Victory arrived at their table bearing a glass of chardonnay, which she toasted Eulalie with.
“Thanks for this. More questions about Marcel?”
“If you have the time.”
“Sure. What do you need?”
“Some clarification. What exactly did you mean when you said that Marcel liked to take things too far?”
Victory glanced around the room before answering. “Oh, you know. Just the usual. B&D stuff. He liked to take things further than some of us were comfortable with.”
“But that’s the thing. I don’t know. I don’t know what’s usual in the B&D community. Everyone I’ve spoken to said the same thing – that he liked to take things to the brink. That’s what I’m having trouble understanding. Taking what to the brink?”
Victory shifted in her seat. “It’s not something I can talk about.”
“You mean it’s illegal? I’m not here to make trouble for anyone. I just want to find out what happened.”
“Let me put it this way – have you ever heard of erotic asphyxiation?”
Chapter 17
Fleur finished her second double tequila, and waved her hand for Trixie to bring her another.
“Erotic asphyxiation,” she said. “I’ve heard of that. It was in that movie with what’s-her-name. Don’t you strangle each other, or something?”
“Sometimes,” said Victory.
“I’m afraid I don’t know much about it either,” said Eulalie. “It has something to do with the lack of oxygen causing heightened pleasure, doesn’t it?”
“Exactly,” said Victory. “Marcel was all about that. He was like a drug addict chasing an ever more intense high. He experimented with amyl nitrate, but even that wasn’t enough for him.”
“Yes, they found some in his apartment. His wife claimed that they used it together.”
Victory laughed. “Not a chance. She was completely against any kind of experimentation in the bedroom. That’s what he always told us, anyway. I suppose you never really know what goes on behind closed doors.”
“There were sex toys found at the apartment too. Whips, cuffs, a ball gag. Mrs. Faberge also claimed that they were for both of them.”
“I think the poor lady was trying to save face.” Victory sipped her wine. “It must have been embarrassing when the cops came up to her with that stuff and asked her about it. Much easier to pretend she knew about it all along.”
“You think she didn’t know about it?” Fleur shook her head wisely as the third double tequila arrived at their table. “I think the wife always knows, don’t you? I believe she knew.”
“She knew, all right,” said Victory. “She just wanted nothing to do with it. She understood that this was something he needed to do, but she wasn’t thrilled about it. She didn’t want to hear about it or be made aware of it, but she knew it was happening. That’s what he said, anyway. He wouldn’t be the first man to lie about having an open-marriage arrangement with his wife.”
“Bastards,” Fleur slurred. “To hell with all of them!”
Victory’s smile got wider. “I like your friend. She’s funny.”
Eulalie gave Fleur a sustaining pat on the arm. People always did like Fleur – that was what made her such a good wing-woman, even when she was getting quietly blitzed on tequila.
“So, Stella Faberge was cool with Marcel’s sex life as long as he didn’t rub her nose in it? What about the rest of their social circle? Was it an open secret, do you think?”
“Definitely not. Marcel was always worried about being recognized. He used to come in here with a scarf wrapped around his face and a hat pulled down low. Once, a few years ago, a man came in here that Marcel had once done business with. He slipped straight out the back and went home. He didn’t come near us for about three months after that. It definitely wasn’t an open secret. More like top secret. But as long as he didn’t bring it home with him, Stella was okay with it. At least according to Marcel.”
“What if he did bring it home with him?” Eulalie suggested. “What if he fell in love with one of his regular sexual partners and wanted to dump Stella? Would she stick a knife through his heart for that?”
“No time,” mumbled Fleur. Her fourth double tequila gold had just been placed in front of her and she gave it an affectionate smile. Eulalie signaled to Trixie to cut Fleur off, and Trixie nodded.
“You told me y’self there was not ‘nuff time for Stella to kill Marcel. Was at her big chatteree … I mean chatity …”
“Her charity dinner.”
