Death on the Rive Nord

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

‘Before anything else, though,’ Nicole continued, jumping in before Rocco could ask any questions, ‘I need to show you something.’ She turned and led the way along the canal bank, ducking beneath a cluster of willow fronds, then stepping carefully over fallen branches from a clump of wind-damaged maples. The trees had concealed a gradual curve in the canal, and Rocco could now see a longer stretch of water running in a straight line for some distance. A hundred metres ahead, the hulk of an ancient barge was moored to the bank with a boarding plank running onto the stern.

He turned and looked back. Caught a slight movement as Claude moved closer to the canal.

As they approached, it became clear that the vessel wasn’t in its prime. It was low in the water at the front, with a rash of rust showing across the metal hull above the waterline. The cabin, a wooden superstructure covered with peeling paint, occupied the first third of the vessel, with a door at the rear and three square windows covered by filthy curtains facing the bank. Nicole led the way up the boarding plank and opened the door into the cabin.

‘You will have to duck,’ she advised him. ‘It is very low inside. I’ll go first.’

Rocco slid his hand into his coat pocket. He’d been in situations like this before, and wasn’t about to take chances, even with a woman. At least she was in front, not behind him, which was where he’d rather keep her.

She stepped down into the boat and Rocco followed.

The atmosphere inside was cold and clammy, reeking of stale bodies and damp, of mould and something Rocco didn’t want to think about. It was kitted out with cheap, plastic-covered benches and unmade bunks, a small gas cooker and some cupboards, all put together for convenience and economy, not style. A fold-down table next to the cooker held a scattering of stale bread, a serrated knife and fragments of rotten fruit. Rat droppings and dust lay everywhere. The ceiling and walls were painted a sickly yellow.

He prowled the small space, noting details. He doubted anyone had been here for a few days. A dead blackbird lay huddled in one corner, one wing covering its head like a shroud, and a large, green, metal water container lay on its side under the table, T RINKWASSER just legible on the fading paint. A war relic. Rocco bent and sniffed at the hinged opening. Water. Stale.

Nicole watched him and said, ‘I bet you could list everything in here right down to the breadcrumbs, couldn’t you?’

He nodded. ‘Force of habit.’

She gestured to one of the benches and sat down herself. ‘These aren’t too bad. But don’t touch the bunks — they’re revolting.’ She looked at the bread and fruit with a grimace. ‘The food was already stale when we got here. The people who prepared this did not care for the ones coming through.’

He looked at her. ‘You were one of them.’

She nodded and folded her hands into her lap, composing herself. ‘I have to tell you this immediately… otherwise I will not be able to. You understand?’

‘OK.’

‘I come from Oran in Algeria. My name is Nicole, and I am married to a man named Samir Farek and we have a small son, Massi. Samir is not a good man, although when I married him, he was very different and

… normal.’ She wasn’t looking at Rocco, he noted, but staring at her feet as if reading the words from a script.

He said nothing.

‘Samir Farek controls most of the crime that goes on in Oran,’ she continued softly. ‘He would probably control the rest if Algeria wasn’t divided up between several rival families or gangs. Much of it is tribal but there are, I think, organisations like the Mafia.’ She picked at her coat for a moment. ‘I was not aware of any of my husband’s business dealings until about a year ago, when I overheard a discussion in our house, in which he threatened to take someone — a man — out into the countryside and shoot him in both knees. There was an argument, but I did not hear any more. Then, two days later, I read that a local gangster from the other side of Oran had been found dead. He had been shot four times — once in each knee and elbow — then dumped on a deserted farm outside the city.’ She blinked. ‘They said he had tried to crawl to the road for help, but had bled to death on the way.’

‘Do you know the name of this man?’

‘I heard Samir call the man on the telephone “Benny”. The dead man they found was named Ali Benmoussa. The police said he was known as “Benny”.’

Rocco took out a notebook and wrote down the details. She said nothing until he had stopped writing.

‘I tried several times to talk to him about his business, but he would never listen.’ She looked down, twisting her fingers together. ‘It is not the way in that society; women do not have influence over their husbands on matters of business.’

‘But you had family who were not part of that society.’

‘You mean because my grandmother was French I should have had more freedom… more say?’ She gave a bitter smile. ‘You do not understand how things are, Inspector. Over there, my ancestors did not count. Perhaps there was something early in our relationship. I have often wondered if Samir used my origins to gain some advantage. But I don’t know. Anyway, he became abusive and angry, telling me it was not my place to talk about these things. Later he began staying out… There were other women. I could tell. Then I heard other things… stories… rumours, and he held meetings in the house as if I were not there. This is how I know what he does… who are his friends and associates. How much he controls things, especially within the police, the army and the Ministries. He also brought weapons to our home.’

‘What sort of weapons?’

‘Guns. Mostly handguns. Also knives… and a dagger he got from the army, I believe. He handled them like toys, but with a passion. For this reason I became fearful for my son. I decided to leave and tried to get my passport. He would not let me have it.’ She bit her lip and breathed deeply, a long shuddering intake of breath. ‘He told me that if I try to leave him, he will kill me and anyone who tries to help me. He said they will end up like Benmoussa, whether man, woman or child.’

‘You couldn’t go to the police?’ Even as he asked, Rocco knew what the answer would be.

