Death at the Clos du Lac (2013)

by Magson, Adrian

  Rocco bent and sniffed at the spirit stove. He’d used one like it in the army for a while. The familiar tang of spirit made his nose twitch and brought back memories of long waits for anything to heat up, usually battered by wind and rain. The mug had a dark residue in the bottom which could have been coffee. The greatcoat was filthy. He checked the pockets. A crumpled cigarette packet. Empty.

  He toured the room. Damp had penetrated the floorboards and eaten into the walls, and black spots of mould were scattered across the ceiling. There was no electric wiring, but a stub of a candle on the windowsill had grown a white fuzz, like a rabbit’s tail. The sink had harvested a layer of leaves and twigs, as had the floor, no doubt blown in through the window.

  He turned back to study the greatcoat.

  ‘What’s up?’ asked Godard, reading his expression.

  ‘It’s too neat. The greatcoat hasn’t got any mould on it and the spirit hasn’t evaporated.’ He tried to think what it reminded him of and immediately got it: it was like a museum exhibit he’d seen in Paris once, dedicated to the war in the trenches in 1918. It was just stuff left lying around, genuine enough but not real. ‘No vagrant would leave the coat, even at this time of year. And the stove would bring a few francs if he was desperate.’

  Godard nodded, pursing his lips. ‘But why – and how come there’s no signs of entry along the track?’

  Rocco shrugged. ‘It was a distraction, to keep us occupied. Checking this place out thoroughly would take a couple of days if we got a full team in here. As to how, one man could have carried this stuff across the fields without leaving a trace. We’ll probably find the same set pieces in the other two locations.’

  Godard nodded. ‘I’ll get in touch with my men. You want them to go straight in?’

  ‘Yes. But tell them to be careful. This could just be a feint.’

  ‘I’ll do that.’ He turned and left, ushering his other men with him, leaving Desmoulins with Rocco in the kitchen.

  ‘Are you sure about this?’ said Desmoulins. ‘I don’t mean you’re wrong, but why would anyone risk doing this? If it’s not the kidnappers being really clever, how did the intelligence section get the information in the first place?’

  Rocco shook his head. He didn’t answer. But he didn’t much like the ideas that were forming in his mind.

  By the time they returned to Amiens, calls had come in from Godard’s observers in the other two locations at Roye and Neufchâtel. Both were isolated properties outside the towns, and had been under surveillance without any sightings of vehicles or potential kidnappers. Both had offered good potential as hideouts for the kidnappers and their victim.

  Both were empty save for some telltale items.

  ‘Same results,’ Godard reported. ‘A few bits and pieces to suggest a bolt-hole, but nothing elaborate. It’s the sort of crap you can pick up at any flea market for a few francs, mostly ex-military.’ He scratched his head. ‘Whoever did this didn’t have much imagination, though. I mean, why bother if it wasn’t going to fool us for longer than two minutes?’

  Rocco had been going over the possibilities, and had come to one conclusion. ‘It was both a delaying tactic and a distraction. They knew we’d have to wait before going in, while keeping the houses under observation. They also figured we’d spend even more time going over the stuff we found with a magnifying glass looking for clues, because that’s what we do. Both options take men and time.’

  ‘Distracting us from what, though?’

  ‘From getting too close, maybe?’ Desmoulins threw in, but without looking convinced. ‘If so, I wish the kidnappers would let us know for sure how close. That poor woman must be going out of her mind.’

  ‘If she’s still alive,’ said Godard, with feeling. He, like all experienced cops, knew that after a certain amount of time, things did not look good for kidnap victims. He looked at Rocco. ‘I need to debrief the men. What do we do about a report?’

  ‘Leave it to me. I need to think about it. Are the three sites secure?’

  ‘Yes. All locked up tight. Give me a shout if you need us again.’

  Rocco signalled for Desmoulins to follow him, and walked into the main office, which was temporarily empty as the search teams sorted themselves out, some signing off, others returning to their normal duties.

  ‘I think you were right both times,’ he told the detective quietly. ‘We are getting too close. But this stays between us until we figure it out.’

