“I appreciate the offer, Monsieur Reno,” Geneviève said, “but I’d like to discuss this with as few people as possible. Several questions I have to ask are sensitive in nature, you understand?”
“Certainly,” he said. “Please feel to contact me for any need you have,” he told her, handing over his business card.
Taking the card, Geneviève replied, “Either myself or one of my fellow officers will follow up later this week.” As she strolled out of the building and stepped onto the busy street, her luck improved as the city trolley designated for the harbor pulled up. Stepping onboard, she soon found a seat near the driver.
***
While Geneviève was discussing matters at the bank, Detectives Berger and Masson returned to the harbormaster’s office to question the staff about their missing freighter, the De Gaulle.
“Monsieur Clerc,” Guy continued with his discussion, “don’t you have the means of tracking the vessel movements?”
“Of course,” the master seaman said. “We have the latest radar operation associated with the harbor activities. We can see over 100 kilometers out to sea and track the coming and going of each vessel bound for Marseille.”
“Then how come you can’t tell us where the De Gaulle is right now?” Guy asked.
“Much like an airplane, each vessel has a device to help us recognize which ship is transiting the water outside the harbor,” the harbor master said. “If it’s not transmitting, we can’t see them. All they become is a dot on the screen,” he explained, pointing to the radar image behind him.
“So, any of those dots could be the freighter?” Detective Berger asked.
“Unfortunately, the answer is yes,” Monsieur Clerc said. “And as you can see, we’ve nearly twenty or more sailing without the aid of their transmitter conveying a signal.”
“Let’s get back to our other situation then,” Masson said.
“The freighter’s owner,” Clerc answered.
“Yes. When was the last time you had an encounter with them?” the detective asked.
“It was about two years ago,” the harbor master said. “Monsieur Richelieu and his associate came to us to negotiate berthing rights for his vessels. It’s billed and paid via wire transfer from Banque Palatine by Monsieur Segal,” he said, alluding to the banker.
“What was the name of Richelieu’s associate?” Berger asked, taking down notes.
“It’s here on file,” he answered, pulling out a folder from the file cabinet and passing it to the detective. “Monsieur Giles Dumont from Toulon.”
“Is this the only document on file?” Berger asked, writing their names into his notebook.
“Yes. It’s not up for the renewal until the year after next.”
“Does the name Dumont ring a bell for you?” Berger asked, looking at Guy.
“Not this minute, no. But then again, I wasn’t investigating corporate issues when I was assigned there either,” Guy said. Turning back to the harbormaster, he continued. “What disciplinary actions do you take against the tugboat operators? Say, finding one moving a freighter without your blessing,” he asked, trying to piece together a theory.
“They’d be reprimanded and could lose their license,” the harbormaster replied.
Before another question could be asked, Detective Benoit came through the door, joining her colleagues. “Gentlemen, sorry for the intrusion,” she said, folding her blazer over her arm.
“How did you get here?” Guy asked.
“I jumped on the trolley,” she said. “Then took a stroll along the docks. It’s a what, oh... five-, ten-minute walk at most from the end of the trolley service to here.” She wiped her forehead of perspiration. “I knew you two would still be here anyway.”
“Monsieur Clerc,” Guy said. “May I introduce Detective Benoit,” he said, gesturing towards the woman.
“Bonjour, Detective Benoit,” the harbor master said. “We were just discussing the complexities of tracking ocean-going vessels.”
“And did you learn anything?” she asked, ribbing her fellow detectives.
“Yes,” Nicolas said. “It turns out we don’t know enough about freighters and their movements,” he said, admitting to their naïve and rudimentary knowledge.
“Monsieur Clerc was just explaining how they use a transponder to track vessel movements," Guy said. "But the crew has the means of turning it off, so they can’t be tracked on radar.” A sense of defeat was apparent in his statement.
“But, on the bright side,” Nicolas added, “we have the names of the freighter’s owners,” he bragged, flapping his notebook in front of her.
