Like now, for example. He knew she’d get better as the time to make a move came closer. It was always the same. He had his job and she had hers, and each dealt with the waiting in their own way. Once they set their plan in motion tonight, it would be like a well-oiled machine.
And Rocco would be history.
Twenty
Rocco walked to the station from the café, his mind on what Officer Jouanne had told him about the woman. If she had really asked after him before, why had she not said something when she had found out his name? Nerves, perhaps, on being faced with a policeman in a café full of other cops. On the other hand, she hadn’t seemed the nervous type, so what was going on?
He shook it off and made his way upstairs. He had more important things to consider just now, such as what awaited him in Massin’s office. He knocked on the door and entered to find a meeting in progress between Massin, Monteo, Deputy-Commissioner Perronnet and Captain Eric Canet, who waved a friendly hand and nudged a chair out with his foot.
‘Ah, Rocco,’ Monteo said forcefully, as if grasping at a reason to change a sticky topic of conversation. ‘Just in time. Sorry to drag you away from your duties. We were talking about this Gardienne Poulon who was mentioned earlier. There are some reservations about her being suitable for the Bouanga task. Perhaps you could settle our concerns?’
An air of tension in the room struck Rocco immediately. In contrast to Monteo’s suddenly genial and chatty demeanour, the three officers were looking unimpressed. Whatever the discussion had covered so far, it was clearly not going too well.
‘What do you want to know?’ he said, and sat down.
‘Perhaps I might interject here,’ said Canet, glancing at Rocco. ‘I was about to ask Mr Monteo what was so special about this Mr Bouanga. If I’m expected to take one of my junior personnel away from an important task like the Tour policing and place her in a potentially dangerous situation as a protection officer for a foreign guest, I’d like to think it’s worth the risk.’ He looked at Monteo, undaunted by the Ministry man’s position. ‘And from what little you’ve said so far, he’s no longer a minister and not even welcome back in Gabon. So why the special treatment?’
Surprisingly, neither Massin nor Perronnet, the two senior men, offered a comment. Instead, they looked to Monteo for a response.
Monteo scowled at the lack of support, but as they were all looking at him, he couldn’t back down without losing face.
‘Yes, well. That’s a fair question, Captain Canet. Very fair. It’s a matter of our responsibilities when looking to the future. Gabon is, it’s fair to say, unsettled at the moment, with many contenders ready to assume power if a gap offers itself. That by itself does not create harmony. Quite the opposite, of course. We’re actively pursuing talks with the current government, because we have a duty to ensure that the situation remains as stable as possible during the current crisis. But just because a minister – a former minister – has been elbowed out, it doesn’t mean that situation will always be so. Mr Bouanga has been a friend of France going back many years, and it’s felt in the current climate of international relations, especially with a former colonial partner, that we should not abandon our friends in their hour of need.’
‘You mean,’ said Massin smoothly, ‘he could be back in power at some future date.’
Monteo looked relieved and smiled gratefully for the clean exit from the questioning. ‘Precisely, François. As I said earlier, it’s simply keeping an eye to the future. It’s a fact, of course, that his family in Gabon is highly placed and very influential, in spite of his own unfortunate displacement.’ He glanced at Canet. ‘Does that explain the situation?’
Canet looked dubious and clamped his jaw shut. He clearly wasn’t convinced by the meaningless non-answer but was outgunned by what amounted to an argument he couldn’t win. Rocco sympathised. Canet had always been the most welcoming officer here, and had helped Rocco in his early days of being posted to Amiens. Now it was time to return the favour.
‘So,’ he said carefully, ‘it’s got nothing to do with Gabon being mineral rich, then, and Bouanga being the Development Minister? Or the fact that everybody and his dog is talking about Bouanga and his presence just down the road from this office?’
The silence which followed was loaded with tension as they digested the statement, and Monteo’s mouth opened in surprise. But he recovered quickly by going on the attack. ‘I didn’t say what his job was, Inspector.’
‘No, you didn’t. But I was curious, so I rang a friend in Paris.’
