‘I realise this has all come in a rush, Lucas,’ said Dreycourt. ‘But I must impress on you the urgency involved here. Three high-placed individuals – victims – and I think it’s unlikely they will be the only ones. I’m being pressed to get this dealt with as a matter of urgency and close down any further attacks.’
Rocco wasn’t about to be hustled into making decisions purely for the sake of political expediency, and his instinct was to push back. ‘I realise that, Marcel. But you wouldn’t rush to verify a work of art, and my side of this investigation will take as long as it takes. All I will promise you and those above you is that I’ll move as quickly as I can.’
Dreycourt gave a wry smile. ‘It’s true what I’ve heard about you, isn’t it? You really don’t give much of a toss for authority. I like that.’ He reached out and shook Rocco’s hand. ‘I’ll try to get some bodies on the ground to do some of the background leg work for you but it won’t amount to much. The ministry wants this kept as quiet as possible to avoid a public scandal, so too big a team would be open to risk. Call me if you have any specific jobs you can’t do yourself. We’ll talk again soon.’
Rocco left Dreycourt contemplating another coffee and walked back to his car. Before heading back to Amiens, he took out the three letters and gave them a quick read while he still had a chance of doing so in peace.
They were typewritten, the words neutral, with no discernible style that would point towards the identity of the author. Simple demands to be simply met. Or else.
Bourdelet’s response he knew about. The letter was smudged and dotted with dark marks which he guessed were blood. Gambon’s letter mentioned the former police chief’s knowing sale of an alleged forged but unnamed Matisse to an unnamed American buyer as an original, and his purchase of a Boucher, both paintings funded by loans from two named sources. Rocco hadn’t heard of either men, but presumably airing the names had been enough for Gambon to have decided that he’d reached the end of the road.
Petissier’s letter was as Dreycourt described, pointing a finger at the judge’s close connections with criminals who had all walked free of serious charges, and of his subsequent receipt of substantial sums of money which had gone to fund his lifestyle and, it claimed, the purchase of the fake Théodore Chassériau painting. The names were vaguely familiar to Rocco but there were none that he’d been involved with. They were serious enough to have caused ripples in the justice system had the accusations been proved.
Three high-profile men in three different locations, three different lives. Instinct born of experience told him that accepting what he was told at face value would be unwise. Somewhere in each of their backgrounds there must be something to point to whoever had driven the three men to take such desperate measures. All he had to do was find it. He’d originally assumed Bourdelet, as a secretary of state, might prove a difficult one to investigate. Now he had a judge at the Assize Court and a former head of the national police force to look into: one dead, the other nearly so. Looking into the backgrounds of all three, if he wasn’t careful, would be like walking blindfold through a minefield in clogs.
He started the car. It was getting late in the afternoon but he needed to get moving on this before the cases got any older. He had a sense that time was of the essence here, especially with such high flyers. If there was any evidence of criminal activity, it would have to be found and seized before any associates had a chance to cover their tracks. And the only way he could do that with multiple suspects was to get help.
As he left the village and followed the narrow road out towards Amiens, a car drove out from a field gateway and followed at a distance.
A black Peugeot, Rocco noted. Too clean to be local, standing out like a sabot dancer in a performance of Swan Lake. Two figures were visible through the windscreen. They couldn’t have painted their official standing any more clearly if they’d tried.
Rocco put his foot down, raising a trail of dust as his wheels clipped the soft verge, the ground underneath dried out by the summer sun. The black car kept up with him but made no attempt to close the gap. He slowed again, then speeded up with the same reaction.
He sighed and wondered why the Interior Ministry, or whichever agency of the state these two were from, was so openly keeping an eye on him, and whether Dreycourt was aware of it. No doubt someone high up had been propelled by an innate sense of paranoia to set them on his tail, watching in case he turned up something nasty in the official woodshed.
Fourteen
‘More help?’ Commissaire Massin looked surprised, and shook his head. It was a sure sign that this wasn’t going to be an easy discussion. ‘But you’ve only just begun this assignment for the Ministry. Isn’t it rather early to judge?’
Rocco kept his expression blank and counted to five. He was accustomed to Massin’s instinctive reaction against using extra resources, but this was urgent and he wasn’t going to take a refusal at the first request. He related the news from Dreycourt about the latest two blackmail victims. ‘Their names haven’t been released yet. I need to investigate their backgrounds to find out as much as I can about them.’
Massin blinked hard. ‘Two more? What is this – an epidemic?’
Rocco breathed easier. ‘I hope not.’ Evidently Massin hadn’t yet heard about Petissier and Gambon. The authorities had indeed kept a tight lid on it. Maybe that was why the two men in the Peugeot had followed him from Douligny-la-Rose and his meeting with Dreycourt.
Massin shrugged. ‘You know how busy we are already, now that you’ve been assigned to this investigation. I don’t think it calls for more assistance just yet, though.’
