Lorraine Connection

by Dominique Manotti

  Rossellini sinks on to the leather banquette and gazes up at the ceiling. So it’s true. Kaltenbach confirms that the senior ministry officials are all hostile to the choice of Matra. Rossellini trusts him. It’s the first time he’s felt relaxed since that nightmare evening, not least thanks to the wine. At this precise moment, he decides to throw himself body and soul into Valentin’s game. And he attacks.

  ‘Lagardère’s crazy about horses …’

  Kaltenbach, not really surprised, looks up from his plate of chocolate profiteroles. Lagardère, now we’re getting there.

  ‘I’m listening.’ Smile. ‘But me, horses …’

  ‘Of course. Me neither. But the financial set-up involved …’

  ‘Now you’re talking.’

  ‘Lagardère set up a holding company that siphons off 0.2 per cent of Matra’s revenues.’ Nod. ‘Its purpose is to pay the salaries of the group’s ten most senior managers. The surplus profit is shared between Lagardère and his son.’

  ‘So far, nothing unusual for this type of family company.’

  ‘Wait. For several years, Lagardère’s stud farms have been incorporated into the structure of the holding company and Lagardère has used the surplus to make up the losses from his horses. A Matra shareholder filed a complaint four years ago for misuse of company property. The affair followed its course, as they say. In other words, it was more or less hushed up. But as luck would have it, this week it will result in Lagardère being indicted.’

  ‘Clever move. Have you got any more like that up your sleeve? Waiter, two brandies.’

  ‘Don’t you think that the management of the stud farms should be investigated by the tax authorities? Supposing the losses have been hugely overestimated and that Lagardère used some creative accounting to avoid paying tax …’

  ‘An interesting possibility. Do you have anything to back it up?’

  From his inside jacket pocket Rossellini takes out a few folded sheets of paper which he slips to Kaltenbach, who skims them quickly and nods.

  ‘I see the stables in question are at Chantilly. I happen to know some tax inspectors in Picardy, who, without exactly being distributionists, find it outrageous that Lagardère’s tax return is similar to that of someone on the minimum wage. I can get them on to it. I can’t guarantee results, the evidence is rather slim.’

  ‘I’m not interested in the results, but in the tax inspection. And the sooner the better. We’ll take care of the publicity.’

  19 October

  The alarm goes off and Ali Amrouche surfaces groggily. It’s been like this every night since the fire, long hours of insomnia followed by collapse into a deep sleep as dawn breaks. He’s been summoned to the police station, as a witness. To what? The end of the world? He gets up, his body stiff. He keeps the shutters closed because from his window he can see the charred remains of Daewoo’s hangars, metal carcasses and ash heaps, and he can’t bear it. He showers and shaves carefully. You need to watch out when you go to the cops. Always a worry. You can do what you like as far as the cops are concerned, you’ll always be the Arab. He goes downstairs. On the ground floor is a large room bathed in light, furnished with three big armchairs, the TV and house plants. It looks out on to his garden, a square of lawn and a little vegetable patch, well maintained, even pampered. He loves this house, the only plot of land he’s ever owned. He wants to die here. A bitter taste in his mouth. He’ll have to work for a few more years before he can retire. I’d carved out a nice little job for myself, no pressure, everyone knew me. And then the fire, with probable unemployment to come. Will it mean selling the house in order to survive before finally ending up in an old people’s home? Fear in his belly and rage in his heart. He moves into the kitchen, a quick coffee and a big cheese sandwich. The police station is a ten-minute walk away. In other circumstances it would be a pleasant stroll on a cool, bright day.

  Ali Amrouche, born on 28 February 1944 in Tizi Ouzou, Algeria. Resident in France since 1964, nationality French. Address: 7 rue des Bois, Pondange.

  Q. You are a staff representative at the Daewoo factory?

  A. Yes, I am a staff representative.

  Q. What part did you play in the events of 14 October?

  Amrouche gets up, paces up and down, speaking vehemently, his words tumbling out fast. The lieutenant can’t keep up and soon stops taking notes.

