Death at the Clos du Lac (21 page)

Inspector Leon Drueault was halfway through a snatched cup of coffee in the Pantin
commissariat
and checking a local map of the area, when he was told he had a visitor.

He swore mildly. It had been a very long day, and it wasn’t over yet. Worse, nobody other than his commanding officer and a very select few were aware of his presence here. Even the officers and few remaining staff on duty upstairs hadn’t been brought in fully on the act, merely told that a special task force was operating in the district and to give them a wide berth. He and his men had deliberately dropped off the edge of the planet as far as the rest of the Paris force was concerned, to allow them to operate without hindrance.

If someone had tracked them down here, it had to be somebody from higher up the chain of command.

Someone with clout.

‘Tell them I’ll be out when I finish my coffee,’ he said
bluntly, without turning from the map. His men were in a corner on the other side of the room, taking a well-earned break, while he was trying to read the local map to find where, in a haystack of places to hide, the kidnappers might now be holed up with their captive. The truth was, he was trying to stem a mild case of panic, because so far they were in the dark, with no further clues or sightings.

‘That’s all right, Inspector,’ said a voice from the door. ‘No rush.’

Drueault spun round and saw a tall, slim man walking across to meet him. He was dressed in regulation suit and tie, confirming Drueault’s suspicion that he was from the Ministry, but there was not much about him that identified him as a desk man. In fact, Drueault thought he walked too much like an athlete. Or a soldier.

He put down his cup and extended his hand. ‘My apologies. We’ve been up all night chasing ghosts. I didn’t mean to be rude, Mr …?’

‘Delombre,’ said the visitor. His grip was firm without being competitive, yet Drueault suspected he could have applied far more pressure had he wanted to. There was something about this man that spoke of an interesting history. And danger.

‘Very well, Mr Delombre. What can I do for you?’

Delombre produced an identity card. ‘First things first, eh? Mustn’t forget the basics.’ He turned and looked at Captain Detric, Sebastien, and Ivrey, the third team member, who were watching to see what happened, hands wrapped around breakfast bowls of coffee. The table top in front of them was sprinkled with crumbs from the crusty sandwiches they had been eating. They all looked drained
and pallid, and were dressed in ordinary street clothes, more like workmen than cops.

Drueault inspected the card and handed it back. ‘Fair enough. You’re from ISD. Now I am worried. What brings you out here? I didn’t think many people knew our location.’

Delombre gave a tiger’s smile. ‘Then you can count me in as one of the favoured few, can’t you?’ He nodded at the map on the wall. ‘Any clues as to their location yet?’

‘Who are we talking about?’ Drueault kept his face blank.

‘Cute,’ Delombre murmured dryly. ‘I must remember that. The people who kidnapped an important person’s wife a few days ago from Avenue de Friedland.’

‘Not yet. We’re following a trail all the way across the north-east of the city. Whoever they are, they’re staying on the move, but so far they’re keeping a step ahead of us.’

Delombre tilted his head to one side ‘You think there’s a pattern?’

‘Definitely. We believe they’re using a furniture wagon, possibly with a defective exhaust system or an old engine. There have been sightings all across here.’ He swept his hand across the map from left to right. ‘The last one was yesterday right here in Pantin, but they’ve either gone to ground somewhere since or moved out.’

‘So you have no idea where they might be, then.’

Drueault blinked at what might have been criticism. ‘Ideas, no. A couple of guesses, perhaps. But that’s all they are.’ He flicked a glance at his men, who were listening intently while pretending not to.

‘Well, we’ll have to go with that, then. Your best guess.’

Drueault hesitated. Voicing his beliefs to a suit from the Ministry, especially one from ISD, was risky. If his suspicions proved flawed, and the kidnappers turned up a hundred kilometres away with a dead captive, he could wave goodbye to his career. He had heard about ISD’s methods in the past, and they didn’t care about leaving bodies lying in their wake.

‘They’ve been using abandoned or unoccupied buildings so far – places nobody would think to look. But only for short periods. I think they’ve opted to stay on the move deliberately. The moment they pick up a whiff of interest, they simply move on and find somewhere else to park. In fact,’ he was taking a real punt here, but he didn’t really care, ‘the closer we get, the more I believe they’ve had a number of such hideaways scoped out from the very start.’

It was Delombre’s turn to blink. ‘Is that so?’ He turned and looked at the other three in the corner. ‘Do your men share those thoughts?’

‘Why don’t you ask them?’

