Louis Shalako
Maintenon hung up the phone, with Hermione listening
in on an extension. With the call also being recorded, she nevertheless made
many small notes.
“So. Madame Schnorf will dig through Cynthie’s
notebooks from last year, and she has promised to send us the lot.”
Across the room, Margot nodded at that; while Hermione
had literally giggled at the sound of that last name, which was about as Swiss, (which was derived from German), as one could get.
“Also, she’s going to call back with a list of her
best friends, focusing on the ones that live in Paris, or at least in France.”
According to Madame, Head Mistress of a private school in Lausanne, they had
girls from all over the world, from wealthy families looking for a certain kind
of education, a certain kind of polish as she said. “She said there are so many
girls in each class, and they pair them up in sharing a bedroom, and each
bedroom has its own bathroom. Surely she would have talked to a room-mate, and
if she had a boyfriend in Lausanne, that would be of some minor interest…she
said she will speak to her teachers and see what they can tell her.”
Essentially, the character of the victim of a crime
played some role in the outcome. Just as a drinker was more likely to get into
an automobile accident, an underage person sneaking out at night was engaging
in what could only be described as risk-taking behaviour. This was especially
true for young females. The real question there was the reason, for her killing.
“They’re not just there to be strangled, in the case
of Cynthie, or stabbed in the case of Joachim and Carlo. I suppose that also
applies to Hector Vachon—I have no doubt that his risk-taking, sneaking photos
of three males at a nearby table, led directly to his assassination—in an
alley, where one suspect got behind him with a garrote, and with a knee in his
back. This is when the second suspect stabbed him multiple times in the guts.
Whoever did that, knew exactly what they were doing and have probably done it
before…”
As for the school, the Madame was naturally upset at
the news that one of her students had been brutally murdered. She was probably
grateful at his promise to keep her school out of the newspapers if at all
possible. All she really knew was that Cynthie hadn’t shown as expected, and
the tuition, already paid, would have to be refunded. For grieving parents,
this might not have been their highest priority. The story was nothing in
Switzerland, and it was all news to her. The story had already faded in Paris,
hadn’t been much noticed in the regional cities, but the lady didn’t need to
know that, and with luck—a lot of luck, it might even hit the front pages
again.
There were girls from Germany, Italy, the United
States, India, Britain, Spain, Brazil, even Japan and China were represented,
albeit in small numbers. The school only had about a hundred and fifty
students, all living in a dormitory setting and eating their meals not only
together, but under supervision at all times.
They were chaperoned on various small class trips,
visits to museums, concerts, hiking in the woods. The only time they were
really set free was when their parents or guardians signed them out, or they
went home for weekend holidays, which didn’t happen all that often.
“And now, we wait. But there are other things we could
be doing as well.”
“It will be interesting to see how those bail hearings
go.” Hermione looked into the depths of a coffee cup and made a face.
“Hmn. It will be even more interesting, to see where
they go—” Which was why Firmin and LeBref were waiting in the courtroom, with a
couple of cars at the curb, and why a bulletin had been sent to all ports of
entry and exit, with photos and names of both Genovy and Duquesne. “There are
times when I think of homicide and how stupid people can be sometimes. That is
especially true in premeditated cases—did they not see the inevitable outcome.
They honestly thought they could get away with it. There is something to be
said for crimes of passion, whereas the really cold-blooded ones have no such
excuse. It’s also difficult to predict what someone under threat will do. For
all we know, they will simply go home, or maybe just go back to work…”
“And the stupidest thing of all, is to fake evidence…”
He nodded.
“Yes.” He pulled another sheet from the folder. “Why
don’t we try the list her mother gave us? Surely someone will know something.”
The trouble with that list, was that most of them
would be back in school, and not all of them in Switzerland either.
It looked like a real time-suck, and yet it simply had
to be done. Coming up on lunch-time, with a quick glance at the clock, he
picked up the phone. He’d do the first few calls, and then Hermione would give
it a try. They could try calling her older brother, although he would probably
be in class this time of day.
Other than all of that, it looked like they might be
stuck in the office all fucking day.
***
 |
| Hermione: just earned her first promotion. |
They’d put in a call to the Université
Bourgogne, having found that Marcel Boitard, the oldest boy, didn’t have a
phone in the room which he shared with another young fellow.
Having explained
the situation, a sympathetic-sounding young woman in administration had
promised to check his schedule and see if he could be located. When the phone
rang twenty minutes later, Hermione picked it up and listened.
She put her hand
over the mouthpiece.
“Marcel Boitard.”
“I’ll take it.”
And she would listen in, for whatever that might be worth in terms of training
and experience.
Depending on the
emotional state, it might be a powerful lesson indeed, and Gilles picked up,
not quite knowing what to expect…
“Hello?”
“Good morning,
Monsieur Boitard. I am Inspector Gilles Maintenon of the Special Homicide Unit
here in Paris. I’m terribly sorry to bother you, and I know this is a painful
time for you and your family.”
