“Good morning to you, too,” he said, stepping into the villa. “You’ve got fifteen minutes to get yourself ready or I’ll report you as an absentee.” Wandering into the kitchen, he grabbed a cup and poured his own coffee and glanced over the counter. “Don’t you have any sugar?”
“No,” she said as she entered the bedroom. “And you didn’t answer my question.”
“You’re right, I didn’t and I won’t,” Claude said. “Now, get going or I’ll leave you to walk yourself to the office.”
After twenty minutes of showering and dressing, Geneviève emerged from the bedroom, only to catch Claude asleep in the easy chair. Sliding her holster onto her hip, she secured her weapon before shaking him gently on the shoulder. “Claude, I’m ready,” she said.
“Good, I’ve waited long enough,” he said, easing himself upright.
“You really need to slow down,” she said, locking the door behind them. “Have you considered discussing things with Captain Duval? I’m sure he’ll understand if you need to take a few weeks off.”
“I’m fine,” the senior officer said. You handle your pain in your own fashion, he thought. “And what makes you think Julien... I mean Captain Duval, would understand what my social life is like?”
“I’m just saying you need to consider your long-term health,” she said, observing the police cadets exercising as they left the grounds. “You won’t find a replacement for Nadine in the bottom of a wine bottle.”
She’s right, he thought. But my life with Nadine was much more than just companionship, recalling their moments together. We laughed, held hands, and talked. Oh, how I miss talking with her, her cute laughs... A tear rolled down his cheek. “God’s punishing me by taking her, but I don’t expect you to understand,” he muttered under his breath.
Recognizing the emotion of talking about his former wife, Geneviève tried to soften the pain. “Claude, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say anything to hurt you. It's just that I’m worried about you,” she said. “You realize I’m here to help when you need it, and I’m sure everyone else would be there for you as well.”
“I know mon Cheri, I know.” Maneuvering his car into the station parking lot, he took a deep breath, collecting himself before he got out.
Meanwhile, as Claude and Geneviève were approaching the police station, Francine LeBeau was just stepping off the cross-town bus in front of the district office. Clutching her handbag, she strolled up the steps towards the entrance when she spied Detective Berger striding towards the entrance to her left. Gathering her courage, she maneuvered closer to him. “Good morning, detective,” she said.
Caught off-guard by the woman, Nicolas stammered, “Oh... hi. It’s Francine, isn’t it?”
Blushing at the encounter, she replied, “Yes, Francine LeBeau.” Feeling empowered by the meeting, she continued. “I’m working down in the forensics laboratory. I understand you work with Detective Benoit?” she asked, making her way through the entrance.
“Yes, Geneviève and I are partners, so to speak,” he said, holding the door for her. “She didn’t mention the two of you were friends, though,” he said with a smile. “Maybe if you're free later this week, we can get a cup of coffee?”
Her pulse quickened at the thought of seeing the detective again. “I’d like that,” she said. “I’ll give you call and let you know when I’m free, ok?” she said, turning towards the stairwell.
“Sure, I’ll be waiting,” Nicolas said, walking away towards the elevators.
“Someone special, Nicolas?” the voice asked from behind his back.
“Damn, Geneviève, you nearly gave me a heart attack,” the detective said, turning to see the woman holding two coffees in her hands. “And no, she’s not someone special. I mean, yes, she’s... it’s just Francine, from the lab,” he babbled like a school boy.
“I know who she is. Francine’s a nice girl. Just be gentle with her, Nic,” Geneviève said, entering the elevator ahead of him. “I get the impression she’s not as graceful in social circles as you might think, ok?”
Feeling the conversation was becoming more personal than he’d like, Detective Berger posed a question to his partner. “How’s life as a VIP?” he asked, alluding to her stay at the police academy.
“I forgot about the cadet’s morning and evening routines,” she said. “Between the calisthenics and weapons training, it’s not as quiet as I’d like. But, I’m not having to worry about someone breaking through my door either.”
