The Circle

by Bernard Minier

  ‘In here.’

  Standing in the rain, Lacaze gazed at the entrance to the new courts of law. It was already several minutes past eight, and he wondered if the man he was looking for would still be in his office.

  The new law courts had opened a few months earlier. The architects had preserved the original maze of old buildings and courtyards around the rue des Fleurs, but they had extended the listed building with very modern additions, an artificial eloquence of glass, brick, concrete and steel. Lacaze thought the concept reflected, unintentionally, the state of justice in this country: an ultramodern facade and entrance hall masking the dilapidation and lack of funds behind it.

  An attempt at modernisation that was doomed to fail.

  He had to empty his pockets onto a little table before going through the metal detector. After that, he walked across a lobby dominated by a lofty glass ceiling, and turned left, passing the doors that led to the courtrooms. Just beyond them a woman was standing. He needed a badge to go further and he didn’t have one.

  ‘Thank you for waiting for me,’ he said.

  ‘Are you sure he’ll still be there?’ asked the woman, scanning her badge and pushing open the bulletproof door.

  ‘I was told he worked late.’

  ‘Naturally you won’t tell him I’m the one who let you in.’

  ‘Don’t worry.’

  Servaz heard the door to his room open and for a moment, he was truly apprehensive.

  ‘Good God,’ came Cathy d’Humières’ powerful voice. ‘How do you manage it, constantly getting yourself in these situations?’

  ‘It’s not as bad as it looks,’ he smiled, relieved.

  ‘I know. I’ve just seen the doctors. If you could see yourself, Martin. You look like that Italian actor in that film from the sixties … Oedipus Rex …’

  His smile turned to a grin and he felt his cheeks pulling on the large bandage wrapped around his temples and forehead.

  ‘Coffee, boss?’ said another voice, and he recognised his assistant.

  He held out his hand and Espérandieu pressed a warm coffee into it.

  ‘I thought visits weren’t allowed after eight p.m.,’ he said. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘8.17,’ said Vincent. ‘Special dispensation.’

  ‘I won’t stay long,’ said the prosecutor. ‘You have to get some rest. Are you sure the coffee is a good idea? I gather they just gave you a sedative.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  He had wanted to refuse, but the nurse left him no choice. He didn’t need to see her to understand that she wasn’t joking. The coffee was remarkably bad, but his throat was dry; he would have drunk anything.

  ‘Martin, I’m here as a friend. This investigation is under the exclusive jurisdiction of the county court in Auch, but between you and me, Lieutenant Espérandieu explained what’s going on. If I’ve got it right, you think the same murderer killed all those people over the last few years because of the coach accident. And that would be the motive?’

  He nodded. They were so close … That was where they had to look: the Circle, the accident, the death of the fire chief and of the coach driver … It was right there. But deep down, he still had doubts. It had come to him while they were on their way to the lake and getting ready to dive. There was something wrong. A piece of the puzzle that didn’t fit with any of the others. Except that he couldn’t put his finger on it, and his headache didn’t help matters.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, to avoid answering. ‘I’ve got a horrible headache.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Cathy d’Humières apologetically. ‘We’ll talk about all this when you feel better. In the meantime, we’ve had no sign of Hirtmann,’ she said, changing the subject. ‘There ought to be an agent outside your door.’

  He shuddered. Apparently, everyone wanted him guarded.

  ‘It’s pointless. No one knows I’m here, other than the emergency team, and a few gendarmes.’

  ‘Yes. Well. Hirtmann has popped up more than once, after all. I don’t like it, Martin. I don’t like it one bit.’

  ‘I have a buzzer next to my bed, if need be.’

  ‘I’ll stay for a while,’ interrupted Espérandieu. ‘Just in case.’

  ‘Fine. If you’re up and about tomorrow, we’ll go over everything in detail. We’ll give you a white cane if we have to,’ she said, opening the door to his room.

  He made an evasive little gesture with his hand.

  ‘Goodnight, Martin.’