“Claude and I already have the names,” Geneviève said. “We got those during our previous investigation. It's old news, I’m afraid.”
Glancing at the clock on the wall behind the detectives, Monsieur Clerc realized he was needed for an incoming cruise ship within the hour. “If you’ll please excuse me,” he said. “It’s my turn as the harbor pilot. I must leave now.”
“We understand,” Guy said. “Thank you for the information. We’ll contact you if we have any further questions. Shall we?” he asked, motioning to Nicolas and Geneviève towards the exit.
Walking outside, they noted Monsieur Clerc hustling towards one of the bright orange speedboats idling at the docks. No sooner had he pulled his foot off the dock, the motor roared as the boat was propelled out into open waters.
“He didn’t even have time to sit,” Nicolas said, watching the spray of water soar upward as the boat sped up. “But damn, that looks like it would be fun.”
“You better hope Francine can swim before dragging her out onto one of those,” Guy said.
“Are you seeing Francine?” Geneviève asked.
“What? No, I haven’t asked her to do anything yet,” Nicolas stammered, surprised by the question. “I’d be afraid to take her on a speedboat. For all I know she gets seasick in a bathtub.”
“Where should he take her on a first date, Benoit?” Guy asked unlocking the police car.
“Good question,” she said. “It should be somewhere neutral, a place where she can feel comfortable and not pressured into something too soon,” she continued, climbing into the passenger seat. “I know she’s very much into eating healthy though, so keep that in mind.”
“Wonderful, a woman who prefers eating sprouts instead of scallops,” Berger said.
“I didn’t say that,” Geneviève said. “I just said she eats healthy, not what she eats. Oh Guy, can you swing me by the airport? I need to see Monsieur Dupont.”
“Finally going to let him in on your trespassing prowler?” the detective asked, pulling the car into traffic. “I’m betting he’ll understand if you just be honest with him.”
“Sure, any guy would totally get being associated with a person being stalked by the mafia,” Berger added from the back.
“I’m going to use you for jiu-jitsu practice for thinking such things,” she remarked. “Hector spent time in the Air Force; he can handle himself.”
“He’ll take it just fine,” Guy said, glancing at Geneviève. “And you need to zip it, Berger. Just remind him that we’re all covering your back on this.”
Finally, after a quiet ten minutes of driving, Detective Masson pulled the police car to the front of the terminal. “I’ll give you ten minutes, ok?”
“We’ll be waiting right here,” Nicolas said from the back seat as he opened his notebook.
Getting out, Geneviève hurried into the building, making her way to Hector’s office. Catching a clerk as they unlocked the security door, Geneviève said, “Hold it open, please.”
The clerk turned, hearing her voice. “I’m sorry, miss. I can’t let you through this door.”
Pulling her police ID out, Geneviève said, “I’m here to see Monsieur Dupont.”
Ushering the officer to her director, the clerk knocked on Hector’s door.
“Excuse me, Monsieur Dupont, this officer said she needs to speak with you,�
�� she called, motioning to Geneviève who stood outside the doorway.
“It's fine,” Hector said with a smile. “I’ll see her now.”
“I’m sorry for showing up unannounced, Hector,” Geneviève said, “but I need to tell you something, and you need to keep it to yourself.” She sat down across from him.
“All right. What’s so important it couldn’t wait until Friday evening?” he asked walking around the desk to close his door.
Geneviève paused while he returned to his seat. “Last week, while we were at dinner, someone broke into my apartment,” she said. “Nothing was stolen. But during the investigation, we’ve learned there might be a criminal element planning an abduction,” Geneviève said, lowering her eyes. “And I’m the target.”
Hector sat back in his chair, his steel-grey eyes focused on his companion. “And?” he asked knowing there was more for her to say. “What else is there Geneviève? I can see it in your expression. There’s something you’re not wanting to tell me.”
