Roth

By TL Bartusch

Set in Paris, London and on the banks of the River Cher in the royal heart of France, Roth is a contemporary thriller based on real events that took place in 19th century Paris when the obsessive need that still drives rich philatelic collectors to acquire the specimens they want at any cost, led one French collector to murder another for an 1851 two cent Hawaiian Missionary stamp.
Victor Roth, a criminal intelligence officer at Interpol, knows that when you chase a successful forger you're chasing a ghost. Roth is an analyst and leaves the legwork to the real police, not only because he hates working in the field, but the chances of finding a successful forger are just about nil. When Roth is brought in to advise on an English counterfeiting case, he has no illusions that this time the outcome will be any different.
The case spreads its tendrils to Paris where Roth works and enjoys a life of privilege among the powerful and influential in the French government, diplomatic circles and rich collectors of the things that make Roth's world go round: very rare stamps, the kind that can sell for millions of dollars.
Roth is well aware that although philately is known as the hobby of kings, it's not considered a sexy look to be a philatelist. But Victor, a man of culture, wealth and rock and roll good looks, had defied the odds. No-one he met would dare to lump him in with philately's less than sexy image.
Philately is not only Roth's specialty, it's his passion and when a specimen of the rare two cent Hawaiian Missionary goes up for auction he suspects the anonymous seller's motives. It all comes very close to home, and Victor is drawn out of the office and into the real world of high level organised crime, where not only the police are hunting the forger, but the bodies begin to accumulate and Roth himself becomes a target.

• Language: English
• Publisher: TL Bartusch
• Release date: Jun 21, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311939357

TL Bartusch

T.L. Bartusch holds degrees in Arts and Law, practised as a litigator now writes full time in the thriller genre. TL is interested in the increasing sophistication of organised crime, particularly in art forgery and philately. Other interests examined in the Roth books are political corruption, indiscriminate information gathering and that moment of choosing one course over another that can end in tragedy.

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ROTH

T.L. Bartusch

Copyright 2014 T.L. Bartusch

Cover design: T.L. Bartusch

Published at Smashwords.com

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. It remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, whether living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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Do we believe in first impressions? We shouldn't because they can be misleading and deceptive. People and things are not always what they appear to be, just as we often hide our true feelings from ourselves. Both are simple propositions and eventually we come to know the truth of them, but at times knowledge comes at a price.

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Author's Note

ROTH is set in Paris and its principal characters are French. They work in French national law enforcement agencies — the National Central Bureau of Interpol, the Direction Centrale de la Police Judiciaire, the Judicial Police, and the French Secret Service, the DGSI, which has a similar role within France to the British MI5. All of these agencies operate very differently to their U.S. or British counterparts.

French criminal procedure is also very different and fascinating, to me at least, perhaps because I trained and practised as a lawyer.

Because of its setting, some of the language and terms used in the novel are also French, including forms of address such as Monsieur, abbreviated to M. and Madame, rather than Mr. or Mrs. Place and street names are in their French form.

A short explanation of the agencies that play a role in the novel may be helpful. Interpol is an international police organisation that operates out of a state of the art facility in Lyon, in eastern France. Lyon is a command centre and data bank for the world's police forces, using what it describes as ‘high-tech infrastructure of technical and operational support', to aid its 190 member countries in fighting crime.

Member countries are represented by their own National Central Bureaux, (NCBs) which often operate as part of the country's national police force.

Victor Roth works in France's NCB, located in the Ministry of the Interior building at 11 rue des Saussaies, 75008 Paris. Lyon and the NCBs employ experienced police and experts to carry out its investigations, but Interpol's criminal investigation officers do not have any arrest powers, nor do they carry guns.

In France there are two national police forces, the Judicial Police who are responsible for investigating serious crime, and the gendarmerie which handles the rest and also operates in the provinces.

In ROTH, the Paris office of Interpol works with the Direction Centrale de la Police Judiciaire the ‘Judicial Police’, also located in the Ministry of the Interior building in Paris' 8th arrondissement.