  Desmoulins nodded. ‘Of course. But if that’s the case and we’re close to finding her, shouldn’t we call in the big guns, let the Ministry know?’

  Rocco hesitated. He still wasn’t sure, but the thoughts he’d had earlier wouldn’t leave him alone. The main problem was, if his suspicions were correct, he’d have to prove it before speaking out. But to do that, he’d be taking one hell of a risk with somebody’s life.

  ‘Where’s that bulletin you had earlier? It might help if we knew who was behind the kidnapping.’

  Desmoulins pulled it out of his pocket and handed it over, saying, ‘It was thought to be Sicilians at first. Then someone suggested it could be a group opposed to trade deals with the Chinese Republic – that’s the lot in Taiwan, not their bigger cousins. Bessine’s currently in talks with their government on the supply of fighter jets and other airplanes.’ He shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘I’m no student of international politics, but it doesn’t sound much like any Sicilians I’ve ever met.’

  China.

  Rocco scanned the bulletin quickly. He couldn’t see any connection, either. He wondered if the suspected kidnap group was affiliated to either side, since each would have their own reasons for ensuring a disruption of talks over the supply of warplanes. He sat down, trying to organise his thoughts. Pascal Rotenbourg had mentioned the Chinese, based on his brother Simon’s fears of high-level collusion to influence trade talks; Stefan Devrye-Martin had mentioned them, too, also based on claims voiced by Simon. And Simon had claimed that ‘extreme methods’ were going to be exerted on a senior industry figure to force him to change the direction of his negotiations.

  Could it be possible, he wondered, that ‘extreme methods’ could include kidnapping an industrialist’s wife?

  ‘There’s a big sticking point,’ he said finally. ‘What if telling the Ministry could be signing the victim’s death warrant?’

  ‘Eh?’ Desmoulins stared. ‘What – you mean … No!’

  ‘You asked the question yourself: how did the intelligence section come up with the information on these locations in the first place?’

  ‘Yes, I know, but I was just sounding off …’ He stopped. ‘Jesus, that’s crazy. But why would they do that? Surely they must have known somebody might figure it out.’

  ‘Human nature,’ he replied. ‘You give a bunch of cops the most obvious but most ludicrous suggestion for a guilty party, and they’ll spend days running round in circles trying to find an alternative, simply because they won’t want to contemplate the truth. None of us does.’

  ‘Fair enough. But that still doesn’t explain why.’

  ‘They knew we’d find nothing, but didn’t care. We weren’t meant to. It took us away from what we were doing, because that’s all somebody needed.’

  ‘Somebody?’

  ‘Somebody in the Ministry … or an outsider with contacts inside that they could use to disseminate the information.’ He was thinking about Levignier. He’d have the means. And he’d already displayed his contempt for the rule of law by spiriting away the dead body from inside the Clos du Lac. But would he conspire openly with a kidnap – and if so, to what end? If not, there was someone else who might be a prime mover: the shadowy figure behind him, with the power to command Bezancourt and his men to follow Rocco.

  The man known as Delombre.

  Desmoulins said, ‘The Ministry. Christ, you don’t exactly pick the easiest enemies, do you? What do we do now?’

  Rocco picked up his telephone and dialled Massin’s interna
l number. He was going to make a report, and Massin would do the rest. ‘We let them think we’re going to investigate all three locations.’

  Desmoulins smiled, recognising the tone in Rocco’s voice. ‘Then what?’

  ‘Then we’ll do the exact opposite.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Inspector Leon Drueault was halfway through a snatched cup of coffee in the Pantin commissariat and checking a local map of the area, when he was told he had a visitor.

  He swore mildly. It had been a very long day, and it wasn’t over yet. Worse, nobody other than his commanding officer and a very select few were aware of his presence here. Even the officers and few remaining staff on duty upstairs hadn’t been brought in fully on the act, merely told that a special task force was operating in the district and to give them a wide berth. He and his men had deliberately dropped off the edge of the planet as far as the rest of the Paris force was concerned, to allow them to operate without hindrance.