“The investigating officers learned the suspect knows of you,” she said. “I mean, he’s gotten a description of you, your car...” She turned away to avoid revealing her tears to him. “Hector, I don’t want anything to happen to you because of my actions, or an association with me.”
“I grew up in an era where chivalry had not ended,” he said with a smile. “First, I’m capable of defending myself. Second, if you and I are continuing this relationship, I won’t allow anything to happen to you,” Hector said, leaning onto his desk. “And my impression of Detective Lemieux is that he won’t stand by while you try to handle this alone, will he?”
“No,” she said with a sniffle. “Claude wouldn’t, and neither would Guy or Nicolas for that matter.”
“Who are they? Your brothers, are they cousins...?”
“Sorry, no, they’re the other detectives I work with,” she said. “They’re here, well, I mean they’re parked in front of the terminal to be exact. They gave me ten minutes to let you know what I was dealing with,” she continued, looking at her watch. “And my time is about up.”
Getting up from his desk, Hector walked around and leaned over Geneviève, kissing her on the cheek. “We will be fine, you and I,” he said. “Come, let me meet these two protectors before one of my sergeants tries to cite them for double parking in front of the terminal.”
Walking out of the office, they made their way towards the entrance. “Oh, I should tell you,” Geneviève said. “I’m staying at the police academy until we catch this person,” she explained, walking through the sliding doors.
Coming to the police car, Guy and Nicolas were standing on the curb, waiting for their partner’s return. Seeing Geneviève walking out with Hector, Guy spoke first. “Monsieur Dupont, I’m Detective Masson and this is Detective Berger,” he said, motioning to Nicolas.
“Gentlemen, it’s a pleasure to meet both of you.” Hector briefly shook hands with the detectives. “I can see Miss Benoit is being looked after by accomplished individuals.”
“So, she told you what’s going on?” Nicolas asked.
“Not in detail, but enough to convey the importance,” Hector replied.
“What type of weapon are you carrying?” Guy asked, motioning to the slight bulge under Hector’s jacket.
“You're rather observant. Very good, detective,” the director answered. “It’s a Sig-Sauer, 9-millimeter. A hold-over from my days in the Air Force. I have the right to wear it as director of security, if that’s your concern.”
“I never noticed,” Geneviève muttered under her breath.
“You were distracted,” Nicolas whispered in her ear.
“I hate cutting our conversation short, but I have an airport to manage,” Hector said, shaking hands with the two men. “I’ll call you later.” He gave Geneviève a kiss.
“Use my cell number,” she said, getting into the passenger seat.
As Hector turned away, entering the terminal, he disappeared from their view, as Guy pulled the car from the curb and joined the traffic leaving the airport.
“Detective Benoit,” Guy said, maneuvering through traffic, “we approve of your gentleman friend. Don’t we Nicolas?”
“Of course,” the younger detective answered, his thoughts drifting off, wondering where he could take Francine LeBeau on their first date.
Chapter Nineteen
Detective Lemieux walked through the lobby, making his way towards the cafeteria for more coffee. As he reached for the door, he heard an unfamiliar voice. “Detective Lemieux, can I see you for a moment?” the woman asked.
“Do I know you, Mademoiselle?” he asked, seeing the visitor badge hanging from her blouse.
“I’m sorry, detective. My name is Doctor Louise Beringer,” she said, holding out her hand. “I was told by Captain Duval you were leading an investigation on a new strain of hashish being peddled throughout the city.”
“Yes. Please, call me Claude. Do you mind if we get some coffee?” he asked, motioning to the cafeteria. “Then we can sit and discuss this in my office.”
“I take mine black with sugar, if you please,” the woman said.
Claude ordered the two coffees and nodded to the cashier who placed them on his police department tab. Passing the cup to the doctor, he directed her towards the elevator. Moments later, they stood in front of his office. “If you’ll follow me,” he started, holding the door open.
Entering, Louise noticed the stack of empty coffee cups in the detective’s trash can as she took a seat. “Your other officers look to be busy,” she teased, pointing to the trash can. “Putting in a lot of hours chasing leads on the case I take it.”
