Pel And The Paris Mob

by Mark Hebden

  ‘Have you any leads, Chief?’ Sarrazin asked.

  ‘Yes, we have. But not in this area.’

  Only Le Bien Public bothered to use the statement. There was nothing exciting about someone being taken in for questioning over an event that had occurred in Lyons two weeks before and even less when it was found to be a false alarm. Le Bien Public ran a small story; the others ignored it.

  But it worked. The following afternoon, Aimedieu telephoned from Madame Bonhomme’s to say that Lafarge’s ‘contact’ had been on the telephone again.

  ‘“Relax,” he said,’ Aimedieu reported. ‘“It’s nothing to do with us.” I’ve got a note of it word for word, Patron. “It was a type down the road,” he said. “Georges Ballentou. You’ll know him. He was inside with you. The flics took him in, over some job in Lyons. I thought he’d gone straight but it seems he’s mixed up with some gang down there. It was him they were watching and his telephone they were tapping. We’re all right.”’

  ‘And the reply?’

  ‘Not much, Patron. The other type hardly says anything except “Okay?” Questioning, sort of. Or “yes” and “no”.’

  That night, it was warm enough for Pel and his wife to take their apéritifs in the garden. Almost immediately, Pel disappeared behind his own face. Madame said nothing. She’d long since learned that when Pel was deep in thought he preferred not to be interrupted. She didn’t mind. She was learning to understand her Evariste Clovis Désiré. He was a dedicated policeman and totally absorbed in his job. Leaving him to it, she went to her desk and began to work on her bank statement. When she’d finished, she left it where Pel could see it because she knew that, despite the savings he had been squirrelling away for years, he always considered himself on the verge of bankruptcy. It would give him a sense of reassurance to know that Madame’s business was thriving and he needn’t fear an old age of penury and starvation. She had already learned a lot of little tricks to keep him happy, perhaps the most important of which was not to interrupt when he was preoccupied.

  She pottered round the house, singing quietly to herself.

  ‘Le roi a fait battre tambour

  Pour voir toutes ses dames,

  Et la première qu’il a vue

  Lui a ravi son âme.’

  ‘Where do you find them?’ Pel had appeared looking worried. Even now that he was married and secure, he was pessimistic enough to feel it might not last.

  ‘Oh, I pick them up,’ Madame said. ‘Here and there. Have you worked it out? Who shot Madame Huppert. Who shot Selva. Who robbed the Baron de Mougy. Where his wife’s jewels are.’

  Pel’s eyebrows rose. He hadn’t realised she’d been so much aware of what was going on.

  ‘Some of it,’ he said. ‘I know who’s got the De Mougy loot but I don’t know where he is.’

  ‘Then you’ve lost him?’

  ‘Not by a long way. I know where he’s going to be eventually. It’s just a case of waiting.’

  ‘You’re good at that.’

  Pel nodded. He could sit for hours waiting if he knew something would result. He had, he considered, excellent sitting bones.

  Madame smiled to herself. She had long since become aware of Pel’s eccentricities and in a way they had endeared him to her because, beyond his highly efficient exterior, he was a different man, concerned with his failings, the fact that he didn’t look like a film star, couldn’t stop smoking, worried about money. But, when on a scent, his mind worked in weird and wonderful ways and he was best left to himself.

  Nevertheless, her eyes were bright. She found being married to a successful detective intriguing. She loved being involved in the fight against crime. Though it didn’t bring in as much money as her salon it was much more exciting. It gave her a feeling of being part of the fight herself, especially when she could put her finger into the pie and give it a little stir.

  Bardolle was waiting for Pel when he arrived the following morning. He was excited.

  ‘Patron,’ he said. ‘I’ve checked on those four guys Huppert sacked. Douaud, Muller, Redaudineau and Carruolo.’ He accepted the cigarette Pel held out and lit it hurriedly, blowing out smoke and waving his arms to clear the air. ‘Redaudineau’s dead. Booze. Carruolo’s returned to Portugal. Muller’s in Alsace. Douaud’s not doing that kind of work any more. They’re all in the clear, Patron. But I found out from Douaud that Tehendu – you remember he was one of the two we had our eye on – once worked for Fabrique d’Armes Automatiques de St Etienne, the people who make the FAS Apex 6.35s.’

  ‘What!’