‘We’ll save you the trouble,’ said Detric, stretching out his legs before standing up and walking across to join them. He looked tired and cranky and not a bit in awe of Delombre. ‘We do all think the same. This was pre-planned; the pickup, their method of transport and the bolt-holes they’re using. Nobody but an idiot would drive a furniture van around Paris day after day with a kidnap victim inside and take a chance on finding any old place to stop. They knew what they were doing, where they could go and what places were safe.’

‘You talk like a soldier …?’

‘Captain Detric. I used to be, yes. Now I’m a cop.’

‘Excellent.’ Delombre looked past him at the other two men, then turned back to Drueault. ‘So, assuming your little team of bloodhounds is on the right scent, Inspector, where does that put these people now?’

Drueault very nearly shrugged, but thought better of it. The use of his rank had been a near reminder by this man that a casual response wasn’t permitted. It also told him that Delombre didn’t share his belief and was saying so openly. What he couldn’t understand was why he was choosing to do it in front of his men. Normal rules of command etiquette dictated that any disagreement with officers was voiced at a discreet distance so as not to undermine the chain of command.

‘They’re still here,’ he said. ‘Probably no more than two kilometres from where we’re standing right now.’ In spite of his confidence, he was keeping his fingers crossed mentally. It was risky, but this stranger was beginning to piss him off.

‘Really?’ Delombre’s eyebrows rose slowly in open disbelief. ‘What on earth makes you think that?’

‘Instinct. Experience.’

‘Ah, of course. Gut feel – the policeman’s crystal ball.’ A glimmer of something approaching malice danced in the other man’s eyes. ‘I thought that had died out along with seances and seaweed. Is that really all you’ve got?’

‘Pardon me?’ Drueault felt the sting of the verbal slap. He saw Sebastien and Ivrey stand up, and gave them a signal to hold fast. If Delombre was looking for a fight, he didn’t want to drag them into it.

‘You heard me, Inspector. You’re chasing shadows all right – but shadows of your own device. Why on earth
would these people stay within the city area, with all the police and security personnel we have available to search for them, when they could be a hundred kilometres away in the middle of nowhere? It makes no sense.’

‘Because they’re not country people,’ said Detric.

‘Sorry?’

‘They’re city, not country. Driving a big truck around this city the way they’ve been doing takes skill. They haven’t got stuck in side streets, they haven’t hit anyone apart from a badly parked bike, they’ve avoided random street stops by traffic cops and they seem to know where they’re going.’ He gave a wise-guy smile. ‘As the boss said, they’re still here.’ With that he turned and walked away, and sat down with his back to Delombre.

The ISD man watched him go, then turned to Drueault. ‘So, you’ve got men who are loyal to you. That’s admirable. Take a round of applause, Inspector.’ He reached into his jacket and took out a folded sheet of paper. Drueault recognised it as an intelligence bulletin. He’d seen enough in his time.

‘What’s this for?’

‘According to latest information, sightings of known faces in the kidnap-and-ransom business have been made in four places. One south of the city near Orléans and three to the north. None of them is less than an hour’s fast drive. Longer in a truck. That means they couldn’t have been anywhere near here when you say they were. You’ve been chasing nothing, Inspector.’ He slapped the bulletin against Drueault’s chest. ‘Or are you saying your instincts and experience have greater merit than up-to-date intelligence from the Ministry?’

Drueault took the paper but didn’t bother reading it. He had no idea why this man seemed intent on provoking him, but it was obviously what he was trying to do. However, nobody but a fool argued with intelligence bulletins – at least openly. The information in them was not infallible, but it was culled from a variety of sources and more often than not proved correct.

Delombre turned and walked over to the door, then paused. He surveyed the men one by one, then said, ‘Seems to me you’d best stand down, Inspector. Get back to the kind of police work you understand.’

A house with a small turret near the church in the town of Poix. Rocco found a space outside the church and parked his car, then checked the area on foot until he saw a narrow, two-storey building behind an iron railing. It had a vaguely fairy-tale tower looming defiantly into the night sky out of one corner, as if added for a dare by some previous owner. He couldn’t see much detail, but he decided that anybody who could live with that had to be an interesting character.

He hesitated before approaching the front door. This could be painfully embarrassing or simply painful. He had no way of knowing if Jacqueline Roget had given him a detailed location of her renegade aunt’s house in Poix deliberately, or whether he was about to make a complete donkey of himself.

There was only one way to find out.

He stepped up the short path and used the brass dog’s head knocker, and heard the sound reverberating inside.
A light came on as a door opened, and suddenly she was standing there, looking out at him.

