Dead Horsemeat

Monday 30 October 1989

After a night on the train, Lavorel finds himself in the café at Munich railway station, sitting between a worthy colleague from the Fraud Squad, a bespectacled fair-haired boy who resembles him like a brother, and a man in his thirties called Stefan, who introduced himself as the interpreter hired by Superintendent Daquin.

The low-down on A.A. Bayern, an insurance company specialising in the property and civil engineering sector. A good network that stretches from Bavaria to cover the whole Federal Republic of Germany. A family business established after the war, listed on the stock exchange in 1965, but the Muller family owns – or rather still owned – thirty per cent of the capital until recently, when Heinz Muller, the MD, sold all his shares in a single day causing the share price to plunge and paving the way for Pama’s takeover bid.

‘Does that sound at all odd to you?’

‘Yes, but Muller is free to sell as he pleases. Then, he left the city with his entire family. No complaints, nothing. It remains to be seen whether the takeover bid is above-board, and that’s a matter for the stock exchange authorities.’

He doesn’t seem inclined to say any more, pays for his drink and leaves Lavorel alone with his interpreter.

‘What do we do now?’

‘Let’s drop by Muller’s place, on the off-chance.’

A large, very bourgeois apartment building. Entry phone. Stefan rings the buzzer. No reply. After a while, a young woman comes out of the building. Stefan approaches her.

‘I’m a friend of the Mullers. I was supposed to come and see them but they’re not answering my letters, nothing. Do you know where I can get hold of them?’

‘No idea. They moved out suddenly, about a month ago. They didn’t leave a forwarding address. We were surprised, it wasn’t like them. They were always charming neighbours.’

At the reception desk of A.A. Bayern’s head office, Stefan, with Lavorel still at his side, asks to see Heinz Muller. He is sent to see his secretary. A tall, square, rather heavy woman, around forty, friendly.

‘I’m looking for Herr Muller. We made an appointment over a month ago. Yesterday I went to his apartment as arranged, but there was nobody at home. And his neighbours don’t seem to know where he’s gone.’

‘Well neither do I. I’ve worked with him for ten years. And one fine day he informed me he was selling everything and leaving the company. The next day, he did just that. He didn’t come in the following day, and I haven’t heard a word from him. It’s unbelievable.’

She seems very put out.

‘Wasn’t there a police investigation?’

‘No. Why should there be? He’s free to sell up and go off, even if it does seem absurd.’

‘There must be a solicitor, banker, lawyer, someone who knows how to get hold of him?’

‘Probably, but not the company’s.’

Stefan quickly translates the gist of this for Lavorel, who pulls a face. Last try.

‘What about you, did you notice anything recently, odd behaviour, something that might help me understand and give me an idea where to start?’

She hesitates slightly.

‘There’s something that bothers me. I haven’t told anyone about it yet. Herr Muller is an upright family man. In ten years of working together, he never acted improperly.’ Stefan, composed and earnest, translates at once for Lavorel who says to himself that he wouldn’t venture to either. Perhaps a nutter like Romero would, but even he might balk. ‘On several occasions recently, I heard him tell his wife on the phone that he had meetings and would be home late. I knew it wasn’t true. One day, I followed him. He dropped in to the Europa Eroscenter before going home. I was very disappointed that he should be like that.’

Stefan takes Lavorel to the nearest café.

‘This is beginning to get interesting. The Europa Eroscenter is notorious here. Its clientele is mainly businessmen, and it’s run by an Italian, a guy called Renta, suspected by the police of being involved in a pizzeria racket, but they’ve never been able to nail him. A smart guy. Muller was perhaps in business with Renta. Wait here for me. I’m going to make a few calls.’

An hour later, Lavorel has eaten several sausages, drunk four beers, and is bored out of his mind. Stefan comes back, looking rather surprised.

‘When he disappeared, Muller was about to be arrested for espionage for the Stasi. An anonymous informer, with evidence to back up his accusation. You’ve really stumbled on a big fish. By accident?’