“Yes, sir.”
“May I please ask
you a few minor questions?’
“Sure. Go ahead—”
The voice was subdued, strong enough in the sense that Gilles could hear him,
and he had the impression that the young man had been about to say something
else.
“I know you loved
your little sister very much, and yet there are questions. Please do not be
offended, sir.”
“Go ahead. Ask
your questions.” The voice seemed stronger now, perhaps the anticipation had
been worse than the actual reality, now that they had him on the phone.
It was just
something that had to be borne, and therefore, he would bear it, no matter how
painful that may be.
“I know this is a
rotten question and very awkward. But, ah, would you know if your sister
Cynthie had any, er, romantic attachments? I mean, like a boyfriend, or was she
still at the stage where young women sort of fixate on…certain stars of cinema,
music, opera perhaps…?” There was a long line of question marks hovering there.
“In a case like this, such a person would be an obvious suspect. I mean, it
happens often enough.”
“Oh, God. I
rather doubt it.”
“Okay. Was
Cynthie an imaginative person?”
“Ah. I suppose
so.”
“Would you know
if she had a diary?’
“It’s certainly
possible.”
“Can you think of
anyone who might have any kind of motive to…er, kill Cynthie.”
“No.” The voice
was different now.
The kid was
clearly emotional, if not outright sobbing tears.
“Who was her best
friend in Paris? There was that party, where she returned late and her mother
grounded her…”
“Ah. That sounds
like Marie. I don’t know if they were best friends, exactly, but, I mean, she
did invite her to the party. You don’t invite people you don’t like.” The kid
sounded a little better now.
“And what would
Marie’s last name be?”
“Oh, God.
Shit—let me think.”
“Okay, sir, just
take your time…”
“Fontaine—Marie
Fontaine. She’s around the same age, perhaps a year older at the most. I really
didn’t pay that much attention at the time.”
“Do you know
where the family lives?”
“No, sorry.”
“Okay, just a few
more questions, and then you can get back to class.” Gilles was finding it hard
going, and with Hermione cradling the phone between head and shoulder, he
hesitated as she scribbled something on a sheet and slid that over to him.
Eyebrows raising,
he read the note.
“Okay, this is
just one minor point. Had you been through any big mud puddles lately, and had
you walked across the white rug at all with mud on your shoes?” He read the
note again while waiting…
“No. Absolutely
not.” The voice had gone very cold and distant.
“I’m sorry,
Marcel. I know this is shitty. The original officers may have asked the
question already, the thing is, they weren’t getting anywhere with it and we
have been tasked with the investigation. Okay, one or two more questions and
then I will let you go. Did you go out at all on the night in question? I mean,
you were going away, off to University, and it would be one last chance to see
your friends, right?’
“No, sir. I was
at home that night.”
“Okay, I’m glad
we cleared that up. It’s just that it’s simply not in the case-notes.”
“I understand.”
The voice was still cold and distant, and one could hardly blame him for that.
“Okay, this one’s just a little bit different. Basically, we’re just curious
about the new wall, or the repairs to the wall in the wine cellar…”
Thanks to
Hermione, and he never would have thought of it himself…
“Ah…it’s just
that the old vault was crumbling, and mice and insects were getting into the
cellar. Once they’re in the cellar, they get all over the house and we had to
have an exterminator come in. They’re spraying poison, they’re leaving traps,
and the younger children don’t always listen too well. We used to play ghosts
and goblins, it seemed like such a spooky place down there. It’s so much better
if they never get in in the first place.”
“So, you say it
was a vault.”
 |
| Risk-taking. |
“That’s what we
called it. Basically, it was more of a shallow ramp at one end. Those massive
old tuns of wine, they would bring them on a cart, and once they had them off
the cart, they would lower them down, put chains on them and winch them down
the ramp…we’d come up all covered in soot and cobwebs and Mother would scold
us…”
“I see.”
“At some point,
it was framed in and what’s the word—slabs of reinforced concrete were put on
top, and then they put dirt on top so the grass would grow. It’s the back of
the house, people never really see it, but it’s better than a mud-hole, you
know.” All those little kids.
“Thank you,
Monsieur Boitard, and I understand how this has been very painful for you.”
“Inspector.”
“Yes, Marcel?”
“I want you to
catch this bastard. The bastard that killed my sister. And when you do—”
“Yes, Marcel?”
“I want to be the
one who trips the guillotine.”
What in the hell
could you ever say to that.
“Thank you,
Marcel. And good luck with the schooling. I know you will do well—goodbye.”
Hanging up, he
looked Hermione in the eye.
“You’ve just
earned your first promotion, my dear.”
“Hmn. It was in
the notes. Also, they really didn’t drag those big old barrels in down the
kitchen stairs.”
They were just
too big and heavy—
Any fool should
have known that.
END
Previous Episodes.
 |
| Madame Boitard, scolding the children. |
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