Chief Inspector Maigret Visits London (15 page)

The two police cars, each with four officers in them, arrived at the Evremond home at the same time as Deirdre Wilson returned from her visit to the chemist's. It was Deirdre who pronounced the young constable dead at the scene, after one of his colleagues had found his body where The Recruiter had dragged it, behind a flowering tree in the front garden.

‘It's Robbie Grainger, poor lad,' one of the officers said. ‘Only this morning he was telling me about his plans to ask his girlfriend to marry him. He'd been saving as hard as he could to buy a ring for her, and he figured that his next pay would do the trick. Now he's never going to get the chance to ask her. Who did this to him? I tell you if I get my hands on the swine he'll wish he'd never been born!'

All the other officers agreed loudly with his last comment.

‘Calm down, everyone,' Sergeant Tom Moore cautioned. ‘And keep on your toes. Whoever did this might still be inside the house.'

‘Oh, no!' Nurse Wilson cried. ‘I'll never forgive myself if anything's happened to that dear girl and her brother.'

However, when the officers and Deirdre entered the house, they found Genevieve and Patrick very much alive and still standing on the landing, looking down at the lifeless body of The Recruiter. It was as though they half-expected, half-feared, that he might suddenly spring to life again.

At that point the relieved nurse took charge, fussing over her patient like a mother hen with only one chick, as she settled her back into bed, and made her pillows comfortable again. Then she enlisted Patrick's help to make cups of tea for everyone, while the ambulance men covered The Recruiter's body, and the police did a further search of the house.

‘Whatever you do, lads,' Tom Moore instructed the ambulance men, who were discussing the removal of the body, ‘do not – repeat,
do not
– take our young colleague away in the same ambulance as this… this… vile…
thing
,' he said firmly.

‘Wouldn't dream of it, mate,' the senior ambulance man replied. ‘We have our own system: the young police hero will go first, and then
later we'll return for the garbage.'

By the time Chief Inspector Scott and Sergeant Andy Gillespie arrived on the scene thirty minutes later, the police team had found the treasure chest of information that The Recruiter had stuffed into his briefcase when he'd beat his hasty retreat from the Whitechapel house that morning. There were six slim files in the briefcase: each one giving names, addresses, and complete details of the terrorist outrages that were to be simultaneously carried out in six different European cities at the same time as the attack on the London Eye: each using the exploding sparklers, each taking as many lives as possible. Paris; Rome; Madrid; Brussels; Berlin and St Petersburg: it was all there, in chapter and verse. Everything Scotland Yard and Interpol would need to round up the satanists – with a few dozen anarchists thrown in as a bonus – and put an end to their insane ambitions.

‘I can't quite believe my eyes, Andy, old son,' Clive Scott said, staring in amazement at the files that he had spread over the kitchen table in the Evremond house. ‘All this seems too good to be true: and it's going to keep the police forces of Europe busy for a very long time to come. Never, in all my years of policing, has anything remotely like this fallen into my lap, like a ripe peach from a tree.'

‘It's some kind of a miracle, boss,' Andy Gillespie replied.

‘That's exactly what it is, matey – a diamond-studded miracle! And let's be thankful for that mercy!'

‘But why were they doing it? What were they after?'

‘Complete world domination, of course – what else? That's what these nut jobs; the blasted satanists, anarchists, and any other kind of “ists” you care to name,
always
want. From what I've been able to figure out from these papers so far, their plan was to cause wide-spread panic by a series of high-casualty disasters, then, afterwards, when everyone was still reeling from the shock, they'd flood the EU countries with the counterfeit currency which would have a disastrous effect on an already weak economy. And this, in turn, would lead to a total, world-wide financial collapse. Then they'd take over and run the whole damn show: lock stock and blasted barrel.'

‘And all of it was brought to nought by one young Cambridge undergraduate,' Andy Gillespie said.

‘Yep, my dear old mum was right. She always said that there was nothing more important in life than a good education, and Patrick Evremond has just proved her point,' his boss said, smiling broadly as he took another slurp of tea to celebrate.

The next morning, Slippery Sid Ellis, James Evremond, and Cruella De Vil, were each taken, one by one, to confirm the identity of The Recruiter.

Slippery Sid's reaction was the most surprising. He looked at the lifeless body, did a kind of double-take, looked again, then fell to his knees on the cold tiles of the mortuary floor, and wept like baby.

‘Free at last! Thank God Almighty, I'm free at last,'
⁹
he cried, over and over again. ‘Aren't those words from a Negro spiritual?' Andy whispered to his boss.

‘I think they might be. I must say I'd never sussed Slippery as a religious man, but he does seem mightily relieved about something. And that something seems to be that The Recruiter is well and truly out of the picture now.'

