The Unknown Masterpiece

by John Brooke

  23

  Preparing to Re-enter Switzerland

  PJ interpeller power may extend to what they term ‘coercion.’ If they ask and you’re not in the mood to talk, they’re allowed to physically drag you in off the street. Thus Inspector Milhau hauled Bernard (Beppi) Crerar, known in the bars as Beppi la Braguette, cuffed and cursing, into the inspector’s office. He unleashed wild, sporadic kicks and would not stop spouting loud and horrid profanities. But the brawny southerner was built for hauling. Aliette gave Bernadette all the room she needed as she wrestled Beppi into the interview chair. ‘Have a seat, mon cher.’

  ‘Fucking retarded Amazon!’

  ‘You be polite now.’

  ‘Pute!’ He spat.

  ‘Sh!…sh, sh, SH!’ A few swift whacks to the back of his greasy head, then her large hand gripped his skull like an orange and she shoved him into the chair. ‘Sit…voilà.’ Beppi sat, spewing more profanity till Bernadette finally slapped his mouth, ‘Tais-toi!…Connard!’ (Shut your mouth, asshole.) And he stopped.

  ‘Beppi.’ Aliette knew him. A brief stint as a cousin. She had used Beppi Crerar’s loud mouth as a way of drawing in a German pornographer whose wares had started to offend the deeply Calvinist Alsatian sensibility. A scrawny guy in all but one key aspect, Beppi spent his days in the gyms and his nights in the bars, making sure anyone and everyone knew about his super-sized sexual equipment and its availability. He accepted drinks and invitations home for sex with his prey, then stole from them. Then fenced his takings wherever there was a market. Beppi was marginal psychologically — this was obvious in his incessant self-promotion. One feared early-stage syphilis, or else the accumulative effects of lousy cocaine. He had served a couple of years for illegal import/export of stolen or illicit goods. He lived on the edge of trouble.

  The inspector confronted Beppi and told him directly, ‘It’s about Martin Bettelman.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So you knew him. Mm?’ Beppi’s eyes moved in a way he could not control.

  ‘Sure, I knew Marty, poor guy. Marty had some good moves the time I checked him out.’

  ‘You checked Marty out?’

  ‘More like he checked me. La braguette?’ Everyone wanted to get their teeth into Beppi.

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘Oh…well…Marty…I don’t know. Busy guy like me tends to lose track of time. This summer, for sure. Swimming party.’

  ‘Down the road? Village-Neuf by any chance?’

  ‘Somewhere…I got a drive. Kind of out of it that night.’ Adding, ‘Braguette still worked fine, no problem there.’ Beppi patted his crotch.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Under the stars. It was good.’

  ‘And the next time?’

  ‘Next time what?’

  ‘Well, if it was so wonderful…’

  Beppi was suddenly rueful. ‘My place.’

  ‘How long were you together?’

  ‘Couple of weeks.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘And then we weren’t.’ Shrugging, moving from rue to suspicion. ‘What’s the point of all this? I did not see Marty ever again after the last time I saw him. OK?’

  ‘OK. But did you go back down there looking for him?’

  Beppi couldn’t lie and knew it. ‘Yeah, I went back.’ She waited. He thought it through and told her, ‘Look, no one fucks as good as me. OK? I’d been hearing about this chicklette, been flogging his little ass around the scene. I heard Marty had it on for him. I heard he’s a total ball-breaking bitch. I was thinking I would love to run into him and settle his hash.’

  ‘R?’

  ‘Mm.’

  ‘Are you talking about hurting him?’

  ‘I’m saying I would show him who’s boss.’

  ‘Boss of what?’

  ‘B’en, boss of les braguettes!’ A man has to do what a man has to do.

  ‘Did you find him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And no Marty, either.’

  Beppi Crerar shook his head, stared out the window and crossed his arms.

  The inspector considered the power of the braguette. ‘Ever party in Basel, Beppi?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Not with Marty?’

  ‘Never.’

  The inspector thought about it, but not for long. ‘Beppi, I’d like you to repeat what you’ve just told me to our judge.’ Inspector Milhau stifled a gut laugh at the prospect. Aliette ignored it.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why? So we can get the bastard who killed poor Marty.’

  ‘Yeah. Sure…poor fucking Marty.’

  ‘Bon.’ Bernadette Milhau hauled Beppi Crerar away.