  ‘Things turned bad. It started with the accident in the finishing section and Rolande Lepetit being fired by the Head of HR. A pathetic guy, the Head of HR, I tell you. Nobody was prepared to take that lying down. She was such a courageous woman, a good worker, bringing up her kid on her own, with a dependent mother to look after as well …’

  The lieutenant tries to steer Amrouche back on track: ‘Sit down. We’re not here to discuss Rolande Lepetit’s character …’

  But Amrouche doesn’t even hear him: ‘I was the one who went to see Nourredine, who told him. Naturally, since I’m the staff rep, I can’t let them get away with that. I wanted to talk to him about what we could do for Rolande. I trusted him, I thought he could help me get her reinstated.’ Amrouche speaks faster, losing control, and the lieutenant gives up trying to slow him down. ‘But he made things worse, he accused Maréchal. But Maréchal had nothing to do with it. Nourredine started urging violence, he suggested setting fire to the lorries and overturning the engineer’s car. He was the one who wanted to lock the senior managers in, and led the group that broke down the door to the managers’ offices. After that, I don’t know, I was in a meeting, but he must have got into a fight, he ended up with a broken nose and was covered in blood. And I don’t know whether or not he was involved in the dustbin fire, there were traces of soot on his clothes. Maybe he’d already tried to start a fire. When I saw him again in the cafeteria, things had become really serious. At that point he was proposing to pour chemicals into the river. I was against it and he called me a traitor. But I’m older than him, I used to work in the blast furnaces, and people respect me around here. He’s a terrorist, that’s what he is, and I told him so. Then he hit me and said: “Terrorist, I’ll show you what a terrorist is. We’re all going to go up in smoke.” I don’t know what would have happened if the other workers hadn’t separated us. And then he left the cafeteria and I didn’t see him again. I went back to the offices. And the fire started not long after. I think he started the fire.’

  Amrouche stops talking. The lieutenant takes charge again.

  ‘We’re going to sum all that up calmly, point by point. Give me time to write down your replies, for the statement.’

  Amrouche, utterly drained, continues his account in half sentences, and in a more neutral tone. The lieutenant conscientiously starts going through the motions:

  Q. Do you know Karim Bouziane?

  A. Yes.

  Q. In your opinion, could he have been involved in this attack?

  A. No. He’s a little schemer, not an arsonist.

  Q. What name or names are being bandied around among your colleagues as people who could have started the fire?

  A. The name that kept coming up from the beginning is Nourredine. I think he’s the terrorist who started the fire, even if I don’t have any evidence.

  When Lambert makes his report, the superintendent is surprised and puzzled by Amrouche’s vehemence.

  ‘I told you not to be in too much of a hurry. We can’t discount this testimony. Check up to see if this Nourredine has a record. Nourredine what, by the way?’

  ‘Nourredine Hamidi.’

  ‘Anything on file is of interest, from teenage fights to nicking things from the supermarket. Anything that went down on record, at one time or another. This afternoon, I’m going to Étienne Neveu’s funeral. To gauge the mood and listen to what people are saying. We’ll review the situation together tomorrow morning, before getting back to business.’

  The afternoon sun is warm in the little cemetery sheltered from the winds, on the outskirts of the town, where there’s almost a holiday atmosphe
re. A brief ceremony for Étienne Neveu. A simple blessing in a tiny chapel, not even a funeral: his wife wants to bury him in her village, up on the plateau, about fifty kilometres away, far from the town, the factories, the Arabs. The priest reads prayers in hushed tones to a compact group composed of the widow, her parents and her two children, all wearing black. Outside the chapel and a little apart, Quignard, in a grey coat, hat in hand, contemplates the mourners. Poor woman, poor kids. Recalls Etienne’s jittery voice, I saw the guys who started the fire, you know.

