‘Charles, tell me, who is it talking to Quignard?’
‘In my opinion, it’s Park, the CEO of Daewoo Pondange, who left town within forty-eight hours of the fire. He was Quignard’s usual contact, and he recognised his voice immediately. But it could be someone else, I didn’t meet any of the Korean managers. They’d all left by the time I arrived in Pondange.’
‘He speaks like a CEO,’ says Benoît-Rey.
‘Let’s suppose it’s Park. Now, what do you make of this conversation?’
‘We seem to be on the right track.’
‘Strange that people aren’t more guarded about speaking on the phone.’
‘Haven’t you ever done any confidential business over the phone?’
Laughter. ‘Yes, but never again from now on, I swear it.’
‘It’s funny to be hearing about the insider dealing again.’ Rossellini turns to Montoya. ‘It’s a set-up. I wrote the anonymous letters myself, and we forced the hand of the COB just a little, to get them to launch an investigation.’
‘That doesn’t prove that there was no insider dealing,’ retorts Montoya. Rossellini freezes. Valentin smiles.
‘What do you make of what Park calls the “Polish scheme”?’
Benoît-Rey embarks on a long explanation of how the losses and subsidies are orchestrated in Pondange and the profits in Warsaw, for the benefit of Montoya, who stops him with a gesture.
‘I know all that. It was explained to me by an expert before I left for Pondange.’ Benoît-Rey turns to Valentin.
‘That is exactly the problem. The Polish scheme is fraudulent, but a large number if not all of the multinationals operate in a similar fashion, and declare as they please, whenever they please, that one or other of their subsidiaries has gone bankrupt. Clearly in this case Daewoo chose Warsaw, and Pondange was only set up in order to channel the subsidies into Warsaw. But I very much doubt that the disclosure of the “Polish scheme” will get things moving in Paris. Everyone knows that’s how things are done. If the funding bodies are stupid enough to continue granting subsidies, that’s their business.’
‘We need the lists of personal accounts into which the payments were made through this scheme. Once we have those lists, we win by a knockout.’
‘True. The financial arrangements remain obscure, and the journalists don’t understand the first thing about it. But if we can say to them that so-and-so was caught with his hand in the till, we hit the jackpot.’
Montoya gets up, picks up a new bottle of Beaujolais and fills two glasses for Valentin and himself.
‘There’s no proof that these personal accounts exist, or that lists were drawn up, even that Park has them if they do exist. And Park is definitely behind this.’
Valentin takes a sip of wine and twirls his glass, watching the liquid shimmer.
‘You’re right, Charles, in theory. That conversation could be pure bluff, straight out of a game of poker. But we know the boss of Daewoo Poland. He’s a swindler and a blackmailer appointed by the CEO of the entire group. Unless it’s to set up an embezzlement scheme using the personal accounts Park mentions, why else would it exist? Let me tell you what I think: there is insider dealing going on, but we drop that aspect. There is embezzlement, and Park has the lists, we concentrate on that.’
‘You’re the chief.’
‘Then I have two questions. The first one’s for you, Charles: How is Quignard going to react?’
Montoya takes his time.
‘It depends how much he knows. He doesn’t necessarily know that Park is calling him from Warsaw.’
‘If he’s clever, he’ll have a suspicion …’
‘He’s very clever.’
‘… and I have some bad news. Tomaso controls a network that sells stolen cars in Warsaw.’
‘That’s very bad news indeed. To go by what I’ve seen in Pondange, he’ll react fast and violently. If he negotiates, it will only be to gain time.’
‘Second question, for all three of you: How are we going to get hold of those lists?’
Benoît-Rey: ‘Find out where Park is, talk to him, negotiate, pay him off.’
Rossellini: ‘Tell him that there’s no insider dealing, Valentin, since we’re all in the bluffing business. Tell him that we set the whole thing up ourselves, and that Quignard hasn’t got the wherewithal to pay.’
Montoya: ‘Give him a scare, a big scare. Point the finger at him for embezzlement at Pondange and the factory fire. With as much concrete evidence as possible, which I’ll have tomorrow. To soften him up, show him that we know all about it. But above all, frighten him by telling him what Quignard and Tomaso are capable of. He left Pondange straight after the fire. We have to tell him in great detail about all three murders. So that he understands that this is no small-time blackmail scenario, that he’s risking his hide. Make him understand that only we can protect and hide him, and that he’s going to need us. If he’s really scared, he’ll be more flexible, the deal will be easier, and the price lower.’
Valentin leans back in his chair, his arms behind his head, and flexes his back. Gives a broad smile.
‘I remember what my father always used to say: “My son, you mustn’t kill, because he who kills ends up stealing, and he who steals ends up lying, and lying is really very bad.” This is a very bad business.’
The bodies of both Aisha and Rolande’s mother have been deposited at the undertaker’s and will be returned to their families late that afternoon. When she’s finished tidying her apartment, Rolande goes up to the fourth floor, closes her eyes, hunches her shoulders as she crosses the landing and walks underneath the fanlight, to ring the Saidani family’s doorbell. The father opens the door, he’s expecting her. He’s not alone; Amrouche is keeping him company. The three of them leave together, without exchanging a word. The old man holds himself erect, his face impassive, and does not walk beside her.
When they reach the undertaker’s, Rolande and Aisha’s father are received in separate rooms by the ‘Authorities’, keen to inform them of the progress of the investigation. The watchwords are ‘transparency’ and ‘concern for the victims’ families’.
Rolande is greeted by two men — a doctor in a white coat and a plainclothes policeman — and a woman in a tailored grey suit with a sympathetic expression. She’s a psychologist specialising in bereavement counselling. Rolande refuses to sit down, and remains standing, stiffly erect, her hands thrust in her coat pockets. The doctor speaks first.
‘The cause of death is absolutely certain. Your mother received a very violent blow to the temple from the crowbar found beside her body. Death was instantaneous. I’m afraid I have to inform you (the psychologist moves closer to Rolande) that your mother was raped (the psychologist puts her arm around Rolande’s shoulders) before she was killed.’
Rolande gently extricates herself.
‘Please leave me alone, my grief is mine alone, and I’m keeping it to myself.’ She turns towards the doctor: ‘What time did my mother die?’
‘Between nine and nine-thirty a.m., I can’t be any more precise than that, the presence of vast amounts of alcohol …’