“Do you want something to eat?” Sophia asked, getting up from her chair. “I can fix you breakfast or maybe a sandwich if you like.”
“I’m fine,” he said, finishing his coffee. “I should get back to Marseille; Louis and I have a few business dealings to handle.”
“Louis is doing well, I take it?”
“Yes, his wounds are healing nicely according to Julien. Though he does have a slight limp nowadays,” he chuckled. “And he’s grown his hair out some and is sporting a beard.”
Sophia shook her head. “I can’t imagine him with a beard. And the others, they are doing ok too?” she asked, knowing her uncle had a handful of other men from his time as a Legionnaire working for him.
“Yes, they are,” Gregory replied, placing his cup in the sink. “Your mother still worries about you too.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder while placing a kiss to her forehead. “You should call her, I’m sure she’d love to hear your voice. Even if it’s just a few minutes, huh?” he suggested, hugging her shoulder just as his phone rang in his pocket.
Staring down at the number, his brow furrowed. Looking at Sophia, he placed his finger across his lips signaling her to be quiet while he answered the call. “Hello?”
“Gregory? It’s Giuseppe Ricci, my friend,” the Italian said over the crowd gathering inside the small eatery he and Benito were sitting in. “My manager said you stopped by. I’m sorry for not being available.”
“No apologies are needed. I should have called first,” Gregory said, sitting at the small table. “I was hoping we could get together for a discussion; when will you be able to meet me?”
Giuseppe looked at Benito whose eyes were glued to the small television mounted behind the order counter. On it, Benito saw a photo of himself on display as the announcer described the suspect in a police investigation.
“Giuseppe, are you there?”
“Yes, yes, I’m here,” the Italian said. “If you’ll excuse me, Greg, I’ve another call I must take. I’ll get back to you my friend.” He ended the call as hastily as it started. Turning to Benito, he spoke. “It’s time to leave, now,” he uttered, grabbing their drinks off the table.
Walking around the corner towards their car, both men moved hurriedly without looking around at the other patrons passing them on the street. Benito thumbed the remote, unlocking the doors as they slid into their seats.
“How did they get my photo?” Benito exclaimed.
“I’d say you were careless, but I’m also considering the police being very lucky,” Giuseppe replied. How do I tell Alberto about this? he thought? Seeing his colleague’s picture on display just jeopardized their plans to abduct Hector Dupont and trade him for Detective Genevieve Benoit.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The quiet murmur of six dispatchers speaking into headsets filled the room as the number of calls increased by the hour. The influx of sightings of the Italian suspect shown on local news broadcasts grew after each show. Inside the center, consoles lit up with each new caller, casting an eerie light display throughout the darkened space.
Looking on, Detective Lemieux shook his head, having cautioned Geneviève of the chaos she would create by insisting their suspect in her abduction investigation be televised throughout the city. But he was overruled by his captain, who sided with Geneviève.
“These calls are having an adverse impact on our operations, Captain Lemieux,” the sergeant in charge pointed out. “We can’t focus on the normal calls promptly enough.” He couldn’t help but notice the flashing lights for the emergency calls on hold at each operator’s console.
“I recommend you assign two of the operators to handle the emergency number, and the rest can tackle the unofficial call-ins,” Claude replied, finishing his coffee. “And I’ll see someone comes in every hour to collect the tips you receive,” walking out of the darkened room.
Starting his way to his office, Claude made a stop at the cafeteria for another coffee. Dodging the caution signs of a wet floor near the entrance, he stood in line for one of the staff to refill the grounds. A slight bump from behind caused him to turn.
“I’m so sorry, detective,” the female officer said, looking up at Claude.
“That’s ok, Sergeant...,” he replied, glancing at her name tag. “Dubois is it,” he finished, seeing the plastic emblem below her badge.
“Yes,” Claire said, grabbing a to-go cup and lid from the counter. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m here for some tea,” she said, edging around the officer.
“Certainly,” Claude said, letting the woman passed him. Hearing the kitchen worker had finished setting the coffee up, he side-stepped to the dispenser to fill his own cup. Splashing in the equivalent of three tablespoons of sugar, he capped the top and signaled the cashier before heading towards his office.
Catching a group of officers talking in hushed tones of a case, he soon came to the offices set aside for patrol sergeants and the detectives. Going in his office, he came across Berger and Masson discussing the outcome of the past evening’s soccer match.
Lemieux placed his coffee down on his desk while pulling his chair back. “The two of you need to step into dispatch for a moment and observe the chaos posting the wanted picture on television created,” the senior officer said.
“But if it produces results, isn’t it a good thing?” Detective Berger asked.
“We’ll know more after you two begin collecting and sifting through all those tips we're receiving,” Claude said, reviewing a surveillance report on their mysterious shipping company. “Did the harbormaster ever find who helped move the freighter the other day?”
“No, seems the potential strike by the longshoremen has dampened his spirits,” Detective Masson replied. “It is convenient for the strike to happen and the ship leaves the harbor at the same time though.”
“And where is Benoit?” Claude asked, noting her absence.
