‘Jesus… Rocco?’ Tourrain had finally recognised who he was facing. ‘What the fuck-?’ He cast around, looking first at Metz, then turning to check behind him as if help lay out there in the dark. ‘It was you in the factory?’ He didn’t wait for a reply but added, ‘Hey — we can sort this out, right? There’s no need for it to go any higher.’
It was a desperate gamble by a man who should have known he was finished. But Rocco sensed Tourrain hadn’t got the intelligence to realise that whatever game he had been mixed up in with Gondrand and Lambert, it was now over.
For a moment the threat of action from the two men was frozen, suspended by the expectation of a deal. For Tourrain it was a way out. For men like Metz it was the way of the world; one crooked cop meant others had their price, too. All it came down to was how much. He remained immobile, head turning to cast a look at Tourrain, while the detective stepped from foot to foot, undecided on his next move.
Tourrain was the first to break.
‘ Metz… come on…!’ Suddenly he was turning and running along the towpath, leaving the guard to fend for himself.
Metz snarled in disgust and slashed at Rocco’s head, the metal rod hissing through the air. Rocco swayed out of reach, wary of the uneven ground beneath his feet. A detached part of his brain was telling him this was not how he would have chosen to go, given a choice: being felled by a brutal sliver of cold metal in the hands of a murderous thug, followed by blackness.
He stepped forward, shutting out the thought with clinical detachment, and waited for another wild slash before executing a hard snap kick to Metz’s midriff. This was something Metz, in his brutal enthusiasm, had overlooked: Rocco had the leg reach and power. The point of impact was the leather-shod ball of Rocco’s foot against the other man’s diaphragm. It didn’t require great body weight behind it, simply speed and momentum.
The shock of impact clouded Metz’s eyes, draining his face of blood. He stood still for a moment as pain blossomed throughout his body, then slashed again, but with little effect. And Rocco waited, calmly watching the man’s system beginning to shut down.
Metz made a sound — a word, perhaps, maybe a cough — as he fought to regain his breathing. He spat to one side and appeared to stagger, then waved the steel rod in front of him. But it was a token, a show of aggression with no real power or focus.
‘Give it up,’ said Rocco.
But Metz wasn’t finished. He reached into his pocket, groaning with the effort, and dragged out a gun.
Rocco reacted instinctively. He stepped in close and smacked Metz’s gun hand away with his right palm, then half turned away and rammed his elbow backwards into the man’s chest. A split second later he struck again, this time to Metz’s nose, driving his head back under the impact, the cartilage crushed.
And suddenly Metz was gone, tottering briefly on the lip of the lock basin before tumbling into the black water with a muffled splash.
The steel rod was lying on the ground. Rocco put his toe underneath it and flicked it over the edge. He retrieved the gun and did the same thing.
But he didn’t hear the soft rush of footsteps on the grass behind him, or the grunt of someone breathing. All he knew was a sharp pain in the back of his head.
Then darkness.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
‘I don’t know where Inspector Rocco is, sir.’ Detective Desmoulins stood his ground under the blistering gazes of Commissaire Massin, Captain Canet and a red-faced Marcel Wiegheim, operations manager of the Ecoboras plant. They were grouped in Massin’s office, while downstairs, the task of questioning the men they had picked up during the night was under way. ‘I was busy and didn’t have contact with him. I believe he was looking after the new liaison officer, sir, as you asked.’
‘Let’s hope you’re right,’ put in Canet quickly, before Massin could explode. ‘You and he have been working like a double act recently.’ He bent forward and peered at a bruise on the detective’s forehead. ‘What’s that — your wife unhappy about your little telephone game yesterday? She kick you out of bed, perhaps?’
Desmoulins blushed before saying, ‘No, sir. I got it jumping out of my car during the raids last night. The door sprang back on me. You know, I think it’s a design fault with the top hinge, sir. After a while it seizes up. Those Renaults all have the same problem — you ask any of the patrols-’
‘Enough!’ Massin cut him off, then turned to Wiegheim, who was shaking his head in disbelief. ‘I’ll have to ask you to bear with us, Monsieur Wiegheim,’ he said. ‘It has been a difficult night and everyone is tired. However, I don’t see how you can be levelling any blame at Inspector Rocco for a break-in of your premises. Why would he have any knowledge of it?’
‘Because he’s already virtually accused us — me — of running illegal workers, that’s why,’ the factory manager spluttered and nearly stamped his foot. ‘This is intolerable! Are you seriously going to listen to his garbage? This man’s just protecting his friend!’
‘Inspector Rocco is a senior officer. He has no need of protection.’ Massin’s jaw clenched firmly. He just wanted rid of this noisy little man. ‘Do you have any other complaints?’
‘Isn’t this enough?’ Wiegheim waved a piece of paper in the air. It was, as they were all aware, a letter from the Defence Ministry, promising full protection and support during the time of the contract with Ecoboras. It also contained a clause stressing that any breach of contract by the factory would result in severe penalties and cancellation of this and all future contracts, which was, as far as any of the policemen could tell, the main reason for his anger. ‘Someone broke into my factory last night and I think I know who. Furthermore, I have a piece of the equipment used.’ He pointed a quivering finger at a coil of rope and grappling hook which had been found hanging from the security fence at his factory. ‘Tell me, Commissaire, that that… thing… is not official police issue!’
‘Personally speaking,’ replied Massin loftily, ‘I wouldn’t know. I never handle that kind of equipment. Captain Canet?’ He looked at his uniformed officer. ‘Do you recognise it?’
Canet hesitated only a second before shaking his head. Massin was placing him firmly in the spotlight if this thing ever got as far as an official investigation. Feigning ignorance of a piece of police equipment could seriously blight a promising career. On the other hand, it carried no serial number so how could anyone check? ‘I’ve never seen this before in my life, sir,’ he said truthfully, and pointed out, ‘I think you’ll find they’re used by boatmen to drag stuff out of the rivers.’
‘You would say that,’ sneered Wiegheim. ‘You’re just protecting your friend. I’ll be contacting the Ministry first thing this morning — that I promise you!’
‘Your privilege, of course,’ said Massin, who was fast losing interest. ‘But I think if you’d cooperated with us in the first place, the chances of a break-in would have been minimal. As it was, I think it must have been someone taking advantage of our activities last night.’ He gave a humourless smile. ‘Let us hope the Ministry doesn’t share my view.’
‘What view is that?’
‘That maybe you should have employed more or better security.’
‘That’s another thing,’ Wiegheim came back with renewed vigour. ‘One of my security guards is missing!’
‘I see.’ Massin looked down his nose at him. ‘Then as soon as I see Inspector Rocco, I will ask him to release your man.’
‘Release him?’
‘Well, you are obviously intent on blaming him for every strange occurrence last night. He must have kidnapped one of your staff, too.’
As soon as Wiegheim had gone storming out, Massin turned to Captain Canet and said quietly, ‘Find Rocco. I don’t care what it takes. Something has happened, whether of his own making or not, I don’t know. It could be that the man Farek has caught up with him. This could come back and haunt us if we don’t resolve it right away. And take that… thing with you.’ He waved a hand at the grappling hook and both men left his office.