“Red tape. I’m going to see the man in charge tomorrow morning, and I’ll get it straightened out. I should be on my way back to Boston by afternoon.”
“Very good, Steve. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.”
He had lunch at La Fontana on Rue Nôtre Dame, and with the rest of the day to kill, started exploring the town.
Ajaccio was a colorful Mediterranean town that still basked in the glory of having been Napoleon Bonaparte’s birthplace. I think Harry Stanford would have identified with this place, Steve thought.
It was the tourist season in Corsica, and the streets were crowded with visitors chatting away in French, Italian, German, and Japanese.
That evening Steve had an Italian dinner at Boccaccio and returned to his hotel.
“Any messages?” he asked the room clerk, optimistically.
“Completely satisfied. There is no question but that it was an unfortunate accident.”
The director said, “Bene. Let us cut to another angle and a closer shot.”
The sergeant took the opportunity to hand Capitaine Durer Sloane’s business card. “He is outside.”
“What is the matter with you?” Durer growled. “Can’t you see I’m busy? Have him come back tomorrow.” He had just received word that there were a dozen more reporters on their way, some from as far away as Russia and South Africa. “Demain.”
“Oui.”
“Are you ready, Capitaine?” the director asked.
Capitaine Durer smiled. “I’m ready.”
The sergeant returned to the outer office. “I am sorry, monsieur. Capitaine Durer is out of business today.”
“So am I,” Steve snapped. “Tell him that all he has to do is sign a paper authorizing the release of Mr. Stanford’s body, and I’ll be on my way. That’s not too much to ask, is it?”
“I am afraid, yes. The capitaine has many responsibles, and—”
“Can’t someone else give me the authorization?”
“Oh, no, monsieur. Only the capitaine can do the authority.”
Steve Sloane stood there, seething. “When can I see him?”
“I suggest if you try again tomorrow morning.”
The phrase try again grated on Steve’s ears. “I’ll do that,” he said. “By the way, I understand there was an eyewitness to the accident—Mr. Stanford’s bodyguard, a Dmitri Kaminsky.”
“Yes.”
“I would like to talk to him. Could you tell me where he’s staying?”
“Australia.”
“Is that a hotel?”
“No, monsieur.” There was pity in his voice. “It is a country.”
Steve’s voice rose an octave. “Are you telling me that the only witness to Stanford’s death was allowed by the police to leave here before anyone could interrogate him?”
“Capitaine Durer interrogated him.”
Steve took a deep breath. “Thank you.”
“No problems, monsieur.”
When Steve returned to his hotel, he reported back to Simon Fitzgerald.
“It looks like I’m going to have to stay another night here.”
“What’s going on, Steve?”
“The man in charge seems to be very busy. It’s the tourist season. He’s probably looking for some lost purses. I should be out of here by tomorrow.”
“Stay in touch.”
In spite of his irritation, Steve found the island of Corsica enchanting. It had almost a thousand miles of coastline, with soaring, granite mountains that stayed snow-topped until July. The island had been ruled by the Italians until France took it over, and the combination of the two cultures was fascinating.
During his dinner at the Crêperie U San Carlu, he remembered how Simon Fitzgerald had described Harry Stanford. “He was the only man I’ve ever known who was totally without compassion…sadistic and vindictive.…”
Well, Harry Stanford is causing a hell of a lot of trouble even in death, Steve thought.
On his way to his hotel, Steve stopped at a newsstand to pick up a copy of the International Herald Tribune. The headline read: WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO THE STANFORD EMPIRE? He paid for the newspaper, and as he turned to leave, his eye was caught by the headlines in some of the other foreign papers on the stand. He picked them up and looked through them, stunned. Every single newspaper had frontpage stories about the death of Harry Stanford, and in each one of them, Capitaine Durer was prominently featured, his photograph beaming from the pages. So that’s what’s keeping him so busy! We’ll see about that.