Monteo looked ruffled for a few moments, as if it hadn’t occurred to him that a simple cop might think to check on the details he’d been given. He said, ‘Without question there is a trade element involved, too, quite apart from the personal one of helping a friend of France.’
‘What sort of trade?’ This came from Perronnet, his gaunt features pointed at the Ministry man like a gun. Rocco had never got to know the man well, but he had heard that Perronnet had a strong moral streak and believed in everything being done by the book. Perhaps using a trade argument to explain providing local officers for the protection of a displaced foreign government minister was something that did not sit right with him.
‘Well, it’s true, as Rocco points out, that Gabon is rich in minerals.’
‘Such as?’
‘Um… diamonds, oil – and others.’
‘Not to mention gold and iron ore, I believe.’ This time it was Massin who chimed in. ‘All of which would offer valuable trading rights if we were to protect the right people. Isn’t that the way it works?’
‘Yes. Quite so.’ Monteo dried up, lost for words in the face of their obvious doubts. ‘Thank you, François.’
Rocco wanted to smile at the way they had all come together. It probably wouldn’t last once Monteo got back to the Ministry, when there would undoubtedly be a few pointed memos coming back this way in retaliation just to show who was boss. However, that was for Massin to deal with. He just hoped the commissaire, who was notoriously shy of upsetting his superiors in Paris, didn’t suffer a change of heart once the meeting broke up.
‘Fair enough.’ Canet spoke up after a lengthy pause. ‘I’d better brief Gardienne Poulon on her new assignment and get her kitted out. Rocco, perhaps you would be kind enough to assist, since you’ll be in charge?’
Rocco got to his feet to follow Canet from the room. He didn’t need to be asked twice. Anything to get out of here and back to work. If the others chose to continue their discussions, that was up to them.
‘Just a moment.’ It was Massin, holding up a hand. ‘In view of Rocco’s comment about the news having got out about Bouanga, which I can confirm, I think we need whoever’s on guard duty to be as fresh as possible. Rocco and Lamotte have already been up there since yesterday, so I propose assigning two officers with guard duty experience to cover the house with immediate effect until tomorrow morning, while Rocco and Lamotte get some rest and Gardienne Poulon is brought up to speed on what she needs to do.’ He looked at Rocco. ‘I’ve spoken to the Arras office and they can loan us two men at very short notice. They can’t take them off duties for any longer than that, so you’ll have to manage as best you can.’
‘Good idea.’ Monteo jumped in. ‘Two men should suffice. It’s a short-term measure but better than nothing and, as you say, François, it will give Rocco and his colleagues time to rest up and prepare for a longer stint.’
Massin reached for his phone. ‘I’ll get them in place. They should be there within the hour.’ He paused and looked around the room. ‘It would be wise to keep this to ourselves, you understand? If it gets out that we’ve drafted in officers from another station, the press will wonder why and begin making mountains out of molehills.’
‘Problem solved, then,’ said Perronnet, although the look on his face showed puzzlement at this sudden change of tack.
Rocco wasn’t won over by the show of concern for himself and Claude. This was a spreading of the l
oad to cover their backs in case things went disastrously wrong. Monteo, he suspected, was making all the right moves entirely for his own reasons, and couldn’t care less about anyone else as long as he’d done everything he was expected to do and was able to make out a convincing report to that effect. Massin was making sure his men didn’t fall asleep on the job and cover his own face with egg in the process.
‘Did you believe any of that?’ Canet said quietly, as they went back downstairs to find Alix. ‘What are we doing? Two more men being yanked off duties and assigned to look after Bouanga. From what I heard, he’s got a nasty reputation for making his enemies disappear – and we’ve got the job of protecting him? It doesn’t make sense.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ said Rocco. ‘Trade wins out every time. Bouanga could have been the most ruthless man on the planet, but if there’s a minerals deal up for grabs, they’ll fall over backwards to do whatever it takes to keep in with the powers-that-be.’
Canet shook his head in disgust. ‘I’m sure you’re right. I’ll be surprised if Bouanga goes back there any time soon, though. His seat in government will have been filled already if the history of that country is any guide.’
‘But in the meantime?’
