‘Well, Inspector,’ said a cool voice behind him, ‘that made me feel thoroughly welcome. Did you just suck on a lemon or did you get out of bed on the wrong side?’
He turned and looked at the new officer. She had short, auburn hair, a spray of faint freckles across her nose and startlingly grey eyes which were now looking up at him with a flinty confidence. Her mouth was set in a firm line, jaw clenched, confirming that she was no wallflower.
He felt a heat growing around his ears and shook his head abruptly. ‘Actually, Miss Poulon,’ he said curtly, ‘I didn’t sleep at all last night, and this morning, I shot a man dead. It tends to make me a bit scratchy. Would you like coffee?’ He turned without waiting for a reply, and led the way out of the station to a cafe at the end of the street. Much frequented by police, it was full of officers changing shifts; those coming on duty holding thick, brown cups of coffee, those going home brandishing stubby glasses of wine or Pernod. The ashtrays were piled high with cigarette ends and a dark-grey ash, and a heady fog hung in the air above their heads.
He and Poulon immediately became the focus of attention. But he figured the sooner they all got over the shock of seeing a female officer, the better. He deliberately chose a corner table and sat down, ordering coffees from the barman on the way past.
‘The name,’ Poulon said, sitting down across from him, ‘is Alix.’ She flinched as a burst of laughter came from some officers at the bar. ‘And I apologise. Did you really kill a man?’
‘Yes. It’s not something I joke about.’
‘What happened?’
‘It’s a long story. He was holding my neighbour at gunpoint. She’s a nice old lady.’
She looked surprised. ‘So how did you…?’
He explained how Mme Denis had thrown hot tisane in the man’s face. ‘I said she was old, I didn’t say she was conventional.’
‘I didn’t realise this area was the OK Corral.’
He looked at her for signs of sarcasm, but could have sworn she was suppressing a smile. Before he could respond, however, he was interrupted by a shadow looming over the table.
‘Hey, Inspector.’ A tough-looking sous-brigadier had moved away from the bar, a coffee cup in his hand. ‘Since when do investigators get their own secretaries? Especially good-looking ones?’ He winked at Rocco and gave a courteous bow to the newcomer, earning cheers and jeers from his colleagues. Then he emptied his cup and ordered everyone who was on duty back to work for a briefing. The rest he told to go home and sleep with their wives or girlfriends, or even both. Within seconds, the place was empty.
Rocco was relieved; he’d been given a soft ride by the men, along with many looks of approval, proof that news of the shooting had spread through the ranks.
He explained to Alix about the lead-up to the shooting, about Farek and his arrival in France on the heels of Nicole and Massi, and the news that the gang boss appeared to have simultaneously made a clean sweep of the clans in Paris and the north, establishing an empire for the taking. ‘Farek doesn’t mess around. He’s ruthless and has little respect for the law. He sent a man to watch us but he overstepped himself. We were lucky,’ he concluded.
‘His wife and child have been staying with you?’ The grey eyes were softer now, but the question was probing.
‘Just for last night. We got them out early this morning. They’re safe.’
‘They must be in shock after everything that has happened.’
He shrugged. ‘They’re holding up well. The boy thinks it’s a big adventure, although he’s very quiet. As for Nicole,’ he shrugged. ‘She’s just glad to be alive. I hope we can keep her that way.’
Alix sipped her coffee, wincing at the bitterness. ‘You like her.’
‘She’s in trouble and asked for my help. But I don’t need complications.’ He wondered how true that was and realised that the explanation had come without being forced, and therefore felt relieved. Nicole was pretty and strong and exotic, powerful attractions for most men. But she wasn’t part of this world — not his world, at any rate. She belonged somewhere else, in a life far away from daily reminders of violence and danger.
‘So what is this sweep tonight? Captain Canet mentioned that I might be needed if they pick up any women workers.’
‘It’s a feint,’ he explained. ‘Not a real operation.’ He told her about the leak of information about the last raids, and that the suspect might be a serving officer. ‘If we’re right, and the raids come up empty at the specific factories named, it will flush him out.’
‘Will we be in on the raid?’
‘Not if I can help it.’ Rocco had another agenda in mind altogether, but that had already been thrown into disarray by Alix’s presence. He wondered how he might get her involved with one of the sweep units without Massin questioning his actions.
‘Am I in the way?’ Alix asked perceptively. ‘I know I’m not a real cop… not as far as most of you are concerned, anyway. But I do have a job to do and I can’t do it standing on the sidelines.’
He nodded, appreciating her honesty, and studied her face. He didn’t have time to mess around with long-winded explanations just to get her off his back. He was going to have to trust her to keep her mouth shut.
‘I need you to lose yourself for a few hours this evening,’ he said finally, and hoped he wasn’t about to drop himself into a career-ending hole. ‘I have something to do which I wouldn’t want you involved in.’
‘Something illegal?’
‘No. But it could get messy. I wouldn’t want you to get caught in the bureaucratic crossfire.’
‘So it’s something Commissaire Massin wouldn’t approve of.’ She had a faint smile at the corners of her mouth and he couldn’t quite make out whether she was laughing at his caution or amused out of a sense of co-conspiracy.
‘Probably not.’ She was quick, he had to give her that. Too quick, maybe. He was going to have to trust her. ‘I’m going to break into a factory where a man died.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
It was a rerun of the other night. Cold and misty, damp underfoot and no night to be out walking by the canal, Rocco pulled up his collar and turned to check that he was alone. The water slid by on his right, silent and black, throwing off faint, yellow glints where a distant light was reflected off the oily surface.
He trod carefully, checking off the outlines of familiar landmarks as they loomed up in the dark, and wondered how the raids were going. Alix had questioned his plan and the dangers involved of going alone, but hadn’t argued with his suggestion that she find herself a team to attach herself to in order to cover herself if anything went wrong.
‘It’s illegal, what you are planning,’ she warned him. ‘If they catch you, being a cop won’t protect you. The Defence Ministry trumps the Interior Ministry on these matters. They’ll just throw you into a cell and forget you ever existed.’
‘You sound as if you know a bit about it.’
‘I do. I was a PA in a branch of Defence Security before I applied to join the police. Anything involving the military and breaches of security surmounts all other matters.’ She shrugged. ‘We are a nation of paramilitaries.’
Fortunately, she had agreed to keep quiet and let him go. If he’d made a mistake by taking her into his confidence, he would soon find out.
He passed through the cutting and came to the building fronting the canal where the geese were housed. Slowing to ensure he made no sound that might rouse them, he stepped carefully on the hummocks of grass between the remnants of the towpath’s ancient surface. Once past the building, he stopped and waited, tuning into the night and reacquainting himself with the sounds of water gurgling, the hum of distant traffic and the rustling of night creatures going about their business. From here on, he was entering the danger zone, where any foot traffic was probably confined to illicit workers and their guides, and anyone not expected here would be regarded as a problem to be disposed of. A loud splash occurred up ahead and he eased to the ground, relaxing when he heard the protesting honk of a coot or moorhen disturbed from its sleep.