C'est la Vie (Raja Williams Series) Read online

  “Sure, but that doesn’t make it right,” said Vinny.

  Yvette tried to laugh but ended up wincing instead. “C’est la vie, chère, c’est la vie.”

  “What is his problem, anyway?” asked Vinny.

  “He thinks I am holding out on the money I earned from a client.”

  “I thought that was your money?”

  “Don’t I wish. No, Bruno takes the lion’s share. And he always thinks the girls are cheating him.”

  “Pot—kettle—black,” said Vinny, referring to the old adage.

  “Huh?”

  Vinny thought about attempting a translation. “Never mind.” The idiom didn’t translate to French easily. Besides, Vinny remembered she was there to dig up information, not to start a revolt among the girls, despite her natural urge to rise to their defense. That would have to come later. Right now she wanted to explore the third floor.

  Her chat with Yvette revealed more about the club’s operation. Some of the customers were regulars who had specific courtesans that they came to see. The customer would pay for a room on the third floor and then request a certain girl. If available, the girl would bring them a key and would meet them upstairs at an agreed upon time. The rest was between the girl and the client.

  “Are you going upstairs now?” asked Vinny.

  Yvette nodded.

  “I’ll walk you up. I heard there are rooms for rent—just for sleeping. I’m not a courtesan—not that there’s anything wrong with that.” Vinny looked at Yvette, hoping she was not offended.

  Yvette laughed. “That’s all right. A courtesan’s life is certainly not for everyone. Yes, there are small rooms in the back. Come on, we better hurry. You don’t want to take too long a break. Bruno won’t like it.”

  The third floor was primarily the domain of the courtesans, of which there were seven, including Yvette. There were two sets of stairs leading to the third floor, one allowing for discreet access from the rear of the building without being seen going through the club. Although the French had little objection to extra-curricular sexual activity, there were still those who insisted on discretion. Vinny and Yvette passed several rooms where the sounds reaching the hallway made it clear that they were being used. Vinny noted that there was a man posted at the top of the rear stairs.

  “This is my room,” said Yvette, stopping in front of the door numbered six. She opened the deadbolt with a key. Inside there was a small anteroom followed by a large bedroom that featured soft indirect lights and a large round bed.

  “Do you stay here? I mean to sleep.”

  “Yes, although not all the girls do. The rooms aren’t used until evening. Michela and Francoise both like to get away from work when they can. They share a small flat just east of here. They still end up spending a lot of their time here. Those are their rooms.” Yvette walked out and pointed to two rooms across the hall. “Come on. I’ll show you the regular rooms. I warn you, they aren’t much.”

  At the end of the main hallway were two small wings on either side with doors on the outside wall. Yvette opened one. She was right. With a small daybed, dresser and one chair, each room amounted to little more than a glorified closet. The single tiny window high on the wall gave it the feel of a monk’s room in a monastery, or a jail cell. When Vinny backed out of the room, she bumped into a solid male body.

  It was Bruno. “You would be better off with a room like Yvette’s,” he said. “Of course, that would require—”

  “I don’t think so,” said Vinny, spinning out of Bruno’s reach. “I’ve got to get back downstairs. Thanks for showing me the room, Yvette. I’ll think about staying here.” Vinny headed for the stairs, hoping not to have caused any trouble for Yvette and not to have raised any suspicions. Remembering the welt under Yvette’s eye, Vinny also decided that, when the time was right, Bruno would pay dearly for his brutality.

  Chapter Twelve: The Funeral

  On Sunday morning Vinny was back to her usual two hours of sleep. Despite her late night at the cabaret she was already up and making breakfast when Raja woke up.

  “I still don’t understand how you can do that,” said Raja.

  “What?”

  “Sleep two hours and look that good.”

  “Thanks, Raj.” Vinny pretended to curtsy. “It’s a gift, and a curse. I spend a lot of time by myself.”

  “How was your second night at the cabaret?” he asked.

