care of that. My phone, where is it? My stuff...”

  “All is in this closet,” the nurse said.

  She opened the door to show her. Annabelle pointed to the right pocket.

  “Thank you.”

  She lacked enthusiasm while keeping the cell phone in her hands. Maybe she just felt tired about this whole ordeal. Rachel asked her if she needed anything before they left.

  “Find Grégoire. That’s all I ask you.”

  The detective nodded.

  Eventually, she and Jeff found Jamel’s wife and their son. Rachel presented her sympathy to the woman and assured her that she would return in the course of the evening. The officer was now in the recovery room. Everything had gone well. He was out of danger, but remained under close observation.

  Chapter 22

  Returning to the disused buildings, Rachel deployed her team to try to find Grégoire.

  Jeff and Rachel inspected the ground floor. There was no trace of anything whatsoever. They decided to push the search to the first floor.

  “Are we really going to do all the floors?” Jeff asked.

  “You don’t believe her story?”

  “Honestly, no! She’s taking us for a ride, for sure.”

  “I’d be more reserved, you see...”

  “Why? Because she was found unconscious?”

  “You’re not going to tell me that she knocked on her own anyway,” Rachel reproached him.

  “Of course not,... But I do not know. She’s hiding information from us, you yourself said that.”

  “I agree. We have to watch her closely.”

  The first room was of no interest. The offices were still there, the trace of an incontestable administrative past. Dust and plaster covered the whole place making it unhealthy.

  “It’s so absurd that it’s so expensive to have buildings like that brought down,” she said bitterly.

  “Then it’s dangerous. Kids love this kind of place...

  They both had in mind a recent case that had just happened in a forgotten building like this one.

  Rachel preferred to move into the other room rather than rehearsing all that. The killer was still on the run in this other story and she did not like it at all.

  It was like a specter haunting her nights. She kept the file in her drawer in the office. She consulted it occasionally when an idea appeared or where a pressing need to re-examine the details was felt.

  A Parisian friend had told her one day that each police officer had an unresolved affair that undermined him.

  Rachel thought it was her shot. She had made a solemn promise to find the solution one day, even if she spent the rest of her evenings on it.

  Rachel discovered food waste on a desk and beer bottles thrown on the floor. There had been a lot of people in the area recently.

  Jeff had strayed away. Perhaps he had also wanted to get away from these gloomy thoughts and cut short this too heavy a discussion that might have ensued.

  “Rachel,” he called suddenly, “maybe I have something.”

  The detective found him kneeling on the floor, near a pool of blood.

  “There are many,” she said. “You think this is Grégoire Caron’s?”

  An eloquent look on either side did not tell them anymore, but prompted them to think so, especially as Rachel spoke of food litter in a nearby room. Grégoire seemed really in danger.

  She immediately contacted Matthieu Lorieux for a team to come up with the elements. After her call, she turned to Jeff.

  “Did Annabelle know about a gray pick-up truck?”

  “I do not think so,” Jeff replied. “In any case, I did not mention it to her.”

  “So we’ll take it for granted that this pick-up took Grégoire Caron off and that he was taken here. The question is ‘why him’ and why here?”

  “The place is quite normal. It is away from everything and as discreet as possible.

  Did this kidnapping have any connection with the murder of the Rambouillets?” Rachel wondered. “And if so, what was the purpose?

  Back at the station, Rachel was upset. The building had been thoroughly searched. It was clear that there was no one. In any case, there was nobody left. She hoped the lab would offer her something to work on. For example, DNA on abandoned beer cans.

  She took stock of the stuff in order to relate the clues which they had gathered.

  “What’s wrong with all this?”she ranted.

  She wondered again about the contents of Annabelle’s purse. Why was there that necklace stowed away loose in the tote? She took a picture before putting it back. Annabelle was a careful person. Other questions still surfaced. Coul
d Annabelle justify herself? She had asked her colleagues to do some research. Were they fake or real stones? Like the paintings at the Rambouillets’s. What was the truth or falsehood in this case?

  Back at her desk, she took the day’s newspaper and read the headlines, as if an idea was going to draw her attention. This time, there was only a snag on the case. The murders were no longer making headlines. That was a good thing. When the press was involved in certain inquiries, there was necessarily no entente cordiale.

