The Bastard is Dead

by D'arcy Kavanagh

  Once it was out of sight, he decided to go and have a word with André Rousseau. He expected his friend would have some comments about Léon Petit.

  And he did.

  “I thought I’d hear from you about our friend Léon,” Andre said as soon as Burke walked into his shop.

  Burke looked around. No customers.

  “Were you surprised?” Burke asked.

  “After all you said before, I was only a little surprised,” Rousseau said. “This is all a whirlwind adventure you’ve involved me in, Paul.”

  “It’s definitely been strange,” Burke agreed.

  “And now I need another mechanic,” Rousseau said. “It will be tough to get one as skilled as Petit. Hopefully, though, the next one won’t be a murderer.”

  “Too bad about his mother,” Burke said.

  Rousseau didn’t know that part, and so Burke explained. At the end, Rousseau shook his head.

  “They’re very close,” he said.

  “It seems that way,” Burke agreed.

  They talked a few more minutes, and then Burke turned to leave.

  As he got to the door, André had a final thought: “I can see Léon killing McManus, but I’m surprised he murdered Den Weent, especially in that way. I guess you just never know.”

  Suddenly, Burke realized what it was that was bugging him.

  Instead of heading home, Burke went to Nice police headquarters. He wanted to talk with Fortin.

  After parking, he was going up the stairs to the station when Fortin and Côté came out.

  “I was coming to talk to you,” Burke said, stopping in front of the two detectives.

  “Ah, Monsieur Burke once again,” Fortin said.

  Burke figured he wouldn’t waste time. “Did you ever find the knife Léon Petit used to kill Mark Den Weent?”

  Fortin seemed surprised by the question. “Since you aided us somewhat in our investigation, I will tell you that Léon told us he threw the knife into a garbage bin a few blocks away. The knife wasn’t found because it was taken to the garbage site and impossible to find. Besides, it was no longer necessary since he had confessed.”

  “Second question, did you confirm the whereabouts of Karin Petit when Mark Den Weent was being killed?” Burke asked.

  “What are you getting at, Burke?” Fortin said, dropping the formality.

  “Was she in the area?”

  Fortin’s pause told Burke the detectives hadn’t gone in that direction. Or at least not very far.

  “Do you know something we should know?” Côté asked.

  Burke shrugged. “No, I’m just wondering about some things.”

  Fortin and Côté exchanged a glance.

  “We have to be somewhere now, but we need to talk again—and soon,” Fortin said.

  Burke agreed, then watched the two detectives stride away.

  It was time to head home.

  After parking his car, he was strolling to his apartment when Jean called his name and motioned him to come over to his shop.

  “You know how we’ve been talking about Madame Marois having some, you know, mental troubles?” Jean said.

  Burke nodded.

  “Well, this morning, she drove her car into that stone wall over there,” Jean said.

  “Is she all right?” Burke asked, noticing a pile of stones knocked out of the wall.

  “Yes, she’s fine. Just shaken up,” Jean said. “I think she got distracted.”

  “Was she going too fast?”

  “I saw her, and she was going very slow, just enough to crumple her front right side. She must have been thinking about something else.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “I helped her make a report to the police and then took her home. She’s resting now.”

  “It was lucky she was going slow,” Burke said. “Is Plato OK?”

  “I expect so,” Jean said. “He wasn’t with her.”

  Plato missing a car ride? Burke was surprised.

  “Did she say where she was going?” Burke asked.

  “Shopping in Nice,” Jean said. “I think she’s reached a time when she shouldn’t be driving.”

  Burke agreed.

  “Too bad she’s alone,” Jean said. “Madame needs help.”

  Burke nodded. Madame Marois was struggling. Yet he couldn’t stop thinking there was something about the old woman that he was missing.

  A FEW MINUTES LATER, Burke knocked on the old woman’s front door. He wanted to check how she was doing. He half expected she’d shut the door in his face or accuse him of meddling, but he was curious.

  He could see the peephole being filled. She was looking to see who was visiting her.

  The door opened.

  “Monsieur?” she asked in a wispy voice.

  Her hands quivered slightly as she held the door handle.

  He said he wanted to check if she was all right.

  “I see my incident has become village news,” she said, waving a finger at him.

  “Not at all,” Burke replied. “Jean told me because he saw it happen. He’s the only one.”

  The old woman shook her head. “He’s a nosy man. He did help me, but he should keep what happened to himself.”

  Burke looked down. Plato was by his mistress’s feet, tail wagging, ears perked up. Burke bent and scratched the dog’s head. Plato seemed to grin with appreciation.

  “Jean is only concerned, Madame,” Burke said, standing back up.

  Madame shook her head once again, still agitated. “Well, he doesn’t need to be. I had the sun in my eyes, and that’s all.”

  “I’m glad you’re doing well, Madame,” Burke said.

  “Quite well, monsieur,” she said. “Thank you for your concern, but you can rest assured that I can manage.”

  And then with a nod, she nudged Plato back into the house and closed the door, leaving Burke standing there like a rebuffed door-to-door salesman.

  Burke wasn’t bothered, though. He returned home and called Antoine in Antibes.