  “Better than the first. I guess I’m getting numb to the creeps. Still not much fun. I have shown great restraint, I’ll have you know.”

  Raja knew how Vinny hated men objectifying her. She took it as a personal insult to her very being. The intensity of her objection had its roots in some long-buried family situation that Vinny never talked about. He had seen Vinny drop a large man over a lot less than she had to endure at the cabaret. “Maybe I should go down there to keep an eye on you.”

  “I’d rather you didn’t, Raj.”

  “As you wish.” He knew Vinny could handle herself.

  “I would really like to help the other girls. Some of them have it pretty rough.”

  “All in good time. First we need to find our missing Brit, Mrs. Browning.”

  “I’ve found out nothing about her at the club. And the girl Corinne hasn’t shown up yet, although there is talk about her having some kind of relationship with Bruno Laurent.”

  “She will be at the funeral today, I’m sure.”

  Although both Vinny and Raja attended the funeral, they came separately to maintain Vinny’s cover. Raja arrived alone in the orange Porsche. He turned onto the cemetery grounds and followed an asphalt drive lined on both sides with low arching magnolia trees. The effect gave him the slightly claustrophobic feeling of driving through a tunnel until he emerged onto an open plateau with a parking lot.

  From there Raja could see people gathering below near an open rectangular hole in the ground. Rows of folding chairs were arranged neatly along both sides and a podium stood at one end of the open hole. A clergyman led a procession of mourners from the chapel that sat on a hill above the grave site. Six pallbearers marched slowly and solemnly behind carrying the coffin containing the dead shopkeeper. A solemn chant accompanied the caravan. For some reason the scene reminded Raja of a time as a boy he sat and watched a trail of ants carting a large dead bug over the dirt toward their anthill home. Raja shook off the odd mental picture and walked directly down the incline toward the grave.

  Vinny had come with Yvette, the courtesan who was rapidly becoming her new best buddy at the club. Unbeknownst to Yvette, Vinny had several cameras rigged so she could take pictures of everyone at the funeral for their investigation. One was a bracelet watch she could activate by flexing her right wrist. She hid another one in the mourning corsage she wore on her left wrist. She was already snapping pictures as people arrived when Raja spotted her.

  “Who’s your girlfriend?” asked Raja in her earpiece.

  Vinny ignored him until she could separate from Yvette. “I’m here with my new BFF Yvette. She works at the club.”

  Raja scanned the hillside, noticing more people arriving from the parking lot. Two he pegged as undercover policemen, and another group of men had the hardened look about them that comes from a life of doing bad things to people, or from paying for the same behind bars. “Seems the shopkeeper was either an extremely popular fellow with a wide circle of friends, or there are others here with the same idea that we have.”

  “I’ll take door number two,” said Vinny, flexing her wrist and snapping photos of the men. She pointed to three new arrivals. Inspector Gilliard walked across the grass with two other junior detectives, making no pretense about being cops. The rough-looking men bristled when they saw them.

  “This could get interesting,” said Raja.

  “Doubtful,” said Vinny. “Funeral rules.” One of those unwritten rules of engagement between cops and robbers was not to engage in outright confrontation in a church or at a funeral. Of course, pol
ice being police and criminals being criminals, there were plenty of massacres perpetrated by one side taking advantage of the expectations of truce. That was not as likely to happen here in France, a mostly Catholic nation, where religion was important, at least on a Sunday.

  “Since we are here, I want you to note that when my time comes, I do not want a funeral, or a service,” said Raja. “I want you to throw a kick-ass, everyone-gets-hammered party and celebrate my departure all night. Then toss my ashes into the sea at dawn and get on with your life.”

  “Noted, Raj. But, could we skip talk of your death wishes for the moment. Dude, I can’t believe you would try to steal the spotlight from a dead guy.”

  “Yeah, what was I thinking.” Raja turned his attention to an attractive woman walking behind the clergyman in the procession. “So, the girl in the black veil. Is that the shopkeeper’s widow?”

