by Katie Penryn
His voice snapped to official. “I’m on it. I’ll be there in ten minutes with Madame Fer-de-Lance.”
I put my phone away and told the others Inspector Dubois would be there in ten.
Jean-Claude broke into a wail. “Now, you’ve done it. The man will see them arrive. He’s bound to be watching, and he’ll hurt Nina. You shouldn’t have called the police.”
“I had to. The Alerte must go out. Dubois is bringing Madame Fer-de-Lance with him to save precious time.”
Felix took a step towards me and whispered, “Why’s he bringing her? She’ll terrify Jean-Claude. We’ll never get a word out of him.”
“Because it’s the juge d’instruction, the prosecutor, who has to call the Ministry of Justice to initiate the Alerte-Enlèvement, and we’ll save time if she’s here on the spot.”
“I’ll rustle up some coffee. Maybe that’ll shake Jean-Claude up and we’ll get some sense out of him by the time Dubois arrives.”
Chapter 25
Dubois was as good as his word and sensible with it. He pulled up outside in an unmarked car well within the ten minutes. He held the car door open for Madame Fer-de-Lance who took his arm on their way up to the door, faking a close friendship which brought a smile to my lips in spite of the seriousness of the situation. It was clear Dubois was doing his best not to let the kidnapper know the police had been called in even if it meant appearing to be chummy with the prosecutor.
I hurried him through the hall and into the library where Madame Fer-de-Lance took control at once. She galloped through the formalities of bonsoir and introductions and launched her first question right at him.
“I understand your daughter is missing, Monsieur de Portemorency?”
A cup of strong coffee and a second tot of cognac had fortified Jean-Claude sufficiently to bring him back to life. He sat up straighter as if he was relieved to find someone else in charge. He nodded back at her.
She went on extracting the crucial facts from him, getting the child’s name, age, physical description, clothes she was wearing, the address of the ballet school and asking for a photo.
Jean-Claude left his desk to take down a school photo from the mantelpiece and pass it across to her.
While she was taking it out of its frame, Felix approached her saying that the story was more complicated. She cut through him in her usual brusque fashion.
“We’ll get the alert out first and then come back to the rest of the story. We can always cancel the alert, but it has to go out without a moment to lose. The first twenty-four hours are of the utmost importance.”
Meanwhile Dubois had taken out his laptop and opened it up. He was busy typing in the information about Nina de Portemorency. Madame Fer-de-Lance handed the photo to Jean-Claude and instructed him to scan it and send it to Dubois’s laptop so he could include it with his report.
As soon as the report was ready with the photo attached, Madame Fer-de-Lance signed off on it using her secret code so that the Ministry would know the report was legitimate.
“Right,” she said. “All that’s been copied to the local gendarmerie. Within minutes the alert will be on all news channels and websites, with the national press agency for inclusion in tomorrow’s newspapers, on the appropriate Facebook pages and even on the motorway warning panels. Now, what do we know about the actual abduction?”
I expected Jean-Claude to give her the information we’d gleaned from Madame Brune and the teacher who’d been on duty at the ballet school when Nina’s abductor had picked her up, but he turned to me and said, “Please, Penzi, you tell madame.”
Madame Fer-de-Lance made a French moue of disgust. She didn’t like me at the best of times although I had earned a modicum of respect from her in the past for helping in the solution of several murders.
“Madame,” I said dipping my chin in a bow of respect, “if I may?”
“Yes, yes,” she said with impatience. “Get on with it. A child’s life hangs in the balance. What do we know?”
“The teacher…” I looked at Jean-Claude.
“Madame Golan,” he filled in.
I continued, “The teacher, Madame Golan, had a good look at the driver of the vehicle. She said it was a white van—”
“Pshaw!” Madame Fer-de-Lance interrupted. “White vans are two for a sou around here. It’ll take forever for us to track it down. I don’t suppose she made a note of the number?”
I shook my head. “She said the registration plate was obscured by mud.”