French police operate under the provisions of French Criminal Procedure which is an inquisitorial system and aims, unlike the English adversarial system, to arrive at the truth of what happened when a crime was committed, rather than putting the prosecution to proof of the facts.

In their investigations French police are responsible to either a prosecutor, examining magistrate or investigating judge, depending upon the seriousness of the crime. The judge, magistrate or prosecutor takes an active role in directing the investigation.

The role of the police is to prepare a dossier of evidence, but at all times they must refer to the supervising prosecutor or investigating judge who will, if necessary, interview witnesses or suspects under oath and issue authorities for searches and other elements of the investigation.

The French system imposes a legal obligation on suspects and witnesses alike to give a full account of the facts and circumstances in which the offence occurred. At least during the investigation stage, that requirement removes the right to silence. Failing to fully co-operate can reflect badly on an accused person when the matter comes to trial.

The National Crime Agency, UK, ‘NCA’ became operational in October 2013 with the mission to lead the UK's fight to cut serious and organised crime. According to its website:

‘The NCA has a wide remit….to tackle serious and organised crime, strengthen our borders, fight fraud and cyber crime, and protect children and young people from sexual abuse and exploitation.  

‘We provide leadership in these areas through our organised crime, border policing, economic crime and CEOP commands, the National Cyber Crime Unit and specialist capability teams.

‘The NCA works closely with partners to deliver operational results. We have an international role to cut serious and organised crime impacting on the UK through our network of international liaison officers.’

TLB

June 2014

Chapter 1

The windows of Victor Roth's apartment overlooked a short, quiet street where, at its end, a flight of stairs led to the Cemetery of St Vincent, a tranquil, stone walled monument to past lives, hidden behind a row of shops on rue Caulaincort, on the unfashionable side of Montmartre.

There were times when Victor thought he might just end up as a permanent guest of his saintly neighbour, cut off in his prime by one of the gangs of organised criminals it was his business to hunt. But Victor was not only good at his job. He was an optimist and at thirty eight, at the top of his profession and frankly enjoying the game of wits he played with the most talented and creative of the lawbreaking classes.

He lived by the maxim that if he was smart enough, he'd get them before they got him. On this Monday morning he held the same view, although he had to admit that his bosses at France's National Central Bureau of Interpol were of a more nervous disposition.

As he stood at the window of his salon drinking a coffee he felt tired. He'd been working until early in the morning and flexed his shoulders to ease the stiffness that remained after his shower. With little sleep and more than a little regret that it was already Monday, he went to his room to finish dressing.

Roth's suits were made in Savile Row by a firm that had served his grandfather. The rest of his clothes were equally fine and he was fortunate in possessing the rare quality of appearing completely at home in them. So, when he chose his tie for the day, a yellow silk number dotted with a design of multi-coloured hot air balloons, he got away with it, where lesser mortals may have looked as though they were trying too hard or just ridiculous.

As he tied the knot and settled his collar, he smiled at the thought of his boss's inevitable irritation when he saw it. He pulled on his suit jacket and pocketed a slim wallet, his Interpol identification and a phone. He jiggled a ring of keys in his hand as he walked to the front door.

In the entrance hall the concierge, Madame Villet, was sweeping the floor. As he stepped into the foyer she stopped and waved the broom in his general direction.

'Mr Roth, I…'

Without pausing Victor said, 'Not now, Madame,' and went out and stepped onto his Ducati which rumbled to life at a touch. It was a short journey to his office in the Ministry of the Interior in the 8th Arrondissement, the French hub of government and power.

Today he was at the end of a long case and Victor looked forward to finishing his report into a ring of forgers doctoring stolen passports. When that was done he could start reading a backlog of more interesting material that had accumulated on his desk.

Aimée, Director Beck's assistant, was waiting for him at the top of the stairs. Not a promising start to Victor's day.

'I rang your mobile phone. You didn't pick up.'

'I was on the bike.'

'He wants to see you.'

Victor looked down at her and smiled. She smiled back, enjoying the attention of the man none of his many women seemed able to tame. 'It's probably because of that.'

Victor looked across the open plan office, over the many desks where his colleagues, who should have been settling into their day's work, were gathering their coats and bags and streaming back toward the lift and stairs. 'Well, that's new. What's going on?'

