Death on the Marais

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Berbier was standing at the window of his study trying to stifle a rising sense of panic when the door opened. It was the two men he had summoned from the Interior Ministry to deal with Rocco.

‘Well?’ He did not bother turning, intent on staring at the rooftops across the way, where pigeons were conducting their daily courting rituals. Flying rats, many people called them, but he found them amusing. Watching their pointless antics helped take his mind off the clouds he felt gathering overhead. Clouds he’d thought were long past being able to bother him.

‘We warned him off, sir,’ said the first man. ‘But I don’t know for how long.’

Berbier spun round. ‘What? He’s a plodding country bumpkin, for heaven’s sake! This is intolerable. My daughter is dead, my family is grieving… and this nobody…’ His hand made an angry, chopping motion in the air, the action replacing words.

‘Problem is, he’s not just a country cop,’ said the second man. ‘He’s an experienced investigator with a tough record. He was transferred out of Paris not more than a week ago.’

‘Really?’ Berbier pounced on the information. ‘Discipline problems?’ That was the usual reason cops were sent into the back of beyond, where they could quietly wither and die. Maybe it was an opening he could use to his benefit. But the other man dumped cold water on the idea.

‘He was moved as part of a national crime-fighting initiative to put seasoned investigators into rural divisions. They get a free hand to conduct their own affairs. It’s a trial run.’ He hesitated, then said, ‘Rocco’s got a reputation for being a hard-nose. We tried to get him to kick off but he wouldn’t play.’

‘Kick off?’

‘Cut up rough. Even cops get themselves locked up for that.’

‘It would have taken him out of circulation for a while,’ explained the first man smoothly, with a warning look at his colleague. ‘Unfortunately, it didn’t work.’

Berbier looked from one to the other, his nose pinched and his cheeks pale. He sighed impatiently, trying to remain calm. ‘In that case, I will need your assistance further. My daughter had a flat in the Fifteenth, near Felix Faure. Rocco now knows about it.’

‘We know the place. What do you want us to do?’

‘Get round there and remove any papers. Anything, you understand? Take my driver and get others if you need them.’

The two men nodded and left.

Berbier watched the men cross the yard, scooping up his driver on the way. He felt a worm of anxiety building in his chest. He already sensed from facing Rocco that the inspector was not a man he could steamroller out of the way. The two from the Ministry he could rely on for their silence and cooperation, as he could his chauffeur. But Rocco was an outside force who would not toe the line. No matter what bureaucratic or procedural obstacles might be placed in his way, he would eventually get round to Nathalie’s flat. It was merely a matter of time and procedure. Whatever was there, whatever she might have felt resentful or malevolent enough to leave lying around that might implicate him in a scandal, had to disappear.