Death on the Rive Nord

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Rocco and Nicole talked long after the meal was over and Massi had been put to sleep in Rocco’s bedroom overlooking the rear garden. It was late for coffee but Rocco needed the boost of caffeine, so he put water on to boil and filled the percolator while Nicole checked on her son.

When she came back, she sat at the table watching him. She looked tired and he told her she should get some sleep.

‘I will,’ she said. ‘Soon enough.’ She nodded at the door to the attic. ‘What’s up there?’

‘Only the rats.’

‘ Rats?’ She looked alarmed. ‘How horrible!’

‘Fruit rats.’

‘Ah. Les fouines. I’ve heard of them. Are they dangerous?’

‘Only if you get between them and their next piece of fruit.’

‘You’ve never cleared them out?’

‘Why should I? They were here before me. I’ve got used to them, anyway. They don’t argue back.’

She giggled and watched as he poured coffee and added a measure of cognac from a bottle he’d taken from a cupboard.

‘For medicinal purposes,’ he explained. ‘It’ll help you relax.’

She didn’t argue, but sipped the coffee and nodded approvingly. ‘My grandmother always drank brandy when she was feeling unwell. She said it never failed.’ She glanced around the room and picked up a heavy Pernod ashtray from a sideboard. ‘Please, smoke if you wish. I don’t mind.’ She placed it before him.

‘I don’t, much. But thanks.’

‘Really? I thought all policemen smoked incessantly.’

He shrugged. ‘I have one occasionally.’

She glanced at the brandy bottle. ‘You drink, instead?’

‘Every now and then; a good Brouilly or a whisky, maybe. To be honest, it doesn’t do that much for me.’

She looked at him over the rim of her cup. ‘So what does do that much for you?’ Then she blushed furiously and put her cup down in confusion. ‘I’m sorry — that was… rude.’

‘No need to apologise,’ he replied, and wondered why he felt so tongue-tied. ‘I seem to spend most of my time working, and I only drink when I’m really stressed and can fall over safely. Does that make me boring?’

She shook her head, eyes unblinking and deep. She said softly, ‘No. Not at all.’

‘How did you know to come here?’ Rocco felt a rush of heat to his face and wished he hadn’t asked such a dumb question. They had been this close all evening, but now, with just the two of them, the space seemed to have shrunk dramatically and he was acutely aware of her perfume.

She gave a shiver as if uncomfortable at being dragged back to reality. ‘I asked at the shop. I told the woman I needed a policeman and had heard there was one in the village. At first she told me about the garde champetre but I said I needed the inspector. She sent me straight down here.’ She paused before adding, ‘I made sure there was no… family, before I came.’

Rocco nodded. A wife might have complicated matters, an attractive young woman and a child turning up out of the blue like that. It explained the bizarre attitude of Mme Drolet at the co-op earlier. Jesus, were they all in league and trying to marry him off?

‘Your neighbour was very sweet. She was a bit unsure at first, but with Massi in the car, she knew I wasn’t here to harm you. It must be nice to have people looking after you in this way.’

They stared at each other, both blinking at a skittering sound overhead. And suddenly, the moment, if there had been one, was gone.

‘Where is your car?’ He hadn’t seen the Peugeot outside; he’d have remembered it too easily.

‘In the first shed. It was just big enough. I thought… maybe it would be less embarrassing for you if I was discreet.’

The shed. One of two he never used. ‘It’s fine,’ he said. ‘So what made you come?’

She explained about the gossip she’d picked up, how the gangster known among the Algerian community as ‘Farek’ was on his way and looking for his runaway wife and child. How word would have gone out to look for a woman and boy travelling alone.

‘Someone will have already spoken, I’m certain,’ she explained. ‘Maybe even one of the men I travelled with. I couldn’t take the chance of staying with Amina and putting her in danger.’ She shrugged, turning her cup slowly on the tabletop. ‘Actually, I didn’t know where else to go. When we met up on the hill, you made this place sound so remote, so… safe.’

