‘Things aren’t looking too bad for Paulette Dupin, you might say. What’ll we do now?’
The railway station was close by, they could stop for coffee. Two coffees with brandy, Romero went to have a look in the telephone kiosk down in the basement and came back up with the directory. No Dupin in Villemomble. The two inspectors looked quickly through the columns of subscribers to find out who lived at 44 in rue Gallieni. Romero swore and knocked over the rest of his coffee. With his fingernail he underlined a name: Yves Thomas, 44 rueGallieni.
6 p.m. Passage du Désir
Daquin looked strained and exhausted. Romero and Lavorel very tense. Attali was fidgeting with impatience. Daquin smiled at him.
‘You start, you’re the only one who wants to.’
‘I’ve got a few more little details about VL. After I saw her at the 10th arrondissement commissariat she went to see Julie La Tour, a manufacturer with whom she had an appointment to do a presentation. She was in a hurry, but she carried out her work correctly. She left quickly, saying she had a rendezvous.’
‘That’s already a step forward, Attali.’
‘After that, nothing, no trace any more. She’s a strange girl. Lots of people know her, but nobody’s capable of saying anything worthwhile about her, or of telling me what sort of person she is.’ He paused. ‘But I’ve got something else.’
‘We rather thought so.’
‘You told me to show all the identikit portraits we have to as many people as possible. I did that. One mannequin, a certain Sophie Lambert, had attended evenings at Kashguri’s place. She’s formally identified the portrait of the man who killed your concierge. He’s one of Kashguri’s menservants-cum-henchmen.’
A long silence.
‘Always stir the pot. You don’t know what you’re looking for, but in the end you find it. Well done, Attali, It’s the first tangible clue we’ve got for implicating Kashguri. But it’s a sizeable one. If his manservant acts on his orders, which is likely, then Kashguri’s playing a direct part in the network in France. Romero?’
‘Paulette Dupin is the wife of Inspector Thomas.’
Another silence.
‘There couldn’t be any mistake?’
‘No, we checked at the registration office. No mistake possible.’
‘Your turn, Lavorel.’
‘And Paulette Dupin really is the woman who was having lunch with Sener. But I don’t know yet what they’re up to. The packet that Sener brought her yesterday is in the office at the Berican workroom. If you were to give me the authority it wouldn’t take me more than a quarter of an hour tonight to know what it’s all about.’
‘How can I give you the authority? Do it without my knowing. And don’t get caught.’ Romero and Lavorel exchanged a smile. ‘Romero will certainly help you. He loves picking locks, it reminds him of his adolescence.’ Daquin took a deep breath. ‘Now it’s my turn. I wanted to talk to you a little again about some of the problems involving corruption among the police. I realize it’s easier after the discoveries by Romero and Lavorel. I’ve been thinking about it since the identification of Celebi’s body on Thursday afternoon. I’ve thought about the way the dealers have been conducting their counter-offensive during the last week. On one side I’ll list what they’ve done. They’ve put the shops in the Faubourg-Saint-Martin out of action. Caused VL to disappear. Assassinated one of Meillant’s snouts, and the only Turk we’ve positively identified as a dealer, with a witness for the prosecution. On the other side, what they haven’t done. Sobesky, the enterprises of Martens and Kutluer, the guy from the Immigration Office, the embassy attaché, all that goes on as if nothing had happened, although we’re on their track. I’m forced to ask myself the question: which cops know the first lot of facts and can pass them on to the dealers, and don’t know the second lot?’
Total discomfort. Daquin seemed to expect a reply.
‘You’re the chief,’ murmured Attali.
‘Precisely. The answer is: Thomas and Santoni.’
‘And what about Meillant? You’ve got proof that he’s bent.’
‘I don’t agree. I don’t see Meillant as bent. He’s got power. He wants to run his district, not just maintain order on the surface. In order to govern, you have to compromise and do deals on the side. You always have to negotiate what you get. For Meillant, selling false papers is one way of checking the flow of illegal workers.’ A silence. ‘I can see that I’m not being understood. Besides, I might have boobed. I realize that he could be considered a suspect. In any case, what he knows about our work can only reach him through Thomas and Santoni. Unless you, Lavorel …’
‘That’s ridiculous, guv.’
‘I know. I was saying that to defuse the atmosphere. So on Thursday evening I took the responsibilty of asking the police disciplinary service to make enquiries about Thomas and Santoni. What we’ve learnt today may make it unnecessary. It’s Thomas who’s been informing the dealers through his wife and Sener, or Moreira. She knows both of them.’
‘You haven’t got a shred of evidence.’
‘Quite right. And if we want to bring this affair to a conclusion, we’ve got to find some, and very quickly. Lavorel, when you know exactly what kind of trafficking Paulette Dupin is conducting, telephone me at home, at any time of the night. And then we’ll see if we can organize a search on Monday. Can you take in all that? So let’s go back to the entertaining part of our work. Customs tell me that the delivery date has been fixed. It’ll take place on 4 April, no doubt very early in the morning. In thirteen days’ time precisely. Before that we only have to find out who runs this bloody mess, implicate Kashguri, find VL, solve the murder of the Thai girl and unmask the bent cops. And get Anna Beric back home. Simple.’
2 a.m. Villa des Artistes
Daquin woke up with difficulty. Comatose.
‘Guv …’
‘It’s you, Lavorel … Where are you? Are you at home? Wait a minute then. I’m going to put my head under the cold tap.’
Daquin put the telephone down. Sol was there in the bed asleep. He hadn’t heard him come back last night. He lifted the duvet and looked at him for a moment. The black dick. The face with its sharp features, so different when the pale blue eyes were closed. A disconcerting mixture of submission and revolt.
His head under the tap. Towel. Back to the bed.
‘OK. Lavorel, I’m listening.’
Daquin was naked, his back against the wall, the telephone on his stomach, the receiver in his left hand, his right hand on the nape of Soleiman’s neck.
‘The box contains rolls of labels with the big names in the French ready-to-wear business, Ted Lapidus, Yves Saint-Laurent. The ones the workroom works for. That allows Berican to produce counterfeit garments on a big scale.’
‘Is it illegal?’
‘Totally.’
‘And does it earn money?’
‘Lots of it.’
‘If we carry out a search on Monday morning, can we find evidence against Paulette?’
‘If it’s done early enough, yes. The rolls of labels are too big to allow any possible explanation. They’re locked up in one of the desk drawers.’
‘You’re sure we can take her in when we leave?’
‘Yes, sure.’ He hesitated. ‘There’s something else that worries me.’
‘Tell me.’
‘We won’t be arresting just Paulette. We’ll have to take Berican too, and his workers will be out in the street. Without jobs. Just when they’re all hoping to get their papers.’
‘I warned you that you wouldn’t find many suit-and-tie people in the Sentier.’ Silence. ‘I’ll think about it. Tomorrow afternoon’ … a look at his watch: 1 o’clock in the morning ‘this afternoon rather, in my office, so that we can organize the search?’