I Kill (34 page)

‘It’s a little confusing.’

‘Stricker was dying and his left arm was broken.’ He pointed to the arm bent in the unnatural position. Frank remembered the agility Mosse had displayed during their fight. He had
experienced it in person. Mosse knew how to break someone’s arm very easily. ‘In the apartment we found some pictures of Stricker playing tennis. He was clearly left-handed. Here, he
was writing with his right hand. It’s obviously not his normal handwriting.’

Durand kept staring at the photo, puzzled.

Frank waited. He looked at Hulot, leaning silently against the wall. He, too, was waiting to see what was coming. Durand made up his mind. He finally took the bull by the horns, as though the
study of the picture had helped him find the right words.

‘All hell will break loose because of this. The diplomats will be on to it soon and it’ll sound like the start of the Grand Prix. Right now we’re just holding Captain Mosse. If
we actually charge him, we’re going to need incontrovertible proof so we don’t end up with egg on our face. The No One affair has already made us look ridiculous enough.’

Durand wanted to emphasize that the prompt arrest of Roby Stricker’s probable killer did not in any way make up for the murder of Gregor Yatzimin, a new slap in the face for the
Principality’s police force in charge of the investigation. Frank’s participation was simply a collaboration between investigative bodies, and the main responsibility still fell on the
local police. They were the butts of biting newspaper headlines and caustic op-ed pieces by TV commentators.

‘As far as Mosse is concerned,’ said Frank with a shrug, ‘it’s obviously your decision. In my opinion, for what it’s worth, we have more than enough evidence to go
forward. We’ve got proof that Ryan Mosse knew Stricker. I saw them myself last night in front of Jimmy’z. There’s his name in the photo. I don’t see what else we
need.’

And General Parker?’

Frank had been there when they had gone to pick up the captain that morning at Beausoleil. On reaching the courtyard of the Parker family’s rented house, the first thing Frank had noticed
was that, except for a few small details, the house was almost identical to Jean-Loup’ s. He made a quick mental note of it, soon buried by other considerations. He had expected the general
to kick up a fuss, but he realized that he had underestimated him. Parker was too smart to create a scene. He was impeccably dressed when he greeted them, as though he had been expecting their
visit. When they had asked, he had simply nodded and called Mosse. When the police had told him to accompany them to headquarters, Mosse was visibly tense and had thrown an enquiring glance at the
old man. Waiting for
orders, sir.

Frank suspected that, if Parker had asked him, Mosse would have exploded in fury at the men who had come to arrest him. The general had simply shaken his head ever so slightly and the tension in
Mosse’s body had relaxed. He had held out his wrists and accepted the indignity of handcuffs without a word.

Parker had found a way to be alone with Frank as they were taking Mosse to the car. ‘This is bullshit, Frank, and you know it.’

‘What your man did last night was bullshit, general. Serious bullshit.’

‘I could testify that Captain Mosse never left this house last night.’

‘If you do and they find out it’s not true, not even the President could get you off charges of aiding and abetting and perjury. Nobody in North America would risk protecting you.
Want my advice?’

‘Let’s hear it.’

‘If I were you, general, I’d just keep out of it. Captain Mosse is in deep trouble and not even you can get him out. Military tactics provide for situations like these, don’t
they? Sometimes you simply have to cut your losses and leave one of your men to his fate.’

‘No one gives me lessons in military tactics. Especially you, Frank. I’ve taken people who were harder than you’ll ever be and torn them to pieces. You’ll just be one
more, mark my words.’

‘Everyone’s got to take his chances, general. That’s the rule of war.’

Frank had turned his back and left. On the way out he had seen Helena standing at the living room door, to the right of the hallway. Frank could not help thinking how beautiful she was, with her
luminous eyes and skin. Her blonde hair. Their eyes had met as he passed. Frank had noticed that, contrary to his initial impression, her eyes were blue, not grey. And her gaze held all the sorrow
of the world.

Driving downtown, Frank had leaned back in his seat, his eyes studying the plastic lining of the ceiling. He had kept trying to erase two overlapping images from his mind. Harriet and Helena.
Helena and Harriet. The same eyes. The same sadness.