“She was here a few minutes before you arrived, then left,” Guy Masson said, reviewing the local updates on their surveillance request. “Seems the patrols are still coming up empty; no new sightings for Papillion Transport office workers,” he informed them, tossing the report to his partner.
As the three officers discussed the report, Detective Benoit was providing a disposition to the investigating officers working the assault case from the police training facility. “And how did you come about locating the assailant?” one officer asked.
“The victim screamed, which woke me up,” Geneviève said. “I literally heard it twice before running out of the villa,” she answered, recalling the early morning events. She could sense her chest tighten as she relived the morning: visions of grabbing her gun, dashing out of the villa and spotting a flash of light in the distant shrubbery.
“And when you came across the cadet assaulting the woman, what did you discover?”
“I saw him straddling the woman, her arms were pinned down and he was trying to rip off her shirt,” she said. Geneviève could feel beads of perspiration forming on her brow, snippets of her own struggle clouding her thoughts. “I confronted him, directing him to release the woman at gunpoint.”
“You mentioned to the security supervisor you knew the cadet, is that right?”
“Yes, he was jogging in front of the Administration Building when he bumped into me,” Geneviève said, wringing her hands. “Officer Cote was outside the building and saw it happen.”
For another twenty minutes, the two members of the training security staff continued their questioning, more as a formality since no charges were being brought against Geneviève. Still, the session was conjuring up old memories she struggled to keep suppressed.
“We’ve just about covered everything, detective,” one officer said. “If there’s anything further, we’ll contact your captain and you,” he concluded, closing his file and getting up from the table.
“Thank you,” she said, exiting the room. Walking into the busy hallway, Geneviève wandered back towards her of
fice, oblivious of those around her. Passing the cafeteria, she noticed the small television broadcasting the news and the image of the Italian the police were trying to locate.
As she walked past the office used by Captain Georges and his SWAT team, someone called out to her from behind. Spinning around, she saw Francine stepping off the elevator, making her way through the crowd.
“Phew, I wasn’t sure you heard me,” the lab technician said. “How are things going for you? I found out someone broke into your apartment?”
“As well as can be expected, I guess,” Geneviève said. “We’ve got a lead on the man, but it’s still slow. So, tell me, how was your date with Nicolas?” she asked, wanting to discover more of her partner’s evening with the young woman.
“It was nice,” Francine said. “He took me to the new Asian place near the harbor. We had dinner, chatted for a ten, maybe twenty minutes, and then he took me home. Nothing to get too excited about,” she said. “But he does dress much nicer than when he’s here at the office. Maybe for the next outing, we can go on a double date. What do you say?”
“I’m not sure,” Geneviève said with a touch of apprehension in her response. “Until I’m sure this stalker has been apprehended, I want to keep my social activities to a minimum. But after that, I’m sure we can make some arrangement.”
Watching the two women in conversation, Detective Masson walked up behind Geneviève before saying anything. “Detective Benoit, Captain Lemieux is waiting for you in the office,” he said, causing her to jump. “Hello, Miss LeBeau,” Guy continued, acknowledging the lab technician beside his colleague before continuing down the hall.
“And where are you headed?”
“Communications to see how much havoc you’ve wreaked,” he said, continuing down the hallway.
“That was Nicolas’s partner, wasn’t it?” Francine asked.
“Yes, it was. His name is Guy Masson. And no, he’s not married either,” Geneviève said, answering the obvious question on her friends face before it was asked. “I’ll call you about having lunch again, but I need to go.”
“Ok, let Nicolas know I said hi,” she said watching the detective walk away to her office.
Just as Geneviève was reaching the office, Guy had returned from Communications, this time with his hands full of dispatch notices from sightings of the Italian prowler. “I hope you’re happy,” he said, stepping past her to his desk. “According to the sergeant on duty, these are just for the first two hours,” he explained, tapping his finger on the stack of paper.
“And now you can see why I was so reluctant to have your assailant’s picture on television,” Detective Lemieux said, tilting his coffee towards Geneviève. “I recommend you concentrate on the neighborhood near the bistro and your apartment. I’ll be right back.” He tossed his empty cup in the trash can before leaving the room.
“Let’s get this done, shall we?” Detective Masson said, dividing the pile of dispatches. Each of the detectives began the laborious task of sifting through each printout, reviewing the descriptions the citizens gave; several had individuals with lean, muscular builds while others noted men with wiry features. Notices describing anyone with facial hair were soon discarded since the surveillance photo showed Benito Russo as clean shaven.
Making his way into the cafeteria, Detective Lemieux grabbed another large coffee, adding his copious volume of sugar before greeting the cashier. “How much am I up to today?”
“For today, it’s 9.50,” the cashier responded. “However, for the month you are close to 235.00 euros. And it's only the beginning of the second week of the month, detective,” the woman reminded Claude. “You’ll need to settle your bill by Friday evening if you expect anything on Monday.”
“I’ll see to it tomorrow,” Claude said, exiting the eatery. Dodging the growing number of citizens entering the police department building, the newly promoted detective slipped past the SWAT team’s office before hearing the hail by his superior.
