Forty minutes later Rocco and Caspar arrived, followed by a plain Renault van holding four uniformed officers and two detectives from the local precinct. Rocco used his radio to issue instructions, then sent Desmoulins back to the restaurant as back-up for Claude.
‘So,’ he summarised, ‘Serban and three possibles, with the bodyguard outside.’
‘That one’s armed,’ said Caspar. ‘Left armpit, in a shoulder holster.’
‘What about the staff?’
‘They looked like ordinary restaurant workers to me.’
‘Fine.’ Rocco got through on his radio to the van and gave orders for the bodyguard to be taken first with the minimum of fuss. The moment the van pulled up and the uniforms took him, surrounding him before he could resist, Rocco led the way across the street and into the restaurant, the detectives spreading out around the room to cover any possible resistance.
It caught Serban and his men completely by surprise. The moment Rocco stepped inside, Claude and Desmoulins stood up and moved into positions where they could cover the three men suspected of being in Serban’s employ. Accompanied by the two detectives from the local precinct, Rocco approached Serban’s table where he was enjoying a pastry.
‘Hello, Yuri.’ Rocco slid into the seat on the other side of the table. ‘Pierre-Yves Dinal sends his apologies. He hasn’t got back to you on account of giving a long statement to the police about what you hired him to do. He’s currently being treated for gunshot wounds and wishing he’d never met you.’
‘What?’ Serban looked annoyed. He glanced around at his three cronies in the room and saw the police officers standing over them, then looked back at Rocco. ‘Who the hell are you?’
‘My name’s Rocco. Inspector Lucas Rocco. I’m here to detain you for ordering my murder, among other things. Oh, and before you protest your innocence and waste our time, we’ve also got your legal representative, Laurent Vauquelin, singing like a fat lady at the opera.’
‘And Georges Peretz,’ said Caspar. He was standing next to one of the three men, holding up a wallet with an identity card.
‘Mr Peretz will confirm,’ added Rocco, without taking his eyes off Serban, ‘that he hired a yellow van from Gregnard Motors in Sarcelles on your instructions. But we can talk about that later. For now, you’re under arrest, not least for ruining a perfectly good suit and coat.’
At that, Serban roared in fury and rose from his chair. He was immediately pounced on by the two local detectives, who cuffed him and led him away.
Rocco followed them outside and walked over to his car. He got on the radio to Massin and summarised what they had so far.
‘Good work,’ said Massin. ‘I’ve spoken to Ceyton and the Ministry and they’re waiting on your news.’
‘They accepted it?’
‘The Ministry? Yes, without question. I think they saw the wisdom in not getting in the way but letting it play out. There will be questions to answer, but only above a certain level.’ He smiled thinly but with a hint of satisfaction. ‘Ceyton is putting his weight behind us because he has no choice. This thing is going to be big and loud. What are you doing now?’
‘I’ll finish up here and be in tomorrow morning to make my report.’
‘Well done. I’m sure you could do with a good night’s sleep.’
Sleep. That would be a luxury, Rocco thought. And a chance not to think about what lay ahead. He was on his way back to Poissons, this time with Claude alongside him nursing a large serving of layered lamaita – lemon cake – from the Bacau. In between licking buttercream from his fingers, he was eyeing Rocco with concern.
‘When are you going to make a decision, then?’ he asked, flicking a layer of icing sugar off his chest.
‘About what?’ Rocco knew what Claude was asking but he was playing for time. It had been torturing him for days now, but the idea of even admitting that he’d been offered the new top job in Paris hadn’t been made any easier by everything that had been going on with the Bourdelet case. And, apart from Mme Denis, the one person who deserved better was Claude.
‘Leaving us.’ Claude rubbed his fingers together.
‘I’m sorry–’ Rocco began, but he was interrupted by Claude placing a hand on his arm.
‘Forget it. You’ve nothing to apologise for.’ He patted the cloth of Lucas’s coat. ‘Sorry, it’s only icing sugar – it’ll brush off, although the smell of petrol won’t. Like I said, no apologies. I know what the system’s like: they expect decisions on demand but you can’t talk about them until the paperwork’s signed off in case they change their minds. Trouble is, everyone else knows, even though you think they don’t. Have you told Mme Denis?’