“Most of those are mine,” Claude replied, embarrassed. “Now, you said you sought me out so we can discuss the drug issue. Is there something you wish to add to the investigation, maybe new evidence, or something left off the autopsy report for Miss Bakker?” he asked, recalling the young Danish woman.
“Yes, detective. We came across something new,” Louise said. “My colleagues were treating a victim from yesterday’s hotel fire; when the bloodwork results came back, they noted the use of an illicit drug,” she explained, taking another sip of her coffee. Opening her purse, she displayed a print-out. “Our lab was also used to run beta tests on your samples from several months ago, so the technicians did a comparison between the two of them.”
“I wasn’t aware the hospital staff were given any samples of the evidence,” Claude said, making a note to discuss it with Julien.
“It’s a practice we’ve had in place for years, Claude.”
“So, your staff confirmed this victim was exposed to the same drugs we’re finding on the street,” the detective said. “It shouldn’t be much of a surprise since the drug dealers outnumber the police five-to-one in most areas of the city.”
“But what we found was the same markers for hashish, but a mere trace of an unknown,” the doctor said, finishing her coffee. “The lab noted the earlier sample had a greater concentration of your unknown chemical.”
Claude leaned back in his chair, laying his tablet on his stomach. Scrawling a few ideas down, he looked up. “It seems your lab has stumbled across an important issue, Doctor.”
“Please, it’s Louise,” she said with a smile.
“I’m sorry, Louise,” Claude said. “What I’m seeing between your tests, both earlier and more recent, is the unknown chemical is breaking down over time. Am I correct with this theory?”
“Whatever this unknown is seems to have a short lifespan once exposed,” the woman said. “Most drugs, legal or illegal, can only keep their potency for a finite period. It’s like a fine wine. Once you open it, you must finish it before it becomes stale.”
“I wholeheartedly agree with your analogy, Louise,” Claude chuckled. “However, if what your staff has identified is true, the drug is becoming less lethal, doesn’t it?”
“The hashish is still a dangerous drug by itself,” Louise said. “Including
this unknown drug, I believe made the hashish worse. But as it circulates, it seems to lose its desired effect. There is still a need for the person to achieve their high. These drugs are still an addiction.”
“Thankfully my only vice is wine,” Claude said, finishing his coffee. “Not to mention this.” He lifted the empty cup in his hand before adding it to the pile.
“Alcohol is an addictive product just like drugs, Claude,” Louise said. “The distinction is wine being legal and hashish, in this case, is not. It all comes down to the extent consumed when we’re talking alcohol, or even caffeine.” She tossed her empty on top of his.
Claude was sensing his friend Captain Duval set this meeting up more to have the woman discuss his emerging signs of alcohol abuse rather than the drug case. If he did, he chose an attractive woman to deliver the message.
“So, where does this leave us, Louise?” he asked.
“Catching the drug dealers is your business, Detective,” the doctor said. “But what you might see is that individuals getting the hashish laced with the more potent unknown drug will continue to seek it out. The ones with the weaker version, they’ll most likely be happy with hashish or marijuana.”
“And the ones abusing other drugs?”
“They’ll continue to do so,” Louise said, looking into Claude’s eyes. “Either until they get the help they need, or when it becomes too much, they’ll die.”
He sat there, torn between wanting to learn more about her as a woman and questioning her motive behind their chance meeting. Seeing the time, he knew he couldn’t do either, lest he showed up late for his department meeting. “I’d enjoy continuing our conversation,” he said, “but you’ll have to excuse me. I have a meeting in a few minutes.”
Sliding her card across the desk, she said, “I understand. Call me when you wish to continue our discussion.”
“I’ll see you to the lobby,” Claude said, getting the door for her.
Just as Claude finished escorting Louise to the reception desk, Detectives Berger and Benoit entered through the side entrance, watching the woman walk away.
Obscure Intentions Page 14
