The lost symphony, p.27
The Lost Symphony, page 27
Dupree put his business card on the table. ‘Call me if you change your mind. I can help you if you help me, but don’t wait too long. Once Lapointe gets his teeth into this—’
Fabron waved dismissively.
Dupree opened the door, stopped and turned around to face Fabron. ‘I didn’t say that the man in the recording was leaving the Ritz; you did. Actually, he was on his way out, but there’s nothing in the footage to suggest this. Curious, don’t you think?’ With that, Dupree picked up the iPad and stepped outside into the cold followed by Jack, who closed the door behind him.
Dupree turned up his collar and looked at Jack. ‘Your impressions?’ he said.
‘Gut feeling?’
‘Always the best.’
‘What I saw on Fabron’s face was fear when you raised the possibility of a murder charge.’
‘I saw it, too. When we stepped on board it was just a hunch; now I’m actually convinced he’s involved. I just can’t prove it yet.’
Jack nodded and opened the car door. ‘Interesting character,’ he said, ‘but I don’t think he’s a killer.’
‘Neither do I. He was without question one of the best safebreakers of his time. Did fifteen years and has nothing to show for it. You saw the way he lives. I think that’s why he took the job.’
‘Are you going to tell Lapointe about this?’
‘No. At least not yet. As Fabron correctly pointed out, we have nothing. No concrete evidence. I’ve raised the Black Widow with Lapointe before. He dismissed the idea and thought it was absurd. If I was to raise it again, he would laugh and think I was past it, and lost my marbles.’
‘Well, we’ve at least rattled the cage,’ said Jack.
‘That we have done. And you never know; a rattled cage can soon lead to panic. All we can do for now is wait.’
Even before Dupree and Jack stepped off the boat, Fabron had called Malenkova and told her about the visit. She listened patiently and tried to calm him down. Then she rang Zuzanna.
‘I just had a call from a very worried Fabron,’ said Malenkova, looking pensively at one of her paintings on the wall of her study. It was the painting Anielka had recently given her as a gift.
‘Oh? What did he want?’
‘He just had a visit from Dupree and another man. I think it could have been Rogan. We know Dupree lives at the chateau and is working informally on the case.’
‘That’s interesting.’
‘It’s more than that; we have a problem. They showed Fabron CCTV footage of a man in a dinner suit leaving the Ritz after the robbery, and suggested it was him.’
‘How on earth did they come up with this so soon?’
‘Don’t know, but we have to take this seriously. Obviously they don’t have anything concrete, or they would have come in, guns blazing, and made an arrest.’
‘I agree.’
‘Fabron’s afraid the police will be back. He wants to disappear immediately and has asked for more money.’
‘What’s on your mind?’
‘When is Anielka supposed to go to Russia with Rogan?’
‘Any time now. They are waiting for the visas to come through. Why do you ask?’
‘There’s something I want her to do before they leave. Straight away!’
‘What?’
‘I’ll tell you when you get here,’ said Malenkova and hung up.
Feeling better, she sat back in her chair, pressed the button on her remote and continued to listen to Bruckner’s Symphony No. 3, dedicated to Richard Wagner. It was another of her favourites that never failed to inspire her.
46
The body on the houseboat, Paris: 23 February 2017
Chief Superintendent Lapointe arrived at the Gatekeeper’s Cottage just after eleven am and rang the bell. Dupree closed his laptop and answered the door.
‘Unannounced and in person?’ he said. ‘Must be important. Coffee?’
‘Yes, thank you,’ said Lapointe and followed Dupree into the kitchen. ‘I owe you an apology.’
‘Oh? What for? And you came all this way to tell me?’
‘There’s a good reason for this.’
‘Oh?’
‘A jogger saw a body lying on the deck of the Carpe Diem early this morning.’
‘Fabron?’
‘Yes.’
Dupree looked at Lapointe, shocked, his mind racing.
‘I know you went to see him yesterday,’ continued Lapointe, sipping his coffee.
‘How—?’