“That’s the one.” Fleur sipped her drink and a long shudder ran through her body.
“I wasn’t thinking so much of Stella doing the deed personally. People like that always have staff to attend to the messier side of life. If Stella wanted him dead, she would have hired someone.”
“That’s assuming you’re right about him having fallen in love and wanting to leave her,” Victory said. She pursed her lips. “I just can’t see it. I think we would know about that if it were true. It would have been one of us. We were all fond of him, but it never went beyond that. His heart belonged to his wife.”
Eulalie lapsed into silence as she thought. The murder of Marcel Faberge had never felt like a professional job to her. The knife through the heart at the end was too strange – too impulsive. The bag over his head was doing its job perfectly well. A pro wouldn’t have lost his nerve and panicked. Eulalie believed that the knife had come from the Faberges’ kitchen, and was therefore a weapon of opportunity, not of planning. No, this was not the work of a professional.
“Tell me more about Faberge’s thrill-seeking. Apart from the amyl nitrate, what else was he into?”
“He liked to be strangled. Manually strangled, you know, with someone’s bare hands. That was his favorite. One time, he asked me to put a rope around his neck and hang him. That’s what I mean when I say he liked to take things to the brink. I went along with the rope thing once, but I was too scared of something going wrong. We all were. And besides, the rope and the bare hands left marks on his neck. Stella wasn’t keen on that, apparently. We moved on to soft scarves instead. But it didn’t give him as much of a thrill.”
“What about doing the strangling himself to others? Did he ever do that?”
“Never. He always took the submissive role. That’s what he liked. In the B&D subculture, most people know what they like and stick with it. Marcel was one of those.”
“One last scenario and then we’ll let you go. Let’s say Marcel had decided to invite someone home that night. His wife was out for a predictable amount of time, so he felt safe. Let’s say the person tied up his hands and taped a bag over his head. No neck bruises to upset the wife. And then, I don’t know …” The scenario fizzled out as Eulalie realized she couldn’t see how it went from then.
“Exactly.” Victory slapped the table. “And then what? That’s the thing. That’s where your theory falls apart. Do you think his partner, whoever she was, suddenly decided to take advantage of his position and plunge a knife into his heart? Or maybe things got out of control and she realized he was dead or almost dead, and decided to finish him off with a knife? Do you have any idea how insulting that is to the B&D community? That’s not how we handle things. If the date had got out of hand, his partner would have removed the bag and started CPR, or at least called an ambulance immediately. Because that’s what a responsible citizen does.”
“I didn’t suggest any of those things,” Eulalie pointed out. “You did. I was just thinking about ways in which his death by asphyxiation could have been related to his addiction to asphyxiation. Then I realized that I couldn’t see how it played out.”
Victory sat back in her chair. The angry color faded from her cheeks. “Okay. Fine. I over-reacted. You didn’t say those things, or even imply them. It’s just that I get defensive, you know? Our community is so misunderstood and misrepresented. We’re just regular folk who like certain things. We’re no more liable to be violent and cruel than the re
st of the world. In fact, we have such strict ethical boundaries that we are less likely to walk away from an accident than the average person. Most of us are trained in CPR, and wouldn’t dream of leaving a situation that had gone wrong. The other thing is, I really can’t see Marcel bringing one of his partners back to his apartment. He kept those two parts of his life completely separate. No overlap whatsoever. We all knew that about him.”
They turned to watch Fleur who had left the table to go and join the swaying bodies on the dance floor.
“At least your friend is having a good time.”
“She’s usually more graceful than that.” Eulalie grinned at Fleur’s pumping elbows and unsteady twerking.
“Your friend has the right attitude. I wish more people could be like her. She came in here tonight looking great, not judging anyone, and settled in to have a great time.”
“You’ve been really helpful, Victory.” Eulalie stood up and shook Victory’s hand. “I’ve learnt more about Marcel Faberge from talking to you tonight than I have over the last three days. A lot of people who thought they knew him didn’t really understand him at all. Thank you.”
