Death at the Clos du Lac (18 page)

‘Rocco. You were in Pontoise yesterday afternoon, were you not?’ It sounded like a question, but since Massin must have already read Rocco’s report, it clearly wasn’t.

Rocco sat up in his chair, clamping the phone to his ear. He’d had a sleepless night and insufficient coffee to snap him fully awake yet, and the dead atmosphere of the office wasn’t helping. ‘That’s correct. I went to interview Stefan Devrye-Martin.’

‘I see. And how was he when you left him?’

Rocco experienced a frisson of unease. It was the kind of circumlocutory question Massin liked to ask which, if he wasn’t careful, could land him in trouble. Yet what sort of trouble? Beyond the usual felon’s protests when suspected of almost any crime on the planet, Stefan hadn’t complained about his treatment yesterday. So what had changed the situation?

‘He was fine. We talked, he told me what he knew about the Clos du Lac, and I left. It’s all in my report. Why?’

‘Because Stefan Devrye-Martin, he of the faked death in Thailand, really
is
dead this time.’

‘What happened?’ Rocco felt the ground drop away beneath his feet.

‘A fire gutted most of the house, although a local doctor thinks Devrye-Martin might have had a heart attack. But there was a second deceased person present; this one with a gunshot wound to the head. His name was Alain Préault, a local thug and petty thief. The neighbours said he and Devrye-Martin – not the name they knew him as, of course – seemed to be friends. I was hoping you might be able to shed some light.’

‘No. I can’t.’ It was a set-up. He knew it, could feel it in his bones. People like Stefan and Préault didn’t fall out – or if they did, Stefan wasn’t the sort to win out over a streetwise thug. There was surely only one question to be answered. ‘What about a gun?’

‘Well, that’s where it gets interesting. Devrye-Martin was holding a small calibre handgun. A Unique, according to the local captain – a pocket gun. The barrel had been machined to take some kind of screw attachment.’

That could mean only one thing: a suppressor. A killer’s close-up weapon. But that didn’t make sense. Unless …

‘It wasn’t Stefan who shot him,’ said Rocco with certainty. ‘I doubt he’s ever held a gun in his life, much less had the balls to kill a street thug with one.’

‘What are you suggesting?’

‘Someone else was there. Someone who went to clean up a mess.’

There was a brief silence, then Massin said, ‘I think I need an extra paragraph or two for your report, Inspector.
You had better come up with something concrete – and quickly. This is beginning to look ugly.’

Rocco was surprised. ‘You’re going to send it in?’

‘Is there any reason why I shouldn’t?’

‘Because I thought you, along with ISD, wanted me off this case.’

‘I don’t control ISD, Inspector – and they do not control me. In fact I resent their interference. But they have influence in the Ministry and clearly have their reasons for shutting you out of the investigation into the death in the therapy pool.’

‘Reasons which need to come out.’

‘That may be true. But we’re running out of time with this and I’m not sure how much longer I can delay them. Sooner or later, they will get their way and the case will be closed … or you will be compromised.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘I’ve had calls suggesting that this Clos du Lac business has been blown out of proportion by an officer seeking to make a reputation for himself and get posted back to Paris where he really wants to be. Is that true?’

Rocco didn’t hesitate. A few months ago, he’d have said yes. Back then, anything was better than this rural backwater where a man could feel himself dying of inactivity, away from the hustle and sheer speed of events and the adrenalin rush of high-level crime. But now he felt differently. Occasional contact with Michel Santer was good for his spirits, but it wasn’t a precursor for going back. He liked it here.

‘No. It’s not. But it confirms what I suspect: there’s some kind of conspiracy here. How deep, I don’t know, but there’s a lot more to this than I’ve uncovered.’

‘I hope you’re right. If it’s a safe house – an elaborate one, I grant you – for people being held by the justice system, even if outside the normal rules, then we have no case.’

