As Guy and Nicolas discussed the previous evening’s events, Claude and Geneviève sat in awkward silence as they drove to interview the shop owner who spied the Italian.
“Are you upset with me?”
“What...? No... what gave you that impression?” Claude asked.
“Because you’re driving, but not talking,” she said. “Usually you have something to say. Is it about this morning?”
Claude glanced at the young woman. “Ok, yes. I’m concerned about this morning. The doctor who examined the victim wrote in his report the young woman didn’t mention screaming or crying out when the assault took place. But you said you heard screams.”
Geneviève looked away for a moment before answering. “I heard screaming, Claude.”
“I believe you did,” Claude said in a softer tone. “But was it more in your mind, rather than from outside, maybe? Is it just possible the thought of this Italian has you slightly spooked or something like that?”
“I know what I heard,” she said.
Pulling the car in front of the bistro, Claude turned to Geneviève, but she was already stepping out of the car and walking towards the shop. Pulling her ID from her purse, she greeted the owner who stood at the front door.
“Bonjour officer. How can I help you?” he asked.
“We understand you reported seeing a possible suspect. Is that true?” she asked.
“Oui, several officers were passing a flyer around,” the shop owner said. “When I noticed the picture, I recalled seeing the man stopping just the other day. He bought a coffee and a sandwich.”
As the three stood on the sidewalk, Guy pulled the other patrol car in behind Claude’s and got out with Nicolas.
“He looked very much like him,” the shop owner said, pointing to Nicolas. “Except he had straighter hair, and it was a lighter shade of brown.”
“Are you sure?” Claude asked.
“I can show you; my CCTV camera is brand new,” the owner said, waving them into his shop. Walking into the small back room, he turned the surveillance camera on. Both Geneviève and Claude could see Guy and Nicolas standing outside, their images showing up on the screen.
“Here is the man I saw,” the owner said, pushing play to let the video from the other day run. In moments, the detectives had a clear view of Benito Russo buying his coffee and the sandwich, even glancing at the camera for a mere instance.
“We’ll need the file, if you don’t mind,” Claude asked.
Passing over the computer disc to Claude, the shop owner asked, “Is there a reward for helping you?”
“Not officially, no. But I’m sure my partners and I can make your assistance worthwhile,” Claude said. “We’ll discuss it when I return your disc, is it a deal?”
“Oui, you have a deal,” the owner said, holding out his hand which Claude shook.
Coming back to the front of the shop, Claude and Geneviève walked up on Guy still questioning Nicolas about his date with Francine LeBeau.
“You went out with the young girl from the lab?” Claude asked.
“You mean Francine?” Geneviève replied correcting him.
“Yes, we had a nice evening,” Nicolas said, blushing in front of Geneviève.
“Did she wear those glasses of hers?”
“No, come to find out, she wears contacts when she’s not at work,” Nicolas said.
“Tell them about her eyes,” Guy ribbed his partner.
“What about them?” Claude asked. “Don’t tell me she’s cross-eyed or something like that.”
“No. Her eyes are fine,” Nicolas said. “A very nice shade of grey-green hazel. And before you ask, yes, I was a gentleman. We had a nice dinner, then I drove her home to her apartment,” he told them, leaning against the patrol car.
“And your next date is when?” Geneviève asked.
“We didn’t discuss another date,” Nicolas said. “At least not last night. If you don’t mind, can we get back to being police officers?”
“He’s right,” Claude said. “What do you recommend we do with this?” he asked, holding the computer disc in his hands.
“What’s on it?” Guy asked.
“A very clear image of the Italian we’re looking for in Geneviève’s prowler case.”
“I say we get as many copies to the foot patrols as possible,” Nicolas chimed in.
“I’ve a better idea,” Geneviève said.
“Do tell, please,” Claude replied, noting her mischievous grin.
“We use the population to help,” she said. “Just as he’s doing with the drug dealers, I say we turn the tables against him. Let’s get the image on an 'All Points Bulletin' order and supply it to the television stations, plaster his face all over the airwaves,” she suggested, spreading her arms skyward.
