The Flinck Connection (Book 4) (Genevieve Lenard) (20 page)

Two of the young men had their arms around each other’s shoulders, one was holding up two fingers behind another’s head, and the fourth was almost folded double, laughing and pointing at the camera.

“The guy laughing looks like Savreux.” Francine lifted one eyebrow. “He was quite a stunner. Look at those legs.”

They were all dressed in shorts and t-shirts, next to a lake somewhere. The area looked isolated, perfect for young student men looking to spend holidays away from the crowds.

“The one making the rabbit ears looks like J.L. and the smaller guy laughing could be Motte.” Vinnie was standing behind me. “Those bastards have been friends for a long time. Who’s the other guy?”

“We’ll have to find out. That makes it four men who might be in on this conspiracy,” Francine said. For once I didn’t correct her when she mentioned a conspiracy. This far-reaching case now had all the earmarks qualifying it as one of her favourite topics.

“It makes five people, Francine. Not four. The fifth is most likely also a man.” I zoomed in on the young man laughing. Motte. “He knows the photographer. They all know the photographer. The familiarity in their postures, the easy laughter, and Motte pointing at the camera like that? They know this person.”

“This means we need two more names.”

Something I had said triggered another thought, but it was hovering just outside of my grasp. I closed my eyes and ignored Francine’s suggestions on how to find the other two men. Mozart’s Piano Sonata no. 16 in B Flat Major just started playing in my mind when I made the connection. “
‘High five, low rectitude.’
These might be the five that direct message was talking about.”

“My God, you are right.” Francine straightened in her chair. “The three men we know all hold very high positions. It stands to reason that the unidentified man in this picture is also some VIP, as well as Mister Mystery Photographer.”

Francine’s silly name brought to mind the mystery man in two of Minister Savreux’s home office videos. I wasn’t going to voice it in fear of Francine’s enthusiastic hypothesising, but I wondered if he could be the same man as the photographer in the thirty-something-year-old photo.

Another thought surfaced from my subconscious with such force that I gasped. I ignored Colin and Francine’s questions and frantically paged through my notes. I found the page and turned to Francine. “Can you trace national identity numbers without anyone noticing?”

“Is the Pope Catholic?”

“Yes, he is.”

Francine’s smile was wide and genuine. Her fingers hovered above the laptop’s keyboard. “Give me the numbers, girlfriend.”

When I gave her the second number, Nikki got up and stood next to Vinnie. “You’re the coolest, Doc G.”

It took another three minutes before we had confirmation. Francine leaned back in her chair. “Would you believe that. Those numbers used as Twitter handles were actually ID numbers. Good catch, girlfriend. Four twitter handles and four names.”

“It gives us one new name, Remi Dubois. I should’ve seen this earlier. We could’ve had these names much earlier and possibly have made more progress by now.” I was furious with myself. One of my greatest strength
s had been noticing anomalous data, recognising patterns and fitting seemingly disconnected pieces together. Was I losing my focus?

“Are you one hundred percent sure that we would’ve solved this case by now if we’d had those names?” Colin leaned back in his chair, his arms folded.

I thought about this. “No.”

“Well, then. Stop blaming yourself.” He uncrossed his arms and lowered his chin, making sure I could read his expressions. “Francine works daily with people’s ID numbers. Why didn’t she see it? Why didn’t I or Millard see this? You’re not in this alone, Jenny.”

The relief at hearing his reasoning was overwhelming. My life had been rife with challenges, one of the largest allowing myself to not be perfect. It was hard. I swallowed and nodded. “Thank you.”

“Okay, now let’s find out who this Remi Dubois is,” Colin said

“He was the bank manager for a few banks in Paris and later in Strasbourg. He died three years ago from a stroke. He was only fifty-eight when he died. That’s really young for a stroke.” Francine scrolled down the page she was looking at. “Ah, ladies and gentlemen, guess where he worked in his first job?”

“FGMB? The same as the other three?” I asked.

“The one and only, my pretty.” She tapped the monitor with her index fingernail. “He studied finance and worked in FGMB’s accounting department, at exactly the same time as our other three bad men worked there.”

“What are their more recent connections?” Colin asked.

“This might take a while.” Francine’s fingers were already flying over the keys. I turned to my computer and started researching my line of thought. From the corner of my eye, I saw Colin get up and take his chair to this desk. For more than an hour the three of us were working on our computers, speaking very little. Vinnie and Nikki had left after mumbling something about food.

“Oh, my God.” Francine’s soft exclamation drew my attention away from my search.

“What?” Colin asked from his desk.

“President Godard also worked at FGMB.”

“At the same time as the others?”

“No. Much later. The others all left before 1990. He started working there in 1991.”