  ‘You’re not actually going to spend the night here, are you?’ he asked Vincent when the door had closed.

  He heard the scraping of a chair being moved.

  ‘Would you rather have a nurse? In any case, in your state, you wouldn’t even know what she looked like.’

  Ziegler closed the folder. Zlatan Jovanovich was staring at her from the other side of the desk. There was a gleam in his eyes that hadn’t been there earlier. He had had plenty of time to think while she was reading. Did he really believe she would leave and draw a line under everything he had done? Maybe he was thinking that she hadn’t shown him any official documents. Suddenly she was on her guard.

  ‘I’ll be taking this with me,’ she said, pointing to the folder.

  He merely stared at her. She stood up. He did likewise. She looked at his hands hanging down next to his body. Drissa Kanté was right: he must weigh at least twenty stone. He walked slowly around the desk. She stayed still, waiting for him to go ahead of her, ready to dodge if he jumped her. He did nothing of the sort, however. He merely walked down the dark corridor. As she followed him, staring at his wide back, she put one hand in the pocket of her jacket where she kept her weapon, when all of a sudden he disappeared through an open door on the right. She didn’t have time to react. She could see the darkness beyond the door. She grabbed her gun, removed the safety catch, and chambered a round.

  ‘Jovanovic! Don’t be stupid! Show yourself!’

  She had her gun ready now. She stared at the dark doorway, less than a metre away. She froze. She didn’t want to go any further. She didn’t want twenty stone worth of flesh to burst out of the shadow, his fists coming down on her like sledgehammers.

  ‘Come out of there right now, for fuck’s sake! I won’t hesitate to shoot, Zlatan!’

  Nothing. Jesus Christ! Think! He was probably just around the corner, waiting in ambush, with a club or even a gun. She held her weapon in both hands, as she’d been taught. She took the top hand from her grip and moved it slowly towards the pocket containing her iPhone.

  Suddenly she heard a click from the other side of the room: the light went out and the apartment was plunged into darkness. A glow of lightning briefly illuminated the corridor, followed by a boom of thunder outside, and then everything returned to darkness. The only source of light were the street lamps and the neon of a café downstairs. The rain was streaming down the windows, drawing shadows that slid across the floor like black snakes. She could feel her nervousness growing. From the start, she had known she was dealing with someone experienced. She had no idea what this guy had done before becoming a private detective, but she was sure he knew all the tricks of the trade. She thought of what Zuzka would say in such circumstances: ‘Not looking good.’

  Judge Sartet was about to lock the door to his office when the footsteps in the corridor caught his attention.

  ‘How did you get in here?’

  ‘Have you forgotten I’m an MP?’ replied the visitor.

  ‘These law courts are a complete sieve. I don’t think we had an appointment. And my day is over. To the best of my knowledge your immunity has been withdrawn, Monsieur Lacaze,’ he added. ‘So don’t worry, I will listen to you when the time comes: I haven’t finished with you.’

  ‘This won’t take long.’

  The judge had difficulty hiding his exasperation. All the same, these politicians. They thought they were above the law, they went on about how they were serving the country or the state but in fact they were only servi
ng themselves.

  ‘What do you want?’ he asked, not even trying to be polite. ‘I don’t have time for games.’

  ‘I want to confess.’

  Thunder and lightning rattled the windows. The phone vibrated at the same time and he gave a violent start. Servaz stuck out his hand, groping to find his mobile on the night table, but Espérandieu was quicker.

  ‘No, I’m his assistant. Yes, he’s right here. Yes, I’ll pass you over.’

  Vincent put the phone in his hand and went out into the corridor.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Martin? Where are you?’

  Marianne’s voice.

  ‘In hospital.’

  ‘In hospital?’ She seemed genuinely frightened. ‘What happened?’

  He told her.

  ‘Oh, my God! Do you want me to come and see you?’

  ‘No more visits as of eight o’clock,’ he replied. ‘Tomorrow, if you like. Are you alone?’ he added.

  ‘Yes, why?’

