“You don’t know what it’s like. They threatened to expose my gambling to my employer, to my children’s school. They threatened to tell my ex-husband. He would have taken the kids away from me. I had no choice.”
Eulalie thought she’d had plenty of choice every step of the way, especially when it came to creating that first account with an online casino. But her soft heart was wrung anyway. This was her flaw as an investigator - she was a sucker for a sob story. As much as she knew that people were responsible for their own choices, she couldn’t help feeling sorry for them. To compensate, she hardened her tone.
“The only thing you can do to make it better is to cooperate with this investigation. Who approached you? Who paid you the money?”
Eliza’s eyes slid away from hers. “You make it sound like a big, serious thing. It really wasn’t. The drug testing is supposed to be random, but as long as each horse gets tested once every three to four weeks we are complying with the rules. Legs-Alone would have been tested the following week and would still have fallen within the four-week regulation. It’s not like the horse was on performance-enhancing drugs.”
“No, it was poisoned to dehydrate it before the race. And nothing could ever be proved, because the dehydration was so severe that the blood results were unclear. But here’s the thing – I don’t really care. I already know what happened. I want to know how it happened. Who approached you? Was it a man or a woman? Was it someone you recognized? Was it someone from Faberge Industries, or did they use a go-between?”
Eliza Blackman gave a crack of laughter. “I can see you really didn’t know him at all.”
“Who?”
“Mr. Faberge. For something that important, he would never have used a go-between. He always said if you wanted a job done right, you had to do it yourself.”
“He approached you himself? He must have known you would recognize him.”
“It was too important to trust to an underling. I was the only one he could really rely on.”
There was something in her tone that made Eulalie look at her more closely. “You weren’t also having an affair with him, were you?”
Eliza’s mouth dropped open. “An affair? Of course not. He was a married man. He was a friend to me when I needed one and I was happy to do him a favor in return.”
“But somehow he ended up dead.”
“That had nothing to do with me.”
“Who did it have to do with?”
Eliza didn’t hesitate. “That trainer of Legs-Alone – Billy somebody – he was furious about the race. He’s the one who launched the investigation. I don’t know why he was so angry about it. It’s not like he owned the horse. He was only the trainer. If I were you, I’d speak to him.”
“I’ve already spoken to him, but perhaps I will again.” Eulalie stood up.
“Wait!” Eliza shot to her feet. “What are you going to do now? Who are you going to tell about me? I answered all your questions. This was a one-off thing. I did for my children. You have no reason to …”
“Calm down. I’m not a police officer. I have no obligation to report you to the authorities. All I’m asking is for you to remember that you have those two children who are dependent on you. Stay off the gambling sites. Cancel your WIFI and store cards. If I find out that you’ve been gambling again, I might just take this whole story to the chief of police.”
What were the chances that she would listen, Eulalie wondered?
She had practically groveled on the floor at Eulalie’s feet, promising eternal abstinence. But what would happen in six months’ time when she was bored and lonely late at night when the kids were asleep? The itch to play would come over her and she would be back online in a flash.
Driving back into town, Eulalie took a detour past the police station. There she saw what she was looking for. A red 1963 E-Type Jaguar was nestled into its parking space under shade-cloth. Chief Macgregor was back in town. She stopped her Vespa and got off.
Leaning against the scooter, she pulled a compact out of her bag and touched up her lipstick. The mirror told her that her hair was spiraling wildly out of control, so out came the hairbrush and detangling spray. She was just thinking about redoing her mascara, when she gave herself a mental kick and put everything back in her bag. Then she entered the police station.
News of her visit that morning had clearly spread. Lorelei Belfast’s carefully painted mouth spread into a smile as soon as she saw Eulalie.
“Well, well, look who it is. Any more visions to report, dear? Any psychic visitations? Perhaps Marcel Faberge’s ghost has appeared to you and told you who killed him.” She chuckled at her own wit.
Eulalie rolled her eyes. “The ghost of 1970 visited and told me that those eye glasses really don’t suit you.”
Manny, the desk sergeant, slapped his thigh. “That’s a good one, Lorelei. She’s got you there.”
The administrator glared at him until he subsided. Then she turned back to Eulalie.
“What are you doing here, anyway?”
“I need to see Chief Macgregor.” She looked up as she heard a sound. “Never mind, here he comes now.”
Chief Macgregor and Detective Wright entered the waiting area together. Detective Wright grinned when he saw her.
“If it isn’t Queen’s Town’s resident freak.”
Chapter 15
The taunt bypassed Eulalie’s rational brain and went straight to the angry child inside her who had hated being called a freak at school. Her glare froze the smile on Detective Wright’s face.
“Good day, Ms. Park,” said Chief Macgregor. “I must apologize for not being here this morning. I followed a lead to Antananarivo, but it didn’t pan out. It was a rumor of child trafficking through the port there, but it seems to have been false. I believe you wanted to talk to me about the missing child, Bibi?”
Detective Wright sighed loudly. “She had a damn vision, Chief. I don’t know how they do things in Scotland, but here in Queen’s Town we never follow up on tips by psychics. They go straight into the loony folder where they belong.”