‘He sounds genuine enough, guv: you have to admit that.'

‘Yes, he does. I'll give him that much: he sounds nothing if not completely genuine. Okay, take him back to the cells, and tell them to get him a hot drink, and something decent to eat. And next get Cruella down here.'

When Cynthia Craven saw The Recruiter's body she made absolutely no sound. She just stared at his lifeless body in total disbelief for a long time. When she finally spoke, she said, ‘He's not dead. It's impossible. He said he was immortal. He said we both were: that we would live forever.'

‘He's dead alright,' Clive Scott said bluntly. ‘If you like, I could show you the results of the post-mortem.'

‘He's not dead,' she insisted. ‘How could he be when we did everything that the… '

‘The devil, wanted?' Andy Gillespie interrupted.

‘The Master,' she corrected. ‘We did everything that The Master wanted.'

‘Well, his post-mortem says that he died when his heart was pierced by one of the points of the damn thing he wore around his neck, and then his neck was broken when he hit the floor. Hard to see how anyone could survive those sorts of wounds.' Clive Scott said, in a matter-of-fact voice, but both he and Andy could see that she was not convinced.

Cynthia Craven moved forward and kissed The Recruiter on his cheek, but when she did, she fell back in alarm. ‘He's stone cold,' she cried.

‘Yes, that's because he's
dead,
' Clive Scott said. ‘That's what we've been telling you: he's as brown bread as it's possible for anyone to be. And that's the bottom line, Ms Craven. Now, take her back to her cell, I'll have some questions for her later.'

When James Evremond saw the body, his reaction was also surprising, but not as dramatic as Slippery Sid's had been. ‘Who will save my little girl, now that he's dead?' he whispered plaintively. ‘Certainly not this sack of snake's sick, because he's as dead as your average dodo. But then he never
could
save Genevieve, Mr Evremond. Shall I tell you what was in the so-called tonic he was forcing her to swallow?'

‘Yes.'

‘Well, let's see: there were mood stabilisers of every shape and variety. Uppers, downers, sideways – you name it, it was in that damn mixture. Then there were a couple of your nastier class A drugs, plus a few pinches of some other things – which could be ”eye of newt and toe of frog”
¹⁰
for all we know – that the lab boys haven't been able to identify yet. But none of it did any good to your daughter, nor was it intended that it would. It was just meant to give the illusion
that it was helping her. That blasted stuff was the very opposite of good! And, if you want the honest truth, it has probably shortened her life.'

‘Is that absolutely true, Chief Inspector?'

‘It is, Mr Evremond. I swear by everything I hold dear, that what I've just told you is the absolute truth.'

‘Then it's fortunate for him that he's already dead: otherwise I would have killed him myself.'

‘Aren't you just a little bit curious as to how he actually
did
die, Mr Evremond?' the chief inspector asked, as they were leaving the mortuary.

‘I'd assumed that you – I mean the police – had killed him. Isn't that how it happened?'

‘No, it's not. He killed one of ours, but we didn't kill him.'

‘Then who did?'

‘Your son. Patrick Evremond.'

‘Please show Mr Evremond into our best interview room, Andy,' the chief inspector said as the lift took them up to the third floor, ‘and get him a cup of coffee. Then fill him in on the details of everything that happened in his home during his absence. I'll be with you in ten.'

‘Okay, sir,' Andy Gillespie replied.

When the chief inspector joined them he looked very pleased with himself, but James Evremond looked shocked.

‘Now then, Mr Evremond,' he said, ‘I have been authorised to make you an offer. And I think you'll find it is an offer you don't want to refuse. But in return, you need to answer some questions from me. Is it a deal?'

‘It's a deal, although I haven't a clue what you're talking about, Chief Inspector.'

‘Okay, shall we begin? Things will become clear to you as we proceed. Agreed?'

‘Yes.'

‘I am prepared to release you on police bail, so that you can return to your family this very day, provided you surrender your passport, and give me your word that you will remain in this jurisdiction to answer whatever charges may be brought against you in the future. So far, so good?' he asked, looking steadily into James Evremond's eyes to gauge his reaction.

‘Yes.'

‘Okay, then. Now for the questions: how did you meet the man we have downstairs, and what is his real name?'

‘Well, he was introduced to me as Kevin Lomax, so I assume that's actually his name. And I met him at a… er… a meeting in Essex.'

‘What kind of meeting? And where in Essex?'

‘It was a private
meeting, in a house in Chelmsford. I can't remember the street name.'

‘So you met him at a private meeting, in a house somewhere in Chelmsford. Not much for us to go on, is it, Mr Evremond?'

