Obscure Intentions

by Anthony J Harrison

  “Certainly,” Benito said, taking the instrument. “Don’t forget to smile now.” Holding it away from his face so he could see the image on the screen built into the back of the camera, he steadied his hands. He pointed the lens at the young couple and pushed the button several times, the digital camera recording the images. In doing so he unknowingly captured his own image as the camera was altered to record through the eye piece above the screen.

  “Thank you,” the couple said. The woman looked at his writing pad. “Are you a writer?” she asked, pointing at his notes.

  “No, I’m an urban planner,” Benito said, telling the lie with ease. “I work for a developer in Milan and we’re looking at several cities and how they use parks and dwellings together.” He waved his hand at the surroundings. “Several of our citizens have noted how much they enjoyed the availability and cleanliness of Marseille’s parks, so my boss graciously allowed me to come here.”

  “Seems like a convenient way to add a little vacation to your work schedule,” the young man said. “We’ll let you go, and thanks again for the pictures.” He walked off with his girlfriend on his arm.

  “Such a sweet couple,” Benito said to himself, picking up the pad.

  “Do you think he suspected us?” the woman asked, leaning on her partner.

  “No, I don’t think so,” the male officer said. “In any case, we’ll have his picture for our files,” slinging the camera strap across his shoulders.

  Glancing at his surroundings, Benito noted several young women pushing strollers as they jogged around the dirt path. Likewise, in the distance, several young people were engaged in a heated game of volleyball on one of the sand courts. “It seems quite serene if you ask me,” he noted, writing down possible areas where he could abduct his target.

  ***

  “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Captain, but your suspect has to be released,” Captain Duval said to his subordinate detective.

  “I don’t understand how the superintendent could agree to this,” Claude said. “Doesn’t he realize the epidemic these drugs are causing? My team has been making a dent in the street sales over the last two months but having someone connected to the trafficking is a prize worth exploiting. It’s like getting handed a crystal ball and three wishes at the same time.”

  “I understand your frustration, Claude,” Julien said placing a hand on the shoulder of his friend. “But if this person offers information all police services can use, then we can make a major impact on the drug movement on a national level, not just locally.”

  Claude swirled his coffee around the cup. “But what if this man knows something about where the drugs originated? Shouldn’t we get told about it?” He leaned against a dusty file cabinet. “You need a maid in here Julien,” Claude brushed the dirt from his shirtsleeve.

  “Superintendent Chevalier feels the sooner we release Monsieur Ochoa, the quicker we’ll begin seeing tangible information,” the senior officer said. “And your group of detectives has their hands full searching for this phantom shipping company, don’t they?”

  Dipping his head somewhat, Claude conceded the point to his friend. “Yes, we’re still looking into them.”

  “On a more jovial note, the superintendent agreed to allow Detective Benoit temporary VIP status at the academy… so long as no visitors from Paris show up to spoil her accommodations.”

  “She’ll be pleased to hear about the approval,” Claude said.

  “Have you heard back on the Italian’s status?” Julien asked, alluding to the suspected stalker of Detective Benoit.

  “Yes. It seems he traveled here from Naples via Paris,” Claude said setting his cup down before pulling his notebook out of his jacket. Flipping it open a few pages, he continued. “He wasn’t associated with any tour group, just someone traveling by himself. According to his credit card records, he stayed two nights in Paris before boarding the TGV and arriving here,” he answered, picking up his cup and swallowing the last of his bitter coffee.

  “Are the officers in Paris checking up on his activities?”

  “We’ve asked them to look into the hotel and restaurants he frequented, but nothing out of the ordinary has turned up so far. Yet, here he is spying on one of my detectives,” He wasn’t afraid of letting his frustration show.

  Captain Duval drummed his fingers on the desk’s edge. “And where was he staying? I mean cost wise. The hotel in Paris?”

  Shifting the page, Claude read off the notes. “It was a Marriott hotel, the one near the Champs Elysees, for both nights.”

