Part Two
Eamon was taken into a small partly glazed side room in the customs hall. It contained a small table and three chairs. He sat and watched as a young customs opened the briefcase and found the concealed compartment which contained the four small packets of the pure, powdered drug and some papers regarding the treatment of the compound. There were two other men in the room and they were not surprised when these were found. The packets were held up to a camera suspended from the ceiling for a good clear view.
Another man came into the interview room and introduced himself to the camera. He wore a lab coat and looked like a doctor or pharmacist. He checked the packets and smelt the contents. He looked a little confused and explained to his colleague that there was no smell and that the colour of the powder didn’t resemble the drugs they were accustomed to dealing with. He explained that the analysis would give a full breakdown and mentioned a fungus which was not apparent to Eamon. He did say that there appeared to be nothing that would show up on an X-ray machine and Eamon thought he heard him say angel dust.
The briefcase and its contents, except the passport, were then placed in a large, clear, plastic bag then sealed and tagged. One of the plain clothes officers signed the tag and the uniformed customs officer took it away. The two other officers remained in the room with Eamon.
He was now much more relaxed, surprisingly, and almost glad that it had been found. He was no longer sweating or shaking. They had known exactly where to look and disregarded the rest of his luggage from the trolley, which was in the corner of the small room. It occurred to Eamon that he should have shown surprise when they had uncovered the powder but it was too late now. He had been given plenty of opportunity to be shocked but he closed his mind temporarily to his surroundings and thought only of Nick and Sally. They had been watching since he boarded the flight in London.
The officials sat on chairs opposite him and one of them took a notebook and pen from a similar briefcase which he was carrying. The other man, larger, took a pack of cigarettes from his jacket.
“Cigarette, Mr Hargreaves?” he asked and offered the packet.
They already knew his name.
Eamon took a cigarette from the packet, lit it and breathed deeply. The official did the same before he spoke.
“Good evening, Mr Hargreaves, and welcome to Paris,” he said in English. “Though in your case I should say welcome back. My name is Chief Inspector Olivier Bisson and I am employed by the European Customs Police. My colleague here is Inspector Lucien Sablon from the Bois de Boulogne arrondissement and I must formally point out that you are under arrest for the smuggling and transportation of illegal narcotics. This interview is currently being recorded and can and probably will be used in formal proceedings if the charge is levied and taken to a court of law under the jurisdiction of French and EEC regulations. Do you understand?”
Eamon nodded and said nothing.
He drew on his cigarette and listened intently, not quite knowing how to react. The officer spoke excellent English and there was a welcome underlying kindness in his voice which Eamon would not have expected from someone in his position of authority.
“The formality of officially charging you,” he continued, “will be carried out later by Inspector Sablon here as I do not have that authority. But, for the moment, this location falls under the terms laid down in the Geneva Convention and we want to talk to you initially about your attempt to smuggle these albeit small amounts of drugs so that there can be no doubt why you are being held here.” A uniformed officer then entered the interview room with a tray of coffee in paper cups. He handed one to each of them and left.
“Now, Mr Hargreaves,” Bisson continued, “allow me to bring you up to date on what we already know. We received information from a source here in Paris that you would be arriving on flight AF1034 from London. The information was received at the gendarmerie of my colleague, Mr Sablon, but I am not at liberty to reveal the source of the record, though you would not know the person concerned.”
He shuffled in his chair and looked at some papers before him.
“My records show that your name is Eamon Philip Hargreaves and you are currently employed as a teacher at the European Language School in Versailles. You are twenty-three years old and live in an apartment on the college campus.”
He sipped his coffee.
“We already know for whom the drug was intended and, with your help, we will find out the details. We are fully aware that your role in this is merely as a courier and that you are possibly being blackmailed or have previously been blackmailed into doing this, which is so often the case. However, you are the one who has committed the crime, one which carries a severe penalty. But we do have it in our power to make things much simpler for you. Do you understand what I am saying, Mr Hargreaves?”