  In her memo to the Chief Magistrate, Aliette advised a search of Beppi’s place, as they might need collateral to close the deal. She noted Beppi was a good choice, at least as far as matching their selected profile went.

  ***

  Judge Richand interviewed Beppi Crerar, then called her in. ‘Highly risky,’ Gérard cautioned. ‘Hoping for any sort of subtlety with this man is wishful thinking.’

  The inspector sidestepped that obvious limitation. ‘It’s hardly the most subtle place, Gérard. He really will fit right in, believe me.’ And though she agreed Beppi was far from ideal, he was the only one they’d found with an issue directly connected to Martin Bettelman, and, a bonus, the mysterious R. Beppi would not have to be overly clever, or subtle for that matter — his talking points were part of his recent life. Without divulging Hans Grinnell’s side of it — because you never knew how Gérard Richand might use such information in a way that would obliterate Swiss trust — she pushed. ‘Everything I’ve seen points to a love affair at the nexus of a high-end art scam. Someone is taking desperate steps to cover all traces. We have to do something to move this thing along, Gérard, or we’ll lose it.’ The issue of Martin’s love would be Beppi la Braguette’s calling card and cover. Beppi’s apartment, full of illegal items, was their bargaining position to ensure he volunteered. For better or worse, Beppi was their man.

  Gerard remained leery, but he too wanted progress. ‘When?’

  ‘Friday.’ A shrug. ‘The guys’ll be letting loose after work.’

  Inspector Bernadette Milhau and Beppi Crerar were waiting in the hall. Richand buzzed his secretary. A moment later, Crerar was being apprised of the situation. First item: Beppi’s apartment full of illegal goods. He had no choice. But if he came through, the charges could be reviewed. That was fine, and totally normal. For Beppi, bribery was part of life. He was more worried about practicalities. ‘But how do I get there? You lot took my permit.’

  Beppi would take the bus. They knew the inspector at the checkpoint, she would not risk driving him. He would wear a listening device. ‘Your job is to gather information. Being natural is the best way, so be as open as you can be. There’s no need to be nervous, Inspector Milhau and I will be right around the corner.’ Bernadette smiled at Beppi. He sniffed his contempt. Aliette repeated, ‘This is a job, Beppi. Doesn’t matter who likes who. You’re working. OK?’

  Beppi bargained. ‘And you’re going to pay me back for the bus and my drinks and clean up these outstanding bullshit charges.’

  Gérard folded his arms. ‘I will recommend we think about it. Depends how you perform.’

  ‘Perform? You kidding?’ He stroked himself impulsively. ‘But what if I meet someone and…’ A lewd smile. Gérard looked away.

  ‘We won’t interrupt your fun,’ Aliette assured him. ‘We want you to have fun. Just don’t let anybody kiss your ear.’

  ‘Or bite it off,’ Gérard added. His notion of gay culture was skewed.

  Beppi was warming to it. ‘Think I’ll wear my J-P Belmondo jeans. Like in Le Marginal.’

  The judge could not help muttering, ‘Such garbage.’

  Aliette said, ‘That could be perfect. The white T-shirt, leather jacket?’

  Beppi pulled an oily comb from his pocket and with a few deft strokes — ta-da! Beppi la Braguet
te as maverick cop Commissaire Philippe Jordan. It had a certain twist that fit the venue.

  ‘We’re counting on you to control the action,’ Aliette said.

  ‘And you will not say a word to anyone,’ Gérard advised. ‘I mean no one. Clear?’ He sighed heavily, it seemed sadly, watching Beppi’s skittish fingers working the insides of his thighs. ‘In fact, I’m thinking of garde à vue till tomorrow evening. That might be the best idea here.’

  Beppi flared, ‘That’s not fair!’

  Aliette Nouvelle tended to agree and convinced Gérard Richand that trust was the better way of nurturing Beppi’s commitment to the operation. By way of closing the meeting, Gérard instructed, ‘No blabbing. You go alone on the bus, you keep your receipts. And if you’re not at the rendezvous point Friday evening, monsieur…’ Beppi promised he’d be there. Bernadette escorted Beppi out. Gérard expressed second thoughts. Were they being a bit hasty here?

  The inspector held her ground. ‘What’s the worst that can happen?’ A call from Magistrate Weiner, counterpart to Richand in Basel City, on behalf of Commander Boehler?