  ‘Lock your door and close your shutters. And don’t let anyone in, all right?’

  ‘Martin, you’re frightening me.’

  I’m afraid, too, he almost answered. I’m scared shitless. Get out of there. Don’t stay alone in that empty house. Go and sleep somewhere else until we find that fucking maniac …

  ‘You have no reason to be afraid,’ he said. ‘But still, do as I said.’

  ‘I heard from the prosecutor’s office,’ she told him. ‘Hugo gets out tomorrow. He was weeping when I spoke to him. I hope this experience won’t have …’

  She didn’t finish her sentence. He could sense her relief, her joy and her fear, all at the same time.

  ‘What do you say to a celebration, the three of us?’

  ‘Marianne, don’t you think that … that it’s a bit premature? After all, I’m also the cop who locked him up.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right.’ He could hear her disappointment. ‘Later, then.’

  He hesitated.

  ‘This dinner … does that mean that …?’

  ‘The past is the past, Martin. But “future” is a fine word too, don’t you think? Do you remember that language we invented? Just the two of us?’

  Of course he remembered. He gulped. Felt his eyes misting over. It was probably the effect of the medication, all this emotion …

  ‘Yes … yes … of course,’ he answered, his throat tight. ‘How could I have—’

  ‘Guldendreams, Martin,’ said the voice on the other end of the line. ‘Look after yourself, please. I … We’ll talk soon.’

  Five minutes later his mobile vibrated again. Again, Espérandieu answered before passing him the phone.

  ‘Commandant Servaz?’

  He immediately recognised the young voice. Even though the tone was totally different from the last time he had heard it.

  ‘My mother just called. They’ve told me I’ll be released first thing tomorrow morning, and they’ve dropped all the charges against me.’

  Servaz could hear the usual prison sounds behind the voice, even at this time of the evening.

  ‘I wanted to thank you.’

  He felt himself blushing. He had just done his job. But Hugo seemed very moved.

  ‘Uh … You did a great job,’ he said. ‘I know how much I owe you.’

  ‘The investigation isn’t over,’ Servaz hastened to point out.

  ‘Yes, I know, you have another lead, I’ve heard … the coach accident?’

  ‘You were there, too, Hugo. I’d like us to talk about it. As soon as you have the strength, of course. I know it’s not easy, that it’s not a pleasant memory. But I need you to tell me everything that happened that night.’

  ‘Of course. I understand. Do you think the murderer might be one of the survivors?’

  ‘Or the parent of one of the victims,’ said Servaz. ‘We found out …’ He hesitated. ‘We found out that the coach driver was also murdered. Just like Claire and Elvis Elmaz, and probably the fire chief. It can’t be a coincidence. We’re very close.’

  ‘Gosh,’ murmured Hugo. ‘I might even know him …’

  ‘Yes, you might.’

  ‘I don’t want to disturb you any longer. You should rest. Just remember I’ll be eternally grateful for what you did. Goodnight, Martin.’

  Servaz put the phone down on the night table. He felt strangely moved.

  ‘If I understand correctly,’ said the judge, stunned, his fingers linked beneath his chin, ‘you were in Paris, in the company of the likely future presidential candidate for the opposition on the evening Claire Diemar was killed.’

  The magistrate was no longer in the slightest hurry to go home.

  Paul Lacaze nodded. ‘That’s right. That night I was on the motorway. My chauffeur can confirm it.’

  ‘And, naturally, there are other people besides him who could confirm it, if need be? This member of the opposition, for example? Or someone in his immediate entourage?’

  ‘If it becomes absolutely necessary. But I hope it won’t.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’

  Lacaze gave a sad smile. The building had emptied and the corridors were silent. They looked like two conspirators. Which, ultimately, is what they were.

  ‘You do realise that if this gets out, my political career will be over. And you know as well as I do that there is no secrecy in this country, that everything always ends up in the papers. So you see that it was extremely difficult for me to talk about it here or at the police station.’

  Sartet clenched his jaw. He didn’t like it when someone questioned the integrity of representatives of the law.