  “No, he wasn’t married. That’s his sister, Corinne.”

  “She looks very upset.”

  “Duh.”

  “I’m just making an observation.”

  “I know what you are doing,” said Vinny. Raja was a sucker for a woman in distress.

  The procession reached the grave site and the pallbearers carefully placed the coffin down next to the opening in the ground. When Bruno Laurent arrived with his two hounds, Luc and Marcelo, in tow, Vinny moved far from Raja to prevent jeopardizing her cover. Raja noticed how the shopkeeper’s sister, Corinne, physically recoiled slightly when Bruno approached her. She sat down in the front row of seats between an older woman who also wore a veil and a teenage boy who turned out to be her younger brother. Raja recognized the Catholic vestments of the priest who took his place at the podium and readied himself to begin the final service.

  The graveside ceremony was formal and short, ending with the priest saying, “May his soul and the souls of all the faithful departed through the mercy of God rest in peace.”

  After the coffin was lowered into the ground, several of those attending tossed dirt on top, including the shopkeeper’s sister Corinne. Raja waited until she finished her personal goodbye to her brother and walked back to stand with her family while the grave was being filled in.

  A small bald man in a neat suit approached the family with his hat in hand and offered condolences.

  “Henri Duchamp, from the club,” said Vinny in Raja’s earpiece.

  “Doesn’t look like the club type.”

  “He’s just a bookkeeper.”

  Raja nodded almost imperceptibly.

  After several girls from the club paid their respects, two young men in much too flashy suits approached the family.

  “Who are they?” asked Raja.

  “Just two dorks from the club. Luc and Marcelo.”

  Finally Raja saw an opportunity to approach Corinne and her family. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Not as sorry as my brother,” said Corinne.

  Raja was surprised by her quick retort.

  The woman removed her veil. “I don’t believe we have met.”

  When Raja saw her face, he remembered what he loved about French women. Corinne had exquisite alabaster skin, wavy auburn hair and one of those wonderful pouting French mouths that made all the artificially-enhanced ones look ugly and cheap. Today her natural beauty was marred by a red nose and puffy eyes. She was obviously devastated by the death of her brother.

  “My name is Raja Williams. I’m a private detective who is investigating the events of your brother’s death. I would like you to answer some questions,” he said, blunt as usual.

  “Not today,” she said.

  “You may be of great assistance. We can talk tomorrow, then?” Raja was deliberately pushing her. He studied her face.

  She showed no sign of guilt, but her grief shifted to fear, not the anger he had expected. “I suspect that might be dangerous and foolish of me.”

  “I’m only trying to help,” he said.

  “Then I am certain that is dangerous and foolish of you.” She turned and walked away. Two men Raja did not recognize closed rank behind her effectively blocking him from pursuing Corinne.

  After paying respects to the grieving family, Raja stepped away. Shortly afterward, Inspector Gilliard approached him. “I heard that the leads I gave you didn’t pan out as well as we hoped.”

  When Raja heard “we,” he could barely resist challenging the inspector on the spot. He doubted that Gilliard had wanted anything to come of the leads, but Raja played along. “Bad timing, I suppose. When your anti-narcotics team raided the warehouse the place had already been cleaned out.”

  “As you Americans say, timing is everything.”

  “Maybe they were warned,” said Raja, unable to hold back. Raja knew someone had tipped off the drug makers to the police raid. Most likely it was the police themselves, maybe even Inspector Gilliard.

  The inspector bristled slightly, but suppressed any verbal reaction to the comment. “Better luck next time,” he said and walked away.

  Another odd piece of information had come from the warehouse raid. Although there were signs in the warehouse of cutting drugs and pressing pills, there were no signs of actual chemical manufacturing. The drugs had not been created there. That would require more investigation.