  Pel was just rising from the desk when the telephone rang. It was Aimedieu telephoning from Madame Bonhomme’s and he sounded excited, too.

  ‘Patron,’ he said. ‘We’ve got a bite! Somebody rang Lafarge.’

  ‘Nick?’

  ‘Somebody different. He said the goods would be along this evening.’

  ‘Did he say what goods?’

  ‘No, Patron. He said he was from the Burgundy Electronics Company and that the video that Lafarge had ordered had come in. Could they send it along this evening?’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Lafarge said, Yes, it would be all right.’

  ‘We’ll be there.’

  As Pel was about to replace the telephone, Aimedieu’s voice came again, urgently. He sounded worried.

  ‘There’s something else, Patron,’ he said. ‘A car’s arrived at the end of the road. There’s a guy in it reading a paper and smoking a pipe. It looks to me as if he’s also watching Lafarge’s house.’

  ‘What!’ Pel saw all their plans ruined. ‘Who is it? Nick?’

  ‘No, Patron. I think it’s that type from Paris. Duval. I think he’s trying to make up his mind to go in and collar Lafarge.’

  Pel cursed. ‘Listen, Aimedieu,’ he said. ‘Carefully. Where is he?’

  ‘Just outside. He doesn’t know I’m only a metre or two away watching him.’

  ‘For God’s sake, keep an eye on him! If he looks like getting out of the car, stop him. Tell him we don’t just want Lafarge. We also want Nick the Greek. He’s got the loot and he’s going to pass it on to Lafarge. But if that damned idiot collars Lafarge, Nick’ll disappear with it. Hang on.’

  Holding the telephone, he yelled to the sergeants’ room. ‘Morell! Lacocq! Come with me. We’ll want a plain unmarked car.’ With the instrument to his ear, Pel gestured to the rest of the room. ‘Bardolle! Forget Tehendu. He’ll keep. I’ll want you, too! Also with an unmarked car. Get Brochard.’ He spoke to Aimedieu again. ‘Just hold him, Aimedieu.’

  ‘Patron–’ Aimedieu’s voice came in a worried bleat ‘–he’s an inspector, remember. From Paris. I’m just a sergeant. From the provinces. How do I stop him?’

  ‘Use your head,’ Pel snapped, slamming down the instrument. ‘Shoot him if necessary. Between the eyes.’

  Twenty-One

  Aimedieu was arguing with Duval when they appeared. They arrived at Madame Bonhomme’s by a circuitous route so they wouldn’t be seen from Lafarge’s house and pulled to a stop by her back door. Aimedieu had Duval against the wall. Aimedieu was pale and worried and Duval was trying to thrust past him, watched by an agitated Madame Bonhomme.

  ‘Name of God, Patron,’ Aimedieu said. ‘I’m glad you’ve arrived! I couldn’t have kept him much longer.’

  Duval stared from one to the other. ‘What is this?’ he demanded. ‘Is this how you usually behave in the provinces? I was about to question a suspect at a house down the road there when this idiot rushed out and said I mustn’t. When I demand to know who he is, he says he’s just a sergeant. I’m an inspector.’

  ‘And I,’ Pel rapped, ‘am a chief inspector. I think we’d better go inside.’

  Duval was still arguing as Pel pushed him ahead of him through Madame Bonhomme’s door. When he was still inclined to argue, Bardolle’s bulk, crowding up behind, carried him through. Aimedieu went straight back to his lookout post.

  ‘It’s all right, Patron,’ he
said. ‘There’s no movement. Nobody’s noticed anything.’

  Madame Bonhomme put her head round the door. ‘I can make coffee, if you wish,’ she offered. ‘I also have tea if any of you gentlemen like it. Also, of course, I have wine, which I imagine you might prefer. Cold wine. It will cool tempers, won’t it?’

  ‘That would be splendid, Madame,’ Pel said. He advanced on Duval who was obliged to take a step backwards. Finding a chair behind his knees, he collapsed into it.

  ‘I’d like to know what’s going on,’ he said angrily.

  ‘You will in a second,’ Pel said. ‘First, let’s taste Madame’s excellent wine. It’ll give us time to recover our wits.’

  Duval had no wish to be silent. ‘I’ve discovered that there’s a man across the road there who might have been involved in the robbery at Quigny,’ he said.

  ‘How did you discover?’

