Dominique Manotti: Dead Horsemeat

‘I think those are his horses,’ says Annick. ‘He rode a lot. The woman is Amélie Gramont, a friend of his. She’s a breeder.’

‘His mistress?’

‘I have no idea. Nicolas had a lot of affairs, but no long-term relationship, as far as I know.’

On the desk, the video project. Daquin flicks through the folder. A lot of names and addresses. Notes, appointments. He opens the drawers. A diary.

‘May I take the folder and the diary away? I’ll have them brought back tomorrow. And I’ll also take the photo.’

‘As you wish.’

Lift, car park, gloomily lit. Guaranteed claustrophobia. Then back onto the ring road, hemmed in by tower blocks, and busy now, it’s the lunch hour. Daquin relaxes once the car crosses the Seine.

‘Are you mad at me for having identified the female voice on your tape?’

‘A bit. You always make me feel I’m not a proper grown-up, it’s exasperating.’

‘What did you find out from Berger’s colleagues?’

‘Not a lot. The staff more or less confirmed what Annick Renouard told us. A charming guy, very professional, a bit of a dilettante. Everyone knows he did coke, and nobody seems to give a shit. It’s a different story with the beautiful blonde. She’s not really liked, too ambitious, but she’s respected for her competence and capacity for work. She’s rumoured to have been having an affair with Jubelin, the new CEO, for years. No other lovers on the scene. Apparently she’s a woman who sleeps her way to the top. No conflict with Berger, he was her protégé. And she managed to pass on nearly all her weaknesses to him.’

‘And what do you think of this woman?’

‘None too emotional. It didn’t take her long to get a grip on herself after the initial shock. Gorgeous looking. And she is a real blonde.’

Anxious look. ‘Let me know if you’re planning to fall in love with her.’

‘No chance. She scares me.’

Daquin surprised. Flashback: in the main street of Perugia, suffocating heat, that cultured, voluble Italian friend, slightly grating accent: ‘We should be afraid, Theo, women are so much stronger than we are’ . With a touch of humour and a great deal of sincerity. Daquin turns to Romero:

‘But she’s vulnerable too. She drinks, she snorts, never sits down, can’t keep still. And she’s trying to protect herself in every way she can, the way she dresses, the way her office is done up… If I can find her Achilles heel, I’ll have her where I want her.’

Romero, downright sceptical, chooses to say nothing until they’re back at Quai des Orfèvres.

Annick sits absolutely still, breathing slowly. I’ve got to get myself together. Nicolas… no point thinking about it now… Daquin’s gaze, hazel eyes, ironic, dominant. I find that hard to believe . Shudder. Strongly tempted to have a little line. Not before I’ve pulled myself together, I’m not a junkie. I’m going to have to tell Jubelin the news.

Jubelin’s secretary tells her that he’s been shut in his office all day, having cancelled all his appointments and given orders that nobody is to disturb him.

‘Is he shut up in there with some gorgeous female?’

‘No, not this time. He’s alone and he’s working.’

‘Well I’ll take it upon myself to go in. It’s an emergency.’

‘It’s up to you.’

When Annick pushes open the door, Jubelin looks up from his computer.

‘I said I didn’t want to be disturbed.’

‘I know. Nicolas has been murdered.’

Jubelin stares at her, stunned.

‘Here?’

‘No, yesterday morning, at a horse show.’

She tells him about the visit from the two police officers, leaving out the references to cocaine.

‘Who are these cops, which department are they from?’

‘One is Superintendent Daquin. I don’t know where they’re from. I didn’t ask them.’

‘Do they think the murder has anything to do with Pama?’

‘I got the impression that they think that’s only one possibility.’ A silence. ‘They took away some of Nicolas’s files.’

Jubelin reacts.

‘And you let them? Without a warrant? Get those files back right away, Annick. Believe me, the less the police stick their noses in our business, the better. Do I have to spell it out?’

He gets up, plants a kiss on her forehead, and steers her towards the door.

Back in her vast office. Cigarette, inhales deeply. Persistent feeling of uneasiness. The memories surfacing, of course. But not only. Beware of the cops, Jubelin said. He’s not wrong. Slush funds, backhanders, cash transfers and regular killings on the stock exchange… I know about all that. But that’s not what it’s about. Nicolas has been murdered, and Jubelin didn’t even seem surprised, as if he were expecting it in a way. Flashback to the party on 14 thJuly at Perrot’s, Nicolas deep in conversation with Jubelin. They’d both stopped talking when she joined them: We’ll talk about it in my office . What does he know that I don’t?

A line… Not yet. Annick calls home. The familiar voice on the other end.

‘Michel, is that you?’

Michel, who does everything, the shopping, the cleaning, who looks after her when she’s ill and is her constant support. Michel, her entire family.

‘I need you, right away. Can we have lunch together?’

Annick parks her little red Austin Mini outside her apartment building, Boulevard Maillot, in Neuilly, on the edge of the Bois de Boulogne. Michel is waiting for her. Tall, slim, fair-haired, around thirty-five, beige linen trousers and leather jacket. He leans over and opens her door, helps her out.

I hadn’t planned anything for lunch at home, so I booked a table at Sébillon’s.’

‘That’s perfect by me.’ She takes his arm. ‘Let’s go.’

A few paces in silence, in the opulent deserted streets of this little corner of Neuilly. Then:

‘Nicolas was murdered on Sunday morning.’

Michel stares at her speechless. He’s shocked.

At Sébillon’s, a quiet table at the back. The head waiter comes over, and Michel orders a whisky for Madame.

‘Which does Madame prefer, Chivas, Glenlivet…?’

Annick gives her most charming smile and, in a slightly slurred voice, says:

‘Anything, as long as it’s more than forty per cent proof.’ The head waiter looks disapproving. Michel continues:

‘And I’ll have a glass of champagne. Then we’ll both have the leg of lamb, pink.’

The head waiter moves away. ‘Now, what’s going on?’

Annick tells him about the visit from the two cops, the booby-trapped car at the horse show yesterday. Her voice is slightly off key, as if she is surprised to hear what she is saying.

‘Nicolas, a childhood friend. And up there,’ she gestures in the direction of La Défense, ‘entertaining, considerate… I scare myself sometimes. I should be in tears. Well I’m not. After the initial shock, nothing. I’m an emotional cripple.’

‘No, it’s not even that. You’re no good at lying to yourself, that’s all. You’ve always found Nicolas sweet but of no interest.’

‘The cops think he was involved in cocaine trafficking.’

Michel’s ears suddenly prick up.

‘Was he?’

‘How should I know? In any case, he supplied me. And the cops already know.’

‘Shit.’ A silence. ‘Have you talked to Jubelin about it?’

‘No. I don’t like talking cocaine with Jubelin. My position’s complicated enough as it is. He’s the CEO, remember. And besides, this time, I can tell he’s worried.’ She hesitates, and then: ‘I’m going to have to find a new dealer. At the moment, I can’t cope without it. And with the cops on our backs, Jubelin cornered…’

‘I’ll deal with it, don’t worry.’