'He's ordered an evacuation. Everyone has to go out through the back. I don't know why. Some hoax, I suppose.'

Roth turned to look through the glass wall of Beck's office that fronted the street, where he could see the Director's broad back and cigarette smoke hanging above his head. 'He's smoking again. I thought he gave it up.'

'He had a call from Lyon about half an hour ago. That set him off. He's upset for some reason. There'll be smoke coming out of his ears before long.'

'Well, we'd better go and see what's going on.'

Aimée moved away toward the stairs, 'He's in a foul mood and you probably caused it. I'm off.'

Smart girl, Roth said to himself as she disappeared into the stairwell. The question he asked himself was what have I done now?

It was about forty feet to Beck's door and Victor hoped he could cover the ground before he was seen. Trying to appear innocent was more difficult if Beck's large brown eyes were boring into him, and as Victor had no idea what his Director wanted he hoped his honest ignorance would deflect the worst of his Chief's legendary temper.

As he reached the office and pushed the door handle, Beck turned and shouted, 'and where have you been, visiting your tailor?'

Victor went in and threw himself into the Director's visitor's chair, crossed one leg over the other and dropped his hands to his lap. 'Having a coffee, actually. Why are you still here? Shouldn't you be outside?'

Beck picked up a plastic evidence envelope from the desk and threw it at Victor who caught it with one hand.

'What's this?'

'You've had another death threat.'

Victor reached forward to put the envelope back onto the desk. Beck wasn't having that. 'Read it.'

'Why? They're all the same.'

He picked up the envelope and shook it in front of Victor's face. 'It's not just this. The Assistant Director in Lyon rang, just to let me know, that at seven thirty this morning they received a bomb threat and he assumes it's to do with you, yet again.'

'Look, Alain…'

'It's Director Beck to you, Dr Roth, particularly when you continue to put this office, and now Lyon, in jeopardy.'

He leant forward, put his hands onto the desk and said with what Victor could only describe as icy fury, 'Because the threat is non-specific, except in relation to killing you off, the Assistant Director feels he has to take every precaution. So, despite the considerable inconvenience and disruption, the international headquarters of Interpol in Lyon is, at this moment being evacuated and searched - that's about eight hundred people by the way - because you probably pissed off the Italian mafia. They're good with a bomb.'

Victor opened his lips to speak. Beck held up a hand. 'And, Dr Roth, as you may have noticed, this building is also being emptied of personnel, all of whom have better things to do than stand around outside in the police carpark. God knows how long we'll be shut down while the bloody cops search the place. Hours lost….'

Completely misinterpreting Beck's mood Victor laughed and said, 'I thought that was my job…'

'What?'

'Pissing off the mafia…'

Whatever Beck was about to shout back at Victor was lost as a wave of sound and furious air hit the windows behind him. Glass shattered, the timber window frames ripped out of the stone walls, sending shards of glass and wood through the air. Beck was knocked off his feet and flung across the desk, landing with a thump on the floor.

Roth had ducked then thrown himself out of the chair, flattening himself against the solid front of the desk. The glass wall to the main office cracked as everything on the desk, the chair Roth had been sitting in and Beck's coat stand was lifted and blown against it. The glass wall hung for a moment, looking very much like a spider web trembling in the wind and then shattered and dropped, collapsing in upon itself.

Roth covered his head as Beck's stuff careered around the room which seemed to be disintegrating. Ceiling plaster fell in explosions of white dust coating his dark suit while the carpet was showered with piles of things that had become remnants of themselves; objects blasted and reduced to sharp, unrecognisable pieces.

He could hear Beck breathing beside him as they huddled together at the front of the desk, hands over their heads. As the force of the blast was spent, dust, papers and particles of debris floated in what remained of the room as they released their hands and lifted their heads to test the air which had, at last, stopped moving.

Victor couldn't help himself. 'I guess it was real this time.'

Beck slapped him on the back of the head and then pulled himself to his feet, adjusting the slightly bulging waistband of his trousers. Victor rubbed his skull, stood up and started to dust himself down as Beck said, 'One of these days Victor, they're going to get you.'

