Chapter 5: "Trojan Horse"
Saint Germain Cemetery,
Fontaine-sous-Briovere, Normandy.
It was shortly before noon when Staniek entered the cemetery. He walked around the cemetery taking careful note of entry and exit points. The first thing he always did when in situ was look for a way out in case things turned bad. Doing so also allowed him to spot potential ambush points, areas that he could use, and that could be used against him. Satisfied that he was not under observation he began to look for the grave. Many of the newer graves were adorned with simple wooden crosses. He had hoped that the grave he sought would have a proper headstone, but if not a minor change of plan was required.
He found Yvette's grave slightly to the left of the central pathway. It had a marble headstone inscribed 'Yvette Bousier 1974 -1996' followed by a host of sentimental messages, ending with a name, Jean-Marc. DuBois was obviously a wealthy man if he had had such an ornate stone erected so quickly. Staniek dropped the plastic bag he was carrying on the floor, and then looked around. He was alone. He removed a lump hammer and a can of red spray paint from the bag. Taking the hammer in his right hand he swung it at the side of the stone. Cracks immediately appeared across the front. A second hit saw a large shard fly off. He switched sides and struck again. The already weakened stone gave way, part of the top section falling onto the ground. A large crack ran to the base of the stone. He put the hammer back in the bag, donned a pair of latex gloves and picked up the can of paint. The sound of the ball bearing in the can echoed loudly in the quiet air as he shook it. He gave it a short test spray onto the ground next the headstone. It sputtered out a few drops of paint before emitting a strong jet.
Carefully he began to spray a large 'D' on the headstone. He continued spraying until the word 'DÉVERGONDÉE' was on the stone. Dévergondée, a perfect moniker for a woman who whored herself to a rich man. The trap was set, all that it needed was someone to take the bait. Staniek returned the spray can to the carrier bag and walked away. He was still alone. Heading east he skirted the small chapel in the middle of the cemetery depositing the carrier bag and gloves in a large rubbish bin at the rear. Rotting flowers filled the bin and he buried the bag underneath. Whether DuBois showed up today or not, the furore would bring him out into the open where he would be vulnerable. Patience and the mulberry leaf becomes silk, said the Chinese. Patience and planning were the key to any successful operation. Staniek seated himself on a nearby bench and waited.
Saint Germain Cemetery,
Fontaine-sous-Briovere.
30 Minutes Later
Hours of painstaking examination had revealed nothing. No clues, no hints, nothing. The murders of both Yvette and Ward had been almost clinical. Frustrated to the point exhaustion DuBois had left. His colleagues had refused to accept that a professional killer acting alone was the perpetrator. 'Back off. You're too close to this personally' they had told him, instead focussing on the poor unfortunate who had been cuckolded by the millionaire.
Everything screamed at him that this was the work of one man. 'It takes a killer to know a killer,' he had thought to himself. Even pointing to his experience in counter-espionage had not swayed them. The Police Nationale had databanks full of similar cases, many he had made himself, but the Gendarmerie Nationale had not wanted to know. Sooner or later it would pass to the Police but in the meanwhile the investigations were still under the control of the Gendarmes.
Inter-agency tension was nothing new, the left hand and the right hand of law enforcement still fought each other for dominance, with the military gendarmes resenting the gradual creep of the civilian police into the towns and conurbations that were traditionally theirs. 'There is no proof of organised crime involvement' was the official line, and that was that as far the adjudantwas concerned.
DuBois knew better, much better. Centuries of experience meant that he knew it was the work of one man. Gut instinct however was not enough. Serving under Murat in Naples after Napoleon had raised him to the throne had shown DuBois how organised crime worked first hand, even in its infancy. It had grown ever since and he had spent so many years fighting against it, so long in fact that he could confidently state organised crime involvement and be proved right. But still they did not want to know.
Disillusioned and disgusted he had stalked out of the meeting, not knowing or caring where he was going. He had gone to a cafe, and sat at a streetside table sipping a coffee, mulling over it all. Yvette. The anger was washed away by regret. He would go and see her, talk to her and clear his mind, letting it all slip away. Perhaps it would allow him to find a way to convince those in charge to listen to him.
