Age: 20. Forensics had said twelve maximum.
‘Take these three bastards down to the local nick. Bang them up separately so there’s absolutely no communication between them from this moment on. Load up the copies of their literature, and all their papers. Put someone on guard here till it can be sealed off. I’ll see you later. I’m walking back. I need some air.’
Out in the street again, Daquin walked briskly. Tight, aching temples. All he wanted to do was lie beside Soleiman and not think about anything any more.
1 p.m. Nanterre — La Défense
After spending the end of the morning in the Social Security Contribution Collection Agency and the Tax office, Attali met up with Romero for a hot dog and a glass of beer. The Morora Company seemed dean: twenty-two workers all declared, and the names corresponding to the Turks found at the National Immigration Office. Wages declared in toto and taxes paid. Nothing to say.
‘Just one small point, the workers I saw this morning aren’t Turks, they’re Moroccans. No doubt about that. I spent the whole morning in the area, it’s what I’ve seen with my own eyes and witnesses agree. Moroccans.’ A few minutes’ reflection. ‘We could go to the Factory Inspectorate and ask them.’
‘You don’t know what they’re like. As a general rule, the Factory Inspectorate wouldn’t even shake a cop’s hand. The sad truth is they don’t like us.’
‘What? There are people like that?’
‘There are.’
2 p.m. Passage du Désir
‘Go for the two women, we’ll see the man afterwards. Try to be quick. I’ve got a migraine.’
Irina Aratoff didn’t yield a centimetre of ground in her interview with Thomas. Head erect and shoulders back: the bearing of a ballerina. Seated in the corner of the office, Daquin observed, rubbing his chin.
‘I’m telling you. I don’t know anything at all about this girl’s death.’
‘We’ll see. You can explain first what it is exactly that you do in your husband’s business. He acts as an intermediary with the brothels in Munich and Zurich. What about you?’
‘The nightclubs we work with aren’t brothels. They put on very high quality dance shows. It’s me who chooses the music, writes the choreography and rehearses the girls while they’re in Paris. The German clientele much appreciate my ballets.’ And from then on it was impossible to staunch the profusion of details. ‘I’ve references. I’ve worked in Carolyn Carlson’s dance troupe.’
Slightly overwhelmed, Inspector Thomas asked her to spell the name and jotted it down. Daquin discreetly left the office.
On the floor below, Lilette Balland was fighting for breath. Santoni had asked her if Bernachon fucked the girls.
‘How could you suggest such a thing? M. Bernachon is a man of impeccable behaviour. He loves his wife. There’s never a gesture or remark out of place in his behaviour towards me.’ An incredulous glance from Santoni in Daquin’s direction. ‘The girls are very carefully supervised, you know. Mme Aratoff even goes to the airport to collect them. Afterwards they live in the two maid’s rooms, while they’re in Paris. They eat and work and dance with Mme Aratoff, in the apartment … They never entertain anyone and never go out.’
‘A veritable girls’ convent. So, from what you’ve just told me, it can only be your dear boss who could have had the opportunity to strangle the girl.’
*
Accompanied by Thomas, Daquin had just sat down in front of Bernachon, who was perfectly aware of the gravity of the situation. Daquin gave him a smile.
‘We’ve called the Vice Squad. They’re coming to take care of you. Aggravated procurement. Abduction and rape of minors. All that sort of thing isn’t in our line. On the other hand, we’re indicting you for murder of and sexual violence on a minor. Didn’t I tell you? She was raped during or just after her murder?’
‘I didn’t kill her.’
‘Quite possibly. But, to tell you the truth, I couldn’t give a damn. Her passport was on your premises. Her friends whom we’ll be questioning in Munich will confirm that she lived with you. And your secretary, a gem of devotion, has explained to us that these young Thai girls see no one in Paris other than yourself and your wife. Your wife, now she’s an artist! She claims to know nothing, not even the meaning of the word prostitution. Furthermore, the girl was raped by a man: we’ve found his sperm. It’s much more plausible that you rather than your wife is guilty.’
‘I didn’t kill her.’
‘You can explain that to the Court of Assizes.’
Daquin stood up. Bernachon said nothing. Thomas intervened.
‘Monsieur Bernachon. You’d better start thinking right away. There’s only one way you can avoid an indictment for murder and that’s to tell us who it was with the victim on the evening of the twenty-ninth.’
Bernachon, it seemed, could not manage to make up his mind. Daquin gathered together the file spread over the desk. Thomas went on: ‘If you sold her to someone, you’ll not make your case any worse by saying so, and that’ll give you a chance of avoiding the indictment for murder.’ Daquin walked towards the door. ‘Say something. Say what you have to say before the Superintendent leaves this room.’
‘Monsieur Simon.’
Daquin half-turned.
‘Go on.’
‘From time to time, I entrust my young dancers to trustworthy clients. For the evening.’
Daquin sat down, reopened the file.
‘On the evening of the twenty-ninth, I took her to Monsieur Simon’s — he directs a company called Simon Video on Boulevard de Strasbourg.’
‘What does he do in this company? Does he show skinflicks?’
‘I don’t know, I’ve never asked him. I accompanied the girl to his place on Friday evening at eight. I went back to pick her up as agreed, on Saturday at eight in the morning.’
‘And?’
‘She wasn’t there. Simon told me he didn’t know where she was. We both thought she’d run away. Simon compensated me for the loss.’
‘How much?’
‘Twenty thousand francs — in cash.’
‘Why did you keep the passport at your place?’
‘At her age and without papers, in Paris, I thought I’d stand a chance of getting her back. And the Germans wouldn’t have accepted her without her papers being in order. It costs a lot to get those papers in order.’
Daquin’s head was now gripped in a vice. He calculated he had scarcely an hour of clear-headedness left before it would vanish.
‘Can you take care of organizing a raid on Simon Video for tomorrow morning? We’ll meet at eight here. I’m going home.’
9p.m. Villa des Artistes
Soleiman has just squatted beside Daquin who’s stretched out on the sofa in the half-dark, eyes closed, face livid.
‘What’s happened to you?’
‘Migraine.’ Daquin doesn’t open his eyes, speaks very softly, hesitantly. ‘It’ll be over in a few hours.’
‘Would you like me to go and get you some medicine?’
‘No. Nothing. I never take any medication.’
‘Would you like me to go away?’
‘No. Please don’t go. Make yourself some dinner, don’t bother about me. I’ll go up to bed when this is finished — at about one in the morning.’
Behind his dosed eyelids, in blood red darkness, and beating to the rhythm of his pulse are those images of guys with ’taches and the children in Bernachon’s catalogues.
Very late in the night, Daquin slips exhausted into bed, kisses Soleiman’s shoulder and instantly falls asleep, his lips on his skin.
11