‘I don’t think it’s as simple as that. Bending a few rules doesn’t get people killed. If there was anyone who’d be a target for a professional killer, it would be the gangster, Betriano. There must be a long line of people on both sides of the fence who’d love to stop him getting to court and spilling his guts. But the dead man was a civil servant who’d threatened to expose a scandal about foreign trade deals.’

‘Maybe. Just remember this, Inspector, in case you ever feel like going back to Clichy: Paris has plenty of Inspector Roccos, whereas this region needs the one it’s got.’

The phone went dead, leaving Rocco certain that just before the connection was cut, he’d heard something like a smile in Massin’s voice.

The phone rang again. He snatched it up. ‘Rocco.’

It was Santer. He sounded serious. ‘Lucas, your information’s correct: there is a man named Delombre who works for ISD. Bobo says he’s a tough guy –
un dur
– and not one to mix with. He’s Levignier’s errand boy, but he seems to come and go as he pleases.’

‘So what is he – a mercenary?’

‘Could be. He’s been around a fair bit recently, according to Bobo, so something must be cooking. Watch your back, my friend.’

Rocco replaced the phone. It was no surprise that ISD were using outsiders – if that’s what this Delombre was. There were all manner of reasons to use part-timers, or ‘deniables’, with no links to officialdom. It just made
Levignier’s scope of activities all the more interesting, especially if Delombre had some authority over people like Bezancourt and his men.

The phone again. It was proving to be a busy morning. ‘Rocco.’

There was a brief pause, then, ‘Inspector. It’s Jacqueline Roget.’

It took a moment or two for the name to click into place.

‘Have you had your shoe mended?’ He wondered for a split second how she had found him, then realised that with her connections, it couldn’t have been simpler.

‘I still owe you a coffee, Inspector. Remember?’ There was a hint of a smile in her voice. ‘But most of all an apology. I’m in the
Augustine
. I’m hoping you can spare me a few minutes.’

The
Augustine
. A nice restaurant here in the town centre. Five minutes away on foot. If he cared to go.

He started to tell her that he was too busy, but the phone was already dead.

‘It’s a long way to come for a coffee,’ he said, easing into a seat across from Jacqueline Roget. There were no other diners yet and the place was silent, save for a waiter laying tables for the lunchtime trade.

‘Worth it, though. I hope.’ There was no trace of coquetry in the words, and Jacqueline’s expression was carefully neutral, save for a slight pulse in her throat. An attack of nerves or was this another attempt to entrap him? ‘In any case, my aunt lives not far from here; I thought I’d call on her at the same time.’

Rocco waited as she poured coffee from a silver pot, and added cream when he nodded. It gave him a chance to study her. She wore a dark-green silk blouse beneath what looked like a jacket of soft doeskin. A gold necklace hung at her throat, disappearing beneath the blouse and offset by the remains of a tan. She looked even more attractive than she had the other evening, and he detected a look of
humour in her eyes that street lights would have masked all too clearly.

She edged the sugar bowl towards him and sat back, hands folded in her lap. ‘Don’t you know it’s impolite to stare?’

‘It’s even more impolite to deceive an innocent man.’

A smile touched her lips. ‘OK. I deserve that. May I call you Lucas?’

‘Of course. May I call you Jacqueline?’

‘That would be nice.’

‘You said something about an apology.’

She frowned, although whether at the change in tone or remembering the business that had brought them together, he wasn’t clear. ‘Yes. That. I’m sorry about the other evening. It was crude and clumsy, and I should have had nothing to do with it.’

‘So why did you? Or were you following orders?’

‘Yes.’ No hesitation. It sounded like the truth. ‘I was instructed to find out why you were visiting Pascal Rotenbourg. I was told you were a policeman, but acting in a private capacity. Was that true?’

‘No. I don’t have a private capacity. Who are you working for?’

She looked away. ‘You know I can’t tell you that.’

‘Fair enough. Let me throw a name in the air. If you don’t run screaming out into the street, I’ll know I’m right. Is it ISD?’

