Impure Blood (26 page)

‘Don’t listen to him, chief.’

‘Ninety, Darac.’

‘I’ll… think about it.’

Armani smiled like a suitor who had just secured a winning advantage over a rival.

‘It’s not over,’ Granot whispered in his ear, ‘until the fat lady sings.’

Charvet’s voice called down the corridor.

‘Captain – a couple of officers from Immigration are over in the cell block. They want to take Mansoor Narooq and to talk to Slimane Bahtoum. Is that alright?’

Mansoor’s dig about repatriation quotas played in Darac’s head.

‘Have they been cleared?’

‘Just a second.’

Charvet said a few words into his headset.

‘Yes, they have.’

‘Alright. Give them the go-ahead.’

Darac was getting no answer from Agnès. He left a message and called her home phone. He left another message.

‘Charvet? Has the boss rung in?’

‘No.’

For the first time, Darac began to feel uneasy. He thought about giving Vincent Dantier a call. Granot, he knew, had his numbers. The big man was already tackling the lower slopes of the mountain of paper on his desk.

‘Got your address book there? I want to give Agnès’s father a call.’

Granot handed it over.

‘Waste of time. She’s turned her mobile off – that’s it. We all do it.’

‘Let’s hope you’re right. She hasn’t rung in, either.’

‘That’s unlike her but there could be hundreds of reasons. She’s probably at the osteopath. Or the chiropractor.’ He grinned wickedly. ‘Or getting a massage from some nice young man.’

As Granot continued with his papers, Darac rang the first of Vincent’s numbers.

‘
I am unable to take your call at the moment. Please…’

He left yet another message and tried his landline. Same result. He stared into space for a moment.

‘We may just call in at Avenue Marguerite after the interview with Medusa.’

‘We?’

‘Frankie and I are doing it.’

‘Like old times. But I should forget it if I were you. Agnès isn’t home – end of story.’

‘Nevertheless.’ Several scenarios played in Darac’s head. ‘Do you remember me telling you about my father’s mishap in the shower? It happened… let’s see, he was still freelancing, then…’ He swatted the question away. ‘About ten years ago, it doesn’t matter. The point is, he slipped getting in and put his back out. The slightest movement was agony so he just had to lay there waiting for…’ He searched for the name. ‘…well – whichever lady friend he was living with at the time – to come home from work. Nearly an hour went by before she did. Remember me telling you that?’

Granot nodded.

‘Ten years ago? Oh yes, we’re still talking about it.’

‘Things like that happen, is all I’m saying.’

‘If the boss is lying on her bathroom floor, you’d better send Frankie in.’ A second thought hit Granot. ‘No, go in yourself – the laugh
that
’ll give us will run and run.’

Lunch was an invariably snatched affair for those working a murder case. But at least Darac and Frankie were snatching theirs on the terrace of Café Parfait. Superb
moules farcies
was one draw. Being able to keep Medusa in plain view across Boulevard des Anglais was another.

‘I don’t know what the effect is like close up but from here it’s uncanny.’ Frankie extracted a final pesto-infused morsel from its shell. ‘How does she make the snakes do that? She doesn’t move a muscle.’

Darac set down his fork.

‘They’re on a timer? Dunno. We’ll ask her in a minute. Espresso?’

‘Coffee kills. Especially in this heat.’ Frankie’s smile was a radiant thing. ‘You have one, by all means.’

‘I’m making it a double for that. Then you’ll be sorry. Water?’

‘Please.’

He ordered the drinks as a Petit Train Touristique trundled past the terrace. Prompted by the recorded commentary, passengers were moving their heads from side to side like spectators at a tennis match – until they caught sight of Medusa.

‘It’s game over for the rest.’ Darac could see the appeal. ‘Maybe they ought to feature
her
in the commentary.’

‘Best not arrest the girl, then.’

Making references to the case and banter – on the surface, everything seemed normal. But in the silence that followed, a darker reality floated up from the depths.

‘Haven’t seen Angeline in a while,’ Frankie said, with slightly loaded emphasis. ‘Her university teaching going well?’

‘Oh, fine.’

‘And…’ Her pale green eyes locked on his. ‘How is she in herself?’

Darac flipped his mobile.