‘It's the best I can do, I'm afraid.'

‘Then let me tell you what
we
know. The man we have downstairs, whose fingerprints were taken when he arrived in our morgue, is one Eric Ackerman, and he held dual British and German citizenship.'

‘And,' said Andy Gillespie, the film buff, ‘Kevin Lomax just happens to be the name of the character, played by Keanu Reeves, in the film
The Devil's Advocate.
I think Mr Ackerman was having a laugh at your expense.'

‘So it would seem, Sergeant Gillespie,' James Evremond said, as cool as a cucumber. ‘But you can hardly hold that against me.'

‘And I think that the so-called meeting that you went to in Chelmsford was nothing of the kind. I think it was a séance,' Chief Inspector Scott said.

‘Alright, alright, damn you! It was a
séance.
And I'd gone there in hope of contacting my beloved, dead wife. So now you can sneer at me for being a stupid, gullible fool, if that's what you want.'

‘No one will sneer at you, Mr Evremond. Grief does strange things to people, and each one travels their own path as they try to come to terms with their loss. I promise you that no one under this roof feels anything other than very great sympathy for you.'

‘But I
have
been stupid, and now Patrick will have to pay the price.'

‘What price? He acted in self-defence. I have absolutely no doubt that he was in a situation where he must either kill or be killed. And not only him, but Genevieve too. Do you realise that the only thing standing between her and The Recruiter was Patrick? Your son's a hero, Mr Evremond, and I'm confident that no charges will be brought against him. If it was up to me he'd be given a medal!'

‘I had no idea. Thank God he was there.'

‘Indeed. Now tell me this. Why did you pass the two dud £20 notes at the bakery in Dulwich?'

‘Oh, is that how you got on to me? I don't know why I did it. Debbie in the bakery knows me well. She must have realised that I gave her the forgeries. It was stupid,' he said, shaking his head in disbelief as he remembered the incident. ‘And I regret having robbed a good woman like her.'

‘Or, alternatively, it was a cry for help?'

‘Yes, maybe so.'

‘So why did you give the £100,000 donation to the new Dulwich Gallery? Was that another cry for help?'

‘No.
He
told me to do it.'

‘The Recruiter, or rather, Eric Ackerman, suggested you do it?'

‘No. He didn't
suggest
, he
told
me I
must
do it.'

‘And if you did, Genevieve's life would be saved?'

‘Yes.'

‘And did he say that you must murder Serge Vachon, for the same reason?'

‘Who?'

‘The Frenchman, Serge Vachon.'

‘I don't know this person. I've never even heard the name.'

‘Then where did you get the counterfeit money?'

‘Ackerman gave it to me.'

‘And the boxes of lethal sparklers that you had in your basement – did he also give them to you?'

‘Yes.'

‘Okay. So now you're free to go. I'll arrange for a car to take you home: you're to give your passport to the officer who accompanies you in the car, is that understood.'

‘Yes, thank you Chief Inspector Scott.'

After James Evremond had left, Clive Scott said, ‘Has Chief Inspector Maigret arrived here yet, Andy.'

‘Yes, guv, he's waiting downstairs.'

‘Good. Then get Slippery Sid up from the cells and into this interview room. Is his solicitor here?'

‘Not this time, guv. Slippery says he doesn't want his solicitor present.'

‘What?'

‘That's what he said, boss.'

‘Get him to sign something before he's brought up. I don't want this coming back to bite us on the bum if he changes his mind and disputes this later.'

‘Okay, sir.'

But Slippery Sid Ellis didn't change his mind. He said, in front of witnesses, that he didn't want his solicitor present during the interview, and he also signed the statement confirming that fact.

‘Why should I pay him another cent, Mr Scott?' he asked. ‘The man's a shyster, and he's never done me no damn good no how.'

‘I thought your solicitor's bills were paid by legal aid, Slippery.'

‘Well yes, that's very true, Mr Scott. But it's the principle
,
that counts,
isn't it?'

‘If you say so, Sid. Now let me introduce you to Chief Inspector Philippe Maigret, of the
Police Nationale
in Paris.'

‘What's a Frenchman doing here?' Slippery Sid said suspiciously.

‘I asked him to sit in on the interview. He's here at my invitation.'

‘You're going to stitch me up, aren't you? That's what the pair of you will do.'

‘There's no need for us to stitch you up, Slippery, we've got bucket loads of evidence against you without having to resort to that option. And you know that's not my style anyway. Haven't I always played a straight bat with you in the past?'

‘Yes, you have, Mr Scott.'

‘Good, now spill the beans, Sid, and I mean
all
of the beans. I don't want you to leave one solitary bean un-spilled. Is that clear?'