Guy and Nicolas both exchanged grins while Claude frowned outwardly at her exuberant behavior.
“Do you know what trouble you’re asking for… do you?” Claude asked. “Every citizen will point out every suspicious tourist in the city; is that what you want? We cautioned Sergeant LeBlanc about this very thing.”
“But if it puts more pressure on the Italian, then he’ll do something foolish,” she said.
“Where’s my coffee?” Claude asked, running his hand through his hair.
“You finished it,” Geneviève said.
“Someone get me a coffee; I need to think this through before I present it to Captain Duval,” he sighed, holding out a ten-euro bill.
Grabbing the money, Nicolas went back into the shop to get Claude’s coffee. “And don’t forget, black and sweet,” he heard over his shoulder as he walked through the doors.
Staring at Guy and Geneviève, he let out a sigh. “This could backfire in our face you, know?”
“Or it could flush him out and we’ll be rid of the problem altogether,” the woman said to both men as she slid into the passenger seat.
“Or it’ll invite more trouble,” Guy said, turning to his captain.
“I’m afraid it will be the latter,” Claude replied.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Bonjour, Madame,” Benito said, greeting the tenant. “My name is Claudio Silvia, and I’m conducting a survey of your complex for my company,” he explained as he handed over his business card. “We’re looking at how best to incorporate various comforts of inner-city lifestyles with those in the suburbs.”
“And how long will this take?” the woman asked, glancing back at her television show.
“Not long, maybe five minutes,” Benito said, pulling out the generic form.
This scenario played out for he and Giuseppe over the next two hours, each going door to door, announcing their business while asking questions from their bogus forms.
As Giuseppe walked to the car, he caught sight of the apartment used by Hector Dupont. Nothing distinguished it from the other units except a small decal of a Fleur d’li at the bottom edge of the window. “Are we done for the day?” he asked Benito, walking up to the car.
“For the morning, we are,” the other Italian said. “We should get something to eat and come back, say in ninety minutes. It’ll give us with an opportunity to show consistent activity during normal hours,” he explained, unlocking the rental car.
“And what have we learned from this?” Giuseppe asked.
“Some of these tenants have some odd habits,” Benito said, maneuvering the car out of the parking lot. “But the ones I talked to were all women. Some had children, but most were older women with no jobs,” he noted, sliding behind the wheel. “And you?”
“The same, but I came across one tenant,” Giuseppe said. “He’s disabled from the shipyard, but he seemed awfully fit for being injured,” He pulled out the man’s form. “He’s been here for eight years and commented on the lack of a tavern nearby.”
“Doesn’t sound like a problem,” Benito said, pulling the car out of the complex.
“I got the sense he could be if provoked,” Giuseppe replied.
“I also noticed our target’s unit has a decal on the window; it’ll help keep it in sight as we move about the units. Are you sure this will work? We’ve only three days to get our hands on the woman, you know.”
“Relax. I’ve told you, this is not the first time I’ve done this,” Benito said. “All we need to do is get our hands on this man and then trade his life for hers.” If my observation is correct, she won’t think twice about trading his well-being for hers.”
“Which means we need to get our hands on him today, or tomorrow at the latest if we’re to meet our deadline,” Giuseppe added.
“And we will,” Benito replied, pulling the car into a vacant parking spot outside a local restaurant. “We’ll eat, go back and do a few more surveys, and by then, our target will arrive home.”
“How can you be so sure?” Giuseppe asked.
“Have faith my friend; it’ll work,” Benito said. “Now let’s see what this establishment can offer us for lunch, shall we?”
***
The short, one-hour drive to Toulon gave Gregory time to consider what to do with the information provided by Claire. How best to use it against Nazim? he asked himself. Certainly, just leaking the location of his cousin would entice the former partner to act. And how should I act on the Italians looking for the police woman?