Stepping in, they found Guy pouring over the last of the vessel movements provided by the harbor master, while Claude’s chair was vacant. “Where’s Claude?” she asked.
“He came in, dropped his coat, and left,” Guy said.
“His coffee’s going to get cold again,” she said, placing the cup in the middle of his desk.
Grabbing his stack of notes, Detective Berger leafed through the last few pages. “Any luck with the lists?” he asked, glancing at Guy.
“The M/V De Gaulle just pulled into port yesterday, and they’ll be tied up for the next three days,” Detective Masson said. “Because of this, we’ll have three days to check out the officers’ movements in hopes they lead us to their home office,” he continued, alluding to Papillion Transport and its workplace.
“No time like the present is there?” Detective Berger said, getting up. “Shall we go and act the part of bloodhounds?”
Tossing keys across the desk, Guy said, “You’re driving, then.”
As the pair of officers left the Geneviève alone in the office, she sat and wondered what to do about her partner, Claude, and his struggle to handle his wife’s death. I hope he’s talking with the captain, she thought. How is his turmoil any worse than yours? The fear and trauma she’d carried since adolescence meandered from deep within herself.
***
Having cleaned up the small kitchen, Benito Russo was out of his apartment heading toward the bus stop. Having spent the last few days preparing his plan, he needed to put the steps together now to make it happen.
Walking along the street, he passed the market where he had last seen the police officer as she made her way to catch her ride. “Good morning, sir,” he said, doffing his cap at the store owner.
“Bonjour, monsieur,” the older man replied.
“I was wondering if you could help me,” Benito asked. “The other day I was talking with a very charming young woman and I was hoping to meet her again and ask her to join me for coffee, but I haven’t run into her since then.”
“Oh, you mean Miss Benoit,” the merchant said. “I can see why you wish to meet her again. She and her partner came by the other day and collected a few things, like they were going on a trip.”
“Was it the tall gentleman driving the red Peugeot?” Things just got harder, Benito thought.
“No, Monsieur Lemieux drives a white Citroen C4,” the older man said, sweeping the front step of his market.
“Did they mentioned where they were going or for how long?” he asked. “I’m only in town for a few weeks and don’t want to miss an opportunity to see her again.” Forming a mental note of the name and vehicle description, he added them to his list for the target.
As the two men spoke of Geneviève and Claude, Benito didn't recognize the two police officers pulling up to the market. Getting out, the officer approached the two, while his partner stood behind next to the car.
“Bonjour, Jules,” the officer said. “Bonjour, Monsieur...?” he started, turning to the Italian.
“Russo, Benito Russo,” the mafia member said.
“You’re new to the city?” the officer asked.
“I’m originally from Milan.”
“You’re here on holiday then, Monsieur Russo?”
“Work actually, as well as a holiday,” Benito replied. “My employer sent me here to gather ideas for a community project back in Milan.” He pulled out a business card for the police man.
Peering at the card, the officer noted the company name befo
re handing it back.
“This young man and I were just discussing a beautiful woman who lives nearby,” the shop owner said. “Seems he’s taking a liking to one of our fair citizens.”
“And what is this woman’s name?” the officer asked, looking at Benito.
“That’s my problem - we only had a brief encounter, and I didn’t have a chance to ask,” the Italian said. “I was hoping this gentleman might help me find her.” He motioned to Jules. “I can assure you, officer, I’m just interested in having coffee with her.”
The officer felt uneasy with Benito and his answers. “Can I see some identification please?” he asked while extending his hand.
“Of course,” Benito said, reaching into his bag.
“Slowly, Monsieur,” the officer said, placing his hand on his sidearm. This caused his partner to take a more defensive stance next to the car, his hand going to his weapon.
Getting his passport from the bag, Benito handed the document to the officer who flipped it open, studying the photograph against the man standing before him. All the features listed appeared correct, including the information about his country of origin and residence.