  Raja located Vinny. She was talking to the priest who had delivered the funeral ceremony. Raja circled them until Vinny noticed him, then he tipped his head toward a long table covered with photos and mementos of the dead shopkeeper.

  The two of them stood at the table looking at photos until they were alone.

  “You suspect Inspector Gilliard?” asked Vinny.

  “He hasn’t given me a reason not to,” said Raja.

  “Did you find out anything from the sister?” asked Vinny. “I mean besides the color of her eyes.”

  “Not really, she was unwilling to talk. Afraid to talk is more accurate. Something has her spooked.”

  “Or someone. Probably Bruno. He is a beast with the girls at the club.”

  Raja looked over at Corinne as she consoled an older woman who was probably her mother.

  “I’ve got photos of everyone at the funeral,” said Vinny. “I can identify them when I get back to the flat. I’ve got the day off. I’ll have Yvette drop me there.”

  “They are green,” said Raja.

  “What are?”

  “Corinne’s eyes.”

  “Of course.”

  Chapter Thirteen: Raja’s Big Bust

  Raja spent half of Monday trying to get the narcotics division on the same page with him regarding the intel he had on the drug lab. Because of constant rumors of big shipments or new drug labs, the narcotics officers involved were always competing for police resources. A big bust could make an officer’s career, and put him on track for a promotion. Raja’s frustration brought him back to Captain Rochefort’s desk.

  “I see that you are a man on a mission,” said the captain. “I respect your passion.”

  “I just do not want to miss an opportunity to take down a major drug operation.”

  “Nor do I.” The captain called one of his lieutenants and spoke to him privately.

  “But Capitaine—”

  The captain continued to speak in his ear.

  “Yes, but—”

  Again, the captain would not be turned away.

  Finally the lieutenant said, “Yes, Capitaine,” and marched off.

  “You will have your raid,” said Captain Rochefort. “I have ordered it to be carried out no later than seven tonight. Lieutenant Brevard will fill you in when he returns. If you encounter any delay or problems, you will come and see me directly. The lieutenant knows that, as well. This will happen.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I hope I will be thanking you, Monsieur Williams. In any case, it isn’t often that a civilian takes such an interest in our police mission.” The captain returned to his paperwork.

  When Lieutenant Brevard returned, he informed Raja they would raid the
warehouse at five o’clock.

  “We already have covert surveillance in place at the target site. They have observed no traffic in or out so far. But that doesn’t mean much. Often the men working in a drug lab stay there around the clock. Partly to get more drugs made, partly for security reasons. We will find out if your information is right soon enough.” The lieutenant did not sound convinced.

  “Who will be in charge of the raid?”

  “That would be me.”

  “I would like to go along.”

  “You can, provided you remain a safe distance away.”

  “I can do that,” said Raja, not sure if he would. Having nothing to do but wait, he called Vinny.

  “The raid is on for five,” said Raja, sounding like an excited schoolboy.

  “Do you want me to come along?” asked Vinny. She liked to be in on the action.

  “No way. You have to maintain your cover. I can handle it. I’m going to be watching mostly anyway. These guys seem like pros.”

  “Well, I would be careful just the same. I’ve been looking into the police who were shot. All three were on the radar with the internal affairs office of the Gendarmerie. Nothing definite, but there do appear to be some bad police in this town.”

  Raja walked outside where no one could overhear him. “What about Inspector Guilliard?”

  “Funny you should ask. He has been putting money into an account with a different name for some time. It has grown considerably. I’m still tracking down the details. He has had three separate interviews at the Gendarmerie in the last month, as well. I haven’t found out about what—yet.”

  “That’s all the more reason I want you to stay undercover. I’ll be fine. Good work, Vinny. Keep digging.”

  “Okay. By the way, I’m going to get a room on the third floor at the club.”

  “Oh, I see. That’s where the courtesans work, isn’t it? You might be taking this undercover role a little too far.”

  “Dream on, Raj. They also rent regular rooms. I think it will help me gain the trust of the staff and find out more.”