Chapter 6: "Sinon"

Restaurant de Saint-Laud du Coutances,
Rue du Pont de Vire, Fontaine-sous-Briovere

DuBois raised the glass to his lips and drained it. Cognac. One of the finest. Give the German credit, he certainly knew his drink. He could feel it scorching his throat, warming him throughout, making him feel better after the day's events. But through his drunken haze something still nagged away at him. His policeman's training refused to accept the coincidence of another Immortal being at the same cemetery at the same time. Moller had only sensed him when he approached or so he said. It seemed a little far-fetched. The German had something to hide. He was sure of it. But what? The cognac bottle sat between them on the table and DuBois poured himself another drink, then topped up Moller's glass. The German nodded his thanks and took a drink. DuBois' eyes never left his companion.

Unable to ignore the detective's instinct any longer DuBois began to probe. "It is not often that one finds a German in a French cemetery, let alone visiting the grave of a lost love."
Staniek's eyes narrowed. 'Astute, Monsieur DuBois, very adroit. Mark that one against the police training. Well little bloodhound, try this scent'.
He sipped his drink before answering. "Very sharp my friend, very sharp. Indeed you are correct. Passing myself off as German has a certain – convenience – shall we say? I am a Sorb by birth."

"A Serb?"

"Non, a Sorb. You many have heard of us described as Wends or Wendish. It makes no difference, they are used interchangeably. We are a Slavonic people originating in Germany, south of Berlin in fact. However we are not a nation as such, so we travel the world as Germans, although I can pass for any Slav nationality you care to mention, which has its uses, especially for us Immortals."

"My apologies Moller. The death of Yvette has made me somewhat paranoid. I fear I may have offended you."

"I take no offence at all my friend. It is understandable at this time. Sometimes we all have things to hide, us more than others."

DuBois took a long drink from his glass. The anger he felt at Yvette's death and the obstinate behaviour of his colleagues was getting to him. Perhaps he was too close, but he could not let it go. Either way it was not the fault of Moller. There was no need to take it out on him. All he had done was offer support.

Staniek allowed DuBois a few moments with his thoughts before continuing. A sprinkling of truth would make the lie a little more believable. "I agree that it would seem strange for a German to be visiting a French cemetery. Perhaps I could put your mind at ease? I once fought under the Emperor's banner. When he trounced the Prussians and raised the Grand Duchy I came under his eagles. My ancestral lands were joined to it, even though we had a Saxon king,"

DuBois recalled those days with some fondness. "They were heady days. I served under Murat myself, the Emperor's brother-in-law, and later King of Naples."

"No? Really? Murat had a special place in our hearts for his part in the creation of the Duchy. Not as special as the Prince Poniatowski, but we saw him as a kinsman as much as a Marechal."

"It was then that you met her?"

"Indeed. Anne-Marie was part of the diaspora here in France. She was Polish by descent although born and raised in France. We met before Tilsit and enjoyed much happiness. I came back from Borodino and we were to be married, but news of the disaster had reached home before I could and the poor girl was married off to a farrier. He killed her shortly after in a drunken rage. Nobody paid much attention though because of the fear of impending invasion." Staniek took a slow drink, careful not to consume too much alcohol.

"What did you do?" DuBois asked.

Staniek looked at him and shrugged. "Tavern brawls often ended in knife fights. Who really knows what happened?"

DuBois looked down at his drink before picking up the bottle. Staniek declined the offer of more but watched as DuBois filled his own to near the brim.

"I just wish I knew why she was killed." he said at length. "She was so young, so new, so...beautiful."
"Perhaps the killer was an opportunist? Wrong place, wrong time as it were?"
"Maybe. No in fact almost definitely. I've never known anyone actively seek and hunt pre-immortals. Legends yes, tales for sure, but I'm not naive enough to think they aren't out there. It does not matter. When he killed her, he killed a part of me. I'll have him one day. I'll find out who he is, and I'll pursue him to the ends of the earth, and to hell and back if I have to. Him andthe scum who desecrate graves."

Staniek paused, breaking the flow of conversation, seemingly contemplating what DuBois had exclaimed. 'No need to go that far', he thought. He signalled the bartender who brought over a fresh bottle of cognac. Staniek paid him twice the value of the bottle, and the bartender took the hint, leaving them in private. If they wanted to drink themselves into oblivion it was no matter to him. Staniek watched him go before speaking again.

"Forgive me, but she died only recently?

"Yes. Three weeks ago at Montjoie Saint-Martin. She loved it here after escaping the bain outside Paris where she grew up. She had no other family, besides me so I buried her here."

"I read something about some murders in the north. She was the one at the Chateau? The maid for the rich man?"

DuBois nodded. "She was. Several times I suggested that she leave to find better employment but she insisted on staying. It cost her her life."

"You seem not to care about her employer Monsieur?"

"I did not. The man was slime. He acted as though he could buy whatever he wanted. More often than not he did. He will not be missed by me at least."

Staniek grunted. "The newspapers said that they died during a party. From other sources I have seen it was efficiently done."

DuBois assented. "Being with the police has its advantages. Whoever he was, he was skilled. It had to be a pro" He froze, something that his companion had said setting alarm bells ringing in his head. "What other sources?"

"Let us say our fields of expertise overlap. I was with TREVI, or what will soon be known as Europol."

DuBois relaxed. "I was right, you are hunting. Perhaps not an Immortal, but you are hunting someone aren't you?"

"It is more a case of hunting information. It is coincidence that our paths cross, but I suspect that the Pays-du-Nord may be developing as an entry point for narcotics."

DuBois snorted. "Just like ant's nests. Destroy one and another pops up elsewhere. The Gendarmes usually deal with that. My guess is they won't be happy when they find out you are in town."