He walked into the almost deserted cemetery, feet following the now familiar path to Yvette's resting place. The warm summer sun beat down on his back, easing the tension in his muscles as he turned left. Her marble headstone stood out like a beacon amongst the wooden crosses, a token of his love drawing him in, oddly comforting... and desecrated. DuBois could not have been more shocked if someone had tried to take his head on holy ground. The red paint stood out in stark contrast to the marble itself, assaulting his senses. He blinked, not registering the words on the stone at first, feeling the hot sting of tears filling his eyes. Almost trancelike he stepped closer to the grave, his mind finally recognising the words graphitised on it, yet refusing to acknowledge them.
"Why?" he whispered, "Why?"
He looked closer still, seeing the damage wrought on the grave, the pieces of stone missing. "No," he screamed, "No, no, no! Why Yvette? Why her? Why now?"
His screams echoed around the silent cemetery, ringing back at him mockingly. He collapsed to his knees, his head in his hands sobbing. His world felt like it was collapsing around him. First Yvette was taken away, and now her grave had been desecrated. Why was she being targeted?
The sensation snapped him back to alertness, just before a hand touched his shoulder.
"Calm down my friend. I should say you look rather strained." said a voice in a crisp German accent.
DuBois turned and looked at Staniek, his gaze murderous, eyes reddened.
"What are you doing here?"
Taking care to appear as harmless and inoffensive as possible, Staniek stepped back. So this was DuBois, the policeman. The ruse had had the desired effect, but it would not be long before his policeman's instincts were aroused. He made a conscious effort not to grin, instead putting on a face of concern, pretending to be taken aback by the venom in DuBois' voice.
"Take it easy my friend. I am doing the same as you. I was simply visiting a grave over there." Staniek pointed towards the chapel. "I heard you shout and came over to investigate, although I did not sense you until I got closer."
Taking his hand from DuBois shoulder he looked at the damaged headstone, shaking his head. "Vandals! Why would anyone commit such a senseless act? I haven't seen damage like this since the war."
DuBois nodded and said nothing. Inoffensive and compassionate Staniek thought. He reached out to touch the paint and examined his fingertips. "It has not had time to dry completely. Let me see what I can do."
He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and scrubbed the stone removing most of the paint.
"It is not much of an improvement I'm afraid but is the best I can do right now."
DuBois finally found his voice. "It is appreciated."
Staniek looked at the headstone, toying with an idea. Krannix had said DuBois was hunting her killer, for personal reasons. Just how personal?
Staniek nodded and pretended to read what remained of the inscription "Yvette Bousier? A pretty name, much like Anne-Marie over there. Yet so young, so very, very young. What do we do when out mortal loves are taken from us? It never gets easier."
DuBois' voice cracked. "I loved her but we were just friends. She was my student-to-be, until someone killed her twice." He turned away, beginning to weep again. Staniek smiled at the Frenchman's back. This would be easier than he had hoped. He gently rested his hand on DuBois' shoulder again, before extending it to him offering to help pull him up.
"I shall call the police unless you want to do it?"
DuBois took the outstretched hand. "I am the police. I'll register this myself, but thank you. My name is DuBois. Jean Marc DuBois."
"I am Jens Moller. Pleased to meet your acquaintance." He placed a hand in the small of DuBois' back. "You have had quite a shock sir and I think you could do with a drink. I know a place just down the way, a small establishment but welcoming and private enough. We can talk better there."
Notes on Chapter 5
Translations:
"Dévergondée" – (French) Slut (US), Slag (UK)
"Gendarmerie Nationale" – (French) National Gendarmerie
"Police Nationale" – (French) National Police
"Adjudant" – (French) Warrant Officer in the Gendarmerie
The French law enforcement sphere is divided into two organisations the Gendarmerie Nationale, and the Police Nationale.I have separated these from the Douane which is a Customs Service rather than a true law enforcement body. The Gendarmerie is essentially a military police force operating in the civil sphere. This is common in many European countries, (including the Netherlands and Spain) but less so outside. The closest comparison I can draw for is the delineation between the US Dept. for Homeland Security and the Dept. for Justice. The Gendarmerie looks after policing in smaller towns as well as airport security, military police functions, and judge-led criminal investigations. The Police look after policing in the larger towns and cities, border security and counter-terrorism. Over the years there have been tensions between the two, often leading to political paralysis, particularly where their respective jurisdictions overlap. Counter-terrorism is one area; the GN has it's own counter-terrorist team who perform SWAT functions, while the PN work more on the intelligence and prevention side.