Rocco and the Nightingale

by Adrian Magson

  ‘I agree,’ said Rocco. ‘Somehow JoJo must have got hold of the photo among some other bits and pieces and brought it away hoping he could use it. From what you say he was an opportunist.’

  ‘Unless he actually knew who the man was,’ said Kopa.

  ‘Knew or suspected. If he was as adept at picking up scraps of information as you say, he might have heard about the meeting and was looking for something in case he could do a trade with you.’

  ‘Or you. He was on his way to see you, you said.’

  ‘He was taking a hell of a risk, though,’ Jules muttered. ‘He wasn’t the brightest button in the box, and always had that shifty look about him. I’m amazed he wasn’t found out earlier.’

  ‘He was just trying to save his own neck.’ And in the end, thought Rocco, it hadn’t worked.

  Jules was tapping the photo. ‘And this woman is the killer’s spotter?’ He didn’t sound convinced. ‘She doesn’t look the type.’

  ‘You’re right. But isn’t that the whole point? She leads the way and gathers information, and sets up the target for the killer. Who better than a young woman?’ Rocco was recalling their brief conversation in the café in Amiens. He’d taken her for an office worker, smart, attractive and utterly normal. Yet she’d been sizing him up as a target. He related the details to the two men, including the fact that the man had passed himself off as a policeman by bluffing his way into the station as a new transfer.

  ‘He’s got balls, then,’ Jules murmured. ‘Her, too.’ He still sounded unsure, but his mood had mellowed. ‘Sorry about my response earlier, Rocco – that was unprofessional. It’s been a long haul and it looks like being for nothing if we can’t take this any further.’

  Rocco dismissed it. ‘Forget it. If we can make these links stick, you’ll get your result.’

  Kopa was silent, staring at the photo as if it were the Holy Grail. ‘Rocco’s right,’ he breathed at last, looking at Jules. ‘This proves Farek has had a meeting with an assassin. If we can prove that’s what this Nightingale does, and place him at the scene of the murders, we get him and Farek all tied up with a bow.’

  Rocco wasn’t sure if it would work out quite as simply as that; pros like Nightingale were usually very good at keeping their real identities secret, especially from their clients. They were, after all, employed by people who wanted others killed for their own ends. Trusting them was foolish: people like that would not hesitate to turn in the assassin if the need arose. But he understood Kopa’s excitement at the prospect of success. Months of work trying to nail a high-level career criminal often ended with the suspect walking free because of a hole in the available evidence or a lack of concrete proof. If the man he knew as Jouanne was actually the assassin Nightingale, Farek might find it a little hard to walk away from this if all the links could be put together.

  On arrival back at the office he went in search of Captain Canet. There was something he needed to confirm before going up to Massin’s office, and it couldn’t wait. If the outcome was what he was expecting, the balloon would go up in no uncertain manner, and Canet would need to know beforehand. He found the normally genial officer at his desk, staring at a sheet of paper in his hand as if it might burst into flames at any moment.

  ‘Problem?’ said Rocco.

  ‘Bloody new intake,’ Canet muttered. ‘I’m missing my wife’s birthday party for this. They seem to think they can come and go as they please. I’ve got two new officers off sick and now another one seems to have vanished like a puff of smoke. With everything else kicking off and the Tour coming up, I need absentees like a hole in the head. Where the hell do they get recruits these days? Is it the uniform they like, do you reckon – or the opportunity to chase villains and crack a few heads?’ He stopped, aware that he was rambling. ‘Sorry, Lucas. Was there something you wanted?’

  Rocco handed over one of the photos from Place Carnot. ‘Is this man one of your absentees?’ He pointed at the figure on the right.

  Canet stared at it in surprise and jumped up from his chair. ‘Christ on a bike – it’s Jouanne! And isn’t that–?’ He searched for the name, snapping his fingers. ‘I’ve seen his picture somewhere.’

  ‘Lakhdar Farek.’

