Death on the Rive Nord

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

‘I found someone.’ Claude spoke with a casual air but Rocco could tell he was pleased with himself. He’d rung just as Rocco was about to leave for the office. Feeling frustrated at the lack of progress, he was thinking about the canal again. It had all begun there, and it was the one place from which they had so far gained no help whatsoever. He needed something — anything — to help move this case forward.

‘Good for you,’ Rocco replied. ‘You deserve some happiness. I hope she’s a great cook.’

‘Not that kind of someone — I mean a witness who saw a truck parked near the canal a couple of nights before the body turned up. I put out some feelers around the villages and he just rang. I think he’s hoping for a reward.’

Rocco stopped and sat down. This was too good to be true. Out of all the nights on all the roads in all of France, Claude had found ‘Who and where?’ he said, and dragged a pad towards him.

‘His name’s Raoul Etcheverry and he lives in Autrey — that’s a village five kilometres from Poissons on the opposite side to where the dead guy turned up. He claims he saw a truck right where we found the bloodstains and the tracks.’

‘Raoul Etcheverry.’ Rocco rolled the name around on his tongue while he wrote. ‘Elegant name for these parts.’

‘Elegant name for any parts. He’s a retired veterinary surgeon from Lille. He’s also a semi-professional card player. Maybe I could get him to teach me a thing or two.’

‘How,’ said Rocco, ‘does a retired vet and semi-pro gambler find himself in the right place to see a truck in the middle of nowhere?’ He was sceptical about sightings such as these, and all too accustomed to people keen to help the police but finding their imaginations or memories working beyond what was a strictly correct recollection of what they had witnessed. But such offers always had to be investigated; even a tiny clue was better than nothing, and it was often the unremarkable point which witnesses considered unimportant that carried the day.

‘Easy. Every Tuesday and Thursday, he goes to play poker with a group of other enthusiasts in Amiens. The game goes on until the small hours. He was on his way home at about three, and saw a truck parked at the side of the road.’

‘Did he get the registration?’

‘Yes.’

‘What?’ Rocco wondered if this was going to be a glorified wild goose chase. It really was too good to be true. Yet stranger things had happened — and finding the truck again would be a major breakthrough. Criminals weren’t above torching a vehicle involved in a crime if there was even a remote chance that it could be traced. ‘How the hell did he do that?’

‘He’s a card player. He’s used to numbers. Haven’t you ever played?’

‘Yes, I have.’ Rocco’s card playing, though, was limited to days gone by in the army and his early days in the police, when it was used as a hedge against the boredom of inactivity between duty calls.

‘So, you know it’s all about remembering number sequences. It’s what he does.’

Rocco stood up. ‘Where is he? I need to meet him.’

‘Actually, on his way to Amiens. He’s visiting a friend, and I suggested he might drop by later to make a statement.’

Rocco made a mental note to get Claude some recognition for this. It was too common among some officers to look down on their rural colleagues, and he wanted Claude to get out from under that mantle of low regard. By anyone’s standards, this was good police work.

By midday, Rocco was seated in an interview room facing Etcheverry, a former vet, now gambler and seemingly upright citizen.

‘Thank you for coming in, Mr Etcheverry,’ he said cordially, ‘and agreeing to make a statement. How did you hear about our enquiry?’ It was an ice-breaker, a device he’d found useful for settling nerves and establishing positions right from the off.

Etcheverry smiled and clasped two large hands together on the table between them. His fingernails, Rocco noted, were bitten down and slightly grubby, and his clothes had a down-at-heel appearance. A vet fallen on hard times, he decided. He was built like a bear, and made the chair creak when he moved, which made Rocco wonder at the manual dexterity required for veterinary work and playing cards, and how on earth this man coped with both. He decided he knew next to nothing about human motor skills and let it go.

‘Through a friend of a friend,’ Etcheverry replied warily. He had a soft, cultured voice and spoke very precisely, leaning forward with his eyes fixed firmly on Rocco’s. It was slightly unnerving this close, and Rocco guessed that intimidation probably played a natural part in the man’s approach to gambling. Mind games, they called it.

‘That’s very public-spirited of you.’

‘Well, one tries to be a good citizen.’ He grinned almost slyly and ducked his head. ‘One never knows when there might be some recompense, of course…’

Rocco let that go without taking the bait. Money seemed a big factor in this man’s life. ‘Perhaps you could tell me what you saw.’

‘Well, I told the other officer-’

‘Of course. But this is for the official record. I’ll also need you to sign the statement afterwards.’ He hesitated, then added pointedly, ‘So we know who has contributed to solving a case.’

Etcheverry’s eyes lit up, impressed at the idea of official recognition. He described how he had spent a very pleasant evening playing cards with ‘friends’, and on his way home saw a truck at the side of the road. He remembered the number and recited it carefully.

‘Amazing,’ Rocco complimented him, playing on his ego. He wrote down the number. ‘Is that what they call a photographic memory?’

‘Well, perhaps not that, exactly,’ Etcheverry smirked modestly. ‘I can’t recall vast passages of text like some, but it helped me get through veterinary college and allows me to play poker without losing my trousers.’ He sniggered at the idea. ‘Um… is there any kind of reward for information leading to an arrest?’

‘Maybe. Did you see anyone with or near the truck?’

‘A driver, you mean?’

‘Anyone. Inside or out. Taking a leak, checking the tyres.’

‘No. Sorry. To be honest, it was just a flash.’ He leant forward to explain, breathing a gust of peppermint over Rocco’s face. ‘I was in a hurry to get home to my little dog — an Italian greyhound. She gets a little anxious when I’m out, you see. Very highly strung, as a breed.’

Rocco crossed off the word ‘wife’, which he’d scribbled down as a question for later. Perhaps he’d lost her in a game of cards.

‘Go on.’

‘Well, I was lighting a cigarette at the time and… I was driving carefully, though.’ He looked suddenly less pleased with himself, as if he had said too much. ‘I’d only drunk modestly all evening.’

‘Of course. And?’

‘It was enough, though, for me to see the number. That was it. Oh, and it looked like a Berliet.’

Rocco lifted an eyebrow. ‘You know trucks?’

Etcheverry shrugged. ‘My father dealt in them.’ He sniffed and tapped nervously on the table. ‘You said there might be a reward.’

‘So I did. If it leads to an arrest.’ He allowed a few seconds to go by while he made random jottings on his pad. Etcheverry sat waiting, and the silence built in the room, save for the scratching of Rocco’s pen.

‘Did you win much?’ Rocco asked suddenly. ‘At the game?’

‘Actually, a nice pot-’ The retired vet stopped, blushing furiously. He’d said too much, lulled by Rocco’s tactics. He looked away, eyes flickering.

Rocco looked at him. ‘You’ve performed a valuable service, for which I thank you.’

Etcheverry sat up, face brightening. ‘Ah. Good. Glad to hear it.’

‘Now I’m going to perform one for you. Actually, two. I won’t pass your name to the tax authorities, nor am I going to report you to that department of the police which deals with gambling in public places. You were playing in a cafe the other night, I take it?’

‘Yes, but-’

‘Fair enough. You know it’s illegal to gamble in a public place unless sanctioned specifically by law?’

Etcheverry said nothing, his eyes rolling in shock. Greed had overtaken any natural caution he might have had. He nodded and stood up, then turned and left the room without a word. Rocco figured when he got outside and thought about it, he’d consider himself very lucky indeed.

Rocco handed his notes with the registration number to Desmoulins and asked him to put an immediate trace on the truck.