‘Crystal clear, Mr Scott.'

During the course of the next hour, Slippery Sid Ellis told them everything they wanted to know. The Recruiter had killed Serge Vachon because he wouldn't go along with all the Satan worship malarkey. As he saw it, his job was to bring in the counterfeit money from Belgium, and he wasn't interested in doing anything else. And especially not any crazy devil-worship nut-job rubbish, as he put it. This comment so incensed The Recruiter that the two men had fought, and the former, knowing many more combat tricks than Serge, had given him a severe beating. Then, with his rage still not over, he'd picked up a lump of wood and hit the Frenchman twice to finish him off: one blow to the front of his head, and another whack on the back of the neck. And that was how Serge Vachon ended up brown bread in the Thames.

‘Did you help The Recruiter dispose of his body in the river?' Chief Inspector Maigret asked.

‘No.'

‘Are you quite sure that you didn't, Slippery?' Andy Gillespie said.

‘Can you
prove
that I did, Sergeant Gillespie?' Slippery countered.

‘Not really.'

‘Well then, end of story, wouldn't you say?'

‘Then perhaps you'll tell me why Serge had all that raw garlic and red wine in his stomach, because I'm curious?'

‘Oh, that? Well, if you want my opinion, Sergeant Gillespie, I think he was scared witless. The Recruiter really put the wind up him that night. Me, too, if you want the truth: he seemed well… er… like… he was totally mad. Isn't garlic supposed to protect us from evil spirits?'

‘Vampires, Slippery; garlic is for use against vampires.'

‘Oh, well,' Slippery Sid said, ‘I guess Serge thought it was worth a try. It didn't work too well for the poor guy though – did it?'

‘What about all the red wine?' Andy Gillespie persisted, intent on tidying up as many loose ends as possible.

Slippery shrugged. ‘How else could he swallow all the garlic? Or maybe, it was for Dutch courage.'
¹¹

At this point, Chief Inspector Maigret felt compelled to intervene, for the sake of his own sanity, if nothing else. ‘Were you in the car that ran down the man and the woman in Elgin Avenue, Maida Vale?' he asked.

Slippery was about to deny this allegation too, until he remembered that the Met Police had found a scrap of paper with his fingerprint on it inside the car.

‘Might have been,' Slippery conceded. ‘But I wasn't driving the car: and you can't prove that I was!'

‘No, we can't,' agreed Chief Inspector Maigret, ‘But accessory to attempted murder still carries a long prison sentence.'

‘Yes, it does,' agreed Clive Scott. ‘So best you come completely clean if you want me to put in a good word for you when your case comes to court, Slippery.'

‘What else do you want to know?' Slippery said sulkily, picking at his fingernails again.

‘I want to know how you ever crossed paths with that dreadful creature we've got in the mortuary.'

‘Through me mum, Chief Inspector: she's always been into that weird séance stuff. And then, of course, she owed all that money to the bookies and… well, let's just say some very nasty people put the frighteners on her. I had no choice. I was between a rock and a hard place, you might say, especially after she took sick.'

‘Okay, Sid, I think we've heard enough of the sob story. Are you satisfied, Chief Inspector Maigret?' Clive Scott asked.

‘Yes, I am.'

‘Then take Slippery downstairs again, Andy, and charge him. Conspiracy; accessory to attempted murder; aiding and abetting a criminal act, and so on, and so forth: anything and everything you can think of on the spur of the moment. We'll sort the question of evidence out later.'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘But you will put in a good word for me, Mr Scott, won't you? You promised you would.'

‘Yeah, yeah – no worries, Sid – I'll look after you. It's obvious that you acted under duress after The Recruiter got his claws into you, and that always goes down well with the judge and jury. You mark my words. You'll be okay.'

But as for Cruella Di Vil, The Recruiter's girlfriend, well, that was an entirely different story. When she was brought to the interview room, she said absolutely nothing. Not one syllable did she utter in over half an hour's interrogation: she wouldn't even confirm her name. She just sat there, sullen and silent, and stared at them.

‘She's going to be a particularly hard nut to crack,' Philippe Maigret said, after the woman had been returned to the cells.

‘Yes, that's for sure. But I've got an extremely big nutcracker at my disposal which I'll use on her next time she's interviewed.'

‘And what might that be, Clive?' Philippe Maigret asked curiously.

‘Oh, just a little thing called the Prevention of Terrorism Act 2005. I reckon she'll crack alright when I threaten to turn her over to the counter-terrorism guys at MI6. They won't pussy-foot around with her. They've cracked far harder nuts than her – and that's a fact that no one can deny!'