Frank had tried to think of something else. As they reached headquarters on Rue Notari, he had pondered the general’s mocking words.
No One gives me lessons in military tactics.
The
general didn’t realize all the implications of what he had said. Just then, there was a killer at large who could give lessons to them all.

‘I said, what do you think General Parker will do?’ repeated the attorney general.

Frank was so deep in thought that he had let Durand’s question go unanswered for a little too long.

‘Sorry. I think Parker will do everything in his power to help Mosse, but he won’t throw himself off a cliff. The consulate will surely get into this, but there’s one important
fact to be noted. Mosse was arrested by an American FBI agent. We wash our dirty laundry among ourselves and we save face. We’re the country that came up with impeachment, after all, and
we’ve never been afraid to use it.’

Durand and Roncaille exchanged glances. He was right. There were no problems there. Durand took his time getting to the point.

‘Your presence here is a guarantee that everyone has the best intentions. Unfortunately, the road to hell is paved with them. Right now, we – and I mean the Principality police
– need results. The Roby Stricker case has apparently nothing to do with the killer we’re after.’

Frank felt Nicolas Hulot standing behind him. They both knew what Durand was driving at. There were dark clouds hanging over them. And behind those clouds, there was an axe raised, ready to
strike.

‘There was another victim last night. The fourth. We can’t just sit here letting garbage get dumped on our heads. I repeat, your collaboration is greatly appreciated,
Frank.’

Politely tolerated, Durand. Only politely tolerated. Why don’t you use the right words, even if I did just hand you General Parker and his thug on a silver platter?

Durand went on in the same vein, dumping the garbage at Hulot’s door.

‘I’m sure you realize that the authorities simply cannot continue to watch a chain of murders like this without taking steps, unpleasant as they might be.’

Frank watched Nicolas. He was leaning against the wall, suddenly alone on the battlefield. He looked like a man refusing a blindfold before a firing squad. Durand had the decency to look him in
the eye as he spoke.

‘I’m sorry, inspector. I know you’re an excellent officer, but at this point I have no choice. You are removed from the case.’

‘I understand, Dr Durand,’ Hulot said, nodding simply. He was probably too tired to protest. ‘There won’t be any problems.’

‘You can take a holiday. This case has been extremely wearing for you. The press, of course—’

‘I said there was no problem. There’s no need for you to sugar the pill. We’re all adults and we know the rules of the game. The department must do as it sees fit.’

If Durand was impressed with Hulot’s reply, he did not let on. He turned to Roncaille. Until then, the police chief had listened in silence.

‘Good. You’ll take over the investigation, Roncaille. As of today. Please keep me informed of every development. Any time of day or night. Goodbye, gentlemen.’ And the ever
polite attorney general Alain Durand walked away, leaving a silence behind him that he was relieved not to share.

Roncaille ran a hand through his already smooth hair.

‘I’m sorry, Hulot. I would have liked to avoid this.’

The police chief’s words were not just a formality. The man was genuinely sorry, but not for the reasons he wanted them to believe. Now he was in the lion’s cage, and it was up to
him to tame the wild beasts.

‘Get some sleep. You both need it. Then I’d like to see you in my office as soon as possible, Frank. There are some details I’d like to discuss with you.’ With the same
apparent composure as Durand, Roncaille escaped from the room as well. Frank and Hulot were left alone.

‘See? I hate to say “I told you so,” but I can’t blame them.’

‘Nicolas, I don’t think either Roncaille or Durand could have done any better than we did. This is politics, not reason. But I’m still in it.’

‘You. And what do I have to do with it?’

‘You’re still a police inspector, Nicolas. You were taken off a case, not suspended from the force. And you’ve got something that nobody else on the case has.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Twenty-four hours a day to work on it, without having to account to anyone, without having to waste your time writing reports.’

‘Through the back door, huh?’

‘Right. There’s still something we have to check out, and you seem the best person to do it now. Actually, I don’t think it was I who noticed that record sleeve in the
video.’