‘Why, Inspector,’ Jacqueline said, quickly tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. ‘What a surprise.’

‘I, uh … I hope this isn’t too late?’ he murmured, feeling a prize idiot. ‘I was in the area, so …’ He shrugged and felt his ears go hot.

‘
Bring the inspector in
,’ called a voice from the rear. ‘
You can’t leave him standing out there like a carpet salesman when he’s come all this way!
’

It was Jacqueline’s turn to be embarrassed. She smiled and stood aside. ‘You’d better do as she says. She’s got second sight, and ears like a bat.’

‘I heard that!’

Rocco followed her down a long hallway, carefully skirting plant stands leaking long strands of greenery, and two large and elegantly fragile-looking porcelain jardinières.

‘Limoges,’ whispered Jacqueline. ‘Break those and she’ll poison your drink.’

‘I will not,’ said the voice. ‘They’re clever fakes made by an old lover of mine in Nancy many years ago. Not worth a centime unless you’re a fool.’

They entered a conservatory room with a sloping glass ceiling, and the speaker was revealed as an elderly lady in a Chinese-style brocade jacket and plain trousers, smiling in greeting from the depths of a high-backed wing chair.

The room was a mixture of plants and furniture, as much garden as living area and studio, with a collection of easels and painting materials at the back showing splashes
of vivid colour lit by a glass or crystal chandelier balanced on a tall pair of wooden stepladders.

‘Forgive the mess, Inspector. I don’t have much time for cleaning, and there are better things to do with life than primp the place for visitors. Would you like some sherry?’

Without waiting, she picked up a decanter and filled a slim glass, and held it out to him. ‘I’d take a seat if I were you. By the time Jacqueline closes her mouth and jumps into action, you’ll be exhausted.’

‘Thank you.’ Rocco took the glass and sat down on the end of a settee alongside another plant pot, this one with metal handles and covered in large china flowers. He felt it move as his elbow caught it a glancing blow, and watched it rock for a moment before settling down. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Another fake?’

‘No, that’s an Edouard Gilles from the late nineteenth century. Break that and I
would
poison you … and bury you in the back garden.’ Her eyes glittered and he didn’t know whether to take her seriously or not.

She raised a glass and sipped, then said, studying him openly, ‘I have to say, I wasn’t sure if my niece had invented you or not. You sounded far too good to be true.’

Rocco sipped his sherry. It was dry and excellent, although he was no expert. ‘I hope I don’t disappoint, then.’ He glanced at Jacqueline, who sat on the other end of the settee glaring daggers at her aunt.

‘Oh, she was singing your praises, don’t worry.’ She ignored her niece with a knowing smile. ‘Inspector this, Inspector that, Lucas the other … I was getting quite worried.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, I thought it was all an invention. I don’t mean she’s lost her mind, of course, but she’s always been so intent on a career, like her father, there’s been no time for boyfriends, although how you call it a career to be a typist in the civil service, I don’t know.’ She gave a sweet smile of pure mischief and took another sip of sherry.

Lucas glanced at Jacqueline, who gave a minute shake of her head and a pleading look, and he nodded.

‘Actually, I never enquired what she does, Madame,’ he admitted. ‘We’ve only just met.’

‘Of course you have. And please call me Celestine; “madame” is for old biddies. You’d better not hang about, Lucas; this is a whole new age we’re in, you know. Young people don’t stand on ceremony and go through long courtships these days. You’d better get in there quick before someone else does.’

‘
Auntie!
’ Jacqueline glared at her aunt and avoided meeting Rocco’s gaze, then snatched up her own glass and took a drink, promptly causing a coughing fit.

Rocco reached out and grabbed the glass before she dropped it, then handed her a handkerchief from his top pocket. She gasped a thank you, then dabbed at her skirt and hand where droplets of sherry had landed.

‘Good looking
and
a gentleman, I see,’ Celestine murmured approvingly. ‘Not bad, not bad at all. So what kind of place do you live in, Lucas?’

He told her about Poissons, and the house behind iron railings at the end of a road into nowhere. ‘I was lucky to find it. It suits me.’ He said the last with an odd sense of realisation. It was something he’d never given voice to before.

‘It sounds very pleasant.’ She stood up, reaching for a stick. ‘Well, my signal to go to bed.’ She smiled as Rocco stood, too. ‘Delighted to meet you, Lucas. Remember what I said about the Gilles?’

‘Of course.’

‘My niece is in the same category … although I’ve a feeling I don’t need to tell you that. Come again, why don’t you?’ With that, she walked out, head up and back straight, pausing to lay a gentle hand on Jacqueline’s shoulder.

