‘Was it your company who paid?’
‘Of course. Included in general expenses. I accompany our clients, check that everything’s going well, and then leave.’
‘What pseudonym do you use?’
‘Homer. I believe more or less all the pseudonyms are taken from Ancient Greece.’
‘Good. Now, let’s go on to the girls you’ve used. In fact, were there only girls?’
‘No. Not always.’ Lestiboudois was pink with confusion.
‘Let’s dwell on the girls. Who acted as the go-between?’
‘Simon gave us the name and address of a Virginie Lamouroux. I’d phone her several days in advance. I’d say to her more or less what we needed, and she’d look after everything. That arrangement’s always been perfect. And a lot cheaper than the classic call-girl networks.’
‘How were payments made?’
‘In our case, we came to an agreement that the girls shouldn’t ask for anything direct from the clients. They’d send their invoices straight to our company the following day. I’d check everything. If there were any disputes, I’d settle it with Virginie. A marvellous girl, commissaire. So, these are rather specialized activities for her so she can finance her studies, you know.’
‘Yes, I do know. She wants to be a museum curator. So, how d’you contact her?’
‘By phone. I would leave a message on an answering machine. She’d always call me back during the day. As for paying, she’d send me her invoice and I’d send the payment to her postal address.’
‘And would that also come under general business expenses in your company?’
‘Of course.’
‘A few supplementary questions: who put you in touch with the Club Simon?’
‘M. Hershel, an industrialist, a whizz-kid in microcomputing. A sector which is also very open to international competition.’
‘Have you sometime used the services of young Thai girls?’
‘I don’t think so. Our requirement is to make it a “Parisian” experience.’
‘Did you rent a studio on the evening of Friday 29 February?’
‘No, commissaire. We always rent on weekdays. Our clients return home at weekends.’
‘To their family — ?’
‘Precisely, to their family.’
‘Were drugs being used at these get-togethers?’
‘Not that I know of.’ Lestiboudois had turned pink again. ‘But it’s not impossible. I wasn’t there.’
‘Come on. You don’t have to pussyfoot. This is a private conversation.’
‘Some clients have hinted about it to me. They simply told me that the girls procured all the substances they could possibly want. All you had to do was ask. I pretended not to understand.’
‘And on the invoices?’
‘It never appeared.’
‘Not as such, but in another form perhaps?’
‘Well, yes. Some invoices were larger than others, and I once asked Virginie Lamouroux why. She gave me a list of products that our clients had been provided with that evening. After that I never asked any more questions.’
‘And what were those products?’
‘Pot and LSD, on that day. Listen, commissaire, I’m aware that all this isn’t exactly legal or very moral. But we’re fighting a real economic war. We can’t allow our business ventures to fade away in the face of foreign competition. It’d be like weakening France herself.’
‘Don’t worry about it, Monsieur Lestiboudois. If I wanted, I might take the same tack in your shoes.’
‘An ice-cream? A coffee?
‘Thank you for everything, Monsieur Lestiboudois.’
*
Back to the office. Santoni driving. Daquin in the passenger seat. Silence.
‘Lavorel will get a real kick out of that when I tell him.’ And a few kilometres further on. ‘People who play golf are capable of anything.’
Santoni looked puzzled.
4.15 p.m. Passage du Désir
‘I’ve some good news and some bad news, patron. Which shall I begin with?’
‘You can begin by making me a coffee, Attali. And you can then tell me the bad.’
‘It seems VL is nowhere to be found. She hasn’t slept at her girlfriend’s, hasn’t left any message, and Sobesky’s son hasn’t seen her again. None of her employers have heard from her since midday yesterday.’
‘We’ll see tomorrow morning. What next?’
‘The Drugs team who’ve been watching the shops since Monday last have left a big batch of photos. I’ve been working on them, and I’ve compared them with ours. I’ve made up a file of about thirty faces, let’s say, the hard core of people using the shops regularly. All we have to do is identify them. We can begin by comparing them with the twenty-two names found at the National Immigration Office. It may take a long time and need quite a few people on it.’
‘I wouldn’t think so. I’ll take charge of that. Next?’
‘Our colleagues in Drugs have told us that none of the regulars, except for the owner, turned up on Friday.’
‘Yesterday? Now, that does interest me. Ask them, even so, to keep their surveillance going till Monday.’
‘D’you think the traffickers can have closed down using the shops, after VL was arrested?’
‘It’s possible. Anything else?’
‘Yes. Sobesky’s American associate is in Paris.’
‘Go on. Tell me.’ Daquin was suddenly very tense.
‘Sobesky phoned a manufacturer yesterday evening with whom he had an appointment at Deauville during the weekend, to put him off, as his associate had turned up unexpectedly from New York. He’s dining with him today.’
‘Baker never called him?’
‘No. I’ve listened to everything again. No trace.’
‘Thursday or Friday, Baker’s in Paris. Friday, VL disappears. The shops are put out of bounds. Coincidence?’
‘Wait. That’s not all. On Friday Sobesky was giving his agents a rocket all day. They didn’t want to sell his new collection of raincoats, the prices are too low, the margins aren’t big enough.’
‘Rivetting.’
‘These raincoats are going to be delivered at the end of the month. They’re coming from Romania.’
Romania? Which has six hundred kilometres of shared border with Bulgaria.
6 p.m. Villa des Artistes
Returning home by taxi to change, have a bath, read a bit before meeting Lenglet, Daquin felt tired suddenly. His thoughts were that he was probably being followed and that he was going back to a house where Soleiman no longer was, and it was a shame. He opened his front door and, closing it behind him, stopped abruptly, without switching on the light. It smelled of stale tobacco. Not strong enough to alert a smoker, but there was no possible doubt as far as he was concerned, for he didn’t allow cigarettes in the house. Some unknown person had been in here, and had stayed long enough to smoke one or more cigarettes. To do what? Look through his papers? There weren’t any here. Bug the place? Plant a bomb? If I switch on the light, he thought, it could set it off. But if I don’t put the light on and go out again straight away, the man following me could be outside, most probably under the porch at this very moment and will know that I know. And if these people are traffickers, my chances of catching them will diminish. Daquin crouched down, turned his back on the room and, stretching up his arm, switched on the light.
Nothing happened. So far so good. He sat on the floor, breathed again, relaxed. Now was a time to reflect. Someone was tailing him. Was it to find out how far the investigation had progressed? There were simpler, more discreet methods for the concerted services of the police, just as there were for traffickers. Was it to find a way of putting him under pressure to make him sing one way or another? Was it people who knew he was gay? That could mean a great many people. It was possible. They would have placed a lot of bugs in his house. That was the most likely. It was therefore unproductive to take risks. I simply won’t move, he thought, and tomorrow I’ll get the house examined by specialists. Still two hours to go before the meeting with Lenglet. He propped himself up as comfortably as he could. Nothing at hand to read.