  “It turns out your suspect likes to spend money,” the captain said. “Which goes along with your ‘playboy’ theory, doesn’t it? What about where he lives in Naples? Is it in an upper scale area befitting his persona?”

  “We’re still waiting for the Italian police to get us the information,” Claude said.

  “Let’s not wait too long,” Captain Duval said. “And let’s make sure we’re asking the right people our questions, shall we?”

  “You don’t think we’ll get told what we need?”

  “I’m saying their police agency is just as corrupt as the next,” Julien said. “We need to exercise some caution, what with all the reports of the Mafioso bribing their way into the pockets of the police and politicians.”

  “So, you think this man is part of an attempt to abduct Detective Benoit?”

  “Claude, you said so yourself; she made an enemy of the Algerian, right?” Captain Duval asked. “If the information Detective Benoit got from Inspector Haddad is correct, then this man could have the connections to make such an attempt. Or worse, offer enough money to have the Italians do it for him.”

  Sliding his glasses atop his head, Julien massaged the bridge of his nose. “I’m just saying, Claude, keep your eyes open and don’t let your guard down, that’s all,” the captain said. “If we’re wrong and there’s more than one individual looking for her, we might not be as lucky as this last time, ok?”

  “I understand, Julien,” Claude said. “I’ll keep a close eye on her. On another note, what can you tell me about Captain Georges’ interest in Detective Benoit?”

  Captain Duval tried his best not to laugh at the question but failed. “Yes, he’s come and expressed his desire to include her in his team’s next assignment. Only on an ‘as needed’ basis, mind you,” the senior officer said. “He was really impressed with her ability to work within the team, and she picked up their tactics quickly too,” He suppressed a chuckle as he continued. “Besides, he’s losing one of his men to a special detail in Le Havre at the end of October, so there will be an opening.”

  “Well, I’m not going to give her up without a fight,” Claude said of his partner. “She’s been just as valuable to our department. I mean, she was responsible for the Algerians’ ability to capture Hakim Talib.” He explained, waving his glasses across the room. “And let’s not forget she pursued the fugitive, Francois Laurent, as well.”

  “Are you done?”

  “What?”

  “I’ve already told Captain Georges he needs to coordinate a requirement for the replacement, and not go about stealing from other departments,” Captain Duval said. “Which means if, and it’s a big if, Detective Benoit wishes to apply, she can do so through the regular process.”

  “Well, since you put it in those terms, I’ll table my concerns for now,” Claude said.

  “And with this discussion over, let’s get back to catching criminals, shall we?” Captain Duval asked dismissing Detective Lemieux.

  Chapter Twelve

  Trundling into the office, Claude caught Geneviève dozing in her chair. “Are you not sleeping particularly well?” he said, giving her a nudge waking the young woman.

  “What…? No, I’m sleeping fine,” she said. “What time is it, anyway?”

  “On your feet,” he said. “We've got an unpleasant task to undertake.” He guided her out of the office. “We’ll take the stairs, just so you can keep
moving,” Claude said, pointing to the exit door.

  “Where are we headed?”

  “Captain Duval was directed by Superintendent Chevalier to release one of our suspects.”

  “Not the Italian, is it?” Geneviève asked, strolling down towards the basement.

  Arriving at the bottom landing, he grasped the door handle and swung it open. “No, it’s the gentleman from Paraguay,” Claude said. “And when Berger and Masson return, we’ll all sit down and discuss the ‘why’ behind the decision. Until then, I don’t want to hear any questions out of you.”

  Strolling up to the watch-officers’ window, Claude showed his ID. “We’re here to release Monsieur Gomez,” he said, pulling the logbook through the window.

  “I’ll get his personal effects ready,” the officer behind the glass said.

  “Your story better be good,” Geneviève muttered into his ear as she leaned against the wall.

  “If you’ll follow me,” the roving patrol officer said, heading down the hallway.

  As they neared the cell holding Guillermo Ochoa, Detective Benoit stole a glance at the suspect in their voyeur case, Angelo Mazza. Peering out his cell door, the felon took in her features watching her stroll by, his gaze never wavering.