  ‘The gangster, that’s it. Samir’s brother – the one you had a run-in with. But what’s Jouanne doing with him?’

  ‘Jouanne is what he calls himself at the moment. He’s not a real cop, he’s just adept at passing himself off as one. I’m pretty certain he’s actually a professional killer known as Nightingale.’

  ‘Wha–?’ Canet stared at him. ‘You’re kidding me! A killer?’

  ‘Yes. The photo was taken less than three weeks ago, at a restaurant called Place Carnot in Paris.’ He explained briefly about the covert unit who’d been running JoJo Vieira. ‘The other men in the photo are Seb Achay, Farek’s number two, and a money-man associate. I believe they were having a meeting to discuss, among other things, the killing of JoJo Vieira and Detective Raballe… and me.’

  ‘And the woman?’ The colour had drained from Canet’s face as he absorbed the information, and he seemed too stunned to comprehend fully what Rocco was telling him.

  ‘The woman next to Jouanne is his spotter. They work as a team. Jouanne told me a couple of days ago that a young woman had been asking questions about me, and made it seem as if I had an admirer. I didn’t realise it but the same woman turned up in the Schubert and we had a brief chat. She said she was in town looking for work. When she’d gone, Jouanne had the neck to tell me she was the one who’d been asking after me.’

  ‘But why? What were they playing at?’

  ‘Mind games, I expect. Maybe they get a kick out of getting close to a target before carrying out the hit. Nobody said assassins were normal people.’

  ‘Hang on, Lucas. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not discounting what you say, but where’s this coming from? Let’s say Jouanne is an imposter, he wouldn’t be the first sad lunatic to get a kick out of passing himself off as a cop. But an assassin as well?’

  ‘Why not? What better way of picking up details that only cops would know – like my movements and routine?’ Rocco told him about the cop in Clichy who’d passed information to Farek about Raballe’s whereabouts, which had led to his murder. ‘It’s probably not the first time he’s played cop, either. He certainly has some nerve.’

  Canet said, ‘But he had the right paperwork – I saw it!’

  ‘Did it check out?’

  ‘Well, I didn’t do it myself, I left it to…’ He stopped. ‘Oh, God, I don’t believe it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I gave it to our office supervisor to get signed off upstairs, but she’s been off sick ever since. What with everything else going on, it’s probably still on her desk.’

  ‘I wouldn’t bet on it,’ said Rocco. ‘If this Jouanne was clever enough to bluff his way into a position here with fake papers, he’d have made sure those papers disappeared the first moment he got.’ He gestured upwards. ‘I’ve got to report what I’ve found to Massin. You want to come with me?’

  Canet nodded, his eyes blank. ‘I think I’d better. Christ, how do I explain this away?’

  Rocco had no answer for him. The truth was they’d all been fooled by an expert, and would have to learn from it. For now, though, it was best to be open about what had happened and let Massin know.

  They walked upstairs and were met in the corridor by Massin. The senior officer was staring out of a window as if contemplating his future. He said nothing when he saw the two men, but turned into his office, beckoning them to follow. He seemed surprised by Canet’s presence, but all he said was, ‘Do you have anything to report, Rocco? Only I’ve been getting questions from the Ministry about our lack of progress. It would be nice to have something to report to get them off my back.’

  Rocco was surprised by this change of tack for Massin. He was normally so uncritical of the Ministry. Maybe the pressure of this business was getting to him. Before he could spea
k, however, the door opened again and in walked Gerard Monteo.

  ‘Where the hell have you been?’ Massin demanded, almost as if the words were out before he could stop them.

  ‘I’ve been busy,’ Monteo replied. ‘I was called back to the Ministry at short notice. There have been developments in Gabon which couldn’t be left unattended, and I was the only one who could deal with it. I won’t bore you with the details.’ His eyes swept across all three men and came to rest on Rocco. ‘I hear you’ve lost Bouanga. Bit careless, wasn’t it?’