'But not today, Alain. Not today.'

The Police later told Beck, who didn't need to be told because it was his office that took the brunt of the blast, that the bomb, which had been set off remotely, had exploded just below his windows in the narrow street outside. Fortunately there'd been time to evacuate the buildings nearby and no civilians were injured while a few shop fronts had been destroyed. Luckily it had been a small device. Anything larger would have done real damage. Upstairs the office was a mess. Again, injuries were few. As Beck told his staff who were standing around outside, 'we've been lucky.'

There were a few cuts and bruises and lumps on heads. Beck's shirt was ripped to shreds and slivers of glass were embedded in his back while Roth's left cheek was cut and needed stitches. Beck leant into Victor's still ringing ears and said, 'After you see the doctor go upstairs, the police are waiting to talk to you. And you'd better be helpful or I'll come up there and tell them to lock you up for being a prick.'

Roth didn't enjoy the half hour he spent with the police surgeon who probed the wound in his cheek to make sure nothing was lodged inside. The wound bled onto his already filthy shirt while he waited for the doctor to put in three painful stitches.

'Don't you believe in anaesthetic?'

'Oh, harden up and keep still.'

The doctor's ministrations over, Roth stopped the sadistic surgeon before he could slap a band aid on his cheek and escaped to go upstairs to the detectives' office. Glass was blown out on several floors and littered the stairwell. It crunched under his shoes as he climbed to the office of the Judicial Police.

The difference between Interpol and the police was never more obvious to Roth than on that day. From what remained of the windows, he could see uniformed gendarmes blocking off the street, interviewing witnesses and seeing the injured off to the hospital, while Interpol would be doing what it does best - bringing its intellectual and technical expertise to bear on any investigation that crosses national borders.

Every piece of information the police and security services collected that day and in the immediate future would be sent to Lyon for analysis. Interpol's criminal investigators working in Terrorism and Organized Crime would assist the Paris police with their investigation.

While the investigation went on, Roth knew he'd be stuck in the detectives' dreary office answering endless questions asked by a detective who, Roth hated to admit, did seem to know what she was doing. It would be a long day and he remembered he'd had no breakfast.

'Any chance of a roll and a coffee?'

Cool grey eyes framed by dark hair fixed on him. 'Of course, and while we're out there running around meeting your every need, we'll have your suit cleaned and pressed.'

Victor met her eyes and noticed for the first time that she was only small and what he'd describe as perfectly formed and young, about thirty. Her clothes were simple and well cut. He put her legs and derrière in the excellent class.

A very nice package, he thought, but baulked at the crack about his suit and wondered why everyone was having a go at him. He smiled his most infuriating smile. 'Thanks. I think I'd rather go home and change. There are more of them in the wardrobe.'

Detective Marianne Fauchard smiled back. 'Thank you, Officer Roth for that glimpse into your pointless private life. I know it'll be a strain, but if you bear with us for a little longer we'll finish our questions so we can find out who tried to kill you.'

He smiled again and shrugged his shoulders. 'If you must.'

The questions were pointless. Victor already knew who they were looking for. While the doctor was being less than gentle with his cheek, he'd given a lot of thought to whether any of the scum he'd dealt with recently had the intestinal fortitude to take the extra step and actually set off a bomb.

Only one case came into his mind. The interview he'd had with an Italian counterfeiter before the police took him away to spend a significant period of time banged up with his peers. Although Roth could enlighten the beautiful detective, he decided that would spoil her fun and curtail his pleasure in watching her move around the room. In any event, he thought she probably enjoyed a traditional investigation - interviews, reading all his case files, bringing in suspects for questioning and having endless meetings with investigators from Lyon. Yes, he thought, she'll love all that.

He settled in for the rest of the morning, kept his view as to who was responsible for creating all this work for the lovely detective to himself, and was as helpful as it was necessary to be. As soon as he was released from the detective's very beautiful clutches he returned to the ruins of Beck's office where the Director was on the phone.

Roth leant against the wall and waited. Finally Beck, who was a picture in a fresh set of clothes, finished the call and gently replaced the receiver. 'What?'