Her mouth opened in surprise. ‘As I said—’

‘I know. You can’t tell me.’ He waved a hand to indicate their presence here. ‘Is this just another assignment for you? Is the waiter your backup in case I start throwing crockery?
Because this is tiresome and Levignier should know better.’

He began to rise, but Jacqueline lifted a hand to stop him. ‘Please, Inspector. Lucas? Don’t go.’ Her cheeks were red, and he wondered if she was as tough as he’d first thought. ‘I came here to apologise.’

‘Why?’ He sat down again.

‘Because I feel I was used … to get close to you. And that doesn’t mean,’ she added quickly, ‘what you might think. I don’t do that sort of work.’

‘I’m pleased to hear it. What do you do?’

She glanced across at the waiter, before leaning forward slightly. ‘Nothing very important. Liaison, mostly, between departments and government, and research, of course. Occasionally, as a go-between … and sometimes a means of gathering information.’

‘Like the other evening?’

She smiled briefly. ‘Well, that didn’t exactly scream success, did it? I decided to act innocent, and it was the only scenario I could come up with at short notice.’

He nodded and took another sip of coffee. It was lukewarm. ‘And the heel – whose idea was that?’

She frowned. ‘Nobody’s. It broke, really.’ She stared at him. ‘You think I did that deliberately?’

‘Yes. I’m sorry. What about the two men in the Renault?’

For the first time, she looked angry. ‘They were supposed to be there to make sure I was safe. I didn’t realise until you saw them how it must have looked. I’m sorry.’

‘Two apologies.’ Rocco smiled. ‘I’m impressed. Your father clearly taught you well. All part of the diplomatic service culture, I suppose.’

‘My fath—?’ She sat up. ‘How do you know about him?’

He pushed the cup away. ‘Because I’m a cop. I ask questions and I find answers. What else did Levignier tell you?’

‘God, was I that bad?’ She had the good grace to look sheepish. ‘He told me that you were investigating a death and he wanted to know more, but couldn’t find out through the usual channels.’

‘And you accepted that?’

‘Of course. Much of our work is by its nature confidential, even secret. The moment we show an official interest, it ceases to be so.’

He nodded. It sounded reasonable … at a stretch. ‘But you don’t know why he’s taking an interest? Or why me talking to Pascal Rotenbourg is something to concern him?’

‘No. It’s not as if Levignier confides in me. I simply follow orders.’ She looked away in confusion. She had a very nice profile, he found himself thinking. Soft skin, slightly tanned, no blemishes. He remembered the smell of her perfume.

Then he realised she was staring at him. ‘I’m sorry.’ It was his turn to feel confused. She was looking very grave. ‘I don’t wish to sound rude, but you haven’t said why you felt the need to apologise. You could have said nothing, and I wouldn’t have given it another thought.’ He realised how ungallant that sounded and added, ‘Well, maybe a little.’

She gave a trace of a smile before replying, then said, ‘Levignier has always been … remote with me and others on my level. But there has been talk – the way there always is talk around any office.’

‘What about?’

She shrugged. ‘About men, and what they do … or say. He has a reputation for going after young interns.’

‘And you?’

‘Until the other evening, no. I knew him, of course, from contact with other officers and from a remark he made about my father, whom he claimed to admire. But I wasn’t aware that he had singled me out in any specific way. I receive my orders from a head of department.’

‘But this time?’

‘He called me himself and gave me my instructions. It was unusual, but at the time I didn’t think anything of it. I assumed it was the normal way to test employees in the field ready for other assignments.’ She toyed with a gold bracelet on her wrist. ‘He told me what I had to do, and insisted on having my report in person that evening, after I’d … we’d … met. I had to go to his apartment in Robineau, near the Jardin du Luxembourg.’

‘Expensive place to live.’

‘Yes. He has family money, I hear.’ She shivered slightly, and he asked if she was cold. She shook her head. ‘No, it’s … just that when I got there, it was as if he already knew it hadn’t been a success, and wasn’t interested, anyway.’ She looked straight at Rocco. ‘I’m sorry – this must seem silly to you, but it was creepy. I think he wanted – no, expected – me to stay the night. As if it was part of my duty.’