‘It’s my business to know,’ interrupted Lapointe. ‘You taught me that.’
‘Do we know what happened?’
‘It’s interesting ...’
‘In what way?’
‘I thought you could help me with that. That’s why I’m here.’
‘Please explain.’
‘I would like you to see the body in situ before it’s moved.’
‘That interesting?’
‘It is. Shall we go? We can talk on the way.’
‘Would you mind if I asked Jack Rogan to come with us? He might be able to help.’
‘By all means. After all, he was with you yesterday.’
Lapointe’s police car pulled up close to where the Carpe Diem was moored. The whole area had been cordoned off and the two police officers standing guard at the gangplank saluted as the chief superintendent approached.
‘I told them to leave the body exactly as it was found,’ said Lapointe as he stepped on deck. ‘First impressions count. You taught me that, too. Forensics can wait.’ Lapointe pointed to the wheelhouse. ‘The body is just over there.’
‘Good God!’ said Jack. ‘He’s wearing a wig!’ For a moment he stood quite still and stared at the body. Fabron was lying on his back in a pool of blood, with something long and lethal-looking embedded in his chest.
‘That’s a whaler’s boarding knife,’ said Lapointe.
‘Correct,’ said Dupree, his eyes fixed on the body. ‘Extremely sharp. A boarding knife is a double-edged sword blade at the end of a short wooden pole, just like this one. It was used by whalers for cutting a hole in the whale’s carcass for the blubber hook.’
‘Only here, it was used to cut a deep hole in Fabron’s chest,’ said Lapointe. ‘The blade went right through his body and, as you can see, is still embedded in the wooden boards, effectively pinning him to the deck.’
‘What a way to go,’ said Jack.
‘He didn’t die instantly,’ continued Lapointe.
‘What makes you say that?’ asked Dupree.
Lapointe took a step forward and pointed to Fabron’s outstretched right arm. ‘Because of this. Come closer and have a look.’
Dupree turned to Jack. ‘What do you make of this?’ he asked.
Jack crouched down for a closer look. ‘Good heavens, I think he made some kind of mark with his index finger here, in his own blood. A letter? It looks like an X.’
‘Yes, it does,’ said Dupree. ‘I wonder what it means.’
Lapointe nodded in agreement.
Jack stood up. ‘An accusing finger pointing to something, but what?’
‘Looks that way,’ said Dupree. ‘He’s sending us a message, and so is the killer: the wig. The killer is effectively identifying Fabron as the man in the CCTV footage. Fabron’s our Ritz safebreaker, no doubt about it.’
‘How bizarre,’ said Jack.
‘Not quite as bizarre as a severed dick in a strong box, don’t you think?’ said Dupree. ‘This is another signature. The killer is teasing us.’
‘We searched the boat,’ said Lapointe. ‘Nothing of interest except for a leather case full of tools, just like the one in the CCTV footage.’
‘No phone? No laptop or iPad?’
‘No. Fabron didn’t have a phone account in his name; we checked. He must have used disposable phones. He was a pro, after all, but it’s all gone, together with any other incriminating clues. The place had a thorough going over before we got here. Neat job.’ Lapointe turned to the Forensics team waiting near the wheelhouse. ‘Okay boys, you can go ahead now.’
Dupree had another close look at the body. ‘Very theatrical, wouldn’t you say? The body, the setting, the murder weapon. What do you make of it, Jack?’
‘Let’s go inside and have a chat,’ said Lapointe and opened the door to the cabin.
‘Your impressions, please, gentlemen,’ said Lapointe. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his pipe, and lit it. ‘What does this crime scene tell you?’
‘It tells me that Jack and I were on the right track,’ said Dupree.
‘How so?’ asked Lapointe.
‘The first clue was the limping man in the CCTV footage. That pointed the way to Fabron and this boat. Jack and I confronted him yesterday and showed him the CCTV footage. We did that to flush him out, if possible. We wanted to create fear and uncertainty, and it seems to have worked. Perhaps a little too well, bearing in mind what happened—’
‘And what do you think did happen here?’ interrupted Lapointe.