“What information do you have for us, Ms. Park?”
“I already told Detective Wright.”
“Yes, but now I’m listening.”
Eulalie took a deep breath. This wasn’t about her or her hurt feelings. It was about Bibi.
“He’s being held near the docks. He can hear a foghorn and the bells that guide the ships into port. It’s a busy place, like a loading deck. He can hear trucks and forklifts, and heavy things being loaded. They are holding him in a basement, possibly a storage area. The ceiling is very high and there’s a long slit of a window near the top. It is dark and damp and cold. He has been all alone since two men brought him there about four days ago.”
“How has he survived without food or water?”
Detective Wright made an explosive sound of disgust.
“Come on, Chief! Don’t tell me you’re buying this. You’re a man of logic.”
“How has he survived?”
“Just wait till you hear this,” Detective Wright muttered. “You’re going to love this. This is the best part.”
“There is water dripping down from the window. He catches it in the palms of his hand and drinks it when he feels thirsty. He is catching rats and mice that come in under the door and eating them. Oh, I nearly forgot – there are wooden packing crates filled with floor tiles in one corner.”
Chief Macgregor nodded. “Right. We’ll do a sweep of the docks. I’ll get the necessary warrants together and we can move within the hour.”
Detective Wright was beside himself with fury.
“I don’t believe this. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. You can’t waste police time on this garbage, Chief. You know they’re not going to find anything. You know they’re not.”
“In that case there’ll be no harm done.”
“Apart from all the wasted time and money. How do you think the governor’s office will feel about this w
hen I tell them? The only time psychics are right is when they were involved in the abduction themselves.”
“Is that right, Detective?”
“Yes, it damn well is. You’d better hope your girlfriend is wrong about this, Chief. Because if she turns out to be right, then she was part of the gang that snatched the kid. And if that happens, it will be my very great pleasure to arrest her myself.” He turned and left the room.
Eulalie had to do some deep breathing to control her temper. She turned to Chief Macgregor.
“Thanks for standing up for me.”
“I didn’t. I just want to do my job.”
“Okay.” She could see that the confrontation had jangled his nerves. “But thanks anyway.”
“I need to organize the warrants.”
“I’m afraid he might be right, you know – Detective Wright. There’s a very good chance you won’t find anything.”
“I know. The Dockside neighborhood covers a huge area with thousands of storage units, many of them underground. And if this is a disused area, not even our search warrants will get us in. Still, we have to try.”
“Was he right? Will the governor give you a hard time about this?”
Chief Macgregor gave her a blank stare. “What relevance does that have to the way I do my job?”
Eulalie smiled. “I’d hug you right now in front of everyone, but I don’t think you’d like it.”
He nodded seriously. “Normally I don’t like being hugged. I don’t like being touched either. But I do like being touched by you. I don’t know why.”
Eulalie looked up and saw Lorelei Belfast watching this exchange with interest. Chief Macgregor was making no attempt to keep his voice down. It was as though he was missing the filter that made people want to keep their private lives private.
“I think it’s because when you touch me, it makes me feel warm - especially in my …”
“Would you like to get some lunch?” Eulalie interrupted. If Mrs. Belfast had been listening any harder her ears would have been standing out on stalks.
Chief Macgregor consulted his watch. “It is one o’clock and I am hungry. I will come with you to get some lunch. We will go to Shoots ‘n Roots.”
“That build-your-own-salad place?” Eulalie pulled a face.
“It’s the Chief’s favorite lunch spot,” Mrs. Belfast said helpfully. “Most times he brings in his own packed lunch, but when he has company, it’s always Shoots ‘n Roots.” She unwrapped a frosted doughnut at her desk and gave Eulalie a smile.
“Oh, all right. Bunny food it is. I suppose I can always just eat the croutons.”
“That would be dry and unpleasant, and very high in calories. But I suspect you were joking.”
Eulalie linked her arm with his as they stepped out into the sunshine.
“Maybe I’ll add some creole-fried chicken strips to the croutons.”
“That would certainly improve the protein content of your meal, but without adding any vitamins. And again, I suspect you are joking.”
She gave his arm a squeeze. “You’re an ace detective, Chief. Nothing gets past you.”
“Sarcasm.” He was pleased to have identified it on his first try. “But I actually am a good detective. I think it’s my meticulous nature and attention to detail.”
They walked along Lafayette Boulevard. Hordes of people had spilled out of their offices in search of lunch. They were spoilt for choice. As well as the usual internationally branded fast-food outlets, there were scores of cafés and bistros offering classic French or creole cuisine. Then there were the street carts and food trucks. The most popular among them already had long queues outside.
Not nearly so popular, Eulalie saw with a sinking heart, was Shoots ‘n Roots. There were quite a few empty booths in the restaurant despite the fact that it was lunchtime in one of the most popular tourist destinations in the Indian Ocean.
“I love how quiet this place is.” Chief Macgregor looked pleased. “Sometimes I have the whole place to myself at lunchtime.”
