It was late afternoon when Chrissie phoned Jean-Pierre’s office in Paris to see if Nick had contacted them.
“No. He hasn’t called me yet. When did you last speak with him?”
She explained that she had last seen him that morning before going to see Bulmer and that he was supposed to call her at the cottage on his way. He hadn’t arrived yet and she was very worried.
“I’ve tried his flat but there’s no answer. Do you think it’s time I called the police?”
“No, don’t do that yet.” He thought quickly. “Is Sally still with you?”
“Yes, of course she’s still here and safe. But I’m worried about Nick. What if something has happened?”
Jean-Pierre sighed. “I’m sure that’s not the case. It may be that he is on his way right now.”
“But he said he would phone first and he hasn’t. I feel that something terrible has happened. I know it.”
“Chrissie, listen to me. Do nothing until I contact you. Give me your number.”
She did as she was asked.
“Look, I have a further interview arranged with Eamon in an hour’s time. I’ll try and get some more information concerning this man Bulmer but I must stress that you do nothing yet. It could make things worse. I’ll call you a little later and tell you what I think you should do. I’ve been finding out a great deal more about the circumstances of Eamon’s arrest and being passed over to the local police. There is a great deal more to this than I thought.”
“What do you mean?”
“I cannot go into this now. Please, just trust me on this.”
“Okay,” she agreed, “but let me know as quickly as possible. I really can’t take all this.”
“I will but you must be strong for Nick and Eamon’s sake. I’ll speak with you later.”
He replaced the phone then told Henri what the call was about.
“Oh my God. Do you think something has happened to him?” Henri asked.
“I don’t know, maybe. But I have found out a few details about this Monsieur Fabrier. He has never been convicted of anything but his business dealings appear to be shady to say the least. I think that maybe Bulmer has no idea just how big a name he is here in Paris. His name is connected with too many things for all of them not to have any foundation.”
Jean-Pierre sipped his coffee.
“I didn’t mention this to Chrissie and Nick but there is talk that he was connected with the police investigator, you remember a few years ago, the one who was found hanging over the Seine with the broken neck.”
Henri thought. “Yes, I do. My God, what has Eamon become involved in?”
“That must be why the customs police and local gendarme are working so closely together. This case is bigger than anyone involved would have initially realised.”
Henri was not happy to hear this.
“And you too,” he said, “could be in some danger. Please, don’t take any stupid risks. I don’t want to have to fish you out of the Seine as well.”
By the time Jean-Pierre reached the detention centre, Eamon was almost hysterical. He had been placed in an isolated cell by himself and the freedom to roam around like the other detainees had been withdrawn. He was anxiously pacing up and down the cell when Jean-Pierre walked in.
“Thank God you’ve arrived. I knew something like this would happen, I knew it!” Eamon yelled.
“Calm down,” said Jean-Pierre, who was surprised at this unexpected outburst. He put his arm around Eamon’s shoulder and led him to the bed.
“Now stay calm, please. Stay calm and tell me what you mean.”
“They’ve got him, they’ve bloody well got him.”
Eamon stood up from the bed and walked over to the small table. He picked up a piece of paper and handed it to his friend.
“Here, take a look at that.”
Jean-Pierre read the note, which was written in prison note paper. It was in English and said:
LOVERBOY IS WITH US FOR THE MOMENT. BUT FORGET YOURSELF AT THE TRIAL AND HIS DAUGHTER IS AN ORPHAN. LONDON FRIENDS.
“Where did this come from?”
Eamon looked around and wiped the tears from his face on the sleeve of his shirt.
“It was slipped under my door about an hour ago when I was half asleep ... I told you. I told you all he was a powerful man ... he has contacts everywhere.”
“Okay, okay. Just calm down and let me think.”
Jean-Pierre chewed the nail on the little finger of his left hand. His other nails were immaculate but he kept that one for moments like these.
He thought the situation out before he spoke. It had already occurred to him that something like this could happen. Not, as Eamon thought, via the connection in London but more than likely via Fabrier in Paris. A man like him would even have contacts at the detention centre and there had even been rumours that he was involved in the shipping of foreigners into France and other member states in the EEC. There was no significant evidence but there was the possibility that the police were setting the whole thing up.
“I’m sorry my friend, but I think there is only one thing to do,” he said to Eamon, who simply stared at him.
“We must tell the police here everything we know. I know you do not want that but Inspector Sablon understands these situations and will know the best way to tackle the problem. He was the man who interviewed you at the airport then formally charged you.”
“No,” Eamon said flatly. “I can’t do that. I can’t put Sally at risk any longer. They’ve paid enough already for my stupid actions.”
Jean-Pierre felt enormous pity for Eamon at that moment. He walked over and put his arm around his shoulder.
“Eamon, my friend, you are not being rational. I think the damage may have already been done. If you want to help Sally and Nick, then I suggest you start trusting me and do exactly as I say.”