Death on the Rive Nord

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

‘I don’t know where Inspector Rocco is, sir.’ Detective Desmoulins stood his ground under the blistering gazes of Commissaire Massin, Captain Canet and a red-faced Marcel Wiegheim, operations manager of the Ecoboras plant. They were grouped in Massin’s office, while downstairs, the task of questioning the men they had picked up during the night was under way. ‘I was busy and didn’t have contact with him. I believe he was looking after the new liaison officer, sir, as you asked.’

‘Let’s hope you’re right,’ put in Canet quickly, before Massin could explode. ‘You and he have been working like a double act recently.’ He bent forward and peered at a bruise on the detective’s forehead. ‘What’s that — your wife unhappy about your little telephone game yesterday? She kick you out of bed, perhaps?’

Desmoulins blushed before saying, ‘No, sir. I got it jumping out of my car during the raids last night. The door sprang back on me. You know, I think it’s a design fault with the top hinge, sir. After a while it seizes up. Those Renaults all have the same problem — you ask any of the patrols-’

‘Enough!’ Massin cut him off, then turned to Wiegheim, who was shaking his head in disbelief. ‘I’ll have to ask you to bear with us, Monsieur Wiegheim,’ he said. ‘It has been a difficult night and everyone is tired. However, I don’t see how you can be levelling any blame at Inspector Rocco for a break-in of your premises. Why would he have any knowledge of it?’

‘Because he’s already virtually accused us — me — of running illegal workers, that’s why,’ the factory manager spluttered and nearly stamped his foot. ‘This is intolerable! Are you seriously going to listen to his garbage? This man’s just protecting his friend!’

‘Inspector Rocco is a senior officer. He has no need of protection.’ Massin’s jaw clenched firmly. He just wanted rid of this noisy little man. ‘Do you have any other complaints?’

‘Isn’t this enough?’ Wiegheim waved a piece of paper in the air. It was, as they were all aware, a letter from the Defence Ministry, promising full protection and support during the time of the contract with Ecoboras. It also contained a clause stressing that any breach of contract by the factory would result in severe penalties and cancellation of this and all future contracts, which was, as far as any of the policemen could tell, the main reason for his anger. ‘Someone broke into my factory last night and I think I know who. Furthermore, I have a piece of the equipment used.’ He pointed a quivering finger at a coil of rope and grappling hook which had been found hanging from the security fence at his factory. ‘Tell me, Commissaire, that that… thing… is not official police issue!’

‘Personally speaking,’ replied Massin loftily, ‘I wouldn’t know. I never handle that kind of equipment. Captain Canet?’ He looked at his uniformed officer. ‘Do you recognise it?’

Canet hesitated only a second before shaking his head. Massin was placing him firmly in the spotlight if this thing ever got as far as an official investigation. Feigning ignorance of a piece of police equipment could seriously blight a promising career. On the other hand, it carried no serial number so how could anyone check? ‘I’ve never seen this before in my life, sir,’ he said truthfully, and pointed out, ‘I think you’ll find they’re used by boatmen to drag stuff out of the rivers.’

‘You would say that,’ sneered Wiegheim. ‘You’re just protecting your friend. I’ll be contacting the Ministry first thing this morning — that I promise you!’

‘Your privilege, of course,’ said Massin, who was fast losing interest. ‘But I think if you’d cooperated with us in the first place, the chances of a break-in would have been minimal. As it was, I think it must have been someone taking advantage of our activities last night.’ He gave a humourless smile. ‘Let us hope the Ministry doesn’t share my view.’

‘What view is that?’

‘That maybe you should have employed more or better security.’

‘That’s another thing,’ Wiegheim came back with renewed vigour. ‘One of my security guards is missing!’

‘I see.’ Massin looked down his nose at him. ‘Then as soon as I see Inspector Rocco, I will ask him to release your man.’

‘Release him?’

‘Well, you are obviously intent on blaming him for every strange occurrence last night. He must have kidnapped one of your staff, too.’

As soon as Wiegheim had gone storming out, Massin turned to Captain Canet and said quietly, ‘Find Rocco. I don’t care what it takes. Something has happened, whether of his own making or not, I don’t know. It could be that the man Farek has caught up with him. This could come back and haunt us if we don’t resolve it right away. And take that… thing with you.’ He waved a hand at the grappling hook and both men left his office.

Outside, Canet caught up with Desmoulins, who was making for the door.

‘Where are you going in such a hurry?’

‘To look for Rocco.’

Canet narrowed his eyes. ‘You know where he is?’

Desmoulins took a breath, then said, ‘No. But I know where he might have been.’

Canet nodded, lips pursed, then looked at the grappling hook. ‘And this?’ He thrust it at Desmoulins. ‘I suggest you find a home for it — preferably back where it came from. And before you deny it, I didn’t come up with yesterday’s turnips. Now, I’ve got to process the men we picked up.’

Desmoulins took the rope and hook and did as he was told. As he walked down to the equipment storage room, where he could lose the grappling hook until he got it back to its owners, he bumped into Detective Tourrain coming in from the car park. The man looked thinner and even more unwholesome than usual, in Desmoulins’ view, but he put that down to a busy night, like his own.

Tourrain eyed the rope. ‘Going climbing?’ he said with a sly chuckle. ‘How many rats did they catch, then?’

‘A few. Why — weren’t you in on the sweep?’ Desmoulins had never thought much of Tourrain. The idea that he’d slid off when everyone else was busy came as no surprise.

‘I was at home, tucked up in bed, thank you.’ Tourrain wore a smug grin. ‘If you’re mug enough to get volunteered for lifting shitty illegals, that’s your problem.’

‘Really? That’s funny — I thought I saw you here just before the off.’

‘Not me.’ Tourrain turned and strolled away down the corridor, jingling coins. ‘Ask my girlfriend if you don’t believe me.’

‘I would,’ Desmoulins replied with feeling. ‘But she’s in your trouser pocket.’