“Can we work on a timeline?” I tired when people jumped from one thought to another. The same applied to conversations about time. “It would be easier if we can develop some pattern in their behaviour. We need to find pivotal events in their lives, their personal and private lives.”

“Cool.” Francine shifted in her chair. “I’ll start. We already know the four bad guys started working at FGMB in 1980.”

“We’ve been over this.” I loathed repetition. “Let’s start in the later eighties, after René Motte was already working in Elf.”

“Okay. The only thing I have here on any of them before Motte lost his job in 1989 was that J.L. divorced his third wife. You’ll call it petty gossip, I know.”

“Maybe not.” I leaned my head back. “If we work on the hypothesis that these men were involved in the Boston heist, we need to look for a motive. In the year 1989, we have Minister Savreux being passed over for promotion, René Motte losing his job and J.L. Legrange’s divorce. Those three events could be motive enough for them to combine their energies to commit such a crime.”

“If they sold some of those paintings, it definitely would’ve helped with J.L.’s divorce settlement. That woman took him to the cleaners.”

“What does that mean?”

“She took almost all of J.L.’s money.” Francine’s smile was malicious. “I wonder if he deserved it. If he’s lost three wives to divorces, one has to wonder what kind of arsehole husband he is.”

“What do you have on the bank manager, Francine?” Colin rolled his chair closer. “I didn’t find anything interesting on him. He was a workaholic with nothing interesting on the internet. He seemed to keep to himself.”

“That’s what I got as well. But I didn’t really look hard. I’m too shocked by the president’s connection to FGMB.”

“It’s a tenuous connection.” I couldn’t see negative implications. “If it is such a prestigious company, one could safely assume that any young lawyer would like to start his career there. President Godard had no contact with those men while working there.”

“You sound very sure.”

“I’m only as sure as my research. I looked through the numerous articles on the president and could find no early connections. Later on, Minister Savreux obviously had contact with the president due to their political careers. René Motte’s connection is also obvious, being on the president’s political party think tank.” Something was bothering me. “What about more recent links between these four men? Do we have any?”

“Nope. Not until Savreux and Motte started the Foundation.”

“We need to look into this. There might be more that could help us solve this. I also need to know exactly what connection Minster Paul Ngondet from Gabon has to any and all of them.”

“I’ll get onto that, girlfriend.” She pointed at the team room with her chin. “I’ve got a programme running to get those thirteen names.”

“What thirteen names?” Colin asked. Francine explained to him about the offshore bank accounts receiving money from Elf, and the many transactions between those accounts and the Libreville Dignity Foundation’s sub-account.

The annoying song about a poker face coming from my smartphone interrupted the conversation. I took my phone from its place next to my keyboard and swiped the screen.

“Hello, Manny.”

“Doc. Get ready. We’re going to see your president.”

“I don’t have a president.”

A grunt sounded over the phone. “The president of Gabon, missy. I’m picking you up in fifteen minutes. Don’t come downstairs. I’ll come get you. And tell Frey that neither he nor the criminal can come with. I had to cash in a lot of favours to get this done.”

The call disconnected before I could comment or argue. In light of this new information, I wondered what added questions I could ask President Mariam Boussombo.

After a distressing twenty minutes with the security detail outside the hotel suite of Gabon’s president, I was thoroughly unnerved. They had insisted on frisking me and I had refused. I didn’t care that I would be fully dressed while they patted me down. I was not going to have a stranger touch me to ensure someone’s safety, not when I had the trust of the president of France and his wife. My practiced diplomacy had lasted one full minute. Manny had interfered after my second explanation had still confused these people. I had been about to comment on the deficiency in their vocabulary and comprehension, but Manny had interrupted and had used impressive finesse to convince the four men and one woman at the door that I was harmless.

I was now seated in the living area of the modest but elegant suite and Manny was walking around, attempting not to appear restless. The president of Gabon was still in a meeting in the office to our left, but we had been informed that she would not be long. Manny stopped in front of the large windows overlooking the river, his back to me.

“Doc, you’re going to have to try more diplomacy.”

“With the president, of course I will.”

He turned around. “Why not with the guards outside? They could have easily prevented us from meeting with President Boussombo.”

“Don’t be silly. You would never have allowed that. Daniel and his team are far better trained than those five people. Their inability to take note of your deception cues was deplorable. If they are to protect an important person effectively, they need to be more competent in their understanding of nonverbal communication, but also of verbal communication. They didn’t even understand ‘incursion of my rights and privacy’.”

“Doc,
I
don’t understand ‘incursion’.”

“You’re lying. You might fool most people, but not me. Firstly, I am the best in my field and secondly, I know you. Combined, it leaves you at a great disadvantage if you attempt to deceive me.”