“Monsieur Russo, I would caution you on contacting our citizens,” the officer said. “What you consider as innocent conversations could be suspicious by others.” He handed back the document. “Are you staying in one of our hotels?”
“No, I’ve rented an apartment off Avenue Clot Bey,” he replied. “The young woman I met was at the bus stop, but she was stepping in as I was exiting. As I mentioned, it was a brief experience.”
Before Officer LeBlanc could ask another question, the radio crackled with a request from dispatch, requiring their response to a disturbance near the waterfront. “If you’ll excuse us,” the officer said, climbing back into the car as his partner gunned into motion.
“Why did they sound so suspicious?” the shop owner asked.
“I’d be concerned if they hadn’t, Monsieur Jules,” Benito said. “If they were too complacent, then who would catch the criminals? I look forward to seeing you again sir, good day.” He doffed his cap before strolling down the street, beads of sweat dripping down the back of his neck.
Meanwhile, an interested spectator observed the Italian as he walked away from the shop, noting the direction he took and his attire. It wasn’t long before Giuseppe Ricci had made his way behind Benito Russo as he entered the local bistro. “I’ve got information from Mister Scuderi for you,” he said just loud enough to be heard.
Bristling at the name, Benito fought the urge to turn and face the voice, knowing he had just avoided the police earlier in the morning. Walking to the counter, he ordered his drink and a small sandwich, and after receiving his change, took a seat along the wall. Here he took stock of the man who had stood behind him earlier.
Giuseppe did the same, buying a bottle of water before walking out to a bench in the park across the street from the eatery. Sipping from the bottle, he kept a watchful eye on the other Italian, noting when he got up to retrieve his food and exited the bistro.
“May I join you?” Benito asked.
“Please,” Giuseppe said, offering a space on the bench. “It’s a very pleasant day, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is,” Benito answered. Turning somewhat, he looked at the other man. “Do I know you?”
“We have a mutual acquaintance in Alberto Scuderi, my friend,” Giuseppe said. “He asked me to come see how you are faring since your friend Angelo became careless,” he explained, mentioning the previous mafia member now in custody.
“Angelo was a fool,” Benito said. “He can’t keep from pretending to be something he’s not.”
“Let’s not dwell on someone else’s failure shall we,” Giuseppe said. “Alberto would like to know when you plan on acting against the police officer. The client is growing impatient and if we can’t deliver the woman, we are all going to lose a share in the bounty.”
Staring straight ahead, Benito took a bite of his sandwich, washing it down with his coffee before speaking. “My plan was to abduct her by the end of the week, but there’s a new problem.”
“And what problem is that?”
Benito turned and looked at Giuseppe. “She has disappeared.”
Chapter Fifteen
An early morning fog bank obscured the ships resting at anchor in the bay and moistened the streets around the docks. Drips of condensation fell from his beard as Louis made his way towards one of several commercial tug boats tied to the dock.
A lone figure stood on the fantail, the glow from a cigarette outlining the face at each drag on it. “Can I help you?” the seaman asked, tossing the stub towards the water.
“I’d like to talk with the boat’s master if I could?” Louis asked, standing at the foot of the gangway. “I’ve got a business proposition for him, but I need an answer now.” He moved to steady himself between the cane and his good leg.
“I’m the captain,” the seaman said, striding down the gangway, his face becoming clearer as he approached. “Bonjour, my name is Tiago Cartier,” introducing himself while extending his hand.
“Arnaud Guerini,” Louis replied, using his alias as co-owner of Papillion Transport.
“What is it you need moved? A yacht going to Monaco, maybe?”
“I need you to aid a freighter from the docks and into open water,” the Legionnaire said. “She’s the M/V De Gaulle tied up on the southern berth at the Transport La Portuaire facility. She’s manned and ready when you arrive, and I trust her captain explicitly.”
“A motor vessel you say. How big is she?” Captain Cartier asked.
“She’s 134 meters and 12,000 metric tons,” Louis said. “However, she’s carrying a partial load. She has twenty-two containers still on deck, and her fuel bunkers are at thirty-two percent capacity.”