  He suddenly feels shattered, devoid of willpower. All night he had turned his ambitious plans over and over in his mind, the alliance between Europe and Asia in boom industry sectors. With me as the architect. My grand design, my work, my contacts … and it would all be compromised if an idiot happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I saw the guys who started the fire. The full impact of the impending scandal. Me, in the eye of the cyclone, powerful, removed from the action. But I’m probably too old. The following morning, Tomaso was on the phone: ‘Problem sorted.’ Not a word more. He, careful not to ask any questions. Then one thing leading to another: the discovery of the body, an accident, no investigation. Disconcertingly obvious, simple. I’ll help his family. The superintendent comes over to him. The two men greet each other. Quignard, in a low voice:

  ‘Well, superintendent, can we expect a rapid conclusion to the investigation into the fire? It’s so important for the valley …’

  ‘Too soon to be able to tell.’ A long silence. The superintendent lets his gaze rest on the group of Étienne’s friends gathered in front of the chapel. Karim has just joined them. ‘You know the factory well, what do you make of Karim Bouziane?’

  ‘He’s a bit of a delinquent, but nothing serious. He’s someone who knows exactly where the power is and where his interests lie.’

  ‘What about Nourredine Hamidi?’

  Quignard turns his head and looks at the superintendent, who doesn’t move a muscle.

  ‘A different kettle of fish. Violent, an agitator. The day of the disturbances, 14 October, all day he kept adding fuel to the flames.’ A smile. ‘Until they spread,’ he adds meaningfully.

  ‘Ali Amrouche?’

  ‘A trustworthy man, I’m going to recruit him for the emergency committee that my company’s forming to manage the Daewoo personnel while they’re temporarily laid off, and afterwards if need be.’

  Karim watches the exchange between Quignard and the superintendent. Several times, while they’re talking, the two men look at him. Smug. Quignard’s expression didn’t escape him. He hasn’t wasted his afternoon. It’s back to business as usual. He’s there, slightly self-conscious, standing on the fringe of the tight-knit group made up of the entire packaging department, gathered around Nourredine, silent, emotional and ill at ease. Memories, the amazing desk, the TV, the dope, most of that was thanks to Étienne, a crazy nice guy, and dead. A really stupid accident. Maybe one spliff too many? Down there, behind the hostile family unit, dead and buried according to a rite that for most of them is essentially foreign. Dead like the factory that died in the fire. Life’s falling apart.

  The girls from finishing didn’t know him so well, they’ve come mainly for the pleasure of meeting up with each other, which they don’t often get the chance to do now. They whisper, such a young guy, and with a wife and two kids, that’s sad, it really is. The woods in autumn, where accidents can easily happen. Rolande talks about dead leaves making the ground slippery. ‘How’s Émilienne doing?’ ‘Not very well, she can’t get over the shock of losing the baby. They’re talking about taking her to a psychiatrist, that’s not good.’ A silence. Since the fire, things haven’t been good for anyone. ‘What about Aisha?’ ‘Not here,’ says Rolande. ‘She stays stuck indoors all day. I think she’s having a hard time with her father.’ Silence.

  Maréchal and Amrouche remain apart, behind a headstone.

  ‘Quignard asked me to request that you go and see him in his office, at ten o’clock tomorrow morning.’

  Wary, aggressive. ‘What does he want from me?’ Maréchal smiles.

  ‘To offer you a job.’

  Amrouche, shaken, speechless with uncontrolled emotion.

  In the chapel, the priest has fallen silent. Quignard is the first to walk past the coffin and genuflect. Then he bows to the widow.

  ‘My condolences.’

  ‘Thank you for everything you’ve done for my family, Mr Quignard.’

  He clasps her hand for a long time. ‘I am only doing my duty.’ Then he walks back to the car park at the entrance to the cemetery where his car and driver are waiting, and stays talking to Maréchal for a long time. He says goodbye to each of those who are leaving, Karim, Nourredine, Amrouche (See you tomorrow? In my office?). When Rolande walks past, Maréchal stops her and introduces her to Quignard.

  ‘Ms Lepetit, I am now the authorised representative of Daewoo. I have quashed the regrettable decision to dismiss you. You are of course reinstated. I wanted to inform you myself.’

  Rolande, her face expressionless, seems indecisive, at a loss for words. She falters.

  ‘That’s good news.’