“I can’t believe I’m having this argument with you.” He turned back to the window. “You are impossible.”

“Without seeing your expression, I’m not sure, but your tone is telling me you approve of my impossibility.”

Manny shook his head and snorted. The heavy office door opened and I stood up as two women entered the living room.

“Genevieve, what a pleasure to see you.” Isabelle Godard, the first lady of France, came to me with her arms open. In her early fifties, she looked much younger and had a natural beauty many women spent fortunes to obtain. Her dark slacks and stylish rust-coloured sweater emphasised her athletic figure. She stopped two feet in front of me, dropped her arms and kissed the air as if it were my cheeks. This was the tenth time I’d seen her this year. She had greeted me like this the last nine times. The delight expressed on her face mirrored my feelings at meeting her here. I liked her. She respected my non-neurotypical idiosyncrasies.

“Isabelle, I did not expect to see you here. It is good to see you.”

“And I you, my dear.” She turned to the African woman behind her with a genuine smile. “Madame Mariam Boussombo, this is my highly esteemed colleague, Doctor Genevieve Lenard. Genevieve, this is President Mariam Boussombo.”

The slightly overweight woman stepped closer, curiosity in every muscle on her face. When she didn’t extend her hand to greet me, I knew Isabelle had told her about me. I didn’t study her as obtrusively as I did Colin or Manny, but I took a moment to assess her nonverbal cues. There was nothing indicating deception or discomfort. Her facial muscles were relaxed, her smile genuine and her posture open.

“Doctor Lenard, it really is a pleasure to meet you. Isabelle has told me so much about you.”

“Only good things, of course.” Isabelle looked excited about this introduction. I didn’t know why she felt it important to reassure me about what she had told Mariam Boussombo. I didn’t care.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, President Boussombo. Thank you for making the time to meet with us.” I gestured to Manny who had stepped closer. “This is my colleague, Colonel Manfred Millard.”

The change in President Mariam Boussombo was immediate. Her open curiosity was shut down with a skill that I’d observed in the best poker players. I was witnessing all the markers of social politeness as Mariam Boussombo held out her hand and went through the formal introductions with Manny. It was astounding to see the change in this woman, and I knew it wasn’t Manny who had caused it. It was his gender. Something had happened in this woman’s life to have made her overly cautious around men. This was going to be problematic.

“Manny, you have to leave.”

Manny swung around and stared at me. “I beg your pardon?”

“You have to leave.”

He closed his eyes and his lips thinned even though they were trembling slightly. When he looked at me, he was communicating a warning, his voice low. “Doc, remember what we talked about.”

“Of course I remember. President Boussombo doesn’t feel comfortable with you here, which means she won’t trust us with any information and our visit here will be a waste of time. You have to leave.”

Manny glanced at the two women standing across from me. We were standing in a triangle, Manny was on the outside. Our body positioning had already excluded him.

“Doc.” This was one of the very few times Manny spoke to me through his teeth. His face was turning red and the
supratrochlear
artery on his forehead was becoming more visible. He stared at me for long enough that even I considered it impolite. I stared back. His bottom jaw protruded and he lowered his head to look at me from under his eyebrows. “I will be right outside that door with the other security. Be diplomatic.”

He greeted the other two women with a nod and stalked to the door. All three of us were watching his angry strides and the controlled manner with which he closed the door. I had known Manny long enough to be well aware of the fact that I was going to receive a long lecture when we left. The moment the door closed behind him, Isabelle and President Mariam Boussombo burst out laughing. They turned to me with expectation. When I didn’t respond in the manner they had expected, they laughed harder.

Isabelle was the first to quieten down. Her brow was showing cues of concern. “Genevieve, you know that we weren’t laughing at you, right?”

“No, I don’t. I have no idea what you were laughing at.”

“Oh, Doctor Lenard, you are such a delight.” Mariam Boussombo dabbed at the moisture under her eyes and waved at the sofas. “Let’s sit.”

“Manny was sure I had offended you.” I sat down on the far end of the sofa, Isabelle on the other end. President Mariam
Boussombo took the deep armchair across from us. “Your behaviour indicates that I didn’t. It hadn’t been my intention.”

“Please be assured that you did not offend me at all.” Her African accent was light and lent a charming roundness to her speech. “In my line of work, I almost never come across such sincere honesty, but that wasn’t what made me laugh. It was the look on Colonel Millard’s face. You are in deep trouble.”

“I’m always in deep trouble with him.”

This made them laugh again. It gave me an odd pleasure that my honesty brought genuine enjoyment to a woman I highly respected, and a woman who had spent her life fighting to ensure better conditions for her country.

“Can I offer you something to drink?” President Boussombo shifted in her chair as if to get up.