‘Not my final decision, no. But she knows about the job; she got it from a woman in the village with a nephew in Amiens.’
‘That’ll be Sylvia. Her nephew’s a chatterbox like his aunt.’ He glanced at Rocco. ‘You really had the bit between your teeth back there, didn’t you? Serban didn’t have a cat’s chance and he knew it.’
‘Call it cause and effect. I don’t like being driven off the road and having petrol and whisky poured all over me.’
‘But it gave you a buzz, right?’
‘Maybe. A bit.’
‘When do you have to tell them?’
‘Tomorrow. It was always going to be as soon as this case was done.’
‘And now you’ve run out of time.’
‘Yes.’
Forty-three
The office the following morning was abuzz with speculation and chatter. Rocco found himself walking into a crowd of well-wishers, all wanting to add their congratulations about surviving the murder attempt and bringing the case to a successful conclusion. Victories of such magnitude weren’t as common as they would have liked, and, when one did happen along, it was enough to lift the spirits of everyone in the station.
He’d gone round to see Mme Denis as soon as he’d got home. She’d been pleased to see him and bustled around with a bottle of wine, asking for every detail of how he’d solved his latest case.
‘Sylvia’s nephew again?’ he’d asked.
‘Yes. She was bursting to tell me how you’d been chosen to arrest some big gangster in Paris, although when I pressed her for details she didn’t know who or why.’ She chuckled. ‘So much for her inside information!’
Rocco smiled. He hadn’t taken the problem of the leak any further, simply because the loose-lipped nephew hadn’t released anything which could compromise the investigation. But that didn’t mean he might not drop a word in his ear next time he saw him.
In the end, though, the talk had stalled and the atmosphere had become slightly awkward. Rocco finally told her of his decision.
Now he was on his way to convey that decision upstairs. He doubted there would be the tears he’d witnessed last night – at least, he hoped not. Emotion over a new job in the police, as in the military, was usually kept to a minimum. The stiff upper lip so beloved of the British was just as evident, he’d found, in the French officer corps.
He knocked on Massin’s door and heard the call to enter. Inside he found Massin, Perronnet and Canet, uniformed and stiff, seated around a table. A spare chair was next to Canet, a little distant from the others. The embarrassment gap, he thought, in case things didn’t go the right way.
Massin stood and held out his hand. ‘Well done, Inspector. I’ve received congratulations all round, from the precincts involved where the arrests were made, and even the Ministry. A very satisfactory conclusion to a potentially sensitive case. I trust you’re not hurting too much after your ordeal.’
It wasn’t really a question, more an assumption for the sake of good order, but Rocco nodded and thanked him, shaking his hand, followed by the other two officers. The truth was he felt as if he’d been trampled by a buffalo, a night’s restless sleep having awakened pains he hadn’t known he had. But he wasn’t about to let these men in on it.
‘There’s still a lot of paperwork to do,’ said Perron
net briskly, displaying his love of detail. Then he smiled, too. ‘But I’m sure we can all help with that.’
‘Damn right,’ murmured Captain Canet. ‘This has been a shot in the arm to everyone. Pity about your car, though. Won’t be the same not seeing that old bagnole around the place.’
At that the atmosphere in the room became sombre, and Canet blushed. ‘Sorry, Lucas. I didn’t mean–’ He stopped and looked to Massin for help.
‘Nicely put, Captain,’ Massin said dryly. ‘Subtle, even. I’m also sorry, Inspector, but I’m sure you know what else we have to discuss today.’ He reached to one side and produced a neat batch of papers which Rocco recognised as transfer documents.
‘I do.’
‘I know it’s not the best time for decisions of this magnitude, but the Ministry needs to know your decision. They have a great deal to do on this new initiative so I’m afraid we’ll have to push you for your answer.’ He nodded at the two other officers. ‘Naturally they know all about the offer with BRI. They’ll both be affected should you decide to move back to the city.’
Rocco nodded. ‘I understand.’
Massin pulled a face and pointed to a vacant chair. ‘Sit down, Rocco, for heaven’s sake. You’re not on parade and you look ready to drop.’
Rocco nodded and sat. ‘Thank you, sir. That’s why I’m here.’
