Death at the Clos du Lac

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

‘Yes.’ Delombre picked up his phone and listened. The call was from his man in Amiens. He’d been ordered to stick close but not be seen under pain of death. Rocco was on the move again.

Christ, what was it this time? He couldn’t be interested in tracking down the other former inmates of the sanitarium; the gangster was a legitimate state witness and the two embassy people were in state care for their own health. With Devrye-Martin taken care of and unable to talk, that took the skids from under the idiot cop’s feet.

‘He went to a restaurant? So what? I said anything important, you fool, not his lunch appointments.’ He was about to slam down the phone when his man mentioned a familiar name.

‘Who?’

‘Jacqueline Roget. I know it was her because I used to work in the same section of the building. She was waiting for him and they had coffee. Looked very cosy, too, at the end.’

‘Give me a minute.’ Delombre turned and stared through the window. Roget. She was a gofer, a junior officer attached to ISD, but with no direct-action responsibilities. He knew Levignier had had his eye on her for a while. The man had a weakness for young women in the department. It would be the ruination of him one day. But what the hell was Roget doing meeting with Rocco? Then it came to him: Levignier’s idiot plan to incriminate the cop in an allegation of rape: he’d gone all secretive about who he was planning to use. It had to have been the Roget woman. And that plan had failed.

Now she was turning round to bite him.

He spoke into the phone. ‘Stay with Rocco, you hear? Keep me informed of his movements. If you get seen, I’ll come and shoot you myself.’

‘Yes, sir. Should I advise Levignier?’

‘No. You don’t advise anyone, least of all him. This stays with us.’ All his instincts were telling him that Rocco, the country cop, the one he’d misjudged, was on the verge of kicking all their lives to hell and back. What an idiot he’d been. The bloody man was like a shark, sniffing out his prey from miles away, then zeroing in.

But it was too late for recriminations. He was going to have to make a decision that should have been made several days ago. And if Levignier didn’t like it, that was too bad.

But first, he needed to see what this interfering cop looked like.

‘Give me a place where we can meet,’ he told the watcher, and made a quick note of a café in the centre of Amiens, near the cathedral. ‘Fine. Three p.m. Be there or leave a note if you have to move.’

He dropped the phone back on its rest and swore long and fluently. Then he dialled Levignier. He needed to find out what was happening.

‘Has the bulletin gone out yet?’ he asked him. He was referring to the official intelligence bulletin from the Ministry, alerting selected police districts to the possibility of the kidnappers having moved their way.

‘An hour ago. It should be reaching the stations anytime now, having gone through several different hands. Why? Problem?’

‘Not at all. I was just checking to see where we were on this.’

‘You agreed to it, Delombre. I hope nothing goes wrong.’ Levignier’s words were calm enough but laced with accusation. The tone suggested that while the real servants of the state were above being judged, men like Delombre stood to lose a great deal in the event of failure.

Delombre fought to keep his temper. He had no doubts that if the ball went out of the park, as one of his past commanding officers had been fond of saying, he would very quickly find himself shouldering the burden of blame. The idea of having to go underground for a long time didn’t bother him particularly, but he knew what the final consequences would be: having a man just like himself, trained and motivated to do one thing and do it well, coming after him. It could only ever end one way.

‘Nothing will go wrong,’ he said calmly. ‘We just need to keep the police distracted for a while, that’s all. If they’re looking for her elsewhere, they won’t bother searching here, will they?’ What he really wanted to say was that it would keep Rocco distracted, but that would be to admit that the damned man was getting too close. And after all his assurances to Levignier and Girovsky that it wasn’t going to happen, he couldn’t afford to put himself in that kind of danger. If Levignier didn’t take direct action, he knew that Girovsky eventually would.

‘If you say so. Our man is almost there, but it just needs a little while longer — and a reminder.’

‘How so?’

‘Well, I’ve been thinking, perhaps a word from our “guest” to show that all is still well might give him the impetus he needs. A sort of lovey-dovey connection, if you wish.’

‘What kind of word?’ God, Levignier and his mind games. The man was obsessed with convoluted plans to achieve his ends. Delombre favoured more direct methods — such as the kind he’d used with Devrye-Martin.

‘A message containing a personal detail, to prove she’s still … viable. I believe it should tip the balance of his judgement in our favour.’

‘You want me to prepare her?’

‘If you would. But don’t hurt her; we need her alive and able to talk, not damaged or dead.’

‘How long do you want this to go on? What if talking doesn’t work?’

‘Then she’s no longer of any use to us, is she? Before you do that, though, I suggest you acquaint yourself with the search team as soon as possible. They’re in the Pantin area — you’ll get their location from central command. Find out what they’re doing and put them off digging further. The intelligence bulletin should help. It would be embarrassing if they happened to stumble upon our two furniture removers, wouldn’t it?’

‘Very well. What if they’re close?’

‘In that case, cut to the chase and deal with the removers. You’ve got the address?’

‘I have. Any specific orders?’

‘They need to be retired.’

‘Oh, goody.’