‘Just going to try the Dantiers again.’

‘Uh-huh.’

Nothing was said while he listened to the familiar recorded messages.

‘Still no answer. Yes… Angeline’s very well, thanks.’

‘I have a shoulder, you know. Two, in fact.’

Darac should have known that Frankie, of all people, would have divined something was amiss. It would be a relief to drop the pretence.

‘Offering relationship counselling, now?’ Propping himself on an elbow, he lowered his head into his hand. ‘It’s very sweet but if truth were told, I don’t really believe in it.’

‘You don’t think relationships sometimes need work to succeed?’

Darac fell very still, suddenly.

‘It’s catching, this statue thing.’

‘Seems so.’

‘Work to be happy, Frankie? No, I don’t believe you can. And Angeline shares that view, I know. We’ve always been a bit… smug, I suppose, about how right we seemed to be for each other.’

‘No relationship can be perfect. As she ought to know better than most.’

‘Thanks.’

‘I just meant that hers is a very postmodern take on things, isn’t it? No place in critical theory for concepts like ideal love.’

‘I think most people understand nothing is perfect. And there have always been some quite big differences between Angeline and me. But they’ve never really got in the way until now.’

‘You feel the relationship is failing?’

‘I know it is. On her side, anyway. Me – I’m still very much…’

The drinks arrived. As they were set out, Darac picked up the bill and paid it. Nothing else was said until the waiter cleared the plates and left them to it.

‘It’s come in well under the allowance, look.’

‘You were saying.’

Darac exhaled deeply.

‘I take it you do believe that people can work to save a relationship?’

‘If both parties ultimately want it, I do.’

‘But then they wouldn’t have found themselves in that position in the first…’ Darac slapped the idea away. ‘Look – this is the crux, Frankie. All the contradictions and other little things that Angeline used to find fascinating about me now seem to disappoint her. Added to that, my horizons have come in. I hit people, I make love, I play the guitar – those are the triangulation points I use to navigate through life. Or through life’s crises, at least.’

‘According to Angeline, that is.’

‘Yeah.’

Across the promenade, Medusa’s snakes writhed, sending an amused shudder through the crowd.

‘At first, I thought she was wrong about that. But maybe she isn’t. Maybe my emotional options have been pared down. Maybe it happens to all homicide detectives – a reaction to the chaotic world we spend every working minute in.’

‘Adopting simplicity at home as an antidote to all the complexity we face at work? If that’s the dynamic, I don’t see anything too terribly wrong in it.’

‘Adopting simplicity is one thing; behaving simplistically is another. But that’s only part of it. Whether my role in the police is at the root of it or not, Angeline has come to the conclusion that I lack qualities she realises she needs in a partner. I can’t see a way back.’

Once again, Frankie’s eyes seemed to see right into him.

‘It’s far too early to say that. When did you first notice something was wrong between you?’

‘Four months ago. Or so.’

Her eyes didn’t leave his.

‘Don’t give up on it.’

Darac’s expression took on a flintier quality. It was a look she knew well.

‘I believe people can change, Frankie. I’ve seen it many times. But it must come from within. Changing just to fit someone else’s perspective? No. I’m not doing that. Not even for Angeline. Love me, like me or loathe me –
this
…’ He jabbed a thumb against his chest. ‘…is what I am.’

‘Yes – change should come from within but in relationships, you have to make some compromises, don’t you? As long as there aren’t too many of them and they go both ways, I can’t see a problem. Bend a little, Paul.’

‘Bend…’ The tablecloth claimed his attention once more. ‘And at what point does bend become bend over?’

‘I’m talking about making compromises, not… shafting yourself.’

Nothing was said for a moment.

‘Working at a relationship.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’

‘I do,’ she said, almost inaudibly.

Darac gave her a look.

‘You and Christophe have never had to work at it, have you? Strongest couple I know.’

Frankie’s eyes finally left Darac’s, drawn over his shoulder to Jardin Albert. She couldn’t see its celebrated carousel – a stand of trees was in the way – but she could hear its calliope piping away as it turned.

‘Yes, I suppose there is some strength there. But just over two years ago now, we did have a problem. Correction,
I
had a problem – Christophe was unaware of it at first. But then he noticed certain changes in me and that’s when it became a problem for us both.’

