Dead Horsemeat
Page 22
Annick gets out of the car, as if seeking a breath of fresh air, takes a few steps along the deserted embankment, glances up at the windows of the apartment blocks, no lights on, and slips on a rubber glove while Deluc is still pondering the best use he can make of Nicolas’s dossier. Annick walks quickly round the car, opens the door with her left hand, takes a revolver out of her pocket and thrusts the barrel under Deluc’s right cheekbone. His eyes wide, mouth open, he doesn’t have time to move a muscle. Annick fires. Deafening report, deep hole where Deluc’s right cheekbone had been, his skull shattered, the back of the car is splattered with blood and pink matter, the back windscreen is in smithereens.
Paralysed for a second in a state of shock. How can it be so easy? Then, quickly, place the gun in his dangling hand which drops it, tear off the glove. And scream for help.
‘At that point I felt stifled. I was anxious and tried to think of something to say to cheer him up. I got out to go for a little walk along the embankment. Then I went back to the car. I wanted to suggest he came for a walk to Notre Dame with me. It’s such a …’ she hesitates, trying to find the right word, ‘…serene place. You know what I mean? When I reached the door, I saw him through the window raise a gun to his head and shoot. I grabbed the door and opened it. I don’t know why – a reflex – to help him, I was panic-stricken. I think I stopped the body from falling out, I can’t remember. And then I started screaming.’
Friday 10 November 1989
A sleepless night reading James Ellroy’s Black Dahlia. Unaware of time passing. At 6 a.m. Daquin gets up to make coffee and turn on the radio. A slightly hoarse male voice:
‘Last night, just before midnight, the Berlin Wall came down. The Germans can now move freely between East and West. Throughout the night, the people have been dancing in the streets of West Berlin. People reunited… thousands of Berliners spraying bottles of champagne in the streets... Right now, young people from West Berlin have just scaled the Brandenburg Gate, which has remained shut all night, and they in their turn are pouring into the Eastern part of the city.’
Silent homage to Rudi. Perhaps regret that he hadn’t listened more carefully to what he’d been saying. A feeling of weariness that is nothing to do with politics. With a pang, Daquin pictures Lenglet in his hospital bed wondering: ‘What are we going to look like after the collapse of the Communist world?’
The news ends. Not a word about Deluc.
That afternoon, when Daquin enters the chief’s office, he walks into a gathering of the top brass all standing around chatting. They immediately clam up and everyone sits down, Daquin in the armchair indicated by the chief, who goes on the attack:
‘You know about Christian Deluc’s suicide, Superintendent?’
‘Yes, Sir. Inspector Bourdier has already consulted me concerning Madame Renouard’s declarations.’
‘Well?’
‘On a certain number of points they corroborate what my inspectors and I have discovered from other sources in the course of our investigation. And which we have included in our reports and interview transcripts. On other points, of course, we have no information.’
‘How do you see the sequence of events?’
‘From what point of view, Sir? I am still on leave pending the results of an internal inquiry. I don’t think that the investigators will come across any professional misconduct on my part, if that is what you are asking me.’
The chief smiles.
‘That’s not what I’m asking you, as you well know. The internal investigation concerning you has been called off, as of now, and your leave cancelled. You are in charge of the Transitex case, and that is why I’m asking you what you think will happen now.’
‘Everything that Perrot’s mixed up in revolves around money laundering. Thirard seems to be behind the Berger and Moulin murders, even if it is difficult to find those who did it. I believe they’re contract killers probably brought in from Italy or Germany. These two cases seem to be linked to the whole Transitex affair and therefore covered by my team. If we decide to extend the investigations to Pama, we should liaise with the Fraud Squad. All the rest is outside my remit. And Nolant’s murder is a matter for Bourdier and the Crime Squad.’
‘Deluc’s suicide?’
‘It is a suicide, isn’t it? Not a murder...’
‘Definitely. The investigation is already over, to everyone’s satisfaction.’
‘It that case, it has no bearing on my team’s work.’ With a smile. ‘Nobody wants to complicate matters.’
‘The chief of the Drugs Squad has just been transferred. Would you agree to take over in the interim, until the appointment of his successor?’
First of all: go back to my office. Regain possession of my territory. Daquin pushes open the door. He is greeted by a cheer that echoes down the corridor. Romero pops a cork, the champagne gushes out and fills the five crystal flutes waiting on the desk.
The four of them drink a toast.
‘To us.’
The atmosphere of the locker room after the match, after a win, when the game looked uncertain for a long time.
On the second bottle, Daquin:
‘Our work isn’t quite done yet. There’s one job left for us to do, and perhaps the most difficult. I promised Le Dem he could keep his horse with him when he left for Brittany. On making inquiries I found the horse belongs to the national stables and they won’t sell it under any circumstances. We’re going to have to steal it.’
Le Dem clears his throat.
‘Maybe we could wait a little. I’d like to think things over for a few days before putting in for my transfer. If I could stay with you... I’m afraid I might be bored in Quimper or Pont-l’Abbé.’
‘That calls for another drink, and besides, we have to finish this bottle.’
Another round. Le Dem raises his glass.
‘When the cavalry drinks a toast, which is often, we say: “To our horses, our women, and to all who mount them”.’
Riotous laughter.
Rough Trade
by Dominique Manotti
Top Thriller of the Year – French Crime Writers’ Association
‘The novel I liked most this year. Set in Le Sentier, the district of Paris where expensive clothes are made in sweatshops, it uses real events – the struggle by foreign workers to get legal status – as the setting for an extraordinarily vivid crime novel’ – Joan Smith, Books of the Year, Independent
‘A splendid neo-realistic tale of everyday bleakness and transgression set in the seedy underworld of Paris. You can smell the Gitanes and pastis fumes of the real France’ – Maxim Jakubowski, Guardian
‘Combines the circumstances of a Turkish workers’ strike, the globalization of the weapons and drugs trade and the commercialisation of sex: brilliant’ – Amanda Hopkinson, Books of the Year, Independent
The Serbian Dane – Leif Davidsen
This Breathing World – Jose Luis de Juan
Because of the Cats – Nicolas Freeling
Some Day Tomorrow – Nicolas Freeling
The Janeites – Nicolas Freeling
The Village Book – Nicolas Freeling (memoirs)
The Depths of the Forest – Eugenio Fuentes
Blood of the Angels – Eugenio Fuentes
The Priest of Evil – Matti Joensuu
Final Curtain – Kjersti Scheen
The Writing on the Wall – Gunnar Staalesen
The Sundial – Maarten ’t Hart
The Last Kabbalist of Lisbon – Richard Zimler
Copyright
Arcadia Books Ltd
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London W10 6PH
www.arcadiabooks.co.uk
First published in the UK by Arcadia Books 2006
Originally published by Editions Payot & Rivages, Paris, 1997
Copyright © Dominique Manotti 1997
This English translation from the French A nos chevaux!
Copyright © Amanda Hopkinson & Ros Schwartz 2006
Dominique Manotti has asserted her moral right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the written permission of the publishers.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978–1–909807–33–4
This ebook edition published by Arcadia Books 2013
Arcadia Books supports English PEN www.englishpen.org and The Book Trade Charity http://booktradecharity.wordpress.com Publication of this book is supported by the French Ministry for Foreign Affairs, as part of the Burgess Programme, headed for the French Embassy in London by the Institut Français du Royaume-Uni.
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