‘It will do.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Because of the people involved. Like Bourdelet, they’re high-level. I was wondering if you knew either of them. The first is Jean-Marie Gambon, former Director–’
‘Yes, I know who that is.’ Massin frowned. ‘Gambon? Are you sure?’
‘Dreycourt is. Now I’ve got to fill in some blanks.’
‘I can’t believe it. The short answer to your question is I knew of Gambon by reputation only. He would have been present at some of the conferences I attended, but so were many other top police officers and directors. But I don’t recall ever having spoken to him.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s appalling that such an eminent figure should be caught up in this. But you said two more. Who is the other?’
‘Jules Petissier, a senior judge in the Assize Court.’
This time Massin looked stunned, and turned pale. He shifted in his seat and said nothing. The silence went on for a long time, broken only by a clock ticking on the shelf behind him.
‘Sir?’ Rocco gave him a gentle nudge.
‘I knew him. Petissier.’ The answer came almost reluctantly, as if an admission he really didn’t want to make, and the name rolled off his tongue with something akin to distaste. ‘It was some time ago, however, near the end of the war in Indochina. I doubt I could tell you anything that would help. I wasn’t privy to his private life and I haven’t seen him since then, although I’ve been aware of his rise through the ranks of the judicial system. He’s had a charmed professional life.’
At the final sentence, Rocco felt a hum in the atmosphere between them. The set of Massin’s face told him that the commissaire was not telling him everything. He was about to speak when Massin pushed his chair back and jumped to his feet. ‘Come with me,’ he said. ‘And don’t ask questions.’ He led the way out of his office, down the stairs and out through the front entrance, stiff-arming the door open and catching the guard on the steps by surprise. The man snapped off a belated salute but Massin barely lifted his chin in response. The two men were a hundred metres along the street and passing a small memorial garden with a commemorative stone to the fallen of both wars, when Massin indicated a bench set back against a screen of heavy bushes. There was nobody else around. He took a seat and motioned for Rocco to join him.
‘If I’m correct,’ he said s
tiffly, ‘your investigation into Petissier’s background will be thorough.’ It wasn’t a question.
‘If I’m allowed the freedom to do it, yes.’
Massin grunted. ‘I wouldn’t expect anything less – of you, at least. Because of that I need to tell you something that might come out during your investigation. Petissier being the kind of man he is, I’m certain he will have kept records of everything that might have proven useful to him during his professional life.’
Rocco waited. Silence was the best response, and the obvious one: what the hell was Massin about to tell him?
‘Following my … breakdown in Indochina,’ he began, ‘I was repatriated to France within a few days. I’m sure I don’t need to explain why. It would be evident to you, more than most, that a senior officer in such circumstance is a curse on morale. I was hospitalised for many weeks, undergoing treatment and tests. In effect I was kept isolated from any connection with the military establishment. When I was released from there, I underwent several interviews about what had occurred. They were described as fact-finding interviews and conducted by a man who said he was an acting deputy advocate general on attachment, assigned to me by the military as a courtesy to my rank. A final appearance was before a military tribunal. It was the tribunal which decided my fate based on those interviews.’
‘Do you have to tell me this?’ said Rocco. He could see the pain etched on Massin’s face as he relived the events following his return from Indochina. Even shell-shocked as he must have been, he could not have been unaware of the reactions of the people around him. For a senior officer to be brought back from a conflict under the shadow of what would have been viewed by many as cowardice, it would not have been pleasant, and some would have made their feelings only too clear.
‘If I don’t tell you,’ Massin replied, ‘I will have missed the only opportunity to do so. I can’t do that.’
Rocco nodded. ‘I understand.’
‘I won’t go into all the details, but the report placed before the tribunal was lacking in accuracy and, frankly, with the benefit of hindsight, a travesty of any kind of justice. But it was under the auspices of the military establishment and their main responsibility was to safeguard the integrity and honour of the army. However, as I discovered later, the man responsible for interviewing me had never conducted a military interview before. He was not even of the army, but brought in from outside.’ He grunted. ‘I think it was a question of the military wanting to keep their distance in case of infection. I can only imagine more junior ranks must have suffered greater indignities with even less compassion. The result for me could not have been worse. I came to the conclusion that the acting DAG was concerned solely with using the situation as a stepping-stone on a career path to the top. And having a senior officer – especially a former Brigade C.O. like me to work on – must have been a godsend to him. I was a casualty of another man’s ambition. He treated my inability to explain my actions with such casual indifference, even disdain, that by the time I came before the tribunal I had no defence to offer. Mentally I was in no fit state to answer his questions or the charges I faced, a fact which came out subsequently, although by then it was too late. His report consisted of two pages and a summary, which I confess I didn’t fully understand at the time. But his verbal report was a lot longer, very damning and brutal in the extreme. I wasn’t cashiered, but my military career was effectively over the moment he began speaking.’ He stared down at the ground. ‘It was pure theatre, much like many of his cases since then. He tore me, my service and any future hopes to shreds and I was in no condition to resist.’
