Jacquot and the Waterman (64 page)

'But you never saw her?'

'There was no point.'

'Never saw her around?'

Carnot shook his head. 'No.'

'Well, that's where we have a little problem, Monsieur.'

Carnot rearranged his shoulders, not quite a shrug, but a movement, he hoped, that suggested indifference to the policeman's 'problem'. Which was certainly not the case. He didn't like that word, 'problem', nor the way it was delivered.

'Problem?'

The cop stubbed out the cigarette and stretched back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head.

'You said St-Charles. Where she lived?'

'That's right.'

Carnot spotted what was happening. The cop was backtracking and the trap was closing. He could smell it. And now he knew what it was.

'But you never went there?'

'No. I said.'

'So what about Cours Lieutaud, Monsieur? Which is where she must have moved to after she left St-Charles. Or maybe she never lived in St-Charles?'

Carnot let his face go along with it, but his mind raced. Prints. They had his prints.

'Lieutaud. Of course,' said Carnot. 'Up Noaille way. Yeah. That's right. She moved. I heard.'

'According to the concierge she moved in just about the time you said you split up.'

'Yeah, well. . .' Carnot let it trail away. 'But you didn't go there? Drop by? Say "hi"?' Carnot went back to his fingernails. 'Yeah. Maybe. I don't recall,' he said at last, not looking up.

'Yes or no.'

'Yeah. I remember now.'

'This was what - calling by? Another party?'

'Must have been a party.'

'When?'

'Christmas. Round then.' 'She invite you?'

'No, course not. Just went along with friends. Some party was all they said. Didn't know who was throwing it. Didn't realise it was her place. Just a party, you know?' 'So you were surprised to see her?' 'Yeah. You could say.' 'And how did she react?' 'She was cool.'

'And did she tell you it was her party? Her apartment?' Carnot nodded, going along with it. He was feeling safe. The prints. The party. He'd got it covered. The cop gave him a look. 'Yeah. She did.'

'And did you ever go back? Call in after the party? Old times?'

'No. I never did.'

'So Christmas was the only time you were there? The last time you saw her?'

'Or New Year, maybe.'

'But around then?'

Carnot nodded. 'Yeah. Around then.'

There was a knock at the door and a fat guy came in, suit jacket tight under the arms, fingers thick and red as
merguez
sausages. Sweaty skin and short black hair coming to a point on his forehead. He leant over and whispered in the cop's ear. Carnot recognised him, the one leaning against his car the night they questioned him. You could feel the weight of him. Near lifted the car.

The one with the ponytail listened, then nodded.

'Nice one,' he said. 'Leave it to you?'

The fat cop nodded. 'On the case,' he replied and left the room without a look in Carnot's direction. Like he wasn't even there.

'So. Where were we?' asked Jacquot.

Carnot knew he didn't expect an answer.

'Right. Cours Lieutaud. What was it? First. No, second floor.'

'Fourth. Top.'

The cop swung a look at him.

Carnot tried not to flush. He'd blown it, knew it. Trying to be too smart. Just keep it short and sweet.

'Hey! You remember? One visit. Remarkable.' The cop pushed back his chair and stood up, stretched and walked to the window. 'Tell me,' he began, leaning against the window ledge and looking back at Carnot. 'She must have

been making some money, that place?'

'Could be. Neat address.'

'You know how? You know how she was making that land of money?'

'Like I said, it was a party. We didn't talk incomes.' He didn't bother to look at Jacquot, just kept his gaze idling on the empty chair. He felt more comfortable with the cop at the side of him like that.

'So she didn't show you the cupboard?'

Carnot was surprised. They'd found the cupboard. The first time he'd taken Vicki to the apartment, she'd searched the place high and low. Even took her in the bathroom, told her it was there, and she still couldn't see it. The cops must have gone over the place with a fine- tooth comb.

Carnot sniffed, breathed out slowly, knew he was being boxed in. If they had his prints in the apartment, and they'd found the cupboard, then they'd have his prints there too. But if he'd told this cop he'd only gone to the apartment once, for a party, how come he knew about the cupboard? He gave it some thought.

'Cupboard?' he asked, to give himself some space. 'You got me.'

'In the bathroom. Behind the mirrored tiles.'

Carnot shook his head slowly. And then: 'Oh yeah. Yeah. You had to look, right.'

'So she showed you?'

'Nope. Found it myself. I was taking a leak. I was looking for a towel.'

Carnot smiled. Looking for a towel. . . That was a good one. He licked his lips, starting to enjoy himself. They didn't have a thing on him. He was out of there.

Jacquot nodded. 'So what happened to the camera?'

'Camera?'

'The one in the cupboard, Tarantino. The one you and Vicki used for your little films.'

'Like I say, you got me there.'

'You're right. We have.'

The cop smiled and something turned in Carnot's belly. Shit.

'Right now three of my men are picking up a search warrant with your address on it,' Jacquot began. 'And it's my bet they'll find a camera. Maybe not the films, but enough to tie you in to Vicki's death.'

'That's crazy, and you know it,' said Carnot, turning in his seat to give Jacquot an insolent look. 'It's got nothing to do with me. It's like they say in the papers. The Waterman. The one they're all talking about. I read it.'

Jacquot smiled, came back to the table. 'If it was just Vicki,' he said, 'we wouldn't have much to go on. But there's more.'

"What "more"?'

'A shop-assistant. Worked at Galerie Prime. We found her body in the Longchamp fountain. Name of Grez. Joline Grez. Remember her?'

The name meant nothing.

Carnot frowned, shook his head. What was all this?

And
then...

'She had a picture of you,' the cop continued. 'In her bedroom. The two of you out together - a club, a bar. Real blonde hair. Cut short. Remember?'

After they took Carnot down to a holding cell, Jacquot was in the washroom when the Duty Sergeant, Calliou, came in and took a stall. He was off duty, his jacket undone. Jacquot glanced at his watch. A little after five.

'You get the message from Gastal?' asked Calliou.

Jacquot looked over. 'About the girl? Yeah.' More good news. Gastal had traced the driver of the Renault. A beautician in a local salon. He was going to check her out.

Calliou shook himself off, zipped up and turned from the bowl. 'Funny how it happens like that.'

'How do you mean?'

'The mobile. Your suspect's mobile.'

'Carnot's?' Jacquot shook his head. 'You've lost me.'

Calliou rinsed his hands and wiped the palms down the sides of his tunic. 'The suspect's phone,' he repeated. 'Soon as we get his stuff bagged up, the thing goes off. Three, four times.'

'You answer it?'