Maneuvering his Peugeot sedan into the space near Sophia’s apartment, a slight smile came to his face as memories of his past exploits in the city emerged. “Maybe I’ll go see if the small market is still open,” he muttered, recalling the neighborhood he and Louis frequented. Locking his door, he proceeded towards his niece’s apartment when he spied Phillip exit the building.
“Good morning, Phillip,” he said to the young man.
Caught by surprise, Phillip Gaston turned at the greeting to see his boss. “Ah, bonjour Gregory,” he replied. “I didn’t know you were coming to town.”
“I’m sorry for not calling, but I have some information I wish to discuss with Monsieur Ricci,” Gregory said. “And I promised Sophia’s mother I would check up on her while I was here as well. Is she home?”
“Um... yes, she’s in, but still in bed, I believe,” the young man stammered. “Oh... and Monsieur Ricci has been out of town the last few days.”
“Really? Do you know where he might have gone?”
“I’m sorry, Gregory, I wasn’t told. But I believe Tony, his manager, could tell you,” Phillip said, looking at his watch. “And he should be opening the kitchen by now.”
Gregory stood on the sidewalk, trying to decide what to do. “Since I’m arriving unannounced, I’ll let Sophia have a few more minutes’ rest while I go have a talk with Geno’s manager.”
“Do you wish for me to go with you?”
“No, I think it’s best the people working for Geno don’t associate you and I together,” Gregory said. “At least for the time being, that is. Your time to step up will come, I’m sure.”
Phillip looked down, somewhat dismayed he couldn’t prove his worth to his boss. “As you wish, Monsieur,” he said. “And how is Louis doing? And the rest of the men?”
“They’re doing well. And they do ask how you are doing,” Gregory said. “In time, we’ll have you back in Marseille with the rest of us, don’t worry,” he assured him, patting the young man’s shoulder. “By the way, there's a ship, the De Gaulle, pulling into harbor later today. I need you to deliver this to the captain. And only the captain. No one else, you understand?”
“Oui, Gregory. I’ll see it’s delivered,” Phillip said, taking the envelope.
“Now, you go run your errand. I’ll go visit Tony,” Gregory said, walking away towards Giuseppe Ricci’s restaurant, Pizzeria La Italia.
Walking along the sidewalk, Gregory took his time. His thoughts flittered between the present and his past, just after his release from the Foreign Legion. He and Louis chose to set up their shipping firm, Papillion Transport, which they “inherited” for murdering the two gay members of their unit, out of the city.
“Do you have a light, Monsieur?” The voice came from the shop entrance.
“Excuse me?” Gregory asked, his thoughts interrupted by the stranger.
“A light. Do you have one?”
“No, I don’t smoke,” Gregory replied.
“Then I’ll take your wallet,” the thief said, stepping in front of him, knife by his side. At the same time, a second man stepped out of shadows and behind Gregory.
“Of course,” the former Legionnaire said, reaching his hand behind his back when he noticed the second criminal move closer. As he pulled his wallet out of the pocket, Gregory stepped back, kicking the second man on the left knee, causing him to crumple to the ground.
The first assailant saw the move and lunged at Gregory with the knife.
Gregory sidestepped the assailant while swatting the hand aside that held the knife. Swinging around, both men were facing him. While the one with the injured knee stayed down, the other switched the knife back and forth in his hands. Gregory undid his belt, wrapping one end around his hand, waiting for the next assault.
The robber made another lunge for the Frenchman, which Gregory defended with his belt, swinging the buckle across the assailants’ face and opening a deep cut across his cheek.
Moving his hand to his cheek, the would-be robber pulled it away finding it covered in his own blood. By this time, his partner was struggling to his feet and limping away from the melee, leaving the first assailant alone.
“You wish to continue?” Gregory asked, belt swaying at his side.
With little fanfare, the assailant turned, making his way toward his friend, who was now over a block away from where they made their attempt to rob the Legionnaire.
Watching the two men walk into a building’s entrance and disappear, Gregory replaced his belt onto his pants. “This proves I need Romain to get me back into shape,” he told himself while turning to finish his walk to Giuseppe’s restaurant.