‘I think Fabron contacted his employer as soon as we left the boat, and reported the visit and the CCTV footage,’ said Jack. ‘I’m sure he didn’t realise that this sealed his fate. He had just signed his own death warrant. The person or persons in the shadows realised he had to be silenced quickly, before the police returned, and that’s exactly what happened.’
‘But that’s not all; we have more. A lot more,’ said Dupree. ‘First, extreme violence and a dramatic setting, just like in the Aubert murder. Then we have another grim signature: the wig. I’m sure it was put on after death. Deliberately left behind for us to find, linking Fabron to the Ritz robbery. It’s the same wig as the one in the CCTV footage. What does all this tell us?’
‘The two murders are not only linked, but were most likely committed by the same killer,’ said Jack. ‘And I think that killer is a woman.’
Lapointe nodded, enjoying the familiar tobacco rush as he drew on his pipe. ‘I agree, but what about the X? A dying man doesn’t make a mark in his own blood as the last thing he does in this life without a good reason. It has to be significant, but what does it mean?’
‘He’s obviously trying to tell us something,’ said Dupree.
‘I think I know what it is,’ said Jack quietly.
Dupree looked at him, surprised. ‘You do?’
‘Yes. I don’t think it’s an X, but an hourglass that looks like an X.’
‘Why do you say that?’ asked Lapointe.
Jack took his time before giving an answer. The storyteller in him wanted to let the suspense grow. ‘Because the hourglass is a well-known symbol for the Black Widow. Latrodectus hesperus is the most venomous spider in North America. The female is much bigger and more powerful than the male and devours its mate. It has what looks like a red hourglass on its rump: an X.’
For a long, tense moment there was total silence as the small tobacco cloud drifting from Lapointe’s pipe filled the cold cabin with a pleasant aroma of dry autumn leaves and roasted chestnuts.
‘Excellent work, gentlemen,’ said Lapointe. ‘Thanks to you, our investigation has just taken a big step forward. We must catch that spider before she devours another victim. You two make a good team.’
‘No, we three make a great team, Chief Superintendent,’ said Jack. ‘I have no doubt we can’t crack this case without you.’
47
The phone call from Zuzanna, Paris: 23 February 2017
‘How is she?’ asked Malenkova and activated the speaker mode on her iPhone.
‘Excited and cheerful,’ said Zuzanna.
‘Where are you?’
‘Shopping.’
‘A reward?’
‘A bit like that, but she does need some casual clothes for the trip. Something an impecunious art student would wear, not a fashion model. Warm stuff. Russian winter, you know.’
Malenkova reached for the violin-shaped box on her desk, helped herself to another Mozart Ball and began to slowly peel off the wrapping. This was a treasured ritual – a moment of anticipation she always enjoyed. A delicious combination of dark chocolate, nougat and marzipan, Mozartkugeln, as they were known in Austria, were Malenkova’s favourite sweets.
‘Tell me again exactly how she killed him,’ said Malenkova and took a small bite, savouring the marzipan at the centre.
‘She improvised.’
‘Oh? How?’
‘We arrived at Emile’s boat just after eleven. He was, of course, expecting me with the money, but was a little surprised when both of us turned up.’
‘Understandable.’
‘I asked him to take me through the CCTV footage Dupree had shown him. While he was talking about that, Anielka walked around the cabin. She was particularly interested in a collection of whaling paraphernalia hanging on the walls. One item in particular seemed to fascinate her. She asked Emile about it and he walked over to her and explained what it was.’
‘What was it?’
‘A sword-like whaling knife with a wooden handle and a long blade; very sharp. I knew what was going through her mind. We had agreed that Emile would be killed outside and not in the cabin, as we had work to do; you know, search the place. She would cut his throat from behind, just as she had done with Aubert, quick and deadly effective—’
‘Yes, yes,’ interrupted Malenkova impatiently. ‘I am interested in how she actually killed him.’
