‘No.’ After a pause: ‘Bornand always talks about France’s interests in Iran, and never about his own.’
‘And you truly believe he’s capable of distinguishing between the two? This is hardly new.’
Macquart stops and looks at Fernandez who doesn’t need to pretend he’s at a loss. He allows him a breather and continues:
‘Obviously, a presidential advisor who speculates privately on clandestine arms trafficking with Iran, and who pockets such huge sums is bound to make waves.’ Macquart adopts an aggressive tone: ‘You thought you were being clever, but you were nothing but a minnow in a sea of sharks. You were their stooge.’ A pause. ‘I’ll continue. Cecchi was intending to blackmail Bornand. He met the journalist from the Tribune de Lille and dug up the Chardon dossier last Monday, by way of a warning shot. And he had an appointment with Bornand at the Perroquet Bleu to offer him a deal. What deal?’
‘Maybe the re-opening of the Bois de Boulogne gambling club. He was set on it, and Bornand didn’t want to touch it.’
‘Cecchi got hold of the Chardon dossier from Combat Présent. It was Tardivel who gave it to him.’ In his mind’s eye, Fernandez sees Tardivel’s head lolling backwards, his glasses flying off, his vision blurred. It must have been even worse with Cecchi. ‘It remains to be seen how he obtained the information he was carrying on his person when he was shot. None of it seemed to appear in the Chardon dossier. Do you have any suggestions?’
‘No.’ Way out of my depth, and have been from the start, running in all directions without ever grasping what was going on. ‘I had no idea of any of this.’
‘There are two men who know the entire set-up. Flandin, who had no interest in a scandal erupting, and who’s dead, and Bornand’s head of security, Beauchamp. Beauchamp, a business associate of Chardon’s − they were in Africa together in the seventies and every so often since then they’ve smuggled in a bit of Lebanese heroin. It was Beauchamp who met Cecchi at Mado’s last weekend. And who was still with him when they met Bornand at the Perroquet Bleu. For the time being, that’s all we know, but we’re still digging. The papers found on Cecchi have been sent off for analysis. Beauchamp has been arrested. He’s the lynchpin in the whole thing, that’s certain. Who was he working for? A rival arms dealer? The Americans? The RPR which wanted to prevent the release of the hostages before the elections at all costs? All of the above? We may find out eventually. On the other hand, we can’t count on an autopsy for Flandin. But that scarcely matters now.’
Fernandez’s head’s spinning. Macquart is triumphant.
‘The fact that all that went over your head doesn’t bother me. But the fact that you didn’t talk to me about Chardon, that is serious. You were seen picking him up in Katryn’s car the day of her murder. Fernandez, this memory lapse is one ruse too many. I warned you. You don’t get a second chance.’
Fernandez is gutted. Macquart looks at his watch, 17.00 hours, time for the news. He switches on the transistor. Newsflash on France Info.
‘The Élysée press office has just informed us of the death of François Bornand, one of the President’s closest friends and advisors. He was the victim of a hunting accident, at the home of his wife in the Saumur region. He was cleaning his shotgun without having checked whether it was loaded, when it went off, killing him outright. The President immediately sent his condolences to his widow. The funeral will take place tomorrow, in Saumur, in the strictest privacy.’
Macquart switches off the radio.
‘You made the right choice in coming to see me, pity you didn’t see things through to the end.’
Then with a wan and wholly ambiguous smile on his lips:
‘The rule of law prevails. More or less.’