“Captain Lemieux, I need a moment of your time,” Captain Duval said.
“Yes, Captain? What can I do for you?”
Julien Duval looked over his subordinate officer, noting a slight tremor in his coffee cup before addressing him. “I’ve got an interesting bit of information from Officer LeBlanc’s sergeant about the Italian,” he said, holding a file folder in his hand. “How many cups does that make today?” he asked, nodding towards Claude’s coffee.
“Oh... three or four, but who’s counting?” Claude replied with a laugh. “So, what am I to learn from this report?”
Opening the folder, Captain Duval showed Claude the photo taken by the patrols near Geneviève’s apartment. "This was taken four days ago at a park near Detective Benoit’s residence.” Removing a second photo from the folder, he placed it next to the first. “And this one is from your surveillance camera the other day.”
Claude took both photos in his hand and fanned them out. “It’s the same man.”
“Yes, it’s the same person,” Captain Duval said. “We not only have these two images but also the sketch from the market owner from Officer LeBlanc’s first encounter. So, what would your next step be, knowing what you do now?”
Claude leaned against the wall, letting other officers pass by as he contemplated his captain’s question. “I’m curious as to why he’s in the neighborhood of the bistro. Detective Benoit and I have never been in that section of the city, so why does he show up there? What’s in that specific area related to her?”
“Let me know when you figure it out,” Duval said. “And by the way, Benoit’s account of the assault from the other morning is somewhat aligned with the victims,” he noted, taking back the photos.
“Somewhat?”
“The victim couldn’t scream as Detective Benoit claims,” the captain said. “The cadet’s attacker had placed tape across her mouth. So, at best, she might have cried out once. Which means Benoit heard a single scream, not the multiple ones she said she heard.”
“It’s not like her to boast of something that’s not true though,” Claude said, ready to defend his partner. “If she said she heard it, I believe she did.”
“Claude, she might have heard multiple screams in her own mind before hearing the one that woke her,” the captain said. “If she had thoughts of being attacked in her apartment by this prowler, who’s to say she wasn’t screaming herself because of it,” he asked, painting a picture neither wanted to entertain.
“Should I talk to her about it?” Claude asked.
“She’s not in any trouble, so I’ll leave it up to you to decide if it’s worth bringing up,” Duval said. “Oh, and one more issue: you need to go see Captain Soucy in the Gang Task Force offices. He’s got something of interest on your Algerian drug dealer. You should find him in the Annex.”
Taking his leave of his friend and captain, Claude walked through the building towards the rear entrance. Going out through the security doors, he found himself walking down the loading dock ramp. Coming upon the first in a series of modular units, he entered the first.
“Can I help you?” the man at the first table asked, looking at the detective.
If not for the man’s badge and ID hanging from his neck, Claude could have mistaken the officer for one of Marseille’s growing number of transients. He looked haggard, his arms thin, almost like twisted lengths of rope as his tendons and muscles were visible under his skin.
“I’m looking for Captain Soucy?” Claude asked, showing his own ID to the man.
“Back there,” was the reply as the man pointed to a makeshift office in the corner.
Making his way past several tables, each occupied by a member of the task force, the detective came upon the open door of the senior officer in charge. Rapping his knuckles on the door as he stuck his head in, he greeted its occupant. “Hello? Captain Soucy, I presume?”
Captain Soucy was short and squat sitting at the makeshift desk, piles of reports stacked to one side. On the wall
behind him were several surveillance photos of known members of the more prominent gangs operating in the city.
“Correct on all accounts. You must be Lemieux?” he asked.
“Yes. Captain Duval mentioned you might have some information about our suspect being held at Chateau Il d’If,” Claude answered.
“It seems this man is very important to many people,” Soucy said, scratching his beard. “We’ve heard talk between the Unione Corse and Maghrebi gangs about a large sum of cash being used to gain information about his location.”
“From what my partner learned when he was captured in Algiers, he’s associated with a well-connected member of the Algerian crime syndicates,” Claude said. “It turns out this person in Algiers had a sordid past during the fight for liberation. He killed two Army officers before turning against several local gang leaders.”
“And yet your suspect is drawing interest amongst several groups. It does suggest he’d be worth 100,000 euros, doesn’t it?”
Claude let out a low whistle. “Is that how much Khalid is paying someone for this information?”
“Khalid. Are you telling me this man is associated with Omar Khalid?” Captain Soucy asked, his sullen and bloodshot eyes lighting up at the name.
“Yes, we believe our suspect, his name is Talib, that he’s related somehow to him.”
Captain Soucy dug out a folder as thick as a paperback and opened it. “This is what we’ve been able to piece together on the drugs being supplied to the Maghrebi gang by Khalid,” he said. “Every time I get an officer close enough to learn something important, he disappears for weeks. And when he returns, he’s no longer welcome amongst the gangs and I need to re-assign him,” he sighed, alluding to the dangers of undercover duty.
“You also mentioned the Unione Corse. What is their angle?” Claude asked.
Obscure Intentions Page 19
