The Girl Who Remembered the Snow (28 page)

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Authors: Charles Mathes

BOOK: The Girl Who Remembered the Snow
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“That doesn't prove Mr. Zuberan knew Henri-Pierre,” said Emma, trying to hide her surprise. “Mr. Zuberan collects antiques. His house is packed with them. He's probably bought things from half the dealers on the planet.”
“I told you I don't believe in coincidence, Emma. Zuberan moves millions of dollars each month and uses all kinds of fronts to do it, some of them mighty creative. You think a little bit about the antiques business, you realize it's a money launderer's dream. You take your cash money from your illegal enterprises and you go and buy antiques and fancy furniture with it. Then you sell the stuff for big legitimate bucks on Madison Avenue. We figure that's the way it started between these two, changing cash money into antiques and back again. Then somebody realized what a perfect hit man Caraignac would make. He traveled a lot. He was licensed to carry a gun. And it turns out the man was already a trained killer.”
“What do you mean?”
“According to the French military, Henri-Pierre Caraignac served in an elite commando unit from the time he was eighteen until he was twenty-five,” said Big Ed soberly. “He personally killed two terrorists in separate hijacking incidents, and who knows how many others in operations that weren't made public? The way I figure, Zuberan sent Caraignac to get that treasure map. Remember, Caraignac was in San Francisco the night your grandpa was shot, and he must have taken his gun with him in his luggage because it wasn't found in his effects in New York.”
“If Henri-Pierre killed my grandfather,” said Emma, “then why did he make me his beneficiary? You must know about that —you seem to know everything else.”
“Yeah, that's confusing.” Ed nodded. “I thought poor Mr. Poteet was gonna have a stroke when we heard about the Frenchman's will. But we'll put it all together, sooner or later. My working theory is that Caraignac wasn't really a professional killer, just a guy who fell in with the wrong people, and that his conscience started bothering him about what he'd done.” “Then why would he have done it in the first place?”
The big federal agent shrugged his gigantic shoulders.
“Maybe Zuberan threatened to expose him for money laundering if he didn't make the hit,” he said. “Or maybe Caraignac hoped to find the map and keep it for himself. It doesn't really matter. Conscience is an unpredictable thing, and a man like Zuberan can't afford to have people with consciences running around who can tie him to a killing. Probably Zuberan's men surprised Caraignac in his hotel room, took away the gun he had used on your grandfather, and shot him with it. That would explain why the bullets that killed both men matched.”
Emma started to speak, then stopped.
She had been fighting the conclusion that Henri-Pierre had had something to do with Pépé's death for so long, she had almost forgotten why. Henri-Pierre's perfect face suddenly sprang into her mind's eye.
Once again Emma looked into his cool blue eyes and amused smile. This time, however, she looked behind the surface beauty and saw for the first time what had previously only registered in her unconscious, what the cocktail waitress at the Alhambra had talked about: the sadness, the infinite regret, the despair. It was the face of a man who had done something terribly wrong and suffered tremendously because of it.
“Which brings us to the fella who was following you,” continued the big federal agent, rubbing his huge hands together with evident glee. “Our boy's name is Paco Quintana, and we've been watching him ever since he followed you onto that airplane in San Marcos.”
“He was on the same plane with me?”
“In first class,” said Big Ed. “These drug guys really know how to live, let me tell you, and Paco is Zuberan's top lieutenant, has worked for him since he was a kid. Up to now Zuberan's been too smart to give us the opportunity to nab any of his soldiers on U.S. soil. This time, though, we got Paco, and through him we're going to get Bernie Zuberan. Assault with a deadly weapon, attempted murder, resisting arrest … yes, sir, we gonna crack that boy open like a lobster.”
“Why would Mr. Zuberan send this man after me?” said Emma, struggling to find some flaw. “If he had wanted to harm me he had plenty of opportunity on San Marcos. I was right there with him on his estate.”
“Isn't it obvious? Zuberan still wants the treasure, see? Caraignac must not have found the treasure map when he killed your grandpa. Zuberan realized you didn't have it yet either, but figured that if he put some bee in your bonnet when you were down there and then had you followed, you would eventually lead him to it.”
Emma took a deep breath. It all made a horrible kind of sense. Was the kindly man who had served her coffee and spoken so wistfully of his old friend really such a monster? A horrifying
image of Zuberan patting Timoteo on the head, then handing him a syringe and a revolver, sprang into her imagination.
“Now you see why we been so concerned about your safety?” said Big Ed happily.
Before Emma could answer, Charlemagne Moussy emerged from one of the treatment rooms on crutches. His right foot was in a white cast that reached halfway to his knee. He brushed away help from the nurse beside him and hobbled directly to Emma.
“My foot, she is broken in three places,” pronounced Charlemagne with great dignity.
“I am so sorry, Charlemagne,” said Emma.
“No.” The little lawyer sighed. “It is I who am the sorry one. I should know better at my age than to be the hero. I must have had a rock in my head.”
“I'm the one with a rock in my head,” said Emma. “I actually thought you had something to do with all of this. I feel terrible.”
“Not as bad as me, I assure you.”
“Can you ever forgive me?”
“Of course,
ma chérie,”
said Charlemagne, bowing at the waist, wincing only slightly as he did so. Then he turned to Big Ed. “But you,
monsieur
, are another matter. You are a dangerous lunatic. What possible explanation can there be for such reckless behavior on the part of a government agency, leaping out with the drawn guns at innocent people? Are these our tax dollars at work?”
“Come on, Moussy,” said Ed defensively. “Gimme a break. This was a legitimate and highly successful operation. We were just doing our job here, just protecting this girl.”
“Protecting her!”