“Typical villain’s ruse,” Madame Fer-de-Lance commented. “Did she mention any distinguishing marks… dented panels? Broken windows? Tradesmen’s signage?”
“She didn’t mention anything, did she, Jean-Claude?” I asked giving him a nudge.
He shook his head.
Madame Fer-de-Lance scowled and then addressed Dubois. “Perhaps she’ll have remembered something helpful by now, Inspector. I suggest you send a couple of your men to her house now. And get them to take along a police artist to draw up a Photofit. The sooner we get all the data possible, the sooner we can make a concerted effort to find this child. We must be ready to make a serious search for the van and for the child at first light. Tonight we’ll put out alerts for the van and the child, set up search parties for tomorrow and begin door-to-door inquiries in the vicinity of the school. Someone can check for CCTV cameras now, Dubois.”
Dubois went out into the hall to put the prosecutor’s instructions into motion. At the same time, I nipped outside onto the veranda to call Gwinny. I told her what had happened and asked her to break the news gently to Jimbo. I didn’t want him to learn about his friend Nina’s disappearance from a newscast or from Martine over the breakfast table. I told her we’d be home soon as there wasn’t more we could do that night. The police would be handling the initial stages of the search overnight and setting themselves up for the next day.
When I walked back into the library Madame Fer-de-Lance was seated in a chair at Jean-Claude’s desk. She raised her eyebrows at Dubois as he entered the room again.
When he nodded, she heaved a great sigh and said, “There’s not much more we can do on an active front tonight. Let’s see what else we can find out. More coffee, I think?” she said looking pointedly at Felix who took up the hint and went out to the kitchen to fetch a fresh tray of coffee. It was going to be a long night.
I waited quietly for Felix’s return so I could pour out and hand round the coffee cups before sitting down. Behind me, Madame-Fer-de-Lance and Dubois were doing their best to calm Jean-Claude down and assure him that they would catch up with the man and find his daughter. Far from being reassured, Jean-Claude had begun to collapse again and fell to sobbing once more.
Felix returned quickly with the fresh coffee which I poured out and handed around. Madame Fer-de-Lance held back until Jean-Claude had drunk his and the color was returning to his cheeks before she asked, “So, now tell me what the back story is on this situation. You said it was complicated. How so?”
Jean-Claude didn’t answer her. He turned a look of helplessness towards me. “I don’t know what to say.”
I moved my chair up against his and put my arm around him. “Jean-Claude, you have to tell us everything. First of all, explain to Madame Fer-de-Lance why you don’t think the kidnapper is a pedophile.”
The prosecutor jumped up out of her chair and threw her arms in the air. “What? You know something important like that and you haven’t thought to mention it? That piece of information could change the whole thrust of the search for Nina. We don’t want the police wasting precious time searching through the records of local sex offenders if you are aware of a completely different motive.”
“I haven’t had a chance to say anything yet,” murmured Jean-Claude.
“So, speak,” prompted Madame Fer-de-Lance. “Why are you so sure your daughter hasn’t been taken by a pedophile?”
Jean-Claude moaned. “I’m so guilty.”
Madame Fer-de-Lance made a no
te of this. It wouldn’t be the first time a parent had arranged the kidnapping of his own child, but I was sure she wouldn’t see a motive here any more than I could. This wasn’t a custody battle. Jean-Claude had no competition. Nina’s mother was already dead. Perhaps Jean-Claude was struck by the normal parental guilt any parent would experience, guilt at allowing a set of circumstances to exist in which his child could be snatched.
I tightened my grip round his shoulders. “I don’t see how you can be guilty. You weren’t to know that Nina would disobey your instructions. You’ve done what every good parent should do, warned your children about not taking lifts with strangers.”
Madame Fer-de-Lance broke in, “Enough. That’s enough of this self-important twaddle. Tell me everything now, monsieur, and let us do our job. Why are you so sure this is not an abduction by a pedophile?”