Staniek shrugged. "Perhaps, but that is enough about me. You were telling me about Fraulein Bousier and Herr Ward." He poured more cognac, willing DuBois to take the bait.

DuBois ran his hands through his hair and sighed. "My gut says that this was a professional hit. Ward had questionable connections. Mafiosi we suspected."

Staniek uttered an exclamation of disgust. "Some sort of falling out?"

"I believe so. He never could stay away from the racetracks. He lost a small fortune that way once. Then there was his divorce. The lady in question wanted big money from him. That is reason enough to send him on his way. God knows they have sent people into the beyond for less. The Gendarmes however don't want to know. They still think that one of the partygoers was the culprit."

"You disagree?"

"There was no way he could have done it, despite the apparent motive. For a start he lacked the time to do so. He was an administrator for one of the charities. There are witnesses who put him at his desk late every night for the whole week preceding the murders, and his phone records check out. It seems that Ward had designs on his wife, and seduced or forced himself on her that night. The Gendarmes have decided that is motive enough. Besides, he is not an Immortal. It has to be a pro, an Immortal pro."

He stared distantly into his glass remembering the angry exchanges of earlier in the day.

Staniek drained his drink. Now.

"I may know the man you are looking for."
DuBois stopped. "How do you know that?"
"I do not know for certain, but I recognise the handiwork. From your description and the information I have seen, I suspect it may be his work."

Staniek cleared his throat. "Back home, in Gelsenkirchen, we too have a Mafia problem. Ours are Albanian however, thanks to the problems in that armpit of a state. Refugees mainly, but that gives organised crime the chance to make a killing. People trafficking, prostitution, drugs. You need front men, respectable types to shield the activities. Occasionally they too are bumped off as people try to take control of new territories."

DuBois swallowed the last of his brandy, but his eyes never left Staniek's. "And?"

"A few years ago, one group had an upheaval. A nasty, bloody war with a rival group took place, and was then followed by an internal schism. Some Young Turks took over, sent the other lot packing, and needed to exert their authority. They did away with a powerful businessman who fronted for the other group. He thought he had sufficient security and Mafia protection."

"Like Ward?"

"Like Ward. Anyway someone got to him. An Immortal we believe by the name of Andrzej Staniek. Walked in, did the job, walked out again. Over fifty guards present, cameras, alarms, the lot. Worthless."

"How did he do it?"

"Made it look as though the captain of industry had fallen down the stairs of his apartment block. Security claimed to have shot an intruder, but no body was found. CCTV confirmed shots had been fired and showed the intruder being hit. Ten minutes later security placed a call claiming the building was on fire, and the alarms went off. Officially the call was never placed. Security did not log it."

"Staniek?"

Staniek nodded. "We think this Staniek pushed him down the stairs to make it look like he fell during the evacuation. Guy had his pyjamas around his ankles. Coroner called it a trip. Ice-cold this guy. A very dangerous adversary and this hit has his hallmark. You still want me to help you find him?"

DuBois looked visibly relieved, and clasped Staniek's hands. "I do. With the information you have already given me I already know my enemy. Thank you so much Moller. Thank you for everything."

Staniek shook his head. "You owe me nothing. If he is the man you want I will let you know. Any information I can get I will pass on. Do you live locally, or have an address I can leave it at? I would rather avoid the Gendarmerie headquarters if I can, seeing as I am here unofficially."

"I am staying at the other end of town, in the Hotel Dufonsier. There is a secure deposit service at the concierge desk. Use that as a drop off point. It's safe enough."

"I will, my friend, I will. Have you access to funds? I hate to press this point, but as you know sometimes information costs dearly."

DuBois nodded. "Funds are not a problem. I can access them immediately if needed. I've played the informant game myself. They are a necessary evil sometimes."

"So long as I can be sure."

"You can, although I do have one question for you."

Staniek looked at him.

"What do you get out of it when I kill him?"

"Me personally? Vey little in truth, save for the plaudits for bringing you on board. Should you be successful then TREVI takes some of the credit. Officially you will have been assisting a TREVI operation to bring down a wanted man, the lead suspect in the Albanin mafia case, the death of Mitchell Ward and several other European cases. I will smooth the process with your superiors, and explain the dead body. Agreed?

"That sounds fair"

"Good. I must warn you my friend, Staniek is a stone cold killer, an opponent like no other."

"So can I be. The difference is, he doesn't know I'm coming. Revenge is a very powerful dangerous motive."
"It's also a very dangerous one, but as you wish. Do you mind if I share a taxi with you? I should get started on my enquiries. The sooner I start the better for you."

"Are you staying in the town Moller?"

"No, I must head for Saint-Lô tonight. I have use of a small office there."

They stood to leave the bar and headed for the door.

"I understand. God bless you Moller. I owe you a debt of gratitude."

"You can repay me by not leaving that bottle behind. Take it with you, it will help you sleep. God knows you need it."

DuBois felt a smile break across his face for the first time in days. "Perhaps I ought to take it as you say. I need the rest."

Hotel Dufonsier,
Fontaine-sous-Briovere

Sprawled out on the bed and staring at the ceiling DuBois thought about the information he had received. Staniek, my Yvette's murderer. By God's grace you'll die by my blade.

He took a long swig from the bottle of cognac he had brought back with him. Thank God for Moller and his dedication to duty. He would now be on the way to his office to find the vital pieces of information that would bring him and the killer face-to-face. Fate is inexorable, but it was an ill wind indeed that blew no good. It was such a bittersweet coincidence that Moller was visiting the grave of a former lover too.

Lovers. Yvette. Her grave. DuBois closed his eyes and wept until sleep came to blot out the pain.