  ‘I spoke to the Baronne’s maid.’

  ‘You probably also got her beaten up,’ Pel said.

  He didn’t add that she probably deserved it.

  He tried to explain. ‘Of course he was involved in the robbery at Quigny,’ he said sharply. ‘We knew that within two days of it happening.’

  ‘Then–’ Duval looked bewildered ‘–why haven’t you arrested him?’

  ‘Because we’re after bigger fish. And the jewels. If we pick up Lafarge our man will disappear with the loot. He might even get scared and throw it in the river. And that will help nobody.’

  ‘You know he’s got the jewels? This man of yours?’

  ‘I’m damned sure he has.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘Arion Nicopopoulos. Known as Nick the Greek.’

  The name obviously meant something to Duval because he made no attempt to argue. ‘Why do you think he’ll come here?’ he asked.

  ‘Because we know he’s scared of being found with the loot.’

  ‘So what do we do?’

  ‘We wait.’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘As long as necessary.’

  Duval took some convincing. Like most Paris police, he believed that everybody in the provinces was a half-wit. But they eventually got through to him and, finally, it became plain that his chief wish was not to be pushed out and return to Paris without being able to claim he had been in at the kill. In the end, they suggested he should relieve Brochard and maintain watch with Aimedieu so that he’d be there when Nick the Greek turned up.

  ‘I can recommend it,’ Aimedieu said. ‘Madame’s a good cook.’

  When Duval finally agreed, Pel knew he was already working out ways of writing his report so that he could claim most of the credit for himself. He didn’t blame him. Nobody could blame a cop for looking after his future. After all, nobody else would.

  ‘Patron!’ Brochard said. The tape recorder had been set in motion by Lafarge picking up the telephone. ‘Someone’s calling.’

  They crowded round the loudspeaker.

  ‘You know who this is?’ The squawky voice came clearly.

  ‘Yes.’ Lafarge’s voice came back. ‘It’s all right. It’s safe.’

  ‘Tonight, then. After dark.’

  ‘Have you made arrangements?’

  ‘Yes. Paris has organised it. We pass them on to Charlot. He’ll be waiting in the car on the road to Besançon. A blue Citroën. Number 4319 HA 75. He then heads north for Paris. You continue south. I’m going to Perpignan. If we’re picked up, we’re clean. We come together for the pickings a month from now.’

  ‘I’d rather keep the stuff.’ Lafarge’s voice was nervous.

  ‘The Boss’ fixed it this way.’

  ‘Suppose they pick us up en route?’

  ‘Why should they? All you have to do is drive nice and gently towards Besançon. Slowly. Never exceeding the speed limit and wearing seat belts, so they’ve no reason to worry you. Charlot will be waiting in the square at Lissy-sur-Ille. You park alongside and pass the stuff across. He drives off. You drive off. I drive off. It’s over and done in ten seconds.’

  ‘I’ll be ready.’

  ‘What about your family?’

  Lafarge laughed. ‘Gone to mother’s in Vichy for a holiday.’

  ‘Do they know anything?’

  ‘Nothing. When they come back I’ll be somewhere else.’

  ‘Right. After dark, then. At 9.30.’

  There was a click and the conversation finished.

  ‘Let’s hear it again,’ Pel said.

  Brochard rewound the tape and restarted it. They listened carefully then Pel turned to Duval. ‘Satisfied?’

  To his credit, Duval didn’t argue. ‘Of course, Chief,’ he said. ‘How do I help?’

  Pel managed a smile. It was somewhat bleak but it acknowledged that he had accepted Duval.

  ‘What do you wish?’

  ‘I want to be first inside.’

  Pel hesitated. He had a suspicion that if there were shooting – and there might well be – that Duval would get himself shot. Ah, well, he thought, better Duval than one of his own boys.

  ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I shall be behind you.’

  ‘What about the suspects?’

  ‘We allow them to take the stuff–’

  ‘Away?’

  ‘We can cover the square at Lissy,’ Pel said. ‘Our people will pick up our friend, Charlot, whoever he is, watch his car and grab the lot as they hand over. We’ll have them tailed from here to Lissy.’ He turned to Darcy. ‘Arrange it, Daniel. Different cars to take over from each other so they don’t know they’re followed. And have that square at Lissy well covered. A car ready to seal every entrance so they can’t bolt. As soon as Nick and Lafarge enter it, block the exits so they can’t get out again.’