  “I see you’re still exercising,” he hissed while staring at her.

  Feeling the eyes upon her, Geneviève felt her skin tighten as the felon followed her, walking along the hallway. A slight shiver coursed through her body, the subconscious feeling of the pallet scraping her back as she recalled the time when two assailants overcame her.

  His attention drawn to Geneviève, the Italians failed to detect her partner. “I’ve got plans for you,” Claude said, scaring the felon who recoiled from the cell door.

  “You don’t scare me, monsieur,” Angelo said mocking the officer’s French accent.

  “Here you are, detectives,” the officer said, opening the cell.

  Standing back from the door, Claude waited for the officer to swing it open before speaking. “Monsieur Gomez, I am Detective Lemieux of the French DJSE,” he said. Feigning a slight cough, he continued. “On behalf of the department, I’d like to apologize for the manner which you were treated. You see, there was a mix-up of information between yourself and another suspect.” He ushered him out of the cell. “You’ll find all your belongings accounted for at the front desk.”

  “But what about my missed voyage? The cruise ship has already sailed,” Guillermo asked. “Are the French police going to see me to my next destination?” he inquired as he gathered his wallet and passport.

  “Unfortunately, no we cannot,” Geneviève said. “But I’m sure an arrangement can be made with the cruise lines; don’t you think Captain?” She turned to her partner.

  Nearly choking as he heard the comment, Claude replied. “Yes, I mean you paid for a ticket. I’m sure the cruise line can accommodate you on their next departure.” Holding the door open to the stairwell, both detectives escorted Guillermo to the main lobby of the police station.

  Entering the lobby, the noise, and chaos of officers and citizens conducting business confronted the trio as they made their way to the front of the building. “We’ll be taking the white Citroen over there,” Claude said, pointing to his car.

  Pausing on the steps, Guillermo asked, “Ah, where are you taking me?”

  “To the cruise terminal, of course,” the officer said. “You mentioned wanting to continue your travels, and the only way to do so is back where they began.” Claude opened the trunk. Grabbing one bag, he hefted it on top the spare tire.

  “Monsieur, if you please,” Geneviève said, motioning their guest into the back seat.

  Pulling in next to Claude’s vehicle, Detective Berger jumped out, shouting. “Where are you taking him?”

  Claude walked up to his junior officer and spoke in a quiet, determined voice. “You and Detective Masson can meet us in the conference room in thirty minutes,” he said. “At which point, I’ll explain what I’m doing with this gentleman, do you understand?”

  “Oui, Captain,” Nicolas said as Guy stood holding their box from the harbormaster’s office.

  “What the hell’s going on?”

  “I don’t know. But that’s the Spaniard in the backseat,” he noted, pointing at Claude’s car. “And he doesn’t look stressed like he’s being taken to another holding area. We haven’t finished our questioning,” Nicolas said.

  “Oh, and you've got a communique to pick up Detective Berger,” Claude said before sliding behind the wheel.

  “A lot of good it’ll do now,” the officer muttered to himself as he hurried after his partner. “Where do you think they’re going, Guy?” Detective Berger asked, helping usher his partner through the lobby.

  “Lemieux said he’d tell us when he gets back, so I guess we’ll find out then.”

  “Yeah, but we haven’t had the guy in custody for more than twenty-four hours,” Nicolas said, pushing the door to the office open. Crumpling in his chair, the young detective grabbed the arrest report from his drawer. “Guess I can shred this, right?” he asked, holding it in front of his partner.

  “If I were you, I’d hold off on doing that,” Guy said. “Plus, he mentioned you had the response from the Spanish. Why don’t you go see what they had written up on this guy? It might help decide if all this frustration is worth it.”

  “And if we find out this person was a serial killer instead of a drug smuggler, then what do we do?”

  “We’ll go find him again and see he gets what he deserves,” Detective Masson said. “Hurry up, I don’t want to review all these printouts by myself,” he added, alluding to the ships' schedules from the harbormaster's office.