Jean-Claude dislodged my arm and reached down to the bottom drawer of his desk from which he drew out a file. He pulled out the contents and threw them on the desk in front of Madame Fer-de-Lance.
“These are print-outs of emails I’ve received over the past few months. You’ll notice I got the first one after we’d finished pruning the vines last autumn.”
Madame Fer-de-Lance picked up the top email and scanned it quickly, her eyebrows rising higher and higher with surprise as she read through to the end. She handed it off to Dubois and moved on to the next. Felix and I crowded over Dubois’s shoulders. Felix sucked in a sharp intake of breath as he read down the page. Dubois grunted. I stood with frustration building in me because I couldn’t read the darned thing.
“Please, Felix, what does it say?” I asked giving him a sharp nudge.
“Sorry, boss. Let me read it out to you.”
“Shush,” Madame Fer-de-Lance called out. “Take it over to the other side of the room if you must.”
The three of us moved off to huddle against the fireplace and Felix read the first email out to me.
I demand one million Euros in used notes. Signal your acceptance to me at this address and you will be given instructions on where and how to deliver the money. Failure to concede to this demand will put your livelihood in danger. I am in a position to kill off all your precious vines. Take a look at the patch on the left at the bottom of the first vineyard. You will see an example of my work.
I looked across at Jean-Claude and asked him, “You didn’t comply, did you?”
He shook his head. “How could I? I didn’t have the money. Even if I’d been able to pay, how could I know it would stop there? Everyone always says not to give in to extortion. That’s what this was–plain and simple extortion. The message was clear: pay up or else.”
Madame Fer-de-Lance raised her eyes from the emails she was reading. “Did you tell anyone? Ever discuss this with your wife?”
Jean-Claude shook his head again. “No, I couldn’t. I didn’t want to worry her.”
“And the vines? You checked them?”
“Oh, the threat was real all right, as far as it went. At first sight, the vines in question appeared to be all right. It was their season to be dormant so there was no contrast with the others, but I cut a couple of them down. The wood was dead, not dormant.”
Dubois stepped back towards the desk and sat down again. “Did you get them analyzed by a professional?”
“Of course. I sent them to a laboratory in Bordeaux. I didn’t want to use the local one. I didn’t know what the repercussions would be if the news got out that my vines were dying.”
“And the result?” asked Dubois.
“They’d been injected with a strong weed killer. One that kills anything within range. It’s normally used for pathways and terraces. My vines didn’t stand a chance.”
Madame Fer-de-Lance rustled the emails in her hand. “Why didn’t you report this to the police?”
“I hoped whoever it was would give up and go away if I ignored his threats.”
“But he didn’t, did he?” she said.
She held up the second email and read it out.
“This one’s just before Christmas,” she began.
Do not ignore my demand. I have drilled over a hundred of your vines. All I have to do is inject them with weed killer. For every week you do not answer me, I shall inject another ten vines. I continue to drill others in preparation. Answer this email or lose your business. Make arrangements to send me a million Euros now or else!
“You still did nothing, monsieur?” she asked Jean-Claude.
“What could I do? I couldn’t pay him. I doubted that the police could do anything.”
Dubois took the second email from Madame Fer-de-Lance and read through it. He looked up at Jean-Claude. “Did you check out this email address?”
“I did. It’s one of those secret IPs. The guy I got to check says it’s several levels deep, and he can’t trace it.”
Dubois tutted. “I don’t suppose it would do us much good. We can already guess the man is local. He has to be to attack the vines on such a regular basis. But we’ll get our forensic department onto it, anyway.”
Madame Fer-de-Lance held out her cup for a refill. As I poured she asked, “What about surveillance? Did you think about putting up cameras?”
Jean-Claude sighed. “Of course, but the areas being attacked are a long way from any electrical supply. I had to use battery operated ones. I even tried solar, but it was winter, not much sun around. And anyway, no sooner had I fixed one than it was dismantled and stolen away. This man is always one step ahead of me.”