  And she hurries off to join the girls who are making their way back to town on foot.

  ‘She’s a bit uptight, your protégée. A little “thank you” wouldn’t kill her.’

  20 October

  At the police station, Lieutenant Lambert is handing over to Lieutenant Michel. Today the first witness to be interviewed, security guard Schnerb.

  Gaston Schnerb, born on 5 June 1939 in Metz, residing at 26 rue de la Fraternité, Pondangé, security guard employed by 3G for four years and assigned to the porter’s lodge at Daewoo since the company opened.

  Q. Where were you during the day of the disturbances at Daewoo?

  A. My colleague and I came on duty at midday. We were supposed to finish at 20.00, but at the request of our superiors we remained until the premises were evacuated at approximately 22.00. On our arrival, we were informed that the workers had downed tools, so we telephoned our superiors who gave us very strict instructions: stop the patrols; avoid provoking trouble; keep a note of everything in the daybook. We followed these instructions to the letter. Two other security guards sent as backup by 3G arrived at Daewoo at 15.05 and covered the patrol duty. So we didn’t budge from the porter’s lodge until the premises were evacuated at around 22.00.

  Q. The porter’s lodge was occupied during the disturbances. What exactly happened?

  A. At 13.12 some employees turned up at the security control centre. They were led by Nourredine Hamidi, who entered and informed us that he was taking charge of opening and shutting the gates. We allowed him to do so, following our instructions. At 13.50 three lorries arrived to pick up some goods. Nourredine Hamidi wanted to prevent them from entering the factory, but he was unable to operate and so close the automatic gates. We did not intervene. The lorries were slowed down by the workers from the second shift trying to enter the factory at the same time. Then Nourredine Hamidi took it into his head to set fire to the empty pallets stacked near the porter’s lodge and push them under the engine of the leading lorry to blow it up. He was in a state of extreme agitation, shouting: ‘I’m going to burn the whole place down.’ Faced with the prospect of a degenerating situation, the drivers decided to turn back.

  Q. Are there usually empty pallets stacked up near the porter’s lodge?

  A. No. I didn’t see who stacked them there. It was probably done before we came on duty.

  Q. Then what happened?

  A. At 16.30 the executives began to leave the factory, by car, as usual. But Nourredine Hamidi hadn’t calmed down. As the third car drove up, he stood right in front of the bonnet to prevent it from moving forward, and he and some of his workmates overturned it. Then he clambered on to the car yelling: ‘We’re going to lock the bosses in.’ He marched at the head of the group and even from a distance we could see people smashing in the main door of the office b
uilding and storming inside. Then we found ourselves alone again in the porter’s lodge.

  Following this, some executives pulled up at the gate wanting to leave. We opened the gate for them and they departed. They told us that there were only five people left in the offices, including the CEO. Not long after that, at 18.46, there was a fire alert regarding a dustbin fire inside the factory. We stayed put. During the fire alert, Ali Amrouche escorted the CEO and the remaining four managers to the gate, telling them to get away as quickly as possible. He looked terrified but he didn’t tell us why, or of whom he was afraid.

  At 19.15 Nourredine Hamidi and Hafed Rifaai came back, just the two of them, to the porter’s lodge. Nourredine was covered in soot and dried blood, he must have got into a fight. When we told him the managers had all left he pushed us‚ my colleague and myself, and grabbed the daybook and set fire to it, issuing threats like: ‘I’m going to burn the whole place down.’ I clearly remember thinking at the time that this character was unhinged and a pyromaniac. Hafed Rifaai tried to calm him down without success. The two of them left and headed for the cafeteria, it must have been around 19.30. More workers reappeared with Hafed Rifaai at around 21.00 to review the question of overnight security with us. Nourredine Hamidi was not among them and things became much calmer. Then, at 21.43 precisely, the fire alarm went off …

  Q. Who raised the alarm?

  A. A man who came running out of the stockroom but I was unable to identify him. We came out of the porter’s lodge and saw the smoke, so we rushed to call the fire brigade. They arrived twelve minutes later.