  If someone had tracked them down here, it had to be somebody from higher up the chain of command.

  Someone with clout.

  ‘Tell them I’ll be out when I finish my coffee,’ he said bluntly, without turning from the map. His men were in a corner on the other side of the room, taking a well-earned break, while he was trying to read the local map to find where, in a haystack of places to hide, the kidnappers might now be holed up with their captive. The truth was, he was trying to stem a mild case of panic, because so far they were in the dark, with no further clues or sightings.

  ‘That’s all right, Inspector,’ said a voice from the door. ‘No rush.’

  Drueault spun round and saw a tall, slim man walking across to meet him. He was dressed in regulation suit and tie, confirming Drueault’s suspicion that he was from the Ministry, but there was not much about him that identified him as a desk man. In fact, Drueault thought he walked too much like an athlete. Or a soldier.

  He put down his cup and extended his hand. ‘My apologies. We’ve been up all night chasing ghosts. I didn’t mean to be rude, Mr …?’

  ‘Delombre,’ said the visitor. His grip was firm without being competitive, yet Drueault suspected he could have applied far more pressure had he wanted to. There was something about this man that spoke of an interesting history. And danger.

  ‘Very well, Mr Delombre. What can I do for you?’

  Delombre produced an identity card. ‘First things first, eh? Mustn’t forget the basics.’ He turned and looked at Captain Detric, Sebastien, and Ivrey, the third team member, who were watching to see what happened, hands wrapped around breakfast bowls of coffee. The table top in front of them was sprinkled with crumbs from the crusty sandwiches they had been eating. They all looked drained and pallid, and were dressed in ordinary street clothes, more like workmen than cops.

  Drueault inspected the card and handed it back. ‘Fair enough. You’re from ISD. Now I am worried. What brings you out here? I didn’t think many people knew our location.’

  Delombre gave a tiger’s smile. ‘Then you can count me in as one of the favoured few, can’t you?’ He nodded at the map on the wall. ‘Any clues as to their location yet?’

  ‘Who are we talking about?’ Drueault kept his face blank.

  ‘Cute,’ Delombre murmured dryly. ‘I must remember that. The people who kidnapped an important person’s wife a few days ago from Avenue de Friedland.’

  ‘Not yet. We’re following a trail all the way across the north-east of the city. Whoever they are, they’re staying on the move, but so far they’re keeping a step ahead of us.’

  Delombre tilted his head to one side ‘You think there’s a pattern?’

  ‘Definitely. We believe they’re using a furniture wagon, possibly with a defective exhaust system or an old engine. There have been sightings all across here.’ He swept his hand across the map from left to right. ‘The last one was yesterday right here in Pantin, but they’ve either gone to ground somewhere since or moved out.’

  ‘So you have no idea where they might be, then.’

  Drueault blinked at what might have been criticism. ‘Ideas, no. A couple of guesses, perhaps. But that’s all they are.’ He flicked a glance at his men, who were listening intently while pretending not to.

  ‘Well, we’ll have to go with that, then. Your best guess.’

  Drueault hesitated. Voicing his beliefs to a suit from the Ministry, especially one from ISD, was risky. If his suspicions proved flawed, and the kidnappers turned up a hundred kilometres away with a dead captive, he could wave goodbye to his career. He had heard about ISD’s methods in the past, and they didn’t care about leaving bodies lying in their wake.

  ‘They’ve been using abandoned or unoccupied buildings so far – places nobody would think to look. But only for short periods. I think they’ve opted to stay on the move deliberately. The moment they pick up a whiff of interest, they simply move on and find somewhere else to park. In fact,’ he was taking a real punt here, but he didn’t really care, ‘the closer we get, the more I believe they’ve had a number of such hideaways scoped out from the very start.’

  It was Delombre’s turn to blink. ‘Is that so?’ He turned and looked at the other three in the corner. ‘Do your men share those thoughts?’

  ‘Why don’t you ask them?’