‘We’ve got to keep him safe just in case it goes the other way. Makes you glad you joined the police, doesn’t it?’ He grunted and clapped Rocco on the shoulder. ‘Thanks for your help in there. I didn’t actually mean you had to come and help me brief Poulon, by the way. You looked like you needed to escape, too. You’d better do as the boss says and go get some sleep.’
By the time Rocco had cleared his desk and driven to Les Sables, he found the two uniformed officers from Arras already in position and patrolling the grounds. Claude was in the kitchen where Excelsiore was pouring him a large cup of green tea. Delicat was nowhere to be seen.
‘I gather we’re off duty until tomorrow,’ said Claude, stirring sugar into his tea, ‘so I let the lads get on with it. Suits me – I could do with a few hours extra sleep. How did it go with Alix?’
‘No idea. Captain Canet’s dealing with it.’
Claude looked glum at the news. ‘Ah. I suppose I’ll find out when she gets home. She’ll probably kill me while I sleep and bury me in the back garden.’ He finished his tea and thanked Excelsiore, then picked up his shotgun and went out to his car.
Rocco went in search of Bouanga. Before going home he wanted to make sure the former minister understood what was happening with the two new officers sent to look after him. He found the minister in the conservatory overlooking the rear grounds. He was going through some papers, and Rocco wondered if the man was fooling himself about the possibility of his ever going back to his old position in Gabon.
‘Inspector. What can I do for you? I see there are two new men outside. Does this mean the Interior Ministry has recognised my need for more protection?’
‘Sorry, Mr Bouanga, but no. They’re here while Lamotte and I get some rest and another officer arrives tomorrow morning. From then on, though, we’ll be here all the time.’ He didn’t hazard an opinion as to how long that would last, and instead hesitated long enough to give Bouanga a chance to complain, but the man stayed silent. ‘It seems news of your presence in the area has got out,’ he continued, ‘although possibly not where you’re currently staying. But I think it’s safe to assume that sooner or later the press will find out and start to ask questions. Once that happens it won’t take long for them to fasten on this place. If there is a threat, it will probably come shortly afterwards, before you can move on.’
‘I see.’ Surprisingly, Bouanga seemed relatively calm. ‘That makes sense. What is your advice, Inspector?’
‘Take appropriate precautions. Don’t answer the door without checking who the caller is, don’t wander around outside and don’t let anyone inside unless you know who they are and trust them not to kill you. And that includes any of your fellow countrymen who might decide to turn up unexpectedly for afternoon tea.’
Bouanga nodded. ‘You don’t exactly coat your words in honey, do you, Inspector?’
‘I don’t see the point.’
‘I like that. Too often I hear only what people wish me to hear, never the plain truth. I will make sure Delicat and his wife know, too.’ With that he went back to his papers.
Rocco left the house and stopped to instruct the officers to be on constant lookout, then headed for home. With the prospect of sleep, he was suddenly feeling very tired.
Twenty-one
JoJo Vieira’s home in St Ouen was even worse than Caspar had imagined. The street was little more than a narrow, cobbled dead end of crumbling houses with sagging roofs, empty windows and an air of something far worse than neglect. The atmosphere suggested that whatever life or hope may have once been here, it had been abandoned long ago, gradually wilting and dying.
Number twelve, he noted, at least had a front door, unlike some of its neighbours, and the step had been swept recently, with a glint of water showing where the accumulation of city dust had been washed away. The windows, too, looked clean. He knocked on the door and it flew open to reveal a woman in her thirties, with the faded look of someone trying hard against prevailing odds to get through life day by day. It was a look Caspar was familiar with, one he’d seen often on family members of those involved with crime. She was dressed in a skirt and a faded man’s shirt, spotted with dust and the remains of what might have been a child’s breakfast cereal.
‘JoJo?’ Her voice was faint, barely under control. ‘Are you here about JoJo?’
Caspar showed her his business card to show he wasn’t a threat, although he wasn’t sure she could take it in. He stepped back a pace to give her more room and said, ‘I’m afraid I am, Madame. May I come in and talk? Or I can stay out here if you prefer. It’s up to you.’