The prosecutor rifled through the emails. “I note he sent you a reminder, a renewed threat every week. He’s a patient man, your persecutor.”
“He’s a clever man, madame. He was waiting for the spring. As soon as the vines came into leaf, the extent of the damage he’d caused and was continuing to set in motion became all too apparent. Dotted about the beautiful burgeoning bright green of the new season’s shooting tendrils were these ghastly patches of dead vines. Nothing but bare stems, their wood brittle and quite, quite dead.”
“But still you didn’t pay him or tell the police?” Dubois asked.
“Read the next email,” said Jean-Claude.
Madame Fer-de-Lance read out:
I am a patient man but my patience has a limit. Either you pay up or you will regret it. Look to your loved ones. They may not be as precious as your vines but they are just as vulnerable. Think about it.
Jean-Claude broke in before Madame Fer-de-lance could comment. “He didn’t do anything to my family then, but there was that unexplained accident I had with the lawn mower. I’ve never got to the bottom of that. I’ve known Louis Menton, the gardener, since he was a kid and I’d vouch for him anywhere. All the staff–we have five grounds men–who work on the vines all the year round, clearing between the rows, doing the autumn pruning. They knew how important it was for the garden to be neat for the award ceremony and yet a rough patch of grass had been left on a slope opposite the drawing room windows. Louis says he got a message saying I wanted it left rough on purpose.”
“Who from?” asked Dubois.
“He couldn’t remember. Said it was verbal. And he didn’t pay much attention to it at the time. Looking back, I now realize someone watered that slope to make it slippery.”
Madame Fer-de-Lance hadn’t heard about this accident before. She asked, “Why was that important? I don’t understand.”
Jean-Claude explained how he’d rushed out to mow the slope with the sit-on mower only minutes before the award ceremony. He wanted the garden looking its best. The mower had slipped on the wet grass and turned over.
“This is what it did to me,” he said showing his leg still in bandages and the crutch leaning against his chair. “But he didn’t stop there.”
“Of course,” said Madame Fer-de-Lance suddenly realizing where the story was going. “The sad event of your wife’s death. Inspector Dubois has been keeping me posted on his suspicions that it may not have been an accident. Or, that if it was
, there’s a possible question of culpable manslaughter.”
Jean-Claude stifled a sob. He took a deep breath. “Madame,” he said, “this is a very dangerous man. He’s been escalating his threats and his actions against my business and my family in an effort to get me to pay up a million Euros which I don’t have. And now he’s stolen my sweet little Nina. God only knows what he’s going to do to her. I can’t pay.”
The prosecutor, usually so fierce and definitely not a people-person, surprised me by hurrying round to Jean-Claude and throwing her arms around him, giving him a mighty hug of empathy. Perhaps I’d always misjudged her, being guilty of typecasting her along the lines of a television police series: tough unfair boss to Dubois’s earnest and sympathetic police officer doing his job to the best of his ability.
“Right,” she said breaking away from the poor father. “That’s as much as we can do tonight. It’s late. Everyone get some sleep. I’ll make arrangements for extra manpower to be sent in from the surrounding Departments: the Charente-Maritime and the Dordogne. We’ll need every man or woman we can get to track down the van and run through the possible villains.”
With that she withdrew with Dubois to return to the gendarmerie and supervise the work needed to put the search for Nina and the white van in motion, leaving us to comfort Jean-Claude as best we could before we left to make our way home to Beaucoup-sur-Mer.
Chapter 26
It was one o’clock in the morning when I drew up in front of Les Dragons. The emotions of the evening had drained me of every ounce of energy. I was mentally counting the steps up to my bedroom and the solace of a few hours’ sleep as Felix unlocked the front door and we went into the hall. A shaft of sickly pale moonlight from a waning moon followed us in. The kitchen light shone under the door. I pushed it open to find Gwinny seated at the table with her head on her hands, fast asleep. Felix scraped a chair and coughed lightly to wake her up.