Eamon had settled back in his chair.
Though he had heard and understood all that Bisson had said, he was worried now about Nick and Sally. London seemed so far away and the threats that Bulmer had made against their lives were paramount in his thoughts.
“I understand,” he started, “but ... at the moment, I have nothing to say.”
Bisson continued.
“I am sure that a man of your education ... well, I do not need to tell you what the penalty is for this crime. But you should consider making things easier for yourself when you are formally charged by telling us the name of the contact in London. I’m sure that you probably do not know the importance of this shipment you were carrying. It is not just a mix of cocaine; it goes much deeper than that. But it was being monitored in various countries. It is originally from South America but the link broke down in Amsterdam. Though we know it left Schiphol Airport, we were uncertain of where it went from there.”
“But I don’t know anything like that,” Eamon said. He was becoming uncomfortably nervous. “I don’t want to know any of that. I was just carrying the bloody stuff.”
He was rather embarrassed by his outburst.
“Yes, that’s what I believe,” said Bisson, “and all I need to know is who the contacts in London were. Who employed you?”
“I wasn’t employed to do this. I was blackmailed. I didn’t want to get involved, please believe me. It has very little to do with me.”
“Yes, I understand that. But, Mr Hargreaves, who blackmailed you?”
Eamon could not answer.
He realised they did not know the London link and if he told them, Sally and Nick could be at risk.
“I ... I can’t say. I really can’t say.”
He began to sob as the consequences began to cloud his mind. He needed time to think.
“Well, Mr Hargreaves,” Bisson added, “if you choose not to tell us, then you will have to face the full consequences yourself and pay the penalty. It is true to say that we know very little about how this drug works or the procedure for ‘curing’ it, which I believe the process is called. But I can assure you that by the time this goes to court then we will have fully analysed all the components and established how the fungus is made. We simply have to piece the threads together and will have the evidence. Why not make it easier and give us the details we need? We can help, you know.”
“But you don’t understand,” Eamon started, and was now crying. “I can’t tell you. There are innocent people involved ... I really can’t help you.”
Bisson sighed slowly.
“Very well then.” He thought for a moment. “What were the instructions upon arrival here in Paris?”
Eamon thought it safe to tell the truth at this point and explained that he was instructed to go to the Hotel Severin and the case would be collected by an accomplice of a man known as Fabrier.
And for Lucien Sablon that was the key word – the name he needed. The connection he wanted to hear. His instincts, and this time his contacts, had been correct.
He spoke for the first time in the interview.
“Ah now, our old friend Mr Fabrier,” he said.
/> He fumbled in his briefcase and pulled out a small notebook with an elastic band wrapped around it. The book was old. He flicked through the pad and pulled out a photo, which he handed to Eamon.
“Is this the man you know as Mr Fabrier?”
“Yes,” Eamon said as he wiped his eyes. “That’s him. He’s the man I saw in London – perhaps a little heavier and healthier than when that picture was taken, but it’s him.”
“Excellent, Mr Hargreaves,” Sablon said and smiled. “Now we are getting somewhere.”
He put the photo back into the notepad and slipped it back into his case.
“Mr Hargreaves,” Sablon asked, “would you be prepared to stand up in a court of law and swear that the contents of the briefcase are the property of Fabrier and that he is the one who is blackmailing you?”
“No,” Eamon said. “I mean ... well, Fabrier is not the only one involved and he is not blackmailing me directly. There are others involved and I don’t really know that he was the owner of the drugs.”
“But I am only concerned here about Fabrier,” Sablon said.
“No, you don’t understand. Oh Christ, I don’t know what to do,” Eamon replied and ran his fingers through his hair.
Bisson looked at Sablon, who nodded. They decided at that stage there was no point in questioning him further and he needed to be formally charged to satisfy the detention conditions.