“A vessel that large usually takes three tugs to maneuver. Why is it so important to have her moved?”
“I’ve heard rumors of a wildcat strike amongst the dockworkers, and I don’t want my vessel stuck here for an extended period,” Louis lied. “I’ve made arrangements in Toulon to off-load the remaining containers and take on fuel, so you see, I need to get her underway.”
“Carrying out something like this normally requires the harbormaster’s agreement,” the seaman said. “But I’m getting a sense they won’t be advised of this movement. Work such as this could come with a heavy fine for me if I choose to do it,” he noted, lighting another cigarette.
Finally, we’re getting to the money part, Louis thought. “How much would it take for your help?” he asked as several crewmen emerged from the vessels interior, the lights from inside the ship silhouetting the captain from behind.
“Something like this might cost ten, maybe fifteen thousand per hour,” Captain Cartier said. “But with the fog, the risk of collision increases. Not to mention, there’s filing your departure with the harbormaster, and...” his voice trailing off as he heard the rumble of another tug getting underway.
“Will thirty thousand in cash be enough?” Louis asked, knowing he had his hand on fifty thousand euros from the ship’s safe in his jacket. “Time is precious, Captain; I’d like an answer.”
“You can have my services for thirty-five,” Captain Cartier replied, holding out his hand, “and my personal guarantee of my crew’s silence.”
“Done.”
Turning to the two members of the crew smoking at the fantail, Captain Cartier shouted an order to them. Hearing their captain, the men tossed their cigarettes into the water and hurried back inside the vessel. In minutes, they reappeared and handled the lines preparing the tugboat for departure.
“Here's the radio frequency for communicating with the freighter. She’s captained by Sebastian Dubois,” Louis said, handing over a slip of paper to Captain Cartier.
“And the payment?”
Louis reached back into his jacket and pulled out an envelope containing the money. Tolling out the hundred-eur
o bills, he handed the thirty-five thousand to the tugboat master, sliding the rest back into his jacket.
“Bonne chance, Monsieur,” he said, turning away from Louis. Meanwhile, as the captain climbed the ladder to the bridge, Louis pulled his cell phone out, dialing the number for Sebastian who was waiting for his call. The call was answered practically at once.
“Louis, tell me something good will happen soon,” the freighter captain said.
“You’ll be getting an assist from Captain Cartier on Tug No. 458 in a few minutes,” Louis said. “Make sure everything is ready for his arrival. I need to contact Gregory and let him know about your departure. Bonne chance and safe sailing my friend.”
Turning to the green and white vessel, Louis was surprised to see it already slipping away from the dock without belching acrid smoke from its stacks. What he noticed was the high-pitched whine of an electrical motor just before the marine diesel roared to life.
***
Driving his car through traffic, Detective Lemieux pulled to the curb near the small police station in the Bonneveine district of the city. Peering at his partner, he sat waiting. “You’re being too quiet; why don’t you ask me whatever’s on your mind?”
Geneviève shifted herself in the passenger seat. “What did Captain Duval say?”
“About what?”
“Whatever you went upstairs to talk about,” she said. “You were in his office for roughly an hour. You both had to be discussing something,” she continued, brushing her hair aside. “Did you talk to him about Nadine?”
Taking a deep breath, Claude answered. “Yes, I talked to him about Nadine. I likewise talked to him about other issues, like what I’m going through,” he said, dropping his head. “Between her death, Claudia returning home, and the promotion, it’s all getting to be a burden.” His hands twitched on the steering wheel.
“Claude,” Geneviève said, her voice soft and comforting. “You’re not alone in all this. Nicolas, Guy, myself, we’re here for you. I’m sure Captain Duval said the same thing, didn’t he?”
“Yes, yes, he did,” Claude replied, taking a deep breath to calm himself. “He mentioned if I need a few days to take them, but where am I to go?” He looked at the young woman. “The apartment is a prison nowadays...”
Obscure Intentions Page 11