  Darcy left nothing to chance, and even went to Lissy to make sure the local police knew exactly what they had to do. Everybody had been called in. He left De Troq’ and Bardolle in Lissy to take care of things, then headed back towards the city.

  ‘All set, Patron,’ he announced. ‘The main road’s narrow there and only one of the entrances into the square is really wide. They’ve arranged for a lorry to block that, so there’ll be no getting past. How about here?’

  ‘Nosjean and I will go in behind Duval as soon as they leave. I want that house going through with a fine-toothed comb. I think Pépé le Cornet’s the man Nick calls the Boss and there might be something in there that will connect him to it. I want it clearing as soon as they leave.’

  ‘Give them half an hour,’ Darcy suggested. ‘In case they forget something and come back.’

  ‘They won’t come back,’ Pel said. ‘They sounded too confident. Someone’s sewed this one up good and tight.’

  It took some doing for Pel to sit still and appear not to be over-excited. He didn’t take kindly to sitting still when things were moving to a climax, but he had long since learned that a man who couldn’t delegate could make a hash of an arrest and he trusted his squad, especially Darcy, Nosjean and De Troq’.

  He telephoned home, saying he’d be late, and sat down to go through the reports on his desk on the shootings at Pouilly and Montenay. He hadn’t, he felt, given them his full attention with the De Mougy thing hanging over him. But that was the way it always was. To cope with everything, a man needed two heads. After tonight, he hoped, they could forget De Mougy, but as Claudie brought him coffee and Cadet Martin brought him beer while he sat reading Bardolle’s report, he still managed to work his way through a whole pack of cigarettes. Despite what Bardolle had turned up about Tehendu, it didn’t make sense. Why would Tehendu shoot Madame Huppert who’d given him a chance? Was Tehendu some sort of stooge for the Paris mob?

  Out at Madame Bonhomme’s, Aimedieu and Duval stared through the curtains until their eyes ached with concentrating. Nothing was moving and Aimedieu began to wonder if they’d been tricked. It had happened before.

  At six o’clock Pel arrived with Nosjean. Madame Bonhomme let them in, quivering with excitement. Then Lagé appeared.
>
  ‘Everything ready?’ Pel asked.

  ‘Car waiting, Patron,’ Lagé reported. ‘Another one in sight of it in case something goes wrong. They’ll pick them up when we radio they’re on their way.’

  At 9.30 p.m., when it was well and truly dark, the tape recorder clicked and the spools started turning. Aimedieu’s head lifted.

  ‘Patron!’

  They crowded round, listening. It was the same voice they’d heard before.

  Lafarge answered and the first voice spoke again. ‘All clear?’

  ‘Not a soul in sight. Where are you?’

  ‘Round the corner in the Rue Armand-de-Léon. I’ve got my car parked there. I’ll be outside the door in two minutes. Be ready.’

  ‘That’s Nick,’ Pel said quietly.

  Two minutes later they saw a car slide quietly to a stop outside Lafarge’s house. Nothing flashy – a small modest Renault that wouldn’t attract attention.

  ‘Is that him?’ Madame Bonhomme asked eagerly.

  ‘I think it is, Madame,’ Pel said. ‘Now I’d be grateful if you’d sit in your kitchen – just in case there’s trouble.’

  ‘What sort of trouble?’

  ‘These are vicious crooks, Madame. Their kind have been known to use firearms.’

  She disappeared as instructed, but she seemed very unwilling.

  By the light of a solitary street lamp they saw a figure leave the car and go into Lafarge’s house. It was too far and too faint to tell who it was but the figure was young and tall and straight and carried a canvas hold-all.

  ‘That’s Nick,’ Nosjean said.

  ‘Patron.’ It was Aimedieu. ‘They’re coming out again.’

  A figure appeared at the door opposite.

  ‘That’s Lafarge,’ Aimedieu said.

  ‘You sure? We don’t want any mistakes.’

  ‘Patron, I’ve been watching that place for days. I know the way he draws breath.’

  The tall, straight figure reappeared, but it was Lafarge who was now holding the canvas bag. The two men talked together for a few seconds, then Lafarge climbed into the car. Nick slapped the bonnet and waved, then turned and began to walk quickly away.