Hervé nodded. ‘Yes. Me, too.’ He spat on the ground. ‘Rustling. I can’t believe it.’
‘Shake hands on it,’ said Rocco.
‘Mother of God, do we have to?’ Hervé began, then saw the look on Rocco’s face. He stepped over and the two brothers clasped hands.
‘So who killed who, then?’ said Thomas, scratching his belly. ‘I didn’t hear anything about a murder.’
‘Probably the same person who drove down the lane and dumped a piece of shit moped on my land,’ Hervé murmured. ‘Mind you, what kind of murderer rides a moped, eh? Not exactly Jacques Mesrine’s style, that’s for sure.’ He grinned at his brother and got a wink in reply at mention of the notorious gangster.
Rocco stared at them. It was as if the argument and shooting and the misappropriation of a cow had never taken place. He said to Hervé, ‘A moped. When was this?’
‘Sometime last night. I heard a motor, figured it was somebody taking a shortcut up the lane. Some still do, though not often. Never thought anything more until I got up this morning and took a walk across the field. The machine was lying in the ditch just inside the fence. I wouldn’t have seen it if it hadn’t been for one of the dogs. Whoever left it there would have had quite a walk, though, if they were heading for the road to Amiens.’
‘Have you moved it?’
‘No. I was planning on going back when I had time. Why?’
‘Because I need to inspect it. It might have been used in the crime.’ After getting directions across the fields, Rocco repeated his warning about prison sentences and left the two men standing together in the yard.
‘Hey,’ yelled Thomas. ‘What about my gun?’
‘You’ll get it back in a few days,’ Alix replied, stowing it in the boot. ‘They’re like kids,’ she muttered, as they got back in the car. ‘Do you think it will last?’
‘I don’t know. Probably not. Just be careful if you’re ever called back out here. And don’t forget your gun.’
‘Right. Is that correct, about the rustling charge? It’s on the books?’
‘No idea. We never had much call to worry about it up in Clichy.’
CHAPTER TEN
The moped was lying upside down in a ditch, just as Hervé had described. Rocco squatted down beside it and noted the worn tyres and scarred paintwork of the frame and mudguards. It had long ago experienced its first flush of newness, yet in this area even old machines like this had a value. Then he noticed the panniers, almost masked by an overgrowth of grass and weeds at the bottom of the ditch. He slid down further and hauled at the wheels until he could wrestle it up the short bank and lay it down on the grass for a closer inspection.
Alix undid the straps on the uppermost pannier and took out a net with a folding handle and a fishing rod composed of several short pieces with interlocking joints. Last came a box with dried bait on one side and a selection of hooks, weights and floats on the other.
‘Looks like somebody had a bad day’s fishing,’ she suggested.
‘If he did,’ Rocco replied, ‘it would have ended up in the lake or river, not out here.’ He lifted the moped so that Alix could get at the other pannier, which revealed a flask but nothing else.
Alix used her handkerchief to lift it out, then opened the top and sniffed at the contents. ‘Coffee, with something else. Could be brandy. It’s still warm.’
Rocco lowered the moped and stood back. He didn’t know about the bike, but why on earth would someone dump a perfectly good set of fishing equipment — especially in an area renowned for its fishing enthusiasts?
He walked over to the entrance to the field and climbed the gate, jumping down on the other side. ‘Where does this lead?’ he asked Alix. He’d never had cause to come here, and had only a vague idea of their location on the map.
Alix pointed to the right. ‘Poissons that way, about four kilometres, and a road to Amiens the other, about three. This lane is hardly used ever since the Clos du Lac pretty much stopped people going down it, other than a few older locals and farmers with fields further along.’
‘So somebody could have come from the Clos on the moped, and met up here with a waiting car?’
She nodded and joined him on the lane. Rocco walked fifty metres one way, towards Poissons, scanning the verge. The grass was long, but untouched, and he soon gave up. It was evident that nothing had stopped here in a long time.
‘Here’s something.’ Alix was standing just a few metres beyond the gate, where the verge was wider, beneath the shade of a crab-apple tree. Rocco walked back and stood alongside her.
Twin tyre tracks showed clearly in the grass, with the stems flattened or bent, and at one point there was a deep rut where a patch of softer ground had given way beneath the vehicle’s weight. Rocco felt the soil underneath with his fingertips. There was a definite tyre-tread pattern here, and he guessed it was from a car or small van rather than a truck. Whether the details would be enough for Dr Rizzotti to make anything of, he wasn’t sure. But it was a start. Somebody had been here just before or just after a murder had been committed. And that spelt opportunity. All he had to do now was find motive and who might have benefitted.
He stood up and walked across the road, trying to read the scene from a distance. If the driver had been careful, he could have driven down from the direction of the road leading to Amiens and left his car here where it wouldn’t have been noticed, then used the moped, perhaps slung in the back of a van, to travel the short distance to the Clos du Lac. After completion of his task, he could have ridden the moped back here, disposed of it in the ditch, then driven calmly away, with nobody any the wiser other than hearing engine noises in the night.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Clos du Lac looked unnaturally quiet when they drew to a stop in the car park; unnatural in the way that deserted buildings have no warmth, no sense of human occupation, no vibrancy. Even the birds had fallen silent. There was no sign of Levignier or his men, and the pool house was closed, with a chain and padlock through the double handles barring the way inside.
With a sense of foreboding, Rocco led the way through the main entrance. The air was cool inside, the sounds of their footsteps echoing off the tiled floor. He looked round. No sign of a bell to signal their arrival, so he walked along the corridor towards the kitchen where he’d first seen nurse Dion.
A woman in an apron was sitting at the table, drinking coffee. A mop and bucket stood nearby. The woman looked up and brushed at her cheek. She was plump and rosy-cheeked, with greying hair, and looked faintly lost.
‘Can I help you?’
‘I’d like to see nurse Dion or Director Drucker, please,’ Rocco said politely. ‘Tell them it’s Inspector Rocco.’
The woman put down her coffee cup and stood up. ‘Sorry — I wish I could. But there’s nobody here.’
Rocco frowned. ‘Where are they?’
‘If I knew that, I’d tell you.’ She waved a hand around. ‘I got here fifteen minutes ago, ready to put dinner on for the evening as usual, and do a bit of cleaning. But the place was empty. Everyone’s gone. Looks like I’m out of a job.’
‘What about the patients?’
She sat down again with a sigh, as if her legs had failed her. ‘Them, too. All gone. Do you believe in flying saucers and … what do they call it — alien abduction? I never did, until now.’
Rocco looked at Alix. ‘Wait here. I’ll be back.’ He left the kitchen and raced up the stairs, following the corridor through to the back and checking rooms as he went. Some showed signs of recent occupancy, with bedclothes thrown back and wardrobe doors flung open. Other rooms were stripped bare and cold, evidently unused. Everywhere else had an air of hasty evacuation.