“That's right. Just trying to make sure she doesn't have to live her whole life in fear.”
“It's a wonderment you did not shoot her in order to make her really safe,” said Charlemagne, limping over to the bench. “I have to sit down. So much idiocy has made me tired. What time is it? I have forgotten to take my pill.”
As the little lawyer eased himself down and examined his watch, the door to the next treatment room down suddenly opened. Emma, Charlemagne, and Big Ed all turned at the same time and watched the man with the heart-shaped scar being led out by four men who looked like IBM salesmen, except for the badges suspended from their suit-coat pockets and the radio receivers embedded in their ears. In addition to a pair of handcuffs, Paco Quintana now wore a large white brace around his neck that held his jaw rigid with steel pins and made him look like something that Dr. Frankenstein had just assembled from parts.
“We got you this time, Paco boy,” said Ed with satisfaction, walking over and staring the prisoner directly in the eye. “I know they Mirandized you and you ain't gonna say nothing until you get your expensive lawyer, but Bernie Zuberan ain't gonna be able to help you this time. You remember what I'm telling you, my friend. You gonna go away for a long time unless you cooperate.”
The man known as Paco Quintana regarded Big Ed with apparent uninterest. From what she had seen of Zuberan's men on San Marcos, Emma was certain he would never tell Big Ed a thing. She was therefore surprised when he began to speak. His voice was soft, and faintly accented. He spoke directly to her.
“Greetings, Señorita Passant. I am sorry for any inconvenience and distress you have endured tonight. My attorney will not mind, I hope, that I will convey to you Señor Zuberan's regards. I feel Señor Zuberan would wish me to explain what happened.”
“Don't you get cute with me, Paco,” said Big Ed angrily. “Save any explaining till we get a stenographer here. We got you dead to rights, and you're not gonna start playing no inadmissible confession games with us now.”
“Stop harassing this poor man,” declared Charlemagne indignantly.
“What's it to you, Moussy?”
“I do not approve of the police brutality. At this very moment I would be offering this poor man my own legal services
pro bono
were it not for the fact that he has just tried to kill me.”
“Señor Zuberan was only concerned for your safety, señorita,” said Paco Quintana.
“I told you to shut up, Paco,” said Ed.
“Let him finish or I'll break
your
foot, Ed,” said Emma.
The man with the heart-shaped scar smiled and bowed his head slightly. Slightly was apparently as a far as it would bow. His eyes filled with pain.
“Knowing that two men had been killed and that you were on the trail of their murderer,” he said, “Señor Zuberan instructed me to follow you to New York. He wished me to keep an eye out for your safety. He told me that your grandfather and he were very close.”
“More bullshit from the bullshitter,” sneered Ed.
“Señor Zuberan told me to do whatever was necessary to protect you,” continued Paco, ignoring the interruption. “When this man seized you tonight by the park, I ran to your defense. Mr. Zuberan will be gratified to learn that you are able to defend yourself, señorita. You have broken my jaw.”
“You expect us to believe that cockamamie story, Paco?” exclaimed Big Ed. “You was just here trying to protect her? What kind of morons do you think we are?”
“I refuse to answer on the grounds that it might tend to incriminate me.”
“That makes all three of us who were trying to protect her,” muttered Charlemagne. “She's lucky she's still breathing.”
“I don't think she's got much to be worried about,” said Ed. “In the space of two seconds she breaks one's man's foot and another man's jaw. You know, you're a pretty dangerous character, Emma honey. You ever think about a career in law enforcement?”
“No.”
“Well, if you change your mind, just remember you got a friend with connections.”
Emma walked over to the handcuffed man and looked directly
into his large brown eyes. “Will you tell me something honestly, señor?”
“If I can.”
“Was Henri-Pierre Caraignac working for Mr. Zuberan?”
“You expect him to tell you the truth?” Big Ed laughed. “You really expect that?”
“Yes, I do,” said Emma.
“I do not know this man you ask about, this Caraignac,” said the man with the heart-shaped scar. “Who is he?”
“The antiques dealer who was killed,” said Emma. “Agent Garalachek here says that Bernal Zuberan bought things from Mr. Caraignac in order to launder money and then hired him as a hit man to kill my grandfather.”
“It is true that Señor Zuberan buys antiques from many legitimate sources to furnish his home and for shrewd resale, but he does not hire killers.”
“Why not?” barked Big Ed. “'Cause he's got you?”
“Because he succeeds by using his brain, not by resorting to violence.”
“Oh, really. Then why were you carrying a gun tonight and following this young lady?”
“You have asked me a question, señorita, and on my honor I have told you the truth. I will say no more until I speak with my attorney.”
The man with the heart-shaped scar turned up his broken chin with a defiant look. Big Ed motioned in disgust to the four agents standing guard, who led the prisoner away.
“Alors,”
said Charlemagne when they were gone. “That was very illuminating, Agent Garalachek. You will perhaps for an encore describe for us exactly which part Mr. Zuberan played in the disappearance of Jimmy Hoffa and the assassination of President Kennedy?”
“You think this is some kind of joke, Moussy?”
“That is exactly what it is!” exclaimed Charlemagne. “Do not you see how obviously we all of us have been chasing the wild gooses? You, Emma, with your trip to San Marcos. Agent Garalachek with his insane conspiracy theories. Even Monsieur Zuberan and his paranoid concern. All of this speculation about what is at the bottom of everything else has all been just foolishness.”
“Oh yeah?” said Big Ed. “Then what's been going on here, according to you?”
“Our friend Jacques has been killed in an irrational manner. We long for to find some explanation that will make the sense of everything, so his death is not meaningless. But, alas, it was meaningless. There is no map to a sunken treasure, no great conspiracy, no unifying theory of everything. I am afraid the police have been right all along in this, Emma. Jacques was the victim of a random killing. No more. Monsieur Caraignac, too.”

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