Dead Horsemeat

Monday 23 October 1989

On arriving at his office on Monday morning, Daquin finds a note: Urgent. The director wants to see you. Immediately on the defensive.

And in fact the atmosphere is decidedly frosty. Daquin sits down, ensconces himself in the armchair and waits. The director opens fire.

‘A remarkable investigation. Bravo.’

Daquin, slightly taken aback.

‘You haven’t had my report yet.’

‘But I expect to receive it later today. Don’t forget we have a press conference on Transitex this evening.’

‘I’ll be ready.’

‘I wanted to see you before you finished writing this report of yours, to ask you to be discreet concerning Perrot. He’s the biggest property developer in the Paris marketplace, and it would be better if his name didn’t appear. Especially of course in front of the press.’

Daquin is flabbergasted. He thinks I’m mentally incompetent.

‘Perrot has already been mentioned in my earlier reports.’

‘What’s done is done. I’m talking about the report you’re about to write.’

So the intervention from on-high is recent, probably today. Say something.

‘Is that your opinion sir, or that of the Minister?’

‘It’s not an opinion, Daquin, it’s an order. That should be enough.’

‘It’s enough, Sir.’

Daquin rises and takes his leave.

Daquin goes back up to his office, where his entire team is waiting in a mood of elation.

‘The director of the Drugs Squad congratulates you all on the Transitex case…’ A pause. ‘…which he now considers closed.’

What an anticlimax. Daquin silences Lavorel with a gesture.

‘I don’t want to hear you, Lavorel, I know what you’re going to say. As our activities are going to slow down considerably, I suggest that Amelot, Berry and Le Dem make up for their lost days off. Lavorel and Romero will stay with me today to help me write our final report. And we’ll meet back here in one week.’

Le Dem and the new boys move into the neighbouring office to gather their belongings. Daquin remains silent, listening to the noises from next door. The door closes. Footsteps in the corridor. Then a knock on the communicating door.

‘Come in.’

Le Dem, beetroot. Daquin smiles at him.

‘What do you want?’

‘I’m not bothered about taking days off…’

‘What next?’

‘I consider myself as part of your team, on a par with Lavorel and Romero.’

‘You may find yourself involved in something that’s going to get very messy.’

‘I’m sure.’

‘Well, sit down. Here’s the truth. Our investigation has been halted by the director, on orders that come from higher up, but I don’t know where, because someone’s protecting Perrot.’

Lavorel interrupts, aggressive:

‘What do you intend to do?’

‘We don’t have a lot to go on. Deluc junior: no longer a part of this. Nothing specific on Pama, or on Perrot. So, I’m going to do as I’m told. There’s absolutely no other option.’ Lavorel silently fumes. ‘At least officially’. A sudden revival of interest. ‘The director has asked me not to implicate Perrot in my report. I’m not going to implicate him. I shall spend my day writing, and listening to the magistrate, the director and the journalists. But there’s nothing to prevent you from wandering around in the meantime, since you’re more or less unemployed. May I remind you, Romero, that we know virtually nothing about Perrot’s chauffeur.’

The atmosphere is suddenly relaxed.

Romero gets up.

‘Well, since we are agreed, I’ll make the coffee.’

It’s not exactly difficult for Le Dem to follow Perrot’s chauffeur when he leaves Le Chambellan at eight o’clock. He walks to Étoile métro station. Takes direction Nation via Barbès. He alights at Colonel-Fabien, walks up towards Buttes-Chaumont, turns off into the side streets that are all dead ends and enters an elongated, three-storey apartment block in Rue Edgar Poe. He goes into the concierge’s lodge on the ground floor, and does not come out again. Le Dem goes home to bed, in his two-roomed flat in La Courneuve. He’ll be back tomorrow morning at seven.