Rocco reached for the phone and dialled Claude’s number. Poissons might be safe normally, but he wasn’t betting on it remaining so for long. He’d known other fugitives who had tried hiding in remote locations, only to have a face appear like a long-forgotten bad memory and bring the past hurtling back at them.

‘It’s Lucas,’ he said when Claude answered. ‘I need your help.’

‘Of course. I’ll come now.’ Just like that. No questions, no arguments.

‘The local garde, Claude Lamotte,’ Rocco explained to Nicole. ‘He’s a good man. If a strange duck flies over the village, he’ll know immediately.’

They waited until the familiar clatter of a 2CV stopped outside, followed by the tinny slamming of a door. Rocco let him in.

‘Evening.’ Claude nodded at Nicole and shook hands. He seemed unsurprised to see her here and Rocco guessed that word had already got out. Rocco the resident cop has a female visitor. Watch this space.

‘Nicole Farek,’ said Rocco, ‘Claude Lamotte.’

‘Farek? Ah, of course.’ Claude demonstrating that he was a man of the world and knew what was what. He looked longingly at the percolator, so Rocco poured him a cup, adding a generous measure of cognac. Then he explained about Samir Farek’s journey from Oran and the likelihood that the gang leader would pitch up in the area before very long.

‘You really think he will find this place?’ Claude looked doubtful. ‘How?’

‘Because he has a network of people looking,’ said Nicole. ‘It is Samir’s way: he frightens simple people into doing what he says and they dare not disobey. Eventually, someone in the Algerian community will talk… about me, about Massi — about anyone they think is unusual. There are not too many single women with a small boy arriving in this area. I should have thought more carefully before coming here. I’m sorry.’

‘Forget it,’ said Rocco. ‘You didn’t have many options.’ He glanced at Claude and said, ‘Can you keep an eye out for unknown vehicles in the area? We might not get much warning of their arrival. It could mean long hours.’

Claude grinned. ‘Suits me. Anything’s better than housework.’ He finished his coffee and explained, ‘My daughter’s coming home for a visit. Well, one of them, anyway. She was married the last I heard, but,’ he puffed out his lips, ‘now she is not. So, I am making the house into a home again… or trying, anyway.’ He shrugged casually but Rocco sensed an undercurrent of excitement beneath the show of detachment. Claude, a widower, rarely spoke about his daughters, who had both left home to make their own lives.

Claude nodded at them both. ‘I’d better be going.’ Then made his way out.

The hum of a vehicle engine dragged Rocco out of a light sleep. He was in the back of the Citroen on the drive, wrapped in a blanket. After the warmth of the house and meal, it was like ducking under a cold shower. But there was too much to lose by assuming Farek wouldn’t come. If he didn’t turn up tonight he would do so tomorrow or the night after that.

He slid low in the seat as the side-wash of headlights brushed across the house, the sheds and the interior of the car, chasing shadows into the darkness. They were approaching from the square by the co-op. He peered at his watch. Two o’clock. Beyond his house lay nothing but fields for several kilometres until you hit the village of Danvillers. Who the hell drove from Poissons to Danvillers at this time of night?

He slid the MAB 38 from his pocket and waited for the car to slow. It was travelling at a measured pace, but that didn’t mean it was Farek. The engine sounded powerful. It drifted by without stopping, tyres crunching on soil washed off the slope across the road by the last rain. Rocco lifted his head and caught a glimpse of two men against the reflected aura of the headlights. Neither looked towards the house.

He ducked out of the car and quietly shut the door, then crouched down, waiting. If they had dropped a man further down the lane, he wouldn’t be long in coming for a closer look.

Fifteen minutes later he was still waiting and feeling foolish.

He stood up, bones protesting, and returned to the house, where Nicole was waiting at the kitchen table. She was barefoot and seemed unperturbed by the chill settling on the room now the fire had died down. Her coat was wrapped tightly around her, but he couldn’t help but imagine that she wore very little underneath.

It was an unsettling thought. He went up to the attic to join the fruit rats, closing the door firmly behind him.