She shivered and clutched her arms together, even though the sun was warm, and he wondered if she had a fever. It wouldn’t be surprising in this rotting dump of a place, even in mid-summer. Then she seemed to make a decision and turned to allow him inside.
The interior was a transformation. The front door opened directly into a living room, with a sofa, armchair and a small table, all heavily worn but clean. A number of ornaments were dotted about the place, mostly small china pieces full of colour, as if their vivid contribution might somehow help combat the dilapidated air of the building and the area outside.
The woman gestured to the armchair and he sat down. She took a hard chair next to the table, and clasped her hands between her knees as if to stop them shaking. Strictly speaking this wasn’t what Rocco had asked him to do, but Caspar was playing it by ear, which was pretty much what he’d done all his working life as a cop. Sometimes you had to follow your gut feeling, and his every instinct told him that coming here might help Rocco solve the question of why Vieira had been killed so far from home.
‘Can I ask your name, please?’ he said. ‘And your relationship with JoJo Vieira.’
‘Miriam,’ she replied. ‘Miriam Constantinou. JoJo’s my brother. He’s dead, isn’t he?’ The blunt question came out in a rush, the words tumbling over one another as if she wanted to get them out before she lost the ability to speak altogether.
‘Before I confirm that, can you tell me whether he wore a tattoo?’
She gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. ‘Yes. A Chinese character, on his left shoulder, at the back. He said it was the symbol for good luck.’
‘Then I regret to say that it looks as if JoJo is dead. I’m sorry.’ Over the years Caspar had developed a dislike of fellow officers and officials trying to soften the blow of bad news by prevarication, when it was obvious that it was all they had to offer the family. In his experience, most people wanted to hear the news, good or bad, and deal with it the best way they could.
Surprisingly Miriam didn’t react other than to look at the floor and nod a few times. ‘I knew it. I just knew it wasn’t going to end well. JoJo was… he was such a fool with those people
.’
‘People?’
‘He was always trying to make a big score, mostly doing stupid jobs for crooks and thieves who laughed at him behind his back. I kept on at him to stop dealing with them, but it was all he knew. He never had a proper job in his life, just existing on the edges of the gangs and picking up odd jobs and doing a few of his own.’
‘What kind of jobs?’ Caspar didn’t really need to ask, but she seemed to want to talk and he was happy to encourage her. He knew perfectly well that criminals like Vieira rarely worked at anything regular that would earn a steady income. Instead they preferred to perform a string of fetch-and-carry jobs for any criminal who asked, doing the odd break-in or con job of their own to keep their heads – and pride – above water.
‘All sorts. Anything that would earn a few francs. But he drank more than he earned and started gambling and getting into debt all over the place. In the end he got kicked out of the place he shared with some other layabouts and couldn’t afford to rent a place of his own, so we let him have a room here at the back. It wasn’t much but it was better than the street. He was all right for a while, like his old self years ago. He even said he’d paid off some of his debts.’
‘Did he say how he’d done that?’ Caspar could make a wild guess; it was either through theft or being paid as an informant. But he wanted to hear it from her.
‘I asked him that but he wouldn’t tell me and got very defensive. I knew he had to be doing stuff – illegal stuff – and then he began acting strangely.’
‘Was this just recently?’
‘A few months ago. My husband Nico wanted him to move out in case he brought his problems back here, but I argued against it. I didn’t mind having him here – not that he was in most of the time. Next thing we knew he said he’d been mugged in the street. He came in covered in bruises, and it was obvious he’d been deliberately beaten up.’
‘Who by, did he say?’
‘No. If he knew he wasn’t saying. He said he’d done a foolish thing to earn some money. He wouldn’t say what it was, but I knew he must have been talking to the police; it’s the only thing I can think of. The beating was a warning, but that was just the start. In the end it was only going to end one way. He was terrified after that and said he had to get away from here because bad people were going to hurt him… and possibly hurt us. Nico and I have a small boy, Sasha, and that was it as far as Nico was concerned: JoJo had to go.’
Rocco and the Nightingale Page 11