Late that night, close to midnight, after having dinner together, Romero and Le Dem drop in on Daquin who’s waiting for them, listening to jazz and reading. Le Dem stares wide-eyed as they enter the Villa. Glass roofs, ivy-clad walls, peace and quiet – it’s a far cry from La Courneuve. No time to go on about it, get down to work straight away, sitting around the coffee table. Daquin does the talking.

‘I’ve found out how Deluc made his fortune. He earned a decent living until 1981 but didn’t seem to have a vast capital at his disposal. He rented an apartment in the 9th arrondissement. In 1982, he bought a one-hundred-square-metre apartment on the Île Saint-Louis. For the sum of around three million, using a loan from an offshore bank. At this stage, we don’t know what the loan repayment terms were or who the people are behind the bank. The vendor was Perrot’s property development company. In 1988, a year ago, after Mitterrand’s re-election, Deluc bought a villa on Lake Annecy for just over four million. This time, the vendor was a non-trading property company behind which it wasn’t difficult to find Perrot, and Deluc borrowed the money from the same offshore bank. To be investigated further. My conclusion so far is that Deluc had done his friend Perrot some huge favours, and not only the tip-off about the Bastille district in 1981. And it is very much in his interest to protect him, because if we manage to destroy Perrot, it’s very likely Deluc will go down too. Another totally unexpected factor, and a bit of a surprise, Annick Renouard is convinced that Deluc murdered Michel Nolant.’

And Daquin gives them the gist of his conversation with Annick.

‘What do you think?’

The response is rather sceptical.

‘That’s not all. Lavorel called me from Munich. The boss of A.A. Bayern is alleged to have been a Stasi agent about to be arrested, which would explain why he sold up and shipped out.’

Le Dem, who is not very clear about the Stasi, takes this information in calmly, but Romero grasps the full impact.

‘Are you suggesting that someone at Pama has some sort of ties with the Stasi? Madame Renouard a Stasi agent… that’ll give me something to fantasise about on my next holiday.’

‘Don’t despair. The source can’t be checked. And even if the information is reliable, we can’t do anything about it, we don’t have the resources or the time. I told Lavorel to drop it and come back. He’ll be here tomorrow morning. Now, tell me how far you’ve got.’

Romero sits up.

‘The grocer told the concierge this evening that he’d be receiving a delivery some time this week.’ A pause. ‘I realise that this isn’t earth-shattering, after what you’ve just told us…’

‘No hesitation. We swoop on this delivery. It’s now or never. What do you say?’

‘We go for it.’

‘Le Dem, you can still back out.’

‘I’m beginning to like it.’

‘Fine, let’s do it. Now we have to get Dubanchet’s team to keep them under twenty-four-hour surveillance and pounce when the concierge comes to pick up her supplies, not before. Leave the grocer and the concierge to Dubanchet’s team, and you rush over and arrest the chauffeur with his pants down in the car park, if timing permits. Nab the girl who comes and gives him a blow job too. Lavorel’s coming back tonight, so there’ll be three of you to carry out the arrest. Then, interrogation in your office, at number 36. Plan thoroughly, Romero. I can’t show my face, but I doubt the chauffeur will be too hard to crack, he’s got too much to lose. And add some questions on Deluc. Which of Perrot’s girls did he visit… on the day Michel was murdered, did anything unusual happen at Perrot’s? Make it up as you go along, but you get the picture. Get Lavorel to write the reports, and tell him to drop anything you find out about Deluc. Above all, nothing must be mentioned that might connect him to Michel’s murder. He must write it in such a way that it gives the impression that the chauffeur is giving us Perrot without being asked for anything in return. That will make later negotiations easier. Once the report has been written, hand it to Dubanchet. A quick call to keep me posted, and go to bed with the phone off the hook. I’ll deal with the flack from Dubanchet and the chief.’