IN THE MORNING, AFTER breakfast, Burke phoned Hélène, but she didn’t answer. He had planned to call her the night before or to drop by the café, but once home, he’d collapsed on his bed and slept right through the night.
A few minutes later, Burke’s phone rang.
It was Inspector Fortin.
“I want to talk with you this morning,” the detective said. “Can you come to the station in the next hour or so?”
“Why?”
“I can’t say on the phone, but I think you might find it very interesting,” Fortin said.
With no other commitments, Burke agreed. He promised to be at Fortin’s office in an hour. Then he took the initiative and called the anchor at the TV station. Burke said he would participate in the panel. He got some instructions for the following week’s show and rang off.
After a quick shower and another coffee, Burke tried Hélène again. No luck. He texted her to let her know that he was back and trying to contact her, then left for Nice and Fortin.
A half hour later, he was sitting in Fortin’s austere office. Côté, as usual, was nearby, this time sitting in a chair in the corner.
“If you were a regular member of the media, this would never happen,” Fortin began. “But since you’re not and since you provided us with some information that proved quite useful and since you will likely have to appear in court—”
“Court?” Burke interrupted. “What are you talking about?”
“Relax,” Fortin said. “When I say, ‘appear in court,’ I mean to testify.”
“Testify?” Burke said.
“The information you provided will need to be heard in court as part of a sentencing report,” Fortin said.
“I don’t understand,” Burke said.
“Léon Petit has confessed to the McManus and Den Weent murders,” Côté interjected.
“He has?” It was the last thing Burke had expected to hear.
“Monsieur Petit confessed last night,” Fortin said. “He admitted to providing doctored nutritional pills that led to Pierre McManus’s sudden cardiac arrest.”
“Really? I wondered if he had,” Burke said.
“I know you did. In fact, your questions prompted a re-examination of McManus’s body by the pathologist. A new toxicology screen was done, and some new evidence was found. When we told Petit about that new finding and linked his background to the crimes—again thanks to some information from you—he gave himself up. Just told us the entire story.”
“That surprises me,” Burke said.
“Why?” Fortin asked.
“Because Léon Petit is a hard case and doesn’t seem the type to confess,” Burke said.
“Maybe, but he was definitely willing to talk and it’s quite a story,” Fortin said. “He told us that McManus planned to dump him from the organization and replace him with the son of a major supporter of the team. The son had some good skills, though not as good as his, and McManus figured getting him on board would ensure the dad was indebted to him. McManus told Léon it was the nature of the business to have a job one day and be gone the next, but Petit didn’t agree, saying he’d been loyal and deserved to keep his job. McManus said he wasn’t going to change his mind.”
Fortin explained that when Karin Petit heard from her son what McManus was intending, she went out of her way to confront McManus for the first time in decades. She told him it was wrong to get rid of Léon, and besides, McManus would be firing his own son if he did so.
“Apparently, McManus didn’t react well,” Fortin said. “He told her he didn’t have a clue what she was talking about and wouldn’t accept the notion that Léon was his offspring. He said he didn’t remember Karin, and then he called her some unpleasant names and threatened to sue her if she proceeded with any of her wild allegations.”
Fortin said Léon hadn’t known McManus was his father, but Karin finally relented and explained everything to him as a result of her meeting with McManus.
“Léon confronted McManus and argued with him again about his future with the team but got nowhere,” Fortin said. “In fact, according to Léon, McManus promised to get him off the team even earlier if he could. And then McManus did something he shouldn’t have—he called Karin Petit a whore and a blackmailer and a psycho.
“That’s when Léon decided he would eliminate McManus by substituting drugs for nutritional pills.”
“Did Léon tell his mother what he had done?” Burke asked.
Fortin shook his head. “He says he didn’t, and everything suggests that’s the truth. He’s very close to her and very protective. Almost a clinical case, if you ask me.”
Burke asked what had led to Den Weent’s murder.
“Léon says Den Weent was a nosy guy. Soon after McManus’s death, Den Weent asked Léon about all the pills he carried about, saying it was highly unusual for a mechanic to have such a haul of nutritional aides.
“And then over in Avignon, Léon found Den Weent poking through his stash. He told Den Weent to bugger off. That evening, when he saw Den Weent go out for a late-evening walk, he caught up to him and stabbed him with a knife he had. He said he had no other choice; Den Weent could’ve easily connected the dots. So, he killed Den Weent, although he says he didn’t really want to. Then he took Den Weent’s wallet and watch to make it look like a robbery.”
“Den Weent was a good guy,” Burke said.
“Léon told us he thought he’d be arrested the next morning, and when nothing happened, he started to believe he had gotten away with it.”