  ‘But by running the risk of being indicted, you also put your career in jeopardy.’

  ‘I didn’t have time. I had to react, and choose between the two evils. Obviously, I couldn’t know that my meeting would be on the same night as … as what happened. And that’s why you have to find the culprit as quickly as possible, your Honour. Because that way I’ll be cleared, and those who suggested I might be guilty will be discredited, and I’ll be able to resume my place as the politician of integrity whom others sought to destroy.’

  ‘But why have you told me all this now?’

  ‘Because it’s my understanding that you have another lead … this business with the accident …’

  The judge frowned. Lacaze was clearly well informed.

  ‘And?’

  ‘That means it might not be necessary to keep a record of this informal meeting we’ve had. And I don’t see any clerks about,’ said Lacaze.

  Sartet in turn gave a vague smile. ‘Hence the late hour of your visit …’

  ‘I trust you implicitly, your Honour,’ insisted Lacaze. ‘But only you. I don’t trust the people around you nearly as much.’

  Sartet smiled at this rather vulgar flattery but it did have an effect. He was equally flattered to find himself – a minor examining magistrate – in the middle of what might be termed an Affair of State.

  ‘Your relationship with Diemar has begun to filter into the press,’ he pointed out. ‘That could also be harmful to your career. Particularly given your wife’s condition.’

  Lacaze’s brow creased, but he banished the argument with one hand.

  ‘It’ll be far less harmful, however, than murder or collusion with the opposition,’ he replied. ‘And the press will get its hands on the letter I wrote to Claire not long before her death. It says that I had decided to break off our relationship to devote myself entirely to my wife. I should point out that I really did write this letter. It’s perfectly genuine. I just hadn’t planned to make it public.’

  Sartet shot him a look of disgust mingled with admiration.

  ‘Just tell me one thing. The reason for this high-risk meeting with the opposition – was it to imitate Chirac’s move in 1981? You come to an understanding with the probable opposition candidate for the presidency, and you ensure that a great many votes from your party will go to him in the second round. That way, five ye
ars later, you stand against him.’

  ‘It’s no longer 1981,’ corrected Lacaze. ‘The people in my party won’t vote for the opposition unless – perhaps – his economic policies are reasonable and he has already proved himself elsewhere. And if they disapprove of the policies of our current president. I’m afraid he has no chance to be re-elected.’

  ‘This assumes, all the same, that the person you met last Friday will definitely be selected as the candidate,’ said the magistrate, who seemed to be enjoying himself more and more. ‘Two years from now …’

  Lacaze smiled back at him.

  ‘That’s a risk I can take.’

  There was a knock at the door. Servaz turned his head in that direction. He could hear Vincent moving on his chair.

  ‘Oh, excuse me,’ said a young man’s voice. ‘I came to see if he was asleep.’

  ‘No problem,’ said Espérandieu.

  The door closed again. Espérandieu went back across the room and the chair creaked when he sat down. There was less noise now in the corridors.

  ‘Who was that?’

  ‘A nurse, or an intern …’

  ‘Go home,’ he said.

  ‘No, it’s fine, I can stay.’

  ‘Who’s looking after Margot?’

  ‘Samira and Pujol. And two gendarmes.’

  ‘Go and join them. You’ll be more useful there.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘If Hirtmann wants to get at me, it’s Margot he’ll attack.’ His voice quivered. ‘He doesn’t even know I’m here. Besides, he would rather attack a woman. I’m worried, Vincent. Worried about Margot. I’ll feel easier if you’re there with Samira.’

  ‘And the person who fired at you, have you thought about them?’

  ‘Same thing. They don’t know I’m here. And shooting someone at night in the middle of the woods is not the same as doing it in a hospital.’

  He could tell his assistant was thinking.

  ‘All right. You can count on me. I won’t let Margot out of my sight.’

  Espérandieu took Servaz’s hand and put his mobile phone in it.

  ‘Just in case,’ he said.

  ‘Okay. Get going. Tell me when you get there. And thanks.’