Jacquot and the Waterman Read Free Page B

persons.
Something'll turn up if she was from round here, or has form.'
Guimpier turned from the window, pulled out his chair and sat down.
'How long was she in the water?' he asked, stretching out and clasping his hands round the back of his head.
'According to Desjartes's boys, a week, ten days.'
'Drowned there or dumped?'
'They're pretty sure she was drowned there. Fresh water in the lungs - no trace of salt, chlorine or fluoride.'
Guimpier took a deep breath, let his eyes drift to the ceiling, then dropped them back on Jacquot. 'Access to the lake?'
'Not easy. There's the slipway at Salon-le-Vitiy, but this time of year there's too many people around. A restaurant, the sail school, campsite. He'd never have managed it. And there's no current to account for the drift. Three kilometres, at least, to the beach where she was found.'
'Any other possible drop-offs?'
'The rest of the shoreline is too thickly wooded. Maybe a ten-metre bank most of the way round and difficult to reach. Too much trouble to carry or walk her through. The beach is different. I went out yesterday, took a look with Desjartes. There's a track leads down from the road. It's rough going, but not that rough.'
'So he knows the area?'
Jacquot shrugged. 'Not necessarily. He could have checked it out beforehand. It's pretty deserted round there.'
Guimpier nodded, took it in. 'Whose land?'
'A farmer called Prud'homme.'
'Anything on him?' 'Not a thing. Too old, anyway. Late seventies. Maybe eighties.'
'Family? Workers?'
'According to Desjartes, all accounted for.'
'Anything on the track? The beach? Tyre marks? Footprints?'
'Nothing. No rain up there the last month.'
'Who found her?'
'An English guy. Stopped there with his family.'
Guimpier looked interested. 'Could there be any involvement?'
Jacquot shook his head. 'When the body went into the lake, they were staying at a gîte outside Orange; place called Courthezon. Desjartes checked their stoiy and it all held.'
'She drugged?' asked Guimpier, moving on.
'They're still waiting for the tests to confirm it, but Desjartes reckons if she was, she was maybe coming round. Realised what was happening and tried to fight back.'
'And how does he figure that?'
'There were traces of a rubbery black material under two of her fingernails. Actually a sponge. Neoprene. Looks like our man wore a wetsuit.'
'Water gets cold up there at night,' said Guimpier thoughtfully. 'Sex?'
'Hard to say. Again, we'll have to wait for the report. But she'd been beaten.'
Guimpier gave him a questioning look.
'Caned,' explained Jacquot. 'What with the tattoo, Desjartes reckons it might be work-related.'
'On the game?' 'It looks that way.'
The other victims? They weren't hookers.'
'Not so far as we've been able to establish.'
'Any clothes? Jewellery? Anything lying about?' This last was said hopefully. They needed something.
Jacquot shook his head.
'Not a thing. No watch, no rings. Nothing to trace.'
'So what do you think?'
Jacquot measured his words. 'It certainly looks the same. Young woman. Naked. Drowned. The lesions on the hairline where he pulls the head back. The bruise between the shoulder blades, like the others, consistent with holding the victim under. We'll know for sure when we get the autopsy report.'
Guimpier nodded. 'So, Daniel. What next?'
'See what Records come up with. That'll be a start. And chase up the tattoo.'
'Don't tell me, a heart?'
'Three words. Le Vieux Port. Like some kind of signpost.'
Guimpier gave a grunt. 'Which makes you think she's from around here?'
'Seems a fair bet to me.'
Guimpier tipped forward, reached across the desk and flicked through a file.
'With Rully down, I'm putting you with Gastal. Bring him up to speed.'
'Gastal? The one from Toulon?' Jacquot had seen him around. Like a fat little puffer fish, the kind Chez Peire had hanging from the ceiling. A year or so younger, maybe, same rank, but Jacquot's senior in the force by a couple of years. 'Isn't he Narcotics?'
'End of the month. For now he's