  ***

  The pencil tip snapped for the third time that morning. Sweeping the broken lead from his paper, Pierre Segal spun his chair around, stuck the broken end into the sharpener, and counted to five. Coming back to his ledger, his hand, and pencil, shook somewhat as he glanced at the clock in anticipation for his meeting with Gregory Arsenault.

  “Monsieur Segal,” the young woman said, interrupting his work, “it’s 9:30; you’re late. They’re waiting for you in the conference room,” she continued, alluding to a scheduled gathering of senior bank staff. Grabbing the ledger and his notes, the banker scurried towards the waiting group.

  “We’re glad to see you making time to join us, Pierre,” the bank president announced.

  “My apologies,” Pierre said, taking his seat in the middle of the room. Opening his notebook, he inhaled deeply, hoping to calm himself.

  Over the next thirty minutes, each member of the bank provided the president with the status of his or her particular department. “And this concludes my report, sir,” one of the women said, having spoken for the department handling credit card transactions. “Monsieur Segal, it’s your turn,” she finished, relinquishing the spotlight to Pierre.

  “The commercial accounts for the quarter have…” he said, beginning his 15-minute monologue on his department’s activities. Announcements of new accounts, the status of current ones, and the revelation of a long-standing client’s decision to suspend their account contributed to his report. “I’ll conclude my report by saying our association with Nordic Cruise Lines has likewise been suspended because of the police’s investigation into their alleged drug trafficking operations. Because of this,” Pierre said wiping his brow, “the bank will see a 250-thousand-euro loss each quarter for the next year or two.”

  The senior bank officer sat stoically in his chair before speaking. “It’s not the first for this institution, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. I trust you’ll look to secure a suitable substitute for them, Pierre?” he asked, staring at his oldest staff member.

  “Oui, I’ll make every effort, Monsieur Reno.”

  “I’m sure you will, Pierre,” the bank official said. “If there’s no other business, we are adjourned.”

  Going back to his desk, Pierre saw a note sitting up
on his desk blotter. Opening the paper, he took a moment to read its content. “Le Bistro de Asianic, 11:30 am, GA,” was all the note had written on it. The initials at the end told Pierre all he needed as to who originated the note. With trembling hands, he crumbled it before shoving the paper into his pocket. Grabbing his hat and coat, he stepped out of his office. “Lily, I’ll be taking an early lunch,” he said, scurrying past one secretary.

  After holding the door for several elderly patrons entering the bank, Pierre headed off towards the Asian-inspired eatery. Ambling along the sidewalk, he felt as if every person he passed was looking at him, each one knowing the illegal activity he was involved in for Papillion Transport.

  As he neared a street corner, a conflagration of hair products assaulted his senses as they emanated from a local beauty salon as several of the stylists tried to conjure the latest hairstyles for their clients. Passing the open door, he could hear the chatter as the women spoke of last night’s television shows.

  Flashing his timepiece, Pierre noted he would be a few minutes early, giving him time for a drink to help calm his nerves. Continuing along the sidewalk another fifty meters, he finally came upon the Asian restaurant. Greeting the hostess, he saw his guest sitting in the back. “I can see my party is already waiting for me,” he said pointing to Gregory.

  As the banker walked up to the table, Gregory Arsenault greeted his lunch guest. “Hello, Pierre.”

  “Bonjour, Adrien,” Pierre replied, knowing Gregory only by his alias.

  “I hope you don’t mind meeting here,” he said, “but I’ve had a craving for sushi, and this place has been voted best for three years running.”

  “I’ve never been shy about trying new things,” Pierre said, picking up the menu.

  Gregory sat quietly, observing the banker. Sipping his water, his brow furrowed as he considered how hard to push the older gentleman on the handling of his clandestine finances. As Pierre put down the menu, he took the opportunity to begin their negotiation.

  “I understand the cost of living in our fair city is becoming a burden for you?”