  Gérard rose to that, relishing the thought. ‘You’re right. Let’s move this thing along.’ Then he settled back, musing, ‘Monsieur Huet’s doing quite the job with our shoemaker. Been down twice to see. Amazing, the work they do.’

  Aliette agreed. And thought, Good. Gérard’s sneaky interest in the painting of the shoemaker was tangible support for her.

  24

  Klaus Nomi Night at Zup

  Bernadette drove and they arrived with plenty of time to kill before their rendezvous with Beppi. They left the car close to Zup and walked back into the centre of Klein Basel, off on a leisurely tour of the stores along Claraplatz, busy on a chill but dry Friday evening in October. Bernadette bought a pricey soutien-gorge with a yellow flower motif and the same gift box of leckerli biscuits for her maman in the Midi that Aliette had bought for hers in Brittany. They walked down another street, had a beer and a bite. Then coffee at the next place. It got colder as they headed back to the drearier part of town, the sky lowering. It looked like there could be snow.

  The two cops sat together on a bench by a bus stop on the Rheinweg promenade overlooking the river, surrounded by shopping bags. The air was colder by the water. Beppi Crerar showed up, looking suitably absurd and possibly obscene in jeans that showcased all. They strolled past the club and got in the car. Inspector Nouvelle commanded Beppi to sit still while Inspector Milhau fitted the listening post on his ear stud. The Tech guys at Division in Strasbourg had gone the extra mile and mounted a tiny plastic pistol on top of it, black and lacquered, an actual bit of boutique jewelry that would be perfect for a maverick commissaire out loose on a Friday night.

  Beppi liked it.

  Inspector Milhau waited in the car with the receiver as Aliette escorted Beppi down the street. When they were almost opposite Zup, she whispered, ‘Grosse Corvette, petite quéquette.’

  Beppi blurted, ‘What the fuck is that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Shh!’ Aliette squeezed his arm. ‘That’s code, Beppi.’

  Bernadette flashed the headlights once. The thing worked well.

  ‘Remember: you and Marty. What happened? That’s your basic question. You’re just looking for news of Marty. Because you care about him. And you had business with him. And this R. Be cool, but see if he’s part of the scene. You’d really love to meet him. OK?’

  ‘I’m there.’

  ‘If anything starts to feel not right, just start humming and we’ll be there.’

  Beppi waved away the offer. ‘I know how to handle Swiss fags.’

  The inspector was stern. ‘“La Vie en Rose”…au cas où.’ Just in case. ‘Got it?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah.’

  ‘We’ll be here till midnight. If I don’t see you, you’re on your own for getting home.’

  ‘If you don’t see me, I’m having a real good time.’

  Beppi sauntered up the street just like Jean-Paul Belmondo and rang the bell.

  Aliette heard Adelhard squawk ‘Zup!’ Then Beppi was in.

  Back in the car, she was pleased to hear Beppi Crerar, loud and clear and gregarious as he ordered a beer from Max. German, Beppi! They knew he was capable of the local dialect.

  Beppi la Braguette switched to German as he began to chat up Max.

  Aliette wondered how la braguette would translate. And what was that bizarre music?’

  Shall I stay / Would it be a sin/ If I can’t help/ Falling in love with yoooou…

  ***

  Inside Zup, Greta Garbo sipped champagne and grumbled. ‘Who put on that noise?’

  Fred Astaire cast an urbane smile toward the door. ‘Adelhard.’

  ‘It’s horrendous!’

  ‘It’s his place,’ Fred responded. ‘He gets to spin the discs, my dear.’

  Adelhard and Max adored Klaus Nomi.

  Take my hand/ Take my whole life too…Because I can’t help / Falling in love / With you!

