The Courbet Connection (Book 5) (Genevieve Lenard) (30 page)

“Manny!” There was a note of hysteria in Francine’s voice as she turned to the door and called again.

The sound of running preceded Manny as he rushed into my viewing room. His facial muscles were tight with concern. And fear. “What’s wrong?”

Francine pointed at the monitors displaying a gallery of videos. Vinnie had crossed his arms, his hands in tight fists. I had to focus on their nonverbal cues if I was going to keep the darkness at bay.

“Is this what I think it is?” Manny stepped closer. “One of you better bloody answer me soon.”

His angry order had an oddly calming effect on us. Vinnie told him about our search through the profiles of bidders for the second auction. “Jen-girl’s plan worked. When I saw these guns, ammo and gear, I thought of Jonas. He used to organise hunting trips, but not the kind of hunting trips normal people go on.”

“Normal people don’t hunt innocent animals and take pleasure in it, Vin. It’s barbaric.” Francine’s skin was returning to its normal colour. She seemed more composed, unlike me.

“It’s in our nature to hunt.” I grabbed onto the topic to take my mind off the monitor for a few seconds. “Nowadays we no longer need to hunt down our food. As a species we’ve become quite lazy in our comfortable, civilised living. Not that it should be considered a negative aspect of our development. Knowing that we can get our meals or the ingredients for our meals from a shop allows us to focus on a higher level of growth.”

“Doc.” Manny’s tone was gentle, his expression the same.

I pulled my legs onto the chair and wrapped my arms around my knees. I nodded tightly for them to continue. I didn’t want to derail the conversation any more. I hated when they did it. Now I was doing the very same thing.

Vinnie put his hand on the armrest of my chair, not touching me but offering comfort. I stared at his hand and nodded again. He cleared his throat. “When I knew Jonas four, five years ago, he was organising hunting trips for individuals who wanted to hunt people. He got his prey from the streets. They were mostly military vets who were homeless and traumatised from their tours in Iraq and elsewhere. They couldn’t get back into civilian life. He reckoned these guys made better prey, because they knew how to evade the enemy. It made for a better, more challenging hunting experience.”

“Fucking hell.” Manny’s eyes were wide.

“Here’s the kicker though. During the time I was hanging out with Hawk, Jonas and Dukwicz were friendly. I saw them chatting a few times in Hawk’s warehouse.”

Hawk was Nikki’s late father—a criminal Dukwicz had killed. He had then tried to frame Colin for the murder. Despite his professional life, Hawk had been Vinnie’s friend.

“Were Jonas and Dukwicz close friends?” My voice was hoarse from tension.

“No, they were only friendly. I don’t think they ever spent time together outside of the job.”

“And you think this Jonas has hooked up with Dukwicz to auction these kids for hunting?” Manny asked.

“Think about it. They are needed for their organs. The only reason doctors won’t accept your organs is if you have HIV. That gives these bastards the opportunity to chase the kids around some warehouse or some forest and wound them in
strategic places, not damaging any organs. Until they kill them.”

“They won’t kill them.” I couldn’t believe I was having this conversation. “They would keep the young people alive to preserve the organs for as long as possible. This means ZD is profiting twice from kidnapping socially isolated young people. Selling their organs and having them hunted down. This is very disturbing.”

“That’s being polite about it, girlfriend.” Francine’s nostrils flared, her lips thinning. “ZD and whichever other buttwipe is doing this are sick, truly sick in their souls.”

I hugged my knees tighter. I had nothing to add to Francine’s unprofessional assessment. She was right. We were quiet for a few seconds, nobody’s expressions communicating positive emotions.

“I don’t think any of us want to watch the videos, but they might give us some idea of where these kids were hunted,” Manny said quietly.

I looked at the gallery of videos. At the bottom of the page it indicated that there were another three pages of videos. This one had ten videos, which led me to believe there had to be between thirty and forty videos on this site. Was that how many young people had been hunted down and then carved up? Manny was right. I didn’t want to watch this twisted brutality, but knew there could be valuable information in it.