“No, thank you.”

“Isabelle?”

“Not for me, thanks Mariam.”

President Boussombo settled back in her chair. “Isabelle told me you are on the spectrum. I have a twelve-year-old niece who also has autism. I think it is a great thing that you’re helping Isabelle bring more awareness to the public.”

Isabelle put her hand on the sofa next to me and leaned a bit closer, but still keeping her distance. “I told her how you’ve spoken at six different events this year, telling people how anyone with a disability can succeed and live full lives. You’re always so good when you give one of your speeches. Inspirational.”

“People need to know more about autism.” The corners of President Boussombo’s mouth turned down. “There is so much ignorance going around and hurting people. That is one of our largest struggles in Africa. Because of our tradition, so many people believe that those with autism are possessed by demons, cursed by a witch doctor or some other superstition. My sister is now forcing my niece to go to a witch doctor to fix her autism.”

“That’s absurd.” I scoffed at this folly. “Antiquated beliefs and superstitious rituals won’t have any effect on developmental disorders or on how the brain functions.”

President Boussombo laughed softly. “You’re just like my niece, Linda. She tells her mom this, but my sister wants a normal daughter.”

“There is no such thing as normal. Neurotypical, yes. Normal is a term that is subjective to each subculture and even smaller communities within.”

“I like you.” President Boussombo sat up. Her expression spoke of acceptance and trust. “Please call me Mariam.”

“I’m Genevieve.” I understood the social significance of what had just taken place. Once again, this reinforced my belief that there were indeed people who responded to sincere truth much better than polite dishonesty.

“So Genevieve, what can I do for you?”

“I have information that has led me to believe someone wants to kill you.”

Isabelle gasped and pulled her hand back, but Mariam laughed again. She appeared to laugh a lot. The lines next to her eyes attested to that. “My dear girl, someone’s been wanting to kill me for the last twenty-seven years.”

“Who?” How could she live with that level of threat all the time? And why wasn’t this person caught?

“Many who’s, my dear. Not just one person.” She sighed. “I’ve made a lot of enemies on the way to where I am today. I was one of those outspoken and hated individuals who brought attention to the abuse of power in our government. That was in the eighties and early nineties. The men who were in power from the fifties to the eighties lived like kings while all the others were starving. There was little to no money spent on developing the country’s economy, infrastructure and especially education and healthcare. Women were living in fear all the time, children being used as slaves or exported to neighbouring countries as soldiers. Those were horrid days.”

“Mariam was part of a small group of women who stood up to those powerful men.” Admiration was clear in Isabelle’s tone and expression. “But she was smart. She knew that she needed international backing if she wanted to succeed.”

“And we found allies in the same place we had found abusers and corruptors. Here in France were a lot of people who didn’t like what their country was doing in Africa. They also wanted to aid our group in our ventures to educate women and protect children.”

“That was when we became involved in a local charity organisation. It came from those days.”

“Is that how long you have known each other?” More bits of information were flowing into one large stream.

“Yes, Mariam and I have been friends since long before we have been Madames.”

They laughed and I saw the easy friendship between them. It was the same between Vinnie, Colin and Francine. I knew I had a bond with my three friends, even with Manny, but it wasn’t easy. Not like with these two women.

I turned to Isabelle, my expression one that Manny called unsettling. “Do you trust Mariam?”

“With my life.” There was no hesitation or rush to answer. It was the truth. “Why?”

“I don’t think Manny would want me to share everything I know with you.”

“What do you think?” Mariam asked.

I looked at her and studied her for a few moments while weighing up my options. “I think that Isabelle’s trust is not easily given. I don’t know you and therefore I don’t trust you,
but will entrust this information to you based on your friendship with Isabelle.”

Her smile was genuine and warm. “Just like my lovely niece.”

“Tell me how you met.” Somewhere in their history I might find an important link.

“Isabelle helped us set up a local charity and it helped many women and children.” She sighed. “Those early days were hard. Our main focus then was basic healthcare and we started a small health centre. The clinic was young and didn’t get a lot of support. We didn’t have large donations, but every little bit helped.”

“When exactly was that?” I asked.

“The late nineties. We worked hard to get that clinic off the ground.”

“Before Raymond went into politics ten years ago, we discovered a charity here in Strasbourg that helps Gabonese women and children,” Isabelle said.

I looked at her and saw only honesty. “You are talking about the Libreville Dignity Foundation.”

“You know about this then.” Still Isabelle had no deception cues. I also didn’t see any suspicious micro-expressions on Mariam. “We approached them for financial aid and they took the clinic as one of their main projects. The Foundation was only a few years old then and still small. They didn’t have much money to give, but they helped us as much as they could.”