‘You couldn’t appeal?’
‘No. There was no process for doing so at that time. I was charged with two counts: offences against my honour and duty as an officer, and a dereliction of military discipline. It was explained to me that it would be preferable for the honour of the army if I were to take my leave and apply for alternative employment elsewhere.’ He looked away, his face ashen. ‘Due to the intervention of a friend from my days in the officer academy of St-Cyr, I was offered a middle-ranking post in the police. I was lucky to have even that, so I took it. As for the DAG, he had made an impression, gaining friends in high places in the process, and was marked for higher office in the judicial system. The rest is history.’ He looked at Rocco. ‘You may be wondering why I’m telling you all this.’
‘I think I can guess,’ Rocco said.
‘I’m sure you can. It’s not a confession intended as some kind of salve to my conscience, I assure you. The deputy advocate general who interviewed me and tore my career to shreds was Jules Petissier.’ He got to his feet and walked away a few paces, then came back. ‘What do you need from me, Rocco?’
‘One man, that’s all,’ said Rocco.
‘Desmoulins?’
‘Yes.’
Massin stood very still, his eyes on the floor. Then he said, ‘I have a proposal. These three men are all at a high level in the establishment. Getting to details of their connections and history won’t be easy. In fact, I suspect it will prove impossible unless one can get at the others on the same level.’
Rocco was forced to agree. Desmoulins wouldn’t be able to do that. Nor would he, without finding a mountain of hurdles against him all the way. He wasn’t going to give up simply because it looked difficult, but wondered what Massin was thinking.
‘What do you suggest?’
‘I’ll do it.’
Rocco nearly did a double take, but tried to keep his expression blank. Even so, Massin must have seen something in his eyes.
‘I know what you’re thinking: what can an officer like me possibly know of investigation techniques? I have to agree with you … but for one major difference. I know these people and their kind – especially Petissier. I know the way they think and the circles in which they move. None of that will be open to you by going through official records because you’ll be denied access. I’ll be able to get to people that you won’t.’
Rocco said nothing. He was trying to find an argument to counter Massin’s proposal, but couldn’t fault it. The commissaire was absolutely right; if you wanted information about a criminal gang, you didn’t look through official records, you went to their friends, neighbours and colleagues and you did so covertly, using contacts who were above suspicion.
‘You can still have Desmoulins,’ Massin continued, ‘but I suggest for leg-work only. You might not accept it but I think your investigation will be shorter than you expect. I never said this, but make no mistake, they will try to close you down as soon as they can. These three individuals are all too high profile to allow their misdeeds to come out into the public arena. Any one of them, if they became known, would provide a scandal the current administration doesn’t need. Governments have crumbled at far less, and this one is currently very fragile.’
‘Fine.’
‘One other thing, Rocco. My involvement stays absolutely between us – understand?’ He gave the ghost of a smile. ‘I wouldn’t want anyone around here thinking I wanted a change of profession.’
Fifteen
‘You want what?’ Detective René Desmoulins stared at Rocco in surprise. ‘But I thought this whole Bourdelet thing was … well, a delicate situation, him being who he is. Sorry – was.’
‘Are you saying you can’t do discreet?’
‘No, of course not … I mean, of course I can. But it’s why they brought you in, isn’t it? Need to know basis only.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘Top secret and all that.’
‘You’ve been reading too many comics. But I suppose it’s true enough. In any case, this is an important issue time-wise, and I can’t handle it all myself. Nor can I farm it out to other stations. The Ministry is in a hurry as usual but they want discretion – and they’re keeping an eye on me.’
‘Seriously?’
‘A black Peugeot 404, driver and passenger. And they’re being very obvious about it. While they’re watching me, they’re unlikely to spot yo
u. Are you in?’
Desmoulins was nodding eagerly before he’d even finished. ‘Yes, of course. What do you want me to do?’
‘Door-to-door stuff and finding any background information you can dig up from the three locations: neighbours, gossips, anything. You know what it’s like, very few people live in a vacuum. They might have talked to someone they trusted.’ Rocco dropped a slim folder on the desk. ‘In here are the names and details of the three victims. There’s a judge, a politician and a former senior cop, so don’t go charging in with both feet.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘You can leave me to do that. We’ll do Bourdelet first. I’ll deal with the house and you can canvas the area. Somebody must have delivered the letter and it would help if we could find out who. I’ll need to check we’re not in conflict with any local investigations first but, as soon as I confirm we’re clear, I’ll leave you to it. Somebody might have noticed something, a person or car, maybe a motorbike.’
Rocco and the Price of Lies Page 9