I took three deep breaths and lowered my legs to the floor. I’d had decades to master the art of dissociation. Now might be the most appropriate time ever to attempt viewing the footage objectively. Being honest with myself, I didn’t think it was possible. “Francine, can you find the most recent video?”

“Let me see.” She clicked on the first two rows of videos before she returned to the very first one. “The metadata on this shows that it was taken seven days ago.”

Vinnie muttered a few swearwords. “We need stiff drinks for this.”

“It will impair your ability to see nuances and other key factors. Although I also feel the need for alcoholic courage.” I tried to smile, but wasn’t able to. I could anticipate the body language I was about to witness on these videos. It was not going to give me any pleasure to observe.

Francine clicked on the video and a view of a densely wooded area filled the screen. It was a beautiful area, in full summer bloom. The many trees casting the ground in shade made it impossible to determine the time of day. If this had been taken recently and locally, the summer days starting at half past five in the morning and ending at half past nine in the evenings would further complicate determining the time.

“Let the games begin,” a male voice said, sounding very close to the camera. I shuddered at the arousal in his tone. Further thought on this deviance was drawn away by movement coming from the left of the screen. A man was running away from the camera. When he turned his head, all four of us gasped.

“Oh, my God.” Francine’s hand flew to her throat, covering her suprasternal notch.

“Matthieu Jean,” I said unnecessarily. We’d all recognised the young man who was cradling his right arm against his chest. With the exception of the sneakers, he was dressed only in sweatpants—like in the auction video. I imagined the addition of footwear was to lengthen the hunt. Someone with damaged feet couldn’t run fast or long enough.

“Run, Forrest! Run!” the voice shouted and laughed when Matthieu stumbled. The footage started bobbing as the hunter followed Matthieu through the woods.

The movement came to a sudden halt. Before I could register the barrel of a rifle entering the screen, a loud shot sounded
through my viewing room. I jumped in my chair and pulled my legs up to hug against my chest. I forced the Mozart Symphony into my mind to keep myself from giving in to the tempting warm safety of a shutdown.

“Fuck!” Vinnie had both his fists resting on his head, pressing into his skull.

Matthieu stumbled, his uninjured hand letting go of his arm and holding his side.

“They must be shooting with rubber bullets,” Vinnie said through his teeth. “The wound is not bleeding.”

When Matthieu lifted his hand, the skin on his side was a deep red and it was clear he was feeling the pain. His speed had diminished and he was favouring the side where he’d been shot. I hated seeing his shoulders lowering, his head hanging. Those were signs of resignation. I didn’t want him to give up running, fighting for his life.

Another shot sounded through the system. This time Matthieu’s hand went to his hamstring. He didn’t stop moving, but was dragging his leg. As his injuries and fatigue were worsening, his desire to run was lessening.

“Come on.” The hunter sounded disappointed. “Give me at least another ten minutes. A good ten minutes.”

Matthieu gave him twenty. It was an agonising twenty minutes, watching Matthieu fall, get up, stumble over fallen trees, running behind thicker tree trunks for protection and getting shot over and over again. The hunter’s breathing didn’t even increase over the microphone. He continued to bait Matthieu, laughing cruelly when Matthieu begged him to stop, to let him go home.

“It’s time,” a new voice said. It was a deep male voice, but had spoken too softly to recognise. Again, the camera stopped moving. The barrel appearing was not the same one that had been used to shoot rubber bullets at Matthieu the previous seven times. The hunter took aim and I cringed in anticipation of the sound. It was a softer pop. Whatever the hunter shot Matthieu with hit the young man in his back. Had it been a real bullet, it would have been a heart shot.

Matthieu managed to take another three steps before he dropped to the ground as if dead. The video’s sound exploded in distorted whoops of celebration as the hunter ran to Matthieu. The camera was moved down to focus on the bruised and scratched body lying on the ground. When the hunter’s brown boot came into view and rested on Matthieu’s back, I closed my eyes. This atrocity was inhuman.

