Death on the Rive Nord

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Rocco called in to the office to see what had happened in the aftermath of the failed factory sweep and found Massin facing a mixed delegation from the mayor’s office, the local chamber of commerce and the unions, all for once united in their opposition to the raids and the effects on local industry and community relations. Even the local newspaper had got in on the act by sending a reporter to ferret around for details. Serge Houchin collared Rocco the moment he stepped into the building.

‘Inspector Rocco,’ the man said, breathing garlic in his face and waving a pen and notebook. Rocco had met the man once before, and he hadn’t liked him then. He had the sly manner of a rat without the personality.

‘What do you want?’ He wasn’t paid to be nice to the press and saw no reason to pretend otherwise. He’d seen colleagues burnt too many times by speaking carelessly to reporters after a scoop.

‘Can you comment on how it was the police have made utter clowns of themselves and wasted time and money on the ridiculous raid last night? And do you understand the mayor’s view that their heavy-handed approach has seriously damaged output in the town, with the factories closing down overnight and losing valuable production time, all for a few so-called illegal workers?’

Rocco wondered what would happen if he drop-kicked the man down the front steps into the street. No doubt there would be a rousing cheer from some quarters, but it would play too easily into Massin’s hands and get him suspended.

In the background, he could see Desmoulins grinning expectantly and Canet slowly shaking his head in warning.

‘Get out of my way,’ Rocco said softly, backing Houchin up against a wall, where the reporter stopped with a faint yelp and stared up at Rocco with wide eyes, ‘or I’ll tell your wife about the mistress you keep in Abbeville.’

It was a complete bluff, snatched out of nowhere; he couldn’t imagine any self-respecting woman getting close and naked with this little prick, let alone being any kind of mistress. But the world was a strange place. To his amazement, Houchin turned quite pale and slid away sideways.

‘I didn’t mean any offence,’ he said obsequiously, looking for a way out. ‘I wanted a comment from an experienced and highly regarded officer.’

‘Well, you’ve got one. Fuck off.’

Rocco walked away and joined Desmoulins, who was having trouble holding in his laughter at the reporter’s discomfort.

‘I need a witness,’ said Rocco. ‘I’m going to see Gondrand’s lawyer.’

‘Good idea. I hate lawyers. Are we going to bounce him around the office or do it the nice way?’

Rocco smiled at the idea. He had no love for lawyers, either, having been on the receiving end of their legal intricacies in the past and seeing clients he knew were as guilty as hell walk free on technicalities of law. But he didn’t know this one and wanted to play it by ear.

M. Bertrand Debussy was tall, patrician and elegantly dressed, and occupied the ground floor of a modern office just a few minutes from the police station. He welcomed the two policemen into his office with relaxed grace, even though they had no appointment.

‘May I offer a drink? Coffee? Tea? Mineral water?’

‘Thanks,’ said Rocco. ‘But we’re pressed for time — in the middle of an investigation.’

‘Very well.’ Debussy sat back and looked at Rocco, quickly noting the order of seniority between the two men. ‘How can I help?’

Rocco slid the deeds from Gondrand’s safe across Debussy’s desk. ‘I believe you acted on behalf of Michel Gondrand in these property matters. Could you tell us anything about them?’

Debussy frowned at the papers but didn’t touch them. ‘Only what I remember… although there is still a question of confidentiality, as you know.’

‘Still?’

‘Yes. I no longer represent Monsieur Gondrand — and haven’t for over a year. What is this about?’

Rocco felt an energy in the air, and pressed on. He’d come here expecting to be given the usual legal runaround of confidentiality and client privilege, and to leave with no information whatsoever. But matters had already shifted unexpectedly.

‘The bodies of Michel Gondrand and his wife were found this morning at their home. They had been shot in the head. It wasn’t a robbery.’

Debussy’s eyebrows shot up and his mouth opened, showing a row of long, coffee-stained teeth. ‘Good God. I hadn’t heard. I did hear about Victor, though. That was appalling. Are they connected?’ The legal mind, making the same links which the police would do, but for different reasons.

‘That’s what we want to find out. Can you recall anything in Gondrand’s business or personal life that might have led to anyone wanting to kill him?’

Debussy took his time answering, scratching at the side of his chin with a long fingernail. Then he seemed to come to a decision and sat forward, leaning on his desk. He flicked at the deeds without opening them.

‘I represented both Gondrands, Victor and Michel, for several years. Mostly on family matters and the vehicle business — particularly Victor with the latter, until Michel joined him. They had one or two other investments which Victor had acquired. Nothing substantial or even complex, just land he’d bought a long time ago.’ He smiled flintily. ‘He believed in having a strong financial base, rather than simply relying on the car business to keep him going.’

‘And Michel?’ The implication from Debussy’s words was that the younger Gondrand had been different.

‘He did not come from the same background. Victor indulged him too much, and Michel took to making money for money’s sake, as it were.’ He lifted his shoulders. ‘Which is why I parted company with them both twelve months ago. I felt our interests were…’ he searched for a word ‘… incompatible.’

‘He was a crook, you mean,’ Desmoulins said, unafraid to speak the truth.

Surprisingly, Debussy gave a grunt of agreement. ‘He was, shall I say, open to ideas which were beyond what I would call acceptable practice.’

‘Such as?’ Rocco said.

Debussy nodded at the deeds. ‘Such as these matters. In plain terms, he bought cheap and by dubious means, and sold very expensively — or leased, when it suited him. I found these deals particularly difficult to accept, because I only discovered by chance that the land had once belonged to an old farming family. They seemed above board on paper when he first brought them to me, but I subsequently found out that they were anything but.’

‘Meaning?’

‘He’d cheated them. Persuaded them that they would become wealthy if they signed over the land to him, but subsequently told them it was unuseable due to subsidence and another problem with flooding. Paid them a pittance from what I can gather, and kicked them off their own property.’ He looked pained. ‘They both died shortly afterwards, brokenhearted. Sadly, there was nothing I could do, but I ceased representing both Gondrands not long after that.’

‘Why both?’ said Rocco. ‘I thought Victor was honest — for a car dealer.’

‘Victor was. But he defended his son against all the evidence. It was his one weak point, I’m afraid. Even when I showed him what Michel had done — and it wasn’t an isolated case, I assure you — he insisted on supporting him.’ He shrugged. ‘The father-and-son bond can be very powerful.’

Rocco nodded. Indulging a son or daughter could last a lifetime in some families, leading to an unbelievable degree of tolerance, even overlooking huge questions of dishonesty. ‘Would any of these deals have caused someone to want both men dead, along with Michel’s wife?’

‘By themselves, I wouldn’t know. I doubt any of the ones I worked on would bring about such a disaster. But he had completed some deals before joining his father, so it’s possible something from back then might have turned sour.’

‘What did he do before the car business?’

‘Michel? He was a junior manager. He worked for the local town council, in their planning and land management department.’