‘Good. I’m sure we’d all like to know what you’ve decided.’
‘I know I would,’ murmured Captain Canet. ‘I’ve got money riding on it downstairs.’ He grinned easily at Rocco and said, ‘No pressure, of course.’
Rocco took a deep breath. Leaving here would be a wrench, he’d come to terms with that. Leaving Poissons-les-Marais, where he’d fitted in and made friends since arriving in the region just a year ago, especially with Mme Denis, his neighbour, would be far worse – and much harder than he’d ever imagined. On the other hand, going to the BRI in Paris was an opportunity too good to pass up. Jobs like that did not come along every day. If he didn’t take it, somebody else would and, barring unfortunate accidents, that particular door would be closed, perhaps for good.
The silence in the office was palpable. He knew that all of them were thinking about the next step forward, and had probably already begun to make plans about potential replacements, shuffling pieces on a chessboard. It was the professional thing to do and, in their position, he’d have done the same.
He got to his feet, ignoring the pains in his back and legs. This couldn’t be announced sitting down; it was too important. It wasn’t his style.
‘Since coming here to this rural backwater,’ he said carefully, ‘I’ve been blown up, shot at, nearly drowned, escaped being skewered in the neck by a madwoman, accused of taking bribes, held hostage on a sinking boat and now run off the road and almost burned to death. Most of it was stuff I never had to put up with in Paris. It’s been stressful, dangerous and scary and, unlike when dealing with gangs, I’ve rarely known where the dangers were coming from.’
He paused to take a breath and Massin jumped in. ‘I’m sorry, Rocco. I admit we’ve thrown a lot of unpleasant tasks your way and it can’t have been easy. But that was why you were sent here. It’s a pity if you see it as having been too much to deal with–’
‘I don’t.’ Rocco felt the pressure of what he was about to say building in his head. ‘It’s not that. Sorry – I was trying to–’ He stopped, lost for words. He felt a tightness in his chest but it was nothing to do with the battering he’d had.
‘Is something wrong, Rocco?’ A look of concern edged across Massin’s face.
‘Ha!’ Canet’s reaction was one of triumph. He pointed at Rocco and slapped his knee. ‘I knew it! Told you!’
‘Knew what? Told us what?’ said Perronnet, looking at them all in turn. ‘What are you saying, Rocco? And what is going on out there? Have they all gone mad?’ He was looking towards the door, where the frosted glass panelling showed the shadows of several people gathered in the corridor outside, with Dr Rizzotti and Detective Desmoulins just discernible through the haze. ‘Rocco?’
‘I’m staying,’ Rocco said firmly. If he’d had any doubts until now, the immediate sensation of relief swept them away instantly. ‘I’m staying put.’ Once said, it was done. No going back. He took another deep breath, noting the delighted grin on Canet’s face and a rare play of amusement on Perronnet’s as his words sank home.
Nodding to them all, he turned to walk out of the office.
‘Where are you going?’ asked Canet. ‘This calls for a drink.’
‘I need a long lie-down first,’ Rocco replied, ‘and I’ve got a Bastille Day celebration to prepare for. Also, the most miserable man in Poissons has promised to buy me a drink. It would be rude to refuse.’
Canet grinned. ‘Damn right. You can’t say no to that. Have fun.’
At a nod of assent from Massin, Rocco stepped out of the office and found a group of fellow officers gathered near the stairs, with Rizzotti and Desmoulins at the fore. They were grinning and waiting expectantly.
As he turned to close the door behind him, he saw Massin reach out for the transfer papers and, with what might have been a faint smile, push them off the edge of his desk into the waste basket.
Acknowledgements
To David Headley, for his continued support. To Rebecca Lloyd, for her usual perceptive and brilliant edit. To Jeff Spedding for his generous sharing of all things to do with the art world, and Sally Spedding, for her continued friendship and keen following of Lucas Rocco. And most of all, to Ann, without whose help getting up in the mornings wouldn’t be so much fun.
Published by The Dome Press, 2019
Copyright © 2019 Adrian Magson
The moral right of Adrian Magson to be recognised as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organisations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN: 9781912534210
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Rocco and the Price of Lies Page 27