Victory’s smile was surprisingly sweet. “You’re welcome. Do you want any help getting your friend into a cab?”
“That would be great.”
Eulalie was almost afraid to fall asleep that night. She worried about what dreams would come to haunt her when her mind was at its most vulnerable and unprotected. The dream she’d had about Bibi had colored her whole day, injecting a sense of urgency and unease into everything she did. She couldn’t stop thinking about him, worrying about him. Now that she had done everything she could for him, the worry was just a debilitating distraction. She really needed a few hours of dreamless unconsciousness to recharge herself.
She had followed the cab home to Fleur’s apartment, helped her friend upstairs, and got her undressed and put into bed. Fleur was definitely tipsy, but not at the stage where she couldn’t safely be left alone.
When Eulalie finally got back to her own apartment and crashed into bed, she slept without stirring for seven straight hours and woke up with no memory of dreams. It was a big improvement on the night before.
There were two items on Eulalie’s to-do list for the day. Neither of them could be accomplished in the early morning. The one was to talk to Stella Faberge about the kind of man her husband had been. After thirty years of marriage, she would have known him better than anyone. She could tell Eulalie things about what made him tick that nobody else could. Victory had been helpful, but a part-time lover wouldn’t know his secrets as well as a spouse.
Eulalie was also determined to find the Russian-speaking men who had attacked her. She was sure they were still on the island, lurking somewhere, possibly looking for another opportunity. She intended to give them one.
In the meantime, she would take advantage of the lull to go down to the docks and see whether anything reminded her of her dream. There was no doubt in her mind that Bibi was being held there. She just hoped she would recognize something - some sight or sound, or smell – that would give her a clue. His fear and loneliness haunted her. She wouldn’t know peace until he was back in the village.
Eulalie dressed in the clothes she wore to go into the deep forest. For the kind of reconnaissance she was planning, there was nothing more suitable. They would keep her warm and dry, while freeing her movements and ensuring she had the best grip possible on any surface.
She wanted to get up high, to see the whole of Dockside from a bird’s-eye view. She drove her Vespa down to the docks and parked it outside the Queen’s Town Mutual Building Society. It was one of the tallest buildings in the neighborhood, and very central. Avoiding the numerous glass-door entrances, Eulalie circled around to the back of the building. There were two pull-down fire escapes here. They weren’t supposed to be accessible from the ground. They were too high up for anyone to reach.
Eulalie ran at the side of the building, launched herself off the ground, ran a couple of steps up the wall, and leaped with outstretched arms to catch the bottom of the fire escape. Then she pulled it down almost to ground level.
Once she was on the fire escape, it was a simple matter of climbing all the way up to the top. When she reached the roof, she slung her legs over the low parapet wall, and orientated herself. This was one of her favorite places to be in the city – at the top of a tall building. She felt as though she could breathe up here. She felt as though this was her town and she was looking after it.
From up here, it was possible to see things that weren’t noticeable at ground level. You could see where the basements of buildings were located by taking note of certain color variations that only became apparent when you were high up. At ground level, one part of a street might look the same as another, but from up here you could see dark streaks in the asphalt that indicated where old tramlines used to run. You could see patterns in the concrete foundations of buildings that indicated an underground basement or storage area. You could tell which manhole covers led to sewer pipes and which led to electrical hubs.
The disheartening part, Eulalie realized, was how many underground areas there were in the Dockside neighborhood. And most of them were connected to loading bays and other busy areas that serviced the transport and storage of freight. The Port of Prince William was a busy, working harbor.
Eulalie remembered the sound of the port bell and the foghorns, and focused her attention closer to the port. She remembered the sound of the water slapping up against a jetty or pier. Yes, she needed to get closer to the water.
It was too much trouble to go back down to ground level again.