'I know who we're looking for.'

Beck gently leant back in his chair, taking care with his bandaged back, and carefully crossed his feet on the desk. 'Have you told Detective Fauchard?'

'No, I thought you might like to.'

Beck smiled for the first time that day. 'Go on.'

'I will… but you've changed your clothes…' He looked down with disgust at his blood smeared shirt and dusty suit.

'Sylvie. She saw the report on television. I had to reassure her I was all right and she sent these in. It was so considerate of her. You should get yourself a wife, Roth. You don't know what you're missing.'

Victor knew exactly what he was missing and didn't want any part of it. The constant presence of another person meddling in his life wasn't something he wanted, or needed. He came back to what he'd come in to say.

'The bombers,' he said, 'it's the Martellis, that gang of Italian counterfeiters making fake designer handbags and shoes. You remember, we broke them up last year. Two of the brothers are still on the run. One of them swore he'd get even with me. I have no idea why. You'd think I'd ruined the family business or something.' He paused before saying, 'They're not mafia, just ordinary crooks.'

'They're part of a gang out of Turin, aren't they?'

'Genoa.'

'Yes, well that's excellent work. Thank you for that intelligence, Officer Roth.'

Beck took out a cigarette and lit it. He took a deep pull, blowing the smoke out the now gaping window frames, as Roth became more than a little suspicious that his boss was playing with him.

His suspicions were confirmed when Beck said, 'We arrested them half an hour ago, out in some dinghy suburb.'

'We don't arrest people, Alain.'

'Not usually. I think it's fun to keep a hand in.'

'I wouldn't know.'

Beck ignored Victor's reference to his lack of policing experience. 'We offered the Police an incident response team and they accepted. We took the bastards in Pantin. They'd left their car there, with its Italian plates, near the Metro. It was, as you can appreciate, quite conspicuous, particularly as they made straight for it from the train. It was less than a challenge to grab them.'

Victor waited for the rest. Beck took his time as he smoked. 'Lyon tracked them on the security cameras just outside. Immediately after the explosion our bombers took off as though their Mammas were calling. Pitiful.'

'So they managed to get on a train?'

'Well, with the police heading toward the blast no-one seemed to be paying any attention to who was running away.' Victor looked disappointed. Beck nodded as though agreeing that the local gendarmes were fools. 'To be fair, there were a lot of people going in the same direction.'

'Did Lyon use photo matching?'

'Yes, and everything else they had. The boss wasn't happy about us being attacked, as he put it. So, despite the evacuation they'd kept the control room operating and had been running a scan of your files for nearly an hour so they had profiles of likely targets by the time they started on the security camera footage. After that it was relatively easy, comparing file pictures with the faces in the street. What we didn't count on was them getting lost.'

'What?' Victor asked, 'Our brilliant assassins couldn't find their way around the Metro?

'Have a heart. The poor clods are from Genoa.'

'So Lyon had to check all the cameras in the stations between here and Pantin?'

Beck nodded. 'We had them getting on a train going east so we could limit the search area, but our brilliant criminals forgot to change trains.' He laughed. 'Tourists.'

'What did they use for the bomb?'

'Nothing fancy, just a couple of gas cylinders hidden in bins on the footpath. If they'd used a few more it could have been a lot worse.'

'Have you told them upstairs?'

'Well, the bosses know. I don't know about Detective Fauchard. She's pretty conscientious, I didn't want to interrupt.' They both laughed at the detective's expense. 'I left it to Lyon to give them the details. They like to spread good news and hold press conferences, I don't.'

'What about lunch?' Victor asked.

'Are you buying?'

'Of course.'

'In about an hour. You should clean yourself up first and lose that tie, it's ….'

'What?'

'Bloody annoying.'

Victor was pleased at provoking the expected response from Beck. 'You have no taste and you know it.' As he went out what remained of the door he said, 'I'm going home to change.'

Upstairs, Detective Fauchard had watched Victor leave the interview room, taking in every detail of his strong and, she had to agree with the gossip in the office, gorgeous frame. She'd decided he was more than decorative.