  A deeply tender ballad camped up beyond forgiveness into a shrieking, dying Wagnerian swan. If you don’t like Klaus, it is hard to take. It put a damper on a Friday evening meant for fun. Fred and Greta were dressed superbly for a night of dancing. They had to be — otherwise, who were they and what did they mean? Fred has to have his tux on. Greta must be elegant, those lashes lushly suggestive, pencilled brows forever arch. Although, if truth be told there was nothing in Greta’s look and bearing remotely resembling Greta, and Fred was a less than average dancer. And Fred sometimes wished his Greta could be Ginger. Greta could have been Ginger — the possibility was there in his partner’s shiny glow, the rounded lines. But one must follow one’s heart and Fred knew that Greta was an ideal his love had lived for too many years without properly exploring, and so now there was no turning back. Fred accepted Greta for what she was. Fred knew he fit fine with Fred, except where it came to the smooth moves — something Greta mentioned mercilessly if she was feeling bitchy. Yes, they had their scraps, but they were settling into it and getting along in a difficult world. As often as domestically feasible, Fred and Greta retreated from their respective high-level, highly respectable lives, to meet in a place not far from here that was cheap but warm, and mainly discreet. Greta’s decorative tastes were not Fred’s, but forgiveness is essential in matters of love. They helped each other dress…and then undress after some carefree fun at Zup. ‘…What? What is the problem now, my love?’

  Klaus Nomi had finally stopped, but Greta remained out of sorts. It was the newcomer. Over at the bar, chatting up Max — who was neglecting his duties. Greta wanted to know, ‘Why are there suddenly so many French in this place?’

  ‘Word gets around,’ Fred said. He was fascinated by the man at the bar.

  ‘Do we need them? This should be a much more private sort of club.’

  ‘Oh, they’re fun.’ Hadn’t they both enjoyed some fun with Martin? ‘This one’s huge!’

  Greta sniffed, ‘Is that a reason to like somebody? It’s obscene.’

  ‘It’s just for fun.’

  ‘It’s an insult! Who do those people think we are?’

  ‘Personally, I like to meet new people.’

  ‘I need another glass. Max!’

  ‘Let’s switch to Scotch.’

  ‘I could kill him.’ Greta was getting a head of steam on. She pushed back her chair.

  Fred urged, ‘Calm down. You don’t even know him…Where are you going?’

  ‘To get a drink. These fucking French will wreck everything.’

  ‘You sit still,’ Fred commanded. ‘The last thing we need is a brawl and police.’

  Greta huffed, but sat. Then whined, ‘I’m not happy. Will you take me home?’

  ‘Oh, Greta,’ Fred sighed, rising, adjusting his bow tie and smoothing his tails. ‘Sit tight, my love. I’ll get you a nice drink.’

  ‘Adelhard!’ Greta screamed, but to no effect as Klaus Nomi’s unearthly voice swelled again, fortissimo.r />
  ***

  In the car they were receiving, recording, but the screeching music made the listening doubly difficult. One cop’s German was sketchy, the other’s non-existent. But now here was another one wanting to meet Beppi. It was getting interesting. Aliette struggled to get the gist.

  Beppi: Me and Marty, we had some business.

  Max: Me too.

  Other: Big business, it looks like.

  Max: You’re such an old whore.

  Other: Oh, Maxi, you know I’m just enchanted to meet your friend. Monsieur…?

  Beppi: Beppi. Beppi Crerar.

  Other: Beppi. I do admire your ear stud…Two Scotch-rocks, please, Max.

  Max: Sure.

  Other (Very close; in French.): Lovely. Wherever did you find it?

  Beppi: Strasbourg. Little shop in the student ghetto.

  Other: Strasbourg is one of my regular stops. I’ll keep my eye open.

  Beppi: Your ears aren’t even pierced, man.

  Other: Not for me, Beppi. I think my Greta would enjoy it.

  Beppi: Oh. Yeah. OK… Better give me another one these, Maxi man.

  Other: On my tab, Max… So Beppi, might one ask what business you and Martin were in?

  Beppi: Art. Import, export, like.

  Other: That sounds exciting. I dabble in art a bit myself. Poor Martin.

  Beppi: Yeah, well, give me your card. I’m trying to pick up the pieces… Danke, Max… It’s not easy without Marty. He worked the Swiss side.

  Other: I understand.

  Beppi: Had a Swiss client all lined up. Big deal. Sad. After all my work. Guy’s disappeared.

  Other: No, it’s not easy. Does he have a name? I could ask around.

  Beppi: That’s a problem. R.

  Other: R?

  Beppi: That’s it. Marty was very cool as far as his side of the business.

  Other: Business demands it, Beppi. The client is king. At least that’s how we see it. If Martin worked the Swiss side, as you say, he would have to know this.

  Beppi: Sure. But I have a horrible feeling Marty and this client were into other things, you know what I’m talking about? I mean it’s what I’m hearing. I heard they partied here.