‘As I began to put the money on the table, I pretended to hear footsteps outside. This spooked Emile, and he immediately went outside to investigate. He had a gun. I told Anielka we would do it now, and followed him outside.’
‘Then what happened?’
‘He walked around the deck for a while and then came back, shaking his head. It was completely dark and foggy. You couldn’t even see the embankment. I stood in front of the open cabin door, watching him. As he came closer, Anielka pushed past me. She was holding the whaling knife with both hands and lunged at Emile. She ran him through with it. I saw him staring at her, surprised. The gun fell out of his hand and he fell backwards. I think he was dead before he hit the deck. He didn’t make a sound. There was a lot of blood; that’s about it. We left him where he fell and went inside to search the place.’
‘What about that wig you told me about earlier?’
‘That was Anielka’s idea. We found it among Emile’s stuff in the cabin. She wanted to leave something behind, just like Celine used to do. It seemed important to her, and I couldn’t see any harm in it. In fact, I thought this would add an element of intrigue to the entire matter. Just like the you-know-what in the strong box.’
‘I see. And Anielka? How did she seem afterwards?’
‘Excited. On a high, but controlled. She didn’t hesitate for a moment. I think she enjoyed all of it. She’s a killing machine with finesse.’
Classic psychopathic behaviour, thought Malenkova. ‘Very good,’ she said and took another Mozart Ball out of the box. ‘This was the last test before we let her go out on her own. Do you think she’s ready?’
‘I do.’
‘So do I. Now tell me about Rogan and the trip, and what she’s found out about his project so far.’
‘They are booked on a flight to St Petersburg tomorrow afternoon.’
‘How’s Rogan?’
‘Besotted. She’s got him wound around her little finger, just as you predicted.’
‘Good. What about the project?’
‘He’s working closely with Darrieux. She put him onto a Romanov expert in St Petersburg. That’s the main reason for the trip. Rogan’s already made arrangements to meet him.’
‘Excellent. What about communications?’
‘As you know, I stayed in Anielka’s flat last night. We went over all this and set up a protocol. She will call me on my secure phone, report in regularly and we will only speak Polish, which Rogan doesn’t understand. She will call me babcia, grandmother, her only relative she’s close to.’
‘You thought of everything. What about Dupree and Chief Superintendent Lapointe?’
‘Dupree and Lapointe are working on this case together. Rogan, too, is involved.’
‘A good reason to get Anielka out of town and under the radar, don’t you think? The best place to hide a book is in the library, no?’
‘Sure is.’
‘Now with a second murder on their hands, the investigation will step up a notch, that’s for sure.’
‘I think it already has. The crime scene was swarming with police this morning. Dupree and Rogan were there and so was Lapointe, of course.’
‘How do you know?’ said Malenkova.
‘I have my ways,’ came the cryptic reply.
‘I’m impressed. I’ll call Anielka before she leaves.’
‘Please do that. She’s devoted to you and eager to please.’
‘I know. Now go and buy her something nice,’ said Malenkova and hung up.
Malenkova put the lid back on the box of sweets and looked pensively out the window. Zuzanna made her feel uneasy. It certainly wasn’t the first time, but as the project had become more complex and demanding, the feeling had become more frequent and pronounced.
Why would a young woman with her abilities be content to do my bidding and take such huge risks? she asked herself. Compared to Zuzanna, Anielka was an open book. To Malenkova, this didn’t make sense, and when something didn’t make sense, her warning antenna went into overdrive. She’s almost too efficient, and certainly too independent, she thought. And that usually meant only one thing: a plan, an agenda. But what plan? And why?
Malenkova reached for the remote on her desk and selected a Deutsche Gramophone recording of Bach cantatas. When she felt anxious or uneasy, she liked to listen to Bach. Somehow, his music – especially the cantatas – seemed to relax her and focus her thinking. She pressed the button, hoping the ethereal music would allay her fears and banish her dark thoughts. She was wrong.