‘No. He has contacts everywhere.’ She looked at him with a sudden intensity that surprised him. ‘This is a man who has more control, more influence than you can conceive of. He has watchers at airports, seaports and frontier posts. They tell him who goes in and who goes out.’ Her eyes went moist. ‘It was hopeless. I was tied for life to a man who kills and maims and robs and… a man who would one day drag my son into his world and make him just the same. Until the day I discovered he had a weakness — what you call a chink in his armour — which I could use. There was one activity in which he was not involved; something he said was suited only for gutter criminals and those not clever enough or courageous enough to do anything else.’

Rocco saw instantly where she was going: her way out was via an operation over which Farek had no interest or influence. ‘People-smuggling.’

‘Yes. I went to a man who did not care for Samir, and asked him. He told me all about it… how those who want a better life but who have no papers — some of them criminals — can use a pipeline to go to France and other places. It costs money, but I had been putting some away. I also had jewellery from my mother and grandmother, which I could sell.’

‘You were taking a hell of a risk. What if your contact had talked?’

‘He wouldn’t. He told me that a cousin of his was once a street trader in Oran. Every pitch is for sale, and only with the agreement of Samir. He was accused of using a pitch without permission, and punished.’

‘What happened?’

‘There is a man named Bouhassa. He is fat and ugly and repulsive. He beat the cousin so badly he could not walk again. Without the ability to move and carry his goods, he could not work and support his family. He felt so humiliated he killed himself. That is what Samir does to people who cross him.’

‘Still risky — especially with a child in tow.’

‘Yes. But staying was worse, and in the end, unthinkable. So I arranged our place in the pipeline. It was very simple.’ She almost smiled, and Rocco felt the atmosphere lighten, as if she had seen some promise ahead of her now that she had unburdened herself.

‘How many were with you?’

A momentary hesitation, then, ‘Seven. They were mostly kind, especially to Massi. All they wanted was to find a better life. We were in the same boat, literally.’

‘You came here?’

‘Yes. By truck from Marseilles to a place with lots of vineyards. One of the men managed to make a small hole in the truck panel, but I don’t know this country, so I couldn’t tell where we were. Then another truck brought us to this canal.’ Her face seemed to shut down suddenly, as if the most recent memories were too close, too vivid.

Rocco was about to ask her if anything had happened on the truck — an argument between the men, a fight of some kind resulting in a man’s death — but he realised that too many people had passed this way. Hers would not have been the only group coming through here recently. He decided to leave that question for another time and asked, ‘Did everyone get off the truck here?’

She looked puzzled. ‘As far as I know, yes. It was dark and confusing. The driver was very impatient. Why?’

‘No reason. Go on.’

Nicole rubbed her hands together fiercely as if the narrative had drained her of warmth. ‘It was very long, very tiring. Always dark. We left the truck and crossed the canal, and were met by a man who showed us this boat. He told us to stay here until someone came to collect us.’

‘He didn’t say anything about you and Massi?’

‘He didn’t notice. We stayed behind the others in the dark. In any case, I don’t think he was too interested. He told us to get on the boat and wait to be picked up, then left.’

‘Did he say where you would be going next?’

‘No. But the men knew they’d be sent to a factory to work.’ She took another deep breath. ‘Up to that point, I knew Massi and I would be safe as long as we weren’t seen. But once the men who had organised this journey found out, they would have split us up.’ She pointed at a hatchway set in the front wall of the cabin. ‘Through there is a bed. The men let me sleep there with Massi. I waited until they were asleep, then left. It seemed safer for them if I did, anyway.’

‘And you bought a car.’

She looked surprised. ‘How do you know that?’

‘I’m a cop.’ He told her about checking the registration and his chat with the dealer, Gondrand.

‘I see.’ She frowned with the memory. ‘The man was a pig. He wanted too much money. When I said I didn’t have enough, he made vile suggestions as if I were a common whore. In the end, I paid with francs and some jewellery… two of my grandmother’s rings. I had to have transport, you see.’

Rocco understood. He didn’t ask about a licence. He recalled instead the day at the grotto, when she had reacted to seeing the Mercedes.

She nodded. ‘Samir has one like it. When I saw it, I thought… but it was stupid, of course. He could not have followed me here so quickly, and not in his car.’

‘And will he?’

‘Yes. He will come. Soon. Samir Farek does not forgive betrayal by anyone, least of all a wife. I know the way his mind works. He will have lost face and his sole interest will be winning back respect among his associates and family.’

‘How will he get here?’

‘He will follow the trail along the pipeline, name by name. If that doesn’t work, he will go through the Algerian community here in France and use them to find me. And they will. It is his way.’ She sat up, startled, as water suddenly gurgled around the barge. ‘What is that?’

Rocco stood up and took his gun from his pocket. He checked both ways along the towpath. Nobody in sight. He couldn’t see Claude and guessed he was keeping his head down. He looked down at the surface of the canal to where some leaves were floating by on a surge of water, channelled along the hull by some unseen current. He told Nicole and she relaxed. But it was a reminder that even here, they were not completely safe. Her next words confirmed it.

‘Samir has been biding his time. He hates the French, even though he was in the French army and had a lot of influence. But then they left and he had to start again. He wants to become a major “player”, a word he used many times — I think from America. I believe he intends to stay here and build another network, only much bigger than in Oran. Once he links the two, he believes he will be all-powerful.’

‘He’s probably not wrong,’ said Rocco, and thought of the appalling outcome of a man like Farek moving in on the established gangs in Paris and Marseilles. It was the way of things: every new gang boss had to be more ruthless and nastier than the one before, just to prove that he could. It would turn the two cities and everywhere in between into a battlefield.

‘But first,’ Nicole continued softly, breaking the thought, ‘he will not rest until he has his son back… and I am dead.’