  The paper’s tech wizard was busy wrapping up some postings for the paper’s internet site, but would be available in a few minutes. Burke arranged to call back.

  While he waited, Burke went online to read the latest reports about Vachon and the investigation. The media were spending a lot of effort analyzing the new FP Developments CEO and how the stock markets were reacting, not just in France, but elsewhere on the continent and even overseas. It seemed Vachon’s successor was highly regarded, but the markets were reflecting some unease.

  When Antoine called, Burke wasted no time.

  “I’d like you to check into some video for me,” he said.

  “Video?”

  “Yes. Are you available to meet in person for a few minutes? It would be easier,” Burke said. “It’s important, too, and might help you and your newspaper. I don’t want to say anything more right now.”

  There was a pause. Antoine was obviously piqued by Burke’s secrecy. He asked when Burke wanted to get together.

  Burke said sooner was better, and to his surprise, Antoine agreed. They’d decided to meet at a café in Antibes in a half hour.

  Antoine was nursing a cassis when Burke showed up precisely on time. They shook hands.

  “So, what’s this cloak-and-dagger routine about?” Antoine asked.

  Burke looked around. There was no one near who could hear them.

  “I’m wondering if you’d like to try doing a hack?” Burke said.

  “A hack? Into what? What are you talking about?”

  “The city of Nice has video cameras posted in several spots,” Burke said. “I expect the city’s tech department keeps those video records somewhere. That’s what I’m interested in.”

  Antoine leaned forward. “For what reason?”

  “I want to look at the video where Vachon was hit and killed,” Burke said.

  “The police have probably studied that tape many times,” Antoine said. “If there’s anything on that ta
pe that’s valuable, they’d have it.”

  “I know, but I want to check something. I want to check the tape from not just that day, but two or three days before.”

  “It’s a worthless exercise,” Antoine said, finishing his cassis and motioning to the server for another.

  “Probably, but, hypothetically, could you do it?” Burke said.

  Antoine thought about the question. Finally, he nodded. “I think I could. The city of Nice’s security measures are second-rate. They’ve been hacked a few times and still haven’t done much to improve their security.”

  Burke said, “Good.”

  “But it’s serious business to hack into a city’s database, Paul. I mean, if we get caught, we could be heavily fined or, worse, go to jail.”

  “Are you good enough to avoid getting caught?”

  Antoine grinned. “Between us, I’m very good. I doubt they’d catch me. But why take such a risk?”

  “Because of the payoff,” said Burke. “We might get some information that would solve the Vachon case. That would be big news.”

  Antoine looked skeptical but then nodded. “That would make François very happy. He’d be even more full of himself.”

  “And maybe he’d give you a raise.”

  Antoine shrugged. “You’re baiting me, but that’s OK. I like the idea, and if it gets me a raise, all the better. Besides, I’d like to know what happened to Vachon, too. If we could find out who did it, I’d send that person some flowers.”

  They agreed to meet later at Antoine’s place because it would be safer and because Antoine had a powerful computer at home.

  After leaving, Burke went to Claude’s café. Hélène was there, working with the staff to get the tables prepared for the dinner crowd. She was her usual pleasant, friendly self, but Burke picked up on a little more decisiveness in her suggestions to the other servers and even to the chef. She was asserting herself as the new owner, and the staff seemed happy to respond. Sometimes, it seemed Claude had been too busy visiting to ensure the café ran smoothly.

  They chatted for a couple of minutes and then decided they’d get together the following day, since Hélène would be closing the café that night and Paul would be working with Antoine for what could be an extended period of time.

  After a small salade Niçoise at home, Paul headed out to Antoine’s. It took a while to find the address since it was tucked up a hill, in a cul-de-sac overlooking Antibes. The exterior of the small house was prettily painted in sea blue and pastel yellow. Flowerpots rich with color stood on the terrace. Burke wasn’t sure what he had expected, but this handsome, manicured house was definitely a surprise.

  Burke rang the doorbell, and a foghorn inside sounded. This was getting stranger by the second.

  The door opened, and there was Antoine, dressed in blue linen pants and an orange, long-sleeved linen shirt. The big man filled the doorway.

  “Enter and let the games begin,” Antoine said, stepping back and motioning for Burke to step forward.

  The living room featured a black leather couch, a huge glass coffee table with a stone sculpture of a black elephant in the middle, and two black chairs that looked like they’d only be sturdy enough for a child, let alone a mountain of a man like Antoine. On the walls were two small Impressionist paintings.

  “My tastes are eclectic,” Antoine said, noting how Burke gawked at the room.

  Antoine led Burke down a short hallway and into a partially darkened room. It felt as though he’d stepped into some futuristic vision of an office. There were two computers on two different, plexiglass desks, which stood on black tile floor that contrasted dramatically with the white walls. The monitors were enormous, and the definition on the screen savers—featuring more elephants—was astonishing; Burke had never seen such detail. On one wall was an enormous plasma TV screen. An oversized metal chair on rollers was in the middle of the room, almost as if awaiting the captain of a starship. Two tiny gunmetal lamps on extended rods stood in opposite corners and were dimmed to produce a minimum amount of light.