“Imagine that.”
A stringy young woman invited them to sit anywhere. She explained that it was $7.50 for a small plate, $15 for a large plate, and $20 for the all-you-can-eat option.
Eulalie took a small plate and tried not to think about French onion soup with a crusty baguette and a glass of wine. She loaded her plate with the most appetizing salads she could find and sat down, determined to make the best of it.
“I got the autopsy report for Marcel Faberge today,” said Chief Macgregor, digging into a chickpea and cucumber salad. “It was on my desk when I got back from Antananarivo.”
“Any surprises?”
“The medical examiner believes he was already dead by the time he was stabbed. She says there’s not much in it – just a matter of seconds - but his heart had definitely stopped beating before the knife went in.”
“Why do you suppose the murderer stabbed him, instead of just letting the suffocation do its job?”
“I’ve been thinking about that. Impatience might have been a factor, and panic too. Suppose Faberge was taking too long to die. Suppose he was thrashing about. Time was ticking past and the murderer was worried about someone interrupting him. I can imagine the murderer getting impatient, grabbing a knife from the kitchen, and finishing him off.”
“Not realizing that the plastic bag had already done its job.” Eulalie nodded. “Yes, I can see that. It was only a few minutes later that his wife arrived, after all. If her timing had been just a little bit different she might have interrupted the murderer.”
Chief Macgregor took a sip of iced water. “The medical examiner estimates that Marcel Faberge had been dead anywhere from a few minutes to three quarters of an hour before his wife found him. She can’t be more precise than that, but it was certainly a narrow margin.”
“I presume she’s been thoroughly interviewed about what she might have seen or heard as she approached her apartment that night?”
“Indeed. And her companions have been similarly interviewed. None of them saw anything that could be interpreted as someone leaving the scene. The doorman is also sure that no one went up to the penthouse that evening.”
Chief Macgregor leaned forward. His knee brushed against hers under the table.
Eulalie found she had lost her train of thought.
“What were we saying? Oh, yes – getting up to the penthouse. We have to assume that the intruder took a different route, one that didn’t involve signing in with the doorman.”
“The other interesting thing is that there were no defense wounds or signs of a struggle on the body. That suggests he wasn’t physically overpowered.”
“The intruder might have been armed. There’s nothing like having a gun held to your head to make a person co-operative.”
“Yes, but it’s more than that.” Chief Macgregor laid down his fork. “He didn’t struggle against the restraints either. There were no marks on his wrists.”
“You think he was drugged? Has the tox screen come back yet?”
“A full toxicology screen was done of Mr. Faberge’s blood and tissue. Dr. Autry has given me only preliminary results so far. He didn’t have any major illegal opiates in his system. No heroin, no cocaine, no morphine-based derivatives. We’ll know more in a few days.”
“Okay. Well, thanks for sharing your progress with me.”
As Eulalie finished her salad, they slipped into a companionable silence. Chief Macgregor almost seemed to forget she was there. He picked up his cellphone and started scrolling through international weather apps. As he flicked from country to country, Eulalie could see him relaxing. His breathing slowed, and some of the tension went out of his face. So, this was how he soothed himself.
“What’s the dewpoint in Phnom Penh tonight?” she asked.
“27 degrees Celsius,” he answered automatically. Then he looked up. “Sorry, most people don’t like it when I do that.”
“I’m not most people. I’m fine with
a bit of silence. And I have my own ways to self-soothe that others might find a little odd. You can be yourself around me, Chief. I might tease you from time to time, but I don’t believe in trying to change people.”
“I’ve had to change myself to learn to be with others. And I’ll have to change myself more if I want to have a family, which I do.”
“You’ve thought about that? About having a wife and kids some day?”
“Yes, of course. Haven’t you? Lately I’ve been thinking that you might be the wife for me.”
Eulalie spilled her water.
“The wife for you?” It came out as a squeak. “Me? You really have no filter between your mind and your mouth, do you?”
“No,” he agreed. “I don’t.”
Eulalie signaled to the stringy woman to bring their bill. “This is definitely a conversation for another day. Or possibly never.”
“Let me get this,” he said when she rummaged in her messenger bag. “You bought dinner last time. It’s the least I can do for my future wife.”
Eulalie jumped to her feet and nearly ran for the door. Then she looked at his face.
“You’re joking.”
He inclined his head. “Just about that last part.”
“Ha,” she said hollowly. Then she got out of there before he could say anything else.
Eulalie: Hey. Want to come to a sex club with me tonight?
Fleur: But of course. What’s the occasion?
Eulalie: Marcel Faberge was a regular at this club. I want to find out more about that side of his life. I already talked to some of the women there, but now I’ve got more questions. I feel like I might make better progress if I have my wing-woman with me.
Fleur: Dress code?
Eulalie: I’ll leave that to your discretion. Thanks, Fleur. I owe you one.
Fleur: Since you’re doing this whole thing to help me, the pleasure is all mine. What are you doing this afternoon?
The Eulalie Park Mysteries Box Set 1 Page 14