Taking another long run-up, she sprinted the length of the rooftop, flung herself off the low parapet, hung suspended in space for a second as the world dropped away at her feet, and landed with her body tucked in for a rolling summersault on the rooftop of a nearby building. There had been only the width of an alleyway separating them, but she was pleased to have made the jump successfully.
This building was better. Its east end took her practically to the water’s edge. Again, she scanned the area for the crucial elements – a port bell nearby, berths big enough to accommodate large ships with a deep foghorn, a busy loading deck, and a basement storage area. This part of the docks had all that, but so did many others.
Eulalie climbed up onto the narrow parapet wall and looked down at the street, eight floors below her. She wished she had brought binoculars, but she hadn’t thought of it.
A sudden cry from the road made her step back onto the safety of the roof top.
“It was a jumper, Stewie!” came an excited woman’s voice. “I saw a jumper up there. I swear I did.”
The man’s response was inaudible. Hopefully they would decide that she had been mistaken and that there was no need to call for an ambulance.
When she was sure they had gone, Eulalie climbed back up onto the parapet wall and took stock of her next jump.
It was across a narrow alleyway onto a rooftop about two floors below the one she was standing on now. No run-up was needed. She just had to get the timing right. When she felt ready, she spread her arms wide and jumped, letting gravity carry her down to the rooftop she was aiming for.
It was a harder landing than she had planned for. She winced as the shock jolted up her legs and into her spine. But it was no more than that – a temporary shock.
Eulalie jumped to her feet and walked to the edge of the building to get a closer look at the water’s edge. This area also looked promising. There were even basements with street-level windows, similar to the ones she had dreamed about.
Making a note of where these were, she found a sturdy drainpipe and climbed down to street level. When she got to the ground, she began to call loudly.
“Bibi! Bibi. It’s me. It’s Eulalie from the village. If you can hear me, please answer. Or make a noise. I’m here to help you.” The stillness of the morning was giving way to noise and chaos as the acti
vities of the day got underway. It wasn’t easy to listen out for a child’s answering voice.
Eulalie did the best she could. She walked up and down the streets, shouting and listening, and shouting and listening. But no answer came. Now, during daylight hours, she could see the layout of the city better, but she couldn’t hear well over the sounds of the port. At night, it was much harder to work out where the basement storage units were, but she could hear better. Perhaps she would come back that night to see if the dark gave up its secrets more readily than the light.
Chapter 18
Eulalie phoned Armand, the doorman at the Faberges’ apartment building, and was told that Stella Faberge had just gone out, dressed to the nines. According to Armand, she hadn’t said where she was going, but that was not unusual. Eulalie texted her grandmother.
Eulalie: Any idea where your frenemy Stella Faberge might be this morning? I need to talk to her.
Minutes passed, and no answer came. Eulalie was just about to call Angel, when a reply pinged on her phone.
Angel: She’s at the same place I am. The Library Gardens Open Day. $50 entrance fee. Put on a pretty dress and come and join us, ma chérie.
Eulalie did a little dance of frustration. Anything that stalled the progress of an investigation drove her crazy. It wasn’t as though she could get on with anything else in the meanwhile. She couldn’t start looking for the three Russian men who had attacked her, because criminals didn’t keep office hours. They came out at night, like cockroaches.
She didn’t want to delay talking to Stella. It looked as though she would have to bite the bullet and attend the damn garden party. Besides, she could charge the $50 to expenses and let Fleur’s trust fund pick up the tab.
She went home, peeled off her rock-climbing clothes, and changed into one of the linen-mixture dresses that her grandmother insisted on buying for her periodically. This one was white with tiny yellow flowers scattered along the neckline, the sleeves, and the hem. It had a scooped neck, and a tight-fitting bodice, which widened into a swirly, knee-length skirt. She wore it with pale-green heels and the pearls Angel had given her for her twenty-first birthday.
The Eulalie Park Mysteries Box Set 1 Page 16