‘What did he say?’

‘That’s just it. He didn’t. But he was very close … and touching me, whereas before, nothing. I know when a man is trying it on, Lucas. The signals were very clear and he even sounded a little drunk, although I don’t think he was.’

‘What happened?’

‘Nothing. I felt uncomfortable, so I decided to get out. I haven’t seen him since.’ She paused, then added, ‘And
the men he sent to be with me that evening. They were not there for my security after all.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘I saw one of them three days ago, walking into our building. He was wearing a visitor’s badge, which told me he wasn’t a direct department employee. I asked a colleague if he knew him, and he said I should not involve myself. He said this man does “arm’s length” work for the department. When I asked what kind of work, he wouldn’t say, but hinted that men like that do not play nice. I took that to mean they use violent methods.’

‘And you’re OK with that?’

‘How could I be? It doesn’t sound right but I’d be a fool if I pretended governments don’t use irregular methods. Governments and the people working for them.’

‘You mean Levignier.’

‘Yes. He’s a patriot and makes no secret of it. Duty is everything to him.’ She nudged her coffee cup a centimetre or two away. ‘I’m glad you didn’t have to see what he might be capable of. But you should be careful.’

‘Why? Does he carry a grudge?’

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘That would be too personal. But I hear he has a man who does.’

‘What’s this man’s name?’

‘Delombre. But that’s all I know about him. People tend to avoid him – he has that kind of aura.’

‘I’ll bear it in mind.’ That name again. The man was in danger of becoming a bogeyman. ‘So what now?’ He knew he was probably being dense, but he still couldn’t see why Jacqueline was here, other than perhaps to assuage a sense of guilt about the other evening.

‘Now, I’m going to visit my aunt.’ She stood up, a fluid movement full of grace, and smoothed her skirt. ‘I’ve already paid for the coffee. It was my treat, after all.’ She gave a fleeting smile. ‘I hope there are no hard feelings.’

‘None at all.’

Rocco instantly felt … what did he feel? It was odd. As if he’d missed something important, something crying out for attention. He stood, too, nearly upsetting the table and making the coffee cups rattle.

Jacqueline walked to the door, then turned suddenly and said, ‘My aunt Celestine lives in Poix. Do you know it? She joined an artists’ community there many years ago, but it’s long been disbanded. She lives near the church, in a house with a small turret. She’s my family’s black sheep.’ She stopped speaking. ‘Sorry. I’m gabbling.’

Rocco felt a tightness in his chest. He glared at the waiter, who had moved to open the door for them. The man scuttled away out of earshot, grabbing a tray of cutlery as he went.

‘I know Poix – but not well. How long are you in the area?’

Jacqueline lifted an eyebrow, and he detected a glow of amusement in her eyes. ‘A couple of days. Not more.’ She leant forward suddenly and kissed him, a brush of soft skin against his cheek. Her breath was warm on his face and he enjoyed the sensation of her nearness.

Then she was gone.

Across the street, a man bent over a street map at a café table looked up surreptitiously as Jacqueline Roget emerged from the
Augustine
. He dumped the remnants of his marc into his coffee and swallowed it in one. He got
ready to leave, making sure he remained in the shadow of a parasol, and watched as Roget strode down the street, admiring her long legs and neat figure. Some men were born lucky, he figured wryly, and this man Rocco must have been conceived under a magic star. Quite how he came to be friendly with a woman like Jacqueline Roget of the ISD was a mystery, but that was somebody else’s problem to sort out, not his.

He ducked his head as Rocco himself came out of the restaurant and stood scanning the street. He doubted the inspector would pick him out, even this close. He’d been working surveillance for many years, in all manner of settings, and had never been made yet. But he still didn’t want to take the risk. From what he’d heard on the grapevine, Rocco wasn’t a man to tangle with.

As soon as Rocco was on the move, the watcher stood up and walked inside the café, heading for the telephone on the back wall.