“But why did Léon confess?” Burke asked. “It doesn’t make a lot of sense.”
Côté jumped in. “He didn’t want his mother involved, and when we showed up to talk to her—thanks to you—he heard about it and got very nervous. And when she told him the types of questions we were asking, he was ready to tell the truth. This is one screwed-up guy who really only has feelings for one person in the world—his mother.”
“Two people are dead because of his devotion,” Burke said.
“That’s about it,” Fortin said. “This is a guy who’s probably needed serious therapy since he was a kid. He just needed a trigger to set him off. McManus was it.”
“What will happen to him?”
“He’ll go to prison for a very long time,” Fortin said. “As for his mother, she’s devastated by all this and has been hospitalized since late last night. A total collapse.”
“What a waste,” Burke said, mostly to himself.
“We deal with that a lot,” Côté said, surprising Burke with her gentle tone of voice.
Burke had a brainwave.
“So, since I’m here, what’s happening with Claude Brière?” he asked. “He’s a friend, and I know what you’re going after him for.”
Fortin looked down and shook his head.
“That’s a different matter, and we are not at liberty to say much,” he said. Then he paused. “But it might not end up as bad as you think. It won’t be good, but it won’t be the worst.”
Burke asked what Fortin meant, but the detective wouldn’t elaborate. He ended the conversation, saying it was time for Burke to leave.
Outside police headquarters, Burke phoned Hélène again. This time, she answered. She seemed relieved to hear his voice.
Then she told him why she had been difficult to contact.
She’d managed a visit with her uncle in the company of Olivier Richard and found him in decent spirits, if a little quieter than usual. She also learned that he’d be pleading guilty, but not to the worst charges. Instead, he was pleading guilty to conspiracy to commit willful damage. It seemed her uncle had been busy emailing a variety of options to other activists protesting the project by FP Developments, and some of those ideas involved destruction of company property. In fact, Claude’s suggestions, if enacted, could have resulted in maybe millions of euros in damages.
“In the end, the police decided Uncle didn’t kill this Vachon and his bodyguard,” Hélène said. “They didn’t say if they have someone else in mind, but they said Uncle is off the hook for the deaths. Thank goodness.”
Burke felt some small relief.
“Monsieur Richard said Uncle will probably have to spend six months in jail,” Hélène added, the words catching in her throat. “But they both said it could have been much worse. He could have received a much longer sentence, because the government wants to look strong when dealing with any acts that could be considered terrorism or industrial attacks. Besides, they will likely send Uncle to a place that won’t be too rough or dangerous. It will probably be a new facility in the suburbs of Lyon. It hasn’t been open too long. Thank God he won’t be going to one of those nineteenth century dungeons.”
That was good news. There had been recent stories in the media about the terrible quality of French prisons, with tales of rats, open wires, stifling air, backed-up toilets, horrible food and so on. If he was in a new facility, he might be OK.
“He has signed over the café to me, too,” she said in a quiet voice. “He knows he can’t take care of it, and he doesn’t want it affected by the court action. So, I’m the new owner of his café.”
Burke wasn’t sure she wanted to take over the café for the long term since she was starting to develop career plans involving interior design, but he knew she wouldn’t go against her uncle’s wishes. Maybe in six months or a year, Claude would take it over again.
“And you agreed?” Burke asked to make sure.
“Of course,” Hélène replied. “I’ll have to postpone school for a year or more, but I’m young. Besides, I don’t mind running the café. I might even change the menu a little.”
Her voice was lightening up, and she managed a chuckle. “That would drive Uncle crazy, but it seems a new dish or two might be a good idea.”
She said she would be spending her afternoon at the café trying to hire some additional staff to make up for Claude’s absence.
“Maybe you can come over before dinner for a pastis,” she suggested. “And for a hug. I need one. I want to feel your arms around me.”
“I’ll be there as requested, Hélène,” Burke said. “And by the way, I need a hug from you, too. If I don’t see you for a couple of days, I sort of miss you.”
There it was—his statement of affection.
There was a pause at the other end of the line.
And then Hélène spoke. “And I feel the same, chéri.”
They ended the conversation there. Hélène would be busy at the café, even before the dinner crowd showed, but even a few minutes with her would feel good.
Driving home, he turned his thoughts to that morning’s activities. Léon Petit was going down for the murders of McManus and Den Weent—and Claude wasn’t for the death of Yves Vachon.
And he had a new paying gig on TV.
Once again, he thought about how dramatically his life had changed in just three weeks and, given the morning’s events, would be changing still in the next few days. Then he’d be back to a quieter life.