Box of Bones by Peter Morfoot

Author:Peter Morfoot [Morfoot, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Titan
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

35

The male receptionist at A1 appeared to have been sucking lemons. He had no record of anyone named Delmas calling in person, or on the phone, today, or yesterday.

‘Is Monsieur Leroux in, Fabrice?’

‘He’s in Milan until tomorrow.’

‘When did he go?’

Fabrice whipped back a page of his agenda. ‘Yesterday morning. Eight o’clock.’

‘Was that so hard? How about Monsieur Mizzi.’

‘He’s not here. Paris – since, before you ask, the day before yesterday.’

‘My, the cupboard is bare. How about Monsieur Rigaud?’

‘Who?’

‘Artur. The maintenance man.’

An absurd smirk on his face, Fabrice closed his agenda. There had been a contest and he’d won, somehow. ‘Try the toilets. In the basement.’

‘I will.’ Darac indicated the CCTV camera covering the entrance. ‘In the meantime, I want a copy of today’s footage from that. And don’t give me any bullshit about how long it will take. You’re a security firm. Right?’

Darac found Artur tiling an awkward space under a washbasin.

‘Alright, Captain… don’t tell me – Darac? Mind if I carry on?’

‘Go ahead.’ He continued to the back of the man’s head. ‘Tell me – is there any way into this building except the front door?’

‘There’s a fire exit, of course. But no, we all come in that way. Even the likes of me.’

‘Liberté, fraternité and egalité at its finest. Have you been in the basement all morning?’

‘No, just come down.’ He laid a tile into a cutting frame. ‘Why?’

‘Don’t suppose you’ve seen anything of Pierre Delmas, have you?’

‘He’s gone and done it now, hasn’t he? Still haven’t got used to the idea of him robbing a bank and now he’s… how did that Annie Provin put it? “Wanted for questioning in connection with the mysterious death” of that poor sod in Villefranche. That means you think he did it. Right?’

The tile snapped clean and true.

‘Have you seen Delmas this morning?’

‘We ask the questions, I get it. No, I haven’t seen him. Should I have?’

‘He was at Saint-Augustin station earlier. I wondered if he’d been here.’

‘That fairy on the door should be able to help you with that.’

‘When you guys have breaks, lunch and so on, where do you go?’

‘Personally, I favour a table at Maxim’s.’

Darac was rapidly developing a soft spot for Artur. ‘Seriously.’

‘Depends what day it is.’ He buttered the cut tile and pressed it into place on the wall. ‘Camembert, grapes and stuffed courgette flowers it’ll be today. And if I’m lucky, a nice slice of tarte aux pommes.’

‘Lovely. The others?’

‘The brass go all over the shop. Some of the lesser lights go to Café Grinda. On the avenue of the same name.’

‘Did Delmas used to go there?’

Artur stopped what he was doing for the moment. ‘I see what you’re getting at. He may have done. Mainly, he used to eat at his desk if he was in the office.’

Darac resolved to pay the café a visit. Delmas may not have frequented it but he now knew that others did.

‘Thanks, Artur.’ He gave him a card from his wallet. ‘You will let me know if you do run into Delmas at any time?’

‘Will do.

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