  ‘We’ll save you the trouble,’ said Detric, stretching out his legs before standing up and walking across to join them. He looked tired and cranky and not a bit in awe of Delombre. ‘We do all think the same. This was pre-planned; the pickup, their method of transport and the bolt-holes they’re using. Nobody but an idiot would drive a furniture van around Paris day after day with a kidnap victim inside and take a chance on finding any old place to stop. They knew what they were doing, where they could go and what places were safe.’

  ‘You talk like a soldier …?’

  ‘Captain Detric. I used to be, yes. Now I’m a cop.’

  ‘Excellent.’ Delombre looked past him at the other two men, then turned back to Drueault. ‘So, assuming your little team of bloodhounds is on the right scent, Inspector, where does that put these people now?’

  Drueault very nearly shrugged, but thought better of it. The use of his rank had been a near reminder by this man that a casual response wasn’t permitted. It also told him that Delombre didn’t share his belief and was saying so openly. What he couldn’t understand was why he was choosing to do it in front of his men. Normal rules of command etiquette dictated that any disagreement with officers was voiced at a discreet distance so as not to undermine the chain of command.

  ‘They’re still here,’ he said. ‘Probably no more than two kilometres from where we’re standing right now.’ In spite of his confidence, he was keeping his fingers crossed mentally. It was risky, but this stranger was beginning to piss him off.

  ‘Really?’ Delombre’s eyebrows rose slowly in open disbelief. ‘What on earth makes you think that?’

  ‘Instinct. Experience.’

  ‘Ah, of course. Gut feel – the policeman’s crystal ball.’ A glimmer of something approaching malice danced in the other man’s eyes. ‘I thought that had died out along with seances and seaweed. Is that really all you’ve got?’

  ‘Pardon me?’ Drueault felt the sting of the verbal slap. He saw Sebastien and Ivrey stand up, and gave them a signal to hold fast. If Delombre was looking for a fight, he didn’t want to drag them into it.

  ‘You heard me, Inspector. You’re chasing shadows all right – but shadows of your own device. Why on earth would these people stay within the city area, with all the police and security personnel we have available to search for them, when they could be a hundred kilometres away in the middle of nowhere? It makes no sense.’

  ‘Because they’re not country people,’ said Detric.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘They’re city, not country. Driving a big truck around this city the way they’ve been doing takes skill. They haven’t got stuck in side streets, they haven’t hit anyone a
part from a badly parked bike, they’ve avoided random street stops by traffic cops and they seem to know where they’re going.’ He gave a wise-guy smile. ‘As the boss said, they’re still here.’ With that he turned and walked away, and sat down with his back to Delombre.

  The ISD man watched him go, then turned to Drueault. ‘So, you’ve got men who are loyal to you. That’s admirable. Take a round of applause, Inspector.’ He reached into his jacket and took out a folded sheet of paper. Drueault recognised it as an intelligence bulletin. He’d seen enough in his time.

  ‘What’s this for?’

  ‘According to latest information, sightings of known faces in the kidnap-and-ransom business have been made in four places. One south of the city near Orléans and three to the north. None of them is less than an hour’s fast drive. Longer in a truck. That means they couldn’t have been anywhere near here when you say they were. You’ve been chasing nothing, Inspector.’ He slapped the bulletin against Drueault’s chest. ‘Or are you saying your instincts and experience have greater merit than up-to-date intelligence from the Ministry?’

  Drueault took the paper but didn’t bother reading it. He had no idea why this man seemed intent on provoking him, but it was obviously what he was trying to do. However, nobody but a fool argued with intelligence bulletins – at least openly. The information in them was not infallible, but it was culled from a variety of sources and more often than not proved correct.

  Delombre turned and walked over to the door, then paused. He surveyed the men one by one, then said, ‘Seems to me you’d best stand down, Inspector. Get back to the kind of police work you understand.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  A house with a small turret near the church in the town of Poix. Rocco found a space outside the church and parked his car, then checked the area on foot until he saw a narrow, two-storey building behind an iron railing. It had a vaguely fairy-tale tower looming defiantly into the night sky out of one corner, as if added for a dare by some previous owner. He couldn’t see much detail, but he decided that anybody who could live with that had to be an interesting character.