In minutes, he came across the small eatery, its entrance closed, but he could see several men standing in the alley smoking cigarettes and joking while one struggled with bags of trash. Wandering through the narrow space towards the men, Gregory noted a delivery van pulling up behind them.
“Excuse me,” he said. “Is Monsieur Ricci around? I’d like to speak with him.”
“One moment, I'll get someone,” one man said, stamping out his smoldering cigarette.
Gregory noticed the delivery van driver was making his way into the alley carrying loaves of fresh bread. The man who struggled to carry out the trash stepped aside, letting the driver by and into the restaurant.
As soon as the driver entered, a squat, pudgy man walked out, making his way towards Gregory. “Bonjour, Monsieur,” he said. “I understand you wish to speak with Monsieur Ricci, yes?”
“Yes. I’m a friend of his and I came into town on business and thought I would stop by,” Gregory said, sizing the man up.
“I’m sorry, but he’s not available,” the Italian said. “But maybe I can be of assistance. My name is Antonio Moscone, but you can call me Tony.” He extended his hand.
“Thank you, Tony,” Gregory replied. “Is it possible to get a message to Geno? It’s rather important I speak with him in person,” he explained, formulating his idea to conspire against Nazim and the Italians looking for the police woman.
“I can see he gets your information,” Tony said.
“Please let him know I’ll be in Marseille tomorrow,” Gregory said. “And if he could, call me about 10 am at the following number.”
Tony pulled out a notepad, scrawling the number down as Gregory dictated. “I’ll see he gets this right away. Is that all?”
“Yes, thank you,” the Frenchman said, shaking the Italian’s hand before leaving the alley. In less than ten minutes, Gregory found himself outside the apartment of his niece, Sophia. Walking up the stairs, he could hear the soft cries of a small child under the voice of its mother trying to console it. Comi
ng to the door, he gently knocked and waited.
As the door swung open, Gregory was greeted by the sight of his niece, her hair a tousled mess. “Good morning, Sophia,” he said, seeing the surprised look in her eyes growing wider. Her mouth was agape as her face froze in disbelief.
“What are you doing here?” the young woman asked.
“I needed to speak with Giuseppe, but he’s not around,” Gregory said, stepping into the apartment, noticing for the first time that the floors creaked under each step. “I was just at the restaurant speaking with Tony.”
“And what did the doughboy of Pompeii have to say?” she asked, her description failing to hide her disdain for the Italian.
“I just left my number for Geno to call me,” he said, sitting on the small sofa. “And, so you know, I ran into Phillip, too. He’s going to run an errand for me later today, so don’t panic if you don’t see him at the restaurant.”
“Something important?”
“Yes. He’s going to hand over a package to a ship captain,” he said. “How is work going, anyway?” he asked, guessing his niece’s willowy appearance resulted from long hours on her feet, waiting tables.
“It’s going well,” Sophia said over her shoulder from the kitchen. “I’m making decent tips and your friend pays me a reasonable salary.” Stepping back to the table, she handed her uncle a cup of coffee. “But I do miss Celine, though.”
“Have you called her lately?”
“No, I’m not sure what to tell her,” she said, biting her lower lip before taking a drink. “I mean, we had plans for later this summer to spend a week in Nice, just her and me.” Sitting cross-legged in the chair, she looked at her uncle. “She knew I went to the hospital for you.” Sophia lowered her head, waiting for the rebuke to come.
“Ok. I’m not surprised, Sophia,” Gregory said. “I figured you needed to tell her something when you showed up with the uniform, right?” He raised her chin gently to gaze into her eyes, reassuring her. “It’s all right.”
Drying the tears from her cheek, she smiled at the gentleness her uncle could display. Her father’s family traits were clear in his younger brother, as Gregory was much like him in so many ways. But she had also learned of the terror he could dispense when needed, since her mother had told her often the stories of men who had crossed his path.
Obscure Intentions Page 18