‘I’m sorry about that,’ Jacqueline murmured softly, once the old lady was out of sight. ‘She’s impossibly blunt, as you can see. No wonder the rest of the family doesn’t see her very often. But I think she’s wonderful.’ She eyed him cautiously. ‘I hope you weren’t offended.’

‘Not if all she said is true, no.’

She smiled. ‘I think that’s definite. She’s never asked
anyone
to call her Celestine on a first meeting before. You made a good impression.’ She reached out and took back her glass, and waved the handkerchief. ‘Sorry about the display. I’ll wash this and post it back to you. It shouldn’t stain. Hopefully.’

They sat in silence for a few moments, then Rocco said, ‘I have a problem, which I’m hoping you can help with.’

‘Really? A work problem?’ A faint frown had touched the centre of her forehead, and Rocco felt the atmosphere cool a little.

He cursed inwardly. But it was too late to back out now, so he forged ahead. ‘I have reason to believe that the man you told me about – Delombre – working in the Interior Ministry, may be involved in … a criminal enterprise.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. I was wondering what else you know about him.’ Christ, he thought savagely. Do I have to sound so much like a cop?

Jacqueline lifted her eyebrows. ‘Does that mean you think I, too, might be involved, Inspector?’ She put her glass on a small side table and dropped the soiled handkerchief alongside it. There was a finality about the movements that made Rocco’s gut curl.

‘No, of course not. I know this sounds as if I came here on business, but that’s not true. I—’

‘No.’ She raised a hand. ‘It’s perfectly fine. I understand. You have a job to do. So how can I help?’

He wondered if there was any worse tone he could have heard in her voice, any more matter-of-fact delivery that could have made him feel lower than he did, as if his legs had been cut from beneath him. But the die was cast. He could only go forward. At this rate he was going to be receiving poison pen letters from Aunt Celestine in the next post.

‘I need to know about this man Delombre. How close is he to Levignier? Does he have autonomy within the department?’

‘What is this enterprise you suspect him of being involved in?’

‘I can’t tell you that – I’m sorry. It would be better that way.’

‘What, you think because I’m a woman I can’t handle bad news?’

‘No. I didn’t mean that.’ He stood up, feeling the ground opening up further beneath him. This had been the worst of all bad ideas.

She said nothing, her eyes cool, unblinking.

He gestured at the door. ‘I’ll be going. Please thank your aunt for her hospitality.’

She nodded, the movement barely perceptible. ‘Of course. Goodnight.’

Rocco stepped outside and threw his head back, breathing in deeply in frustration. Well played, moron, he thought angrily. That went superbly well, didn’t it?

He walked back along the street and drove home.

He’d been indoors two minutes when there was a knock at the door.

It was Mme Denis. She was holding a plate draped with a square of linen. ‘Present for you. Not all eggs have to be eaten as omelettes.’

Rocco lifted the linen cloth. She’d baked him a sponge cake. Decorated with tiny flecks of orange and lemon, and smelling of citrus, it was still warm from the oven.

‘You didn’t have to do this,’ he said, and realised that this was an honour.

‘Of course I did. I used a saucepan, two bowls and at least three spoons – and my cake tin. You think I’m going to miss an opportunity to have something to wash under my new tap?’

He’d forgotten about the pipes being connected, and smiled. ‘That was quick work.’

‘Yes, the men said they had orders from Maillard at the café to finish it double quick, otherwise there’d be no drinks for them all week.’ She gave him a sly look. ‘I suppose you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?’

He shook his head. ‘Not me. Must be all Maillard’s doing.’

‘Really? You think I came down with the last rainfall? The village is abuzz with stories about how you and Lamotte arrested three robbers at the café. Maillard thinks you’re the best thing to hit Poissons since the invention of the corkscrew.’

‘He talks too much.’

‘Maybe he does.’ She lifted her shoulders. ‘No matter. I might have to heat my water the old way, but at least I’ve got running cold.’ She smiled with evident pleasure and looked past him. ‘They haven’t done yours yet, then?’

‘Not yet.’ There was the beginning of a trench across his front garden, and a hole bored through the front wall of the house, but no pipes. ‘Would you like to come in for cake and coffee?’

‘No. Never eat the stuff, myself. But you go ahead.’ She reached out and briefly clutched his arm, then turned and walked back down the path.

Rocco put on some water and made tea. Then he cut a large slice of sponge cake and sat down to eat it.

Above his head, the resident guests continued their games in the attic.