“The gendarme outside and Inspector Sablon will now take you to a detention centre near here,” Bisson advised him. “You will be officially charged and will then have the time to reflect on this. It is true that there is only a small amount of what is believed to be cocaine in the powder and that is sufficient to make the arrest. Tomorrow, you may have decided to speak to Inspector Sablon and myself further. All you need do is ask for one of us.”
With that he left the room and the gendarme entered.
Eamon was taken to the detention centre, where he was formally charged in French and advised that he would be remanded to appear in court on Tuesday morning. He was allowed to make one phone call and desperately needed to speak with Nick. However, he knew he needed professional help and chose to call one of his best friends in Paris, Jean-Pierre Rousseau, who was a solicitor. Jean-Pierre was not accustomed to dealing with this type of case, especially since the detention laws were constantly being amended by the European Parliament but Eamon knew he could be relied upon.
Fortunately, Jean-Pierre was at home that evening when Eamon called and immediately agreed to help. Eamon gave him details of where he was but did not say what the charge was. After three or maybe four hours, Jean-Pierre was allowed into the cell to see his client.
Eamon was glad to see a familiar face. They both sat on the bed and Eamon explained the whole story, though he did not mention Bulmer’s name. Jean-Pierre listened, without interrupting, as his friend spoke.
When Eamon had finished, Jean-Pierre did not give any indication of his feelings but stood up and walked around the small cell with his hands in his pockets. He was deep in thought.
“Well, Eamon, this is a terrible situation,” he started. “Admittedly this is new territory for me and also the police. The drug you are carrying is not just cocaine but what appears to be a form of it that can easily be concealed and may or may not be more powerful than what is currently available on the market. Drug trafficking is one of the most serious offences in Europe now and the penalties are very severe. However, on compassionate grounds, the outcome could go very well in your favour. But only if you co-operate with the police and tell them what they need to know.”
“But how can I put their lives at risk?” Eamon asked, referring to Nick and Sally. “This whole situation is my fault and if I tell the police everything, it might make things easier for me, but what about them? God only knows what might happen. They are total innocents in this unbelievable scenario.”
“I fully understand that, my friend, but the British police could put some sort of surveillance on Nick and Sally until this is all over.”
“But that would be no use,” Eamon cut in. “I have no proof that Bull ... that the people involved are blackmailing me. It would not hold up. The only evidence is that damned stuff in the bloody briefcase.”
Jean-Pierre thought for a moment.
“Okay then, this is what I suggest. Say nothing more to the police about the contacts and I will telephone your sister and Nick and tell them what has happened. Under European Law I need to notify your sister as your next of kin. When you appear in court on Tuesday, plead not guilty. The local court here cannot deal with this type of case and I am surprised this has now become a local matter. It appears that this Fabrier man is very much wanted by the police. The hearing will be just a formality and it may be adjourned and passed onto the equivalent of a crown court. Or there is another agenda here and the police have a timetable which they are not making obvious. I suspect Inspectors Sablon and Bisson have reached some arrangement over how to handle this, which is unusual. The procedure and guidelines for smuggling offences are laid down and adhered to every day. However, I think there is more to this, and especially this connection with Fabrier, than you and I know. I suspect someone may be calling in some favours here. In the meantime, that will give me the opportunity to consult a lawyer familiar with this field and then we can decide what the best course of action will be.”
He sat back down on the bed with Eamon, who said nothing.
“No doubt the people blackmailing you in London will be worried and they will not know what you have told the police. I will suggest that Nick comes over here with your sister and that his daughter should be sent away for a few days. I will make the necessary arrangements for you to see them, which may be difficult, and I recommend that you tell them everything. After then, we can decide how your plea will go. It’s very hard to say if this man Fabrier, his employees and your connection in London are aware yet of what has happened.”
Eamon thanked Jean-Pierre as he left the cell. He felt better, almost relived, that he had told the truth.
The cell was hot and spartan and it was the early hours of Sunday morning. He knew that Nick would be worried that he had not called. He was lonely and frightened for his lover.
For the first time in his life, he prayed and meant it.