‘Frank, you’re a son of a bitch. A real son of a bitch.’

‘I’m your friend. And I owe it to you.’

Hulot changed his tone. He stretched his neck to relieve the tension. ‘I think I’ll get some shut-eye. I guess I can now, right?’

‘Yeah, and I can’t have heard Roncaille say he wants to see me “as soon as possible”. I’m practically asleep already.’

Frank rubbed his eyes and looked up at the blue rectangle framed by the window. When he had returned home to his apartment he had been too tired even to shower. He had
collapsed on the bed after peeling off his clothes, leaving the shutters open.

I’m not in Monte Carlo,
he thought.
I’m still in that house on the beach, trying to pull myself together. Harriet is sunbathing next to me, lying on a towel, the wind in
her hair and a smile on her face. Now I’m getting up and going to her, and there will be no one dressed in black. There will be no one between us.

‘No One . . .’ he said aloud.

The two deaths of the night before came back to him and he got up reluctantly. Through the window he could see a strip of sea where gusts of wind had formed whitecaps far offshore. He went over
to open the window. A gust of warm air rushed in and swept what was left of the nightmares from the room. He had slept only a few hours and felt as though he could have slept for ever.

He showered, shaved and put on fresh clothes. As he made himself some coffee, he mused over the new developments. Now that Nicolas was out of the game, things would be a lot more complicated.
Roncaille wasn’t capable of handling things on his own, at least not from an investigative point of view. He might be a genius at PR and talking to the media, but field investigations were
not his cup of tea. Maybe a long time ago they had been, but now he was more politician than cop. However, he had a good team working for him. The Principality’s police force wasn’t
considered one of the best in the world for nothing . . .
blah blah blah . . .

His own presence in Monaco was becoming a diplomatic necessity. As with everything, it had advantages and disadvantages. Frank was sure that Roncaille would try to maximize the first and
minimize the second. He was well acquainted with the methods of the Monte Carlo police. Nobody ever said anything, but they knew everything.

Everything except the name of the killer
. . .

He decided not to worry about the police. He had felt that way all along. This was not a joint police investigation. Even if Roncaille and Durand represented authority, it didn’t matter.
Neither did America nor the Principality. This was a personal matter between him, Nicolas Hulot and a man dressed in black who collected the faces of his victims in a gory, delirious carnival. All
three of them had put their lives on hold, waiting to see how this no-holds-barred struggle between three dead men pretending to be alive would end.

They had to change.

He sat down at the computer and opened an e-mail from Cooper. The attachments held the information he had found on Nathan Parker and Ryan Mosse. It wasn’t much use now that Mosse was in
jail and Parker was temporarily harmless.
Temporarily,
he repeated. He had no illusions about Parker. The general was a man you couldn’t rule out until there were worms in his dead
body.

There was a note from Cooper in his e-mail.

He wondered what was so urgent and looked at his watch. At this hour, he could call him at home. He wouldn’t be disturbing anyone. Cooper lived alone in a loft overlooking
the Potomac.

His friend’s sleepy voice answered after a few rings. ‘Hello?’

‘Coop? It’s Frank.’

‘Oh, it’s you. How’s it goin’?’

‘A huge oil tanker just crashed and you wouldn’t believe the size of the spill.’

‘What happened?’

‘Two more murders last night.’

‘Oh, man!’

‘You said it. One was killed according to the usual ritual – he’s the fourth. My friend the inspector was politely kicked off the case. The other guy’s dead thanks to our
dear friend Ryan Mosse. They’ ve got him in jail now and the general is raising hell to get him out.’

‘Jesus, Frank.’ Cooper was fully awake now. ‘What the fuck’s going on over there? Next, you’ll tell me it’s nuclear war.’

‘Don’t rule that out. What did you have to tell me that was so urgent?’

‘There’ve been some new developments here. The Larkin case, I mean. The things we’re finding out make us think they’ve got a good cover somewhere, a joint venture with
something big. But we don’t know what it is yet. And Hudson McCormack’s in from New York.’