“We have an hour to get him to base,” the second voice on the video said. “Let’s get…”

The video ended abruptly, filling my viewing room with silence.

“They’re worse than animals,” Colin said hoarsely from behind us. He was standing in the doorway, his hands deep in his trouser pockets. He was wearing his own clothes again. He slowly moved his eyes from the video and looked at me. The
orbicularis oculi
muscles contracted around his eyes, his concern evident. He walked to me and cupped my face. “Are you okay?”

“No.” I only managed a whisper.

He leaned over and kissed me lightly on my forehead. He straightened, his posture more aggressive. “Vin?”

“Dude, they’re using the second auction to fucking bid on hunting down these kids.” For the next minute, Vinnie swore colourfully. Knowing that it was a coping method for him, and also a way to release his anger, I didn’t comment.

“We need to find these bastards,” Manny said. “This cannot continue. We’re living in bloody France, for Pete’s sake. This is supposed to be civilised Europe.”

“And we know how much slavery there is in France alone.” Again facts helped me focus. I breathed deeply a few times. “What is our next step? How are we going to find them?”

“I will see if I can get into this site and find its location,” Francine said. “I’m still waiting for ZD to respond to my email. He’s smart. I’ve not been able to hack into his website yet, but I will. I’ll find a backdoor into his sick little world and we’ll put the full apocalypse on his ass.”

“Well, since the clock is literally ticking, we’d better get to work.” Manny looked at me. “Doc, someone needs to watch these videos and find some clues here. Are you up for it?”

With great conscious effort, I lowered my legs to the floor and straightened my shoulders. “I’ll see what I can find in the footage.”

“Frey, help her with that.” He walked towards the door. “People, we’re not going to be sleeping soon. That clock is someone’s life. God help us all, I don’t want to see another video like the one I’ve just seen. Not if we can prevent it.”

A ringtone coming from Colin’s pocket stopped Manny’s progress. Colin took out his phone and narrowed his eyes at the screen before he swiped it. “Yes?”

The sudden frown of sorrow lowering Colin’s brow had me studying him closer. He was listening intently. After a few seconds, his face lost colour, his sorrow increased. Someone had died. Someone he’d known. He ended the call after requesting updates as they came in.

“Who?” I asked when he didn’t speak.

“Maurice.” He briefly pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. I almost flinched at his stark expression when he looked at me. “I can’t believe this. I looked everywhere for him, then I called in a few favours. I didn’t want to raise any suspicion, but I wanted to check the hospitals and morgues for someone fitting his description.”

“They found him,” Manny said.

“In a morgue. He was found in a back alley somewhere. My contact says the police think he was dumped there. His injuries look like they come from two incidents. The one that killed him was most likely from being hit by a car. He has all the classic injuries from blunt-force trauma caused by a moving vehicle. But he also has seventeen unexplained bruises all over his body.” Colin stared at the monitors. “From the description, it sounds like it could be the same kind of injuries Matthieu got from being shot with rubber bullets.”

“He was also hunted?” Vinnie asked.

I had trouble aligning this with the other data of the case. “He doesn’t fit the profile. He’s too old and he’s socially active.”

“True, but he was the one who got us arrested.” Colin paused. “He’s quite central in this case. He’s connected to my arrest as well as the paintings, which are connected to the Tor site and ZD’s auction site. I knew Maurice for eight years. He was an artist at heart. A greedy artist, but an artist. He was only interested in selling art, whether it was above board or not. I wonder if he didn’t maybe see how he was being used by this client, made some connection and asked questions to the wrong person.”

“Hell.” Manny looked at the monitors and shook his head. “This needs to end.”

“Um… excuse me?” Tim was standing behind Manny in the team room. I was surprised to see him here. It was close to midnight and I had never seen Tim stay this late after hours. He must have gone home, because he was dressed much more informally in calf-length pants and a brightly coloured shirt. “There’s a man in the conference room asking to meet with you, Colonel Millard.”