  “But precisely!” Rachel said putting down the newspaper. “And if...

  She stopped and began to reflect on the implications of her hypothesis. To think of it, it held water. She informed Jean-François Millet that she was returning to talk with Annabelle.

  The girl was sleeping lightly in her room. She straightened up when she knocked at the door. Rachel read the panic in her eyes. Was it because of her presence or the girl’s concern for her neighbor?

  “So? You found him?”

  “No, I’m sorry.”

  “How’s that, no!”

  She paused, with her eyes widening with terror or annoyance... She fidgeted.

  “I swear he was there, somewhere. You must have looked bad. I... I’ll go myself. ”

  She had already thrown her legs at the foot of the bed. Rachel intervened.

  “I never claimed he was never there. Just that he was not there when we arrived.”

  The detective said that with a funny voice. Annabelle noticed it.

  “He was gone? What do you want to say? He’s alive, isn’t he?”

  “I can’t hide from you that we are worried,” the police officer admitted. “We found blood on the floor.”

  Rachel took care not to say too much. At least for the moment, nothing could determine whether it was Grégoire Caron’s blood. Results of the analysis would not come that soon. Was the quantity deadly, only the scientist could do this kind of comparison.

  “I should have called you as soon as I saw this pick-up go. But I thought... I thought I could follow it. You see, there was Grégoire’s car in the street. Perhaps, I could have saved him if I’d not been stupid.

  “You could have been killed,” Rachel said rather harshly. “Mademoiselle Rambouillet, do you have any idea of what led this hooded man to attack Grégoire? Did Grégoire owe anyone money or so...?”

  Chapter 23

  Annabelle was deep in thought. And her forehead was wrinkled under the effort.

  “No... I do not see. Grégoire is not a player. Finally, he was not. He may have changed. We lost sight of each other since I started living in Toronto.”

  This question reminded her of the unpaid bills she had inadvertently seen at her friend’s house. She had no intention of talking to the police. It was not their business. Neither was it hers. Unless Grégoire was really in need. The detective continued her questioning. Annabelle had to concentrate in order not to lose her trend.

  “Do you live permanently in Toronto?”

  “Yes. My boyfriend is from there.”

  “Grégoire had to find it difficult to know you so far, you who were close in the past.”

  “It’s life.”

  Rachel thought she was cold now. The contrast was striking between the sincere anxiety she had shown earlier in the face of Grégoire’s abduction.

  “Would Jonathan be jealous of your neighbor?”

  Annabelle had a problem with that. Why did she want to know that?

  “What does it have to do here?” she was losing patience.

  “Would your boyfriend have wanted Grégoire Caron harmed?”

  “It’s terrible. No. Then I would have made that out anyway.”

  “Are you sure, Mademoiselle Rambouillet? Your friend is rather huge and athletic...”

  The detective found that one of the alerts could match. Annabelle curled up on herself. She had obviously not thought of this possibility. Rachel could almost read the path her thoughts and denials were taking. Finally, after long minutes of dithering, she turned her attention back to Rachel.

  “That’s impossible, isn’t it?”

  “We do not know, mademoiselle. The man in the hood, what do you think was his height?”

  “About like Jonathan... Well, I think so. And his body could coincide, it is true. But... No, I do not believe it, she resumed suddenly. He would never do that. That does not make any sense.”

  “I ask you again, are you sure of that?”

  “Why would he want to hurt Grégoire? He knows I do not have a soft spot for Grégoire.”

  “Jealousy leads to many errors. We have files filled with sordid stories of this sort.”

  “It is true that he does not like much when I speak of Grégoire,” Annabelle agreed and confessed. “I spent the afternoon with him.”

  “With Grégoire? ”

  “Yes. And the evening too,” Annabelle revealed, suddenly lowering her voice.

  “What is it, Annabelle ? ”

  With her eyes distraught, the young woman seemed to be seeking a way out of herself.

  “I went back to the hotel. It was about 11 p.m. Jonathan was already asleep.”

  “He knew you were at Grégoire’s, I suppose.”

  “Yes... It was he who dropped me off.”

  “How did he react to your request to stay with your childhood friend?”