  Burke noticed there was not a single sheet of paper in the room, nor a pen or pencil.

  “This is my hideaway from the world—and my way to connect with the rest of the world at the same time,” Antoine said.

  “It’s incredible,” Burke said.

  “I’ll get you a chair,” Antoine said.

  He returned with a small black chair that he placed beside the large chair. Then he sat and rolled toward the nearest computer, his fingers attacking the keyboard with a speed that once again stunned Burke.

  “I’ve already done some work,” Antoine said. “I’ve been into the city system and found the path to the video security site. It was remarkably easy, even with their new security measures. Their technicians, or whoever designed it, should be embarrassed. It was like it was designed by children. Nevertheless, I’ve taken extra precautions to ensure there will be no footprint leading back to me.” He paused. “I mean, to us.”

  He spent a few minutes doing tasks that left Burke totally perplexed, and then suddenly, a dimly lit street showed up on the screen.

  “This is from the night that Vachon and his bodyguard died, and this is the street where it happened,” Antoine said, pointing to the paused scene. “The image is dark because the street isn’t lit well and because the city’s videocams are of questionable quality. The one showing this view is at least four hundred meters away.”

  Most of the vehicles were dark, and it was impossible to read a license plate. The brightest lights came from two nearby cafés, but they weren’t enough to provide clarity to the two individuals about to walk onto the street.

  “Here’s the scene from a camera up the street a bit,” Antoine said.

  The scene switched angles, but the view didn’t improve. In fact, it was darker and blurrier.

  “No wonder the police have had trouble figuring out what happened,” Antoine said. “I can enlarge the view, but watch what happens.”

  He toggled back to the first street scene and enlarged the section with the two men. Burke thought one of them could have been Vachon, but it could also have been someone’s Uncle Jacques.

  “So, are you saying this is Vachon and his bodyguard?” Burke asked.

  “Watch.”

  The scene switched back to full view, and Antoine let the video run. Just as the two men got a third of the way onto the street, a black sedan tore around a corner and drove right into the two, sending one man flying forward and the other backward.

  “Keep watching,” Antoine said, excitement in his voice.

  Then a second vehicle—another dark sedan—roared onto the scene, almost colliding with the first vehicle. The driver, obviously surprised, swerved to avoid contact.

  The second car hopped up, then down.

  Burke gasped.

  The second vehicle had rolled over the man who had fallen forward, crushing him in the midriff. It was brutal.

  The first vehicle sped away. The second car slowed for a moment, and then the motorist floored it, and it, too, disappeared.

  Left behind on the street were two bodies.

  Vachon and his minder.

  BURKE POINTED AT THE screen and asked if it was possible to identify the two license plates.

  By way of answering, Antoine went back, captured the first car just before it struck the leading walker and then enlarged the rear of the vehicle. The license plate appeared like it had been blacked out. There was no possible way to see the numbering.

  Antoine ran the video ahead a bit and did the same to the second car. The numbering hadn’t been blacked out, but the plate was clearly dirty, and Burke saw there was no way to distinguish anything more than a single figure.

  “Even if the numbers weren’t covered in muck, it would be difficult to read the plate from this distance,” Antoine said. “There is software that can work on scenes that lack appropriate pixels, building the image from what is likely, but not in this case. So, no plate numb
ers.”

  Antoine sat back and pointed at the screen.

  “If I was to bet, I’d say the first vehicle had its numbers blacked out on purpose, but the second car’s plate numbers were dirty by accident,” he said.

  Burke agreed with Antoine. He had thought the same.

  Antoine leaned back in his captain’s chair.

  “So maybe the first driver did what he wanted to do, while the second one got caught in a bad circumstance, then got frightened and drove off after running over Vachon or his minder,” Antoine said.

  “It seems likely,” Burke said. “Let’s look at it again in slow motion.”

  They spent ten minutes watching the cars move toward and then strike the two pedestrians. Nothing new showed up.

  Burke asked if there was any way to see where the first black car had come from. Antoine reversed the video slightly and enlarged the bottom left corner where the first vehicle initially appeared. The front half of the car showed up, but from what direction was still unclear.

  “Can we see if there’s a street view on Google for that area?” Burke asked.

  “It will only show the view taken during some day well before the accident,” Antoine protested.

  “I understand, but let’s try anyway.”

  Antoine went to the other computer and pulled up a street scene of the corner where the first sedan had appeared.

  “That’s a fairly sharp turn,” Burke said.

  Antoine nodded.

  “You’d have to know how to handle a vehicle to carry some speed through the turn,” Burke said.

  “I expect so.”

  Burke asked Antoine to focus on the buildings on the left side of the curving road.

  “Stop it there,” said Burke, pointing at the screen. He leaned forward. “Can you twist the angle to our right?” he asked.

  Antoine managed that in a couple of seconds.

  Burke moved even closer. Then he pointed.

  “Look through the gap between those two buildings. You can see the café where Vachon had supper on the night he was killed,” Burke said.

  Antoine studied the scene. “Were you expecting to see that?”