Darac ran a hand through his hair.

‘This was going on at the time you were putting in to leave my team?’

‘Yes,’ she said, as neutrally as she could manage.

‘I wish I’d known about it. I wouldn’t have kept going on at you to stay with me.’

Frankie turned her gaze on the promenade.

‘I… didn’t think I could confide in you at the time.’

‘Of course you could have. But hey – it all worked out for you, so that’s great.’

‘Yes indeed.’

After a couple of beats, she smiled and turned back to him.

‘The important question now is: where do you both go from here?’

‘Where indeed?’

‘Has Angeline mentioned the S-word?’

He looked at her, confused.

‘Space,’ she said. ‘Needing it.’

‘No, she hasn’t but if she does, that’s what it will mean – space and time apart. It won’t be a cover, an easy way of walking out for good. If she wanted to do that, she’d say so.’

A round of applause drifted across the boulevard. Medusa’s show was over. A few people were already stepping forward to have their photo taken with her.

Darac got to his feet.

‘Better get over there.’

Frankie gave his hand a squeeze.

‘I said it was resolvable and I’m sure it is. But if it doesn’t work out that way, you
will
get over it.’

Darac thought he could see tears forming in the corners of her large, expressive eyes.

‘I don’t know what André sees in you.’ He laid his hand on her cheek. ‘Now for fuck’s sake, let’s go and do some police work for a few minutes.’

By the time Darac and Frankie had crossed the boulevard, the photo session beneath the marble-effect paint was over. Medusa was a slender, keen-eyed girl in her early twenties. Wearing an elaborate headdress was clearly a tough call in the heat. As she took it off, her blond razorcut was stiff with sweat. She shook a hand through it, then pulling her face into chimp-like grimaces and grins, stepped off the plinth and went into a series of stretches.

‘A statue looks far more weird moving than standing, don’t you think?’ said Darac.

Frankie didn’t reply at first; her eyes were fixed on the headdress.

‘Even fake snakes are hideous.’ She gave a little shudder. ‘Which is why the act works so well, of course.’

‘Indeed. We’ll let her finish her stretches.’

Keeping her legs straight, the girl extended her arms above her head, clasped her hands together and then slowly lowered her torso until it lay flat as an ironing board against her legs.

Frankie gave a nonchalant shrug.

‘I could do that if I wanted to.’

‘Really?’

‘Of course not. Lovely peplos, though, I must say.’

‘If I knew what a peplos was, I might agree with you.’

‘That cute little garment she’s wearing.’

‘So not her cute little bottom, then?’

‘No,’ Frankie said, with some feeling.

The stretch routine finished, the girl returned to the plinth and lifted off its top. Using this as a tray to support the headdress, she carefully set it down on the pavement.

Darac stepped towards her.

‘
Chapeau
.’

The girl reached into the plinth, took out a litre bottle of water and drained about half of it before replying.

‘Pity you didn’t catch the act itself. Every euro helps.’

‘How do you know we didn’t catch it?’

‘Because I see everything,’ the girl said, encouragingly. ‘There’s not much else to do, you know. When you’re just standing around.’

Darac took out his wallet and dropped a five-euro note into her tips bag.

‘You didn’t see quite everything. We were watching you from across the boulevard.’

‘No one’s perfect.’ She reached into the plinth and took out a pair of rollerblades. ‘Even a goddess.’

Frankie indicated the plinth.

‘Not so much Medusa as Pandora.’

Once more, the girl shook a hand through her hair.

‘You think my skates are evil?’

‘Sorry – didn’t think it through.’ Frankie’s self-deprecating smile was a disarming thing. ‘I just meant it’s not just a plinth, it’s a box.’

‘Ah.’

‘And it’s crammed full of stuff.’

‘You’re right, there.’ The girl smiled, incising hairline cracks into her matte-white make-up. ‘You notice the weight going uphill – put it that way.’

Darac was dumbfounded.

‘You don’t mean you skate from gig to gig carrying that thing, surely?’

‘See the fluted pilasters on this side? They’re actually webbing straps that pull out.’

‘The box goes on your back?’

‘Like a rucksack.’ She reached for a skate. ‘Wait one minute and you’ll get a live demo.’