  “Not very well. He wanted to go back to Toronto.”

  “And you succeeded in making him change his mind? ”

  “I told him I needed him. And it is true,” Annabelle insisted with sudden rebellion.

  “Why do I feel that something is missing from your story? That you have not told us everything?”

  “Listen, you tire me with your questions. First, I learned that my parents were murdered. Then they took my friend away and smashed my skull. I could have died too. ”

  Rachel shook her head without saying a word. She contented herself with waiting until the anger of the young woman unfolds and subsides a little. That was what finally happened. More slowly and wearily, Annabelle went on:

  “You’re discrediting my boyfriend. How would you react? Eh, let me ask you for once... Do you have someone in your life? You can understand, no...”

  The detective chose not to respond to this kind of anger. It never brought anything good.

  “I also looked at an element that could justify Grégoire’s abduction.”

  It was Annabelle’s turn to remain silent. Rachel continued on her idea:

  “There was a mistake in the paper. It was mentioned that Grégoire was the son of the Rambouillets.”

  “It’s absurd.”

  Annabelle relaxed, adding even a smile, surprised by this remark.

  “I’m not here to debate whether he is or not. Just mention that this is a track.”

  “What track?

  “That you were the target,” Rachel Toury said forcefully.

  Annabelle opened her mouth to protest, but the detective pulled the grass from under her feet.

  “I think you are hiding things from us, Mademoiselle Rambouillet. I would like you to trust me. ”

  “And you think my parents’ murderer would want to... get some information from me?”

  “Something like that, indeed.”

  “But I know nothing!”

  “Really?”

  Annabelle went off to cry. Rachel resented putting her in this condition. Was she wrong? Did she simulate all that?

  “Can I call a nurse to give you a sedative?” she said softly.

  “After accusing me of everything, you want to make amends?” Annabelle spurted out in rage.

  “My job requires me to explore dark areas. Often relatives find themselves in the line of investigation.”

  “It’s not my fault. I assure you.”

  “What is it then? What’s your past... a shoddy certificate, a spiral of lies?”

  Annabelle tipped at the comment. She watched the detective.

  “Why do you say that, a shoddy certi
ficate?”

  “You did not train as a lawyer, did you? Your certificate is fake.”

  “How did you understand?” Annabelle muttered.

  She did not deny, Rachel noted. Then she mentioned the photo seen at the Rambouillets’.

  “It is mounted, the photo of you in a graduate outfit. You made a mistake on the colors. They do not correspond to the codes of law. ”

  There was a pause, too long to be honest. Then the truth came out.

  “That is true. I did not know how to tell my parents. I continued to enjoy their generosity ... I was looking for means of survival, maybe or I was a coward, I don’t know!”

  She still confided in this aspect. On her enormous lie. With care, Rachel spoke of Madame Rambouillet.

  “She never had a child. Did you know that she was not your biological mother?”

  This time the young woman took her head in her hands. It was a shock or she played comedy with mastery.

  “I want you to talk to our criminal psychologist, Peggy Fitzgerald,” Rachel said.

  It was clear that Annabelle needed to speak, to express her feelings following this brutal loss. And then, other things of course.

  “I sometimes wondered about my mother, I mean,” she said in a monotone voice. “But I thought it was silly.”

  “Why?”

  “We did not have many things in common. She had a different character.”

  “It’s often like that in families,” Rachel snapped.

  “My parents loved me, there’s no doubt about that.”

  “Did you research that?”

  Maybe the problem came from there. Research that would have led to the Rambouillets. To secrets, perhaps?

  “No. I did not care. It was just ideas in the air. Silly sensations, most of the time...unfounded.”

  “Some parents refuse to say that their child was adopted. Maybe your parents were just some of those.”

  Annabelle nodded at length. She was digesting information, with her fingers twisted on the hospital blanket. She grabbed a glass of water on the bedside table. Then she confronted Detective Toury’s green eyes.

  “It’s true that I lied to you... But that does not make me a bad person. My parents were good people. Despite that my mother did not give birth to me. They raised me well. I was the one who sometimes behaved badly. In their memory, those who killed them must be brought to book. And Grégoire, you gonna find him, right?”