  Rocco wondered if drop-kicking the little tyke down the stairs could be done without losing his job, and decided not. Maybe he could put sugar in his petrol tank… or something stronger. Instead he said, ‘He was taken sometime during the night. Two officers on guard were shot, one dead, the other seriously wounded. If you dismiss that as simply “careless”, you’re a bigger ass than I thought.’

  ‘Thank you, Rocco.’ Massin said quickly, as Monteo’s face registered shock. He continued, ‘I’m sure Mr Monteo didn’t mean to be insulting, although,’ he paused and looked at the Ministry man, ‘an apology wouldn’t go amiss.’

  ‘Why? I don’t see what I have to apologise for. There’s clearly been some lack of co-ordination here if somebody could simply walk in and take Bouanga hostage. Have you any idea of the work I’ve put into this project? Now it’s all ruined–’

  ‘Enough!’ Massin held up a hand to cut off any further talk. ‘This is outrageous. May I remind you that you refused to help with any budget for this “project”; you insisted that we take it on without considering the ramifications for this office and the men and women in it; it was you who made sure that your part in this was kept entirely clean while any faults or failings would fall squarely on this office and my staff. So don’t talk to me about your hard work. The only hard work you’ve performed is on your own image in the eyes of the Ministry!’

  ‘I say, François–’

  ‘I haven’t finished.’ Massin cut him off. ‘Your lack of consideration and poor management has cost one officer his life and another to suffer serious injuries that may well cost him his job.’

  ‘What? You can’t lay the blame for that on me.’

  ‘Are you saying you didn’t give an interview to Serge Houchin, a local reporter?’

  ‘Yes. I mean, I did, but I didn’t tell him about Bouanga.’

  ‘You didn’t have to. The man’s a reptile but he’s not stupid. He knew you wouldn’t be here checking our stocks of pencils and paper. So it had to be something important. Are you sure you didn’t drop a hint about Bouanga?’

  ‘Absolutely. If he says I did he’s lying.’ But Monteo’s voice had dropped and his face flushed, a clear signal that he wasn’t sure.

  Massin pounced. ‘And here you are after having disappeared without the courtesy of informing anyone where you were going, suddenly turning up and heaping the blame on my staff – and, by implication, me!’ He reached down and picked up a folder. ‘Just for the record, I have a full and detailed set of notes of our meetings and every word uttered by you, including your refusal to provide adequate funding or resources. Every page has been signed and dated by my fellow officers. Should I drag Houchin in here as well and ask him what he learned from you? He’s never been known not to brag about his inside connections.’ He leaned forward. ‘Now what do you have to say for yourself?… Or do I have to send this folder off to the Ministry by courier today?’

  Monteo’s mouth opened and closed as if to object, but faced with Massin’s verbal onslaught and the folder being thrust in his face, he back-pedalled rapidly. ‘Of course, I apologise. That was insensitive of me.’ He raised both hands in surrender. ‘I can only plead exhaustion from my travels. I wasn’t briefed about any shooting, just the abduction. I’m sorry.’ He turned to Rocco and said, ‘Please accept my apologies, too, Rocco. I was out of order.’

  Rocco nodded without comment and turned to Massin. ‘I need to discuss the Farek situation with you. Shall I come back?’ It was as clear as he could make it that he didn’t want to talk about his trip to Paris in front of Monteo. He didn’t trust the man not to find some issue with jurisdictions in a bid to puff up his own importance.

  Massin, though, seemed in no mood for discretion. With a stern look at Monteo he said, ‘I’m sure anything we discuss here will not go any further. What did you discover?’

  Rocco gave a summary of his meeting with Kopa and Jules, and placed the photo taken at Place Carnot on the desk. He ran through the known names of those present, including Jouanne, and the roles of Farek and his colleagues.

  Massin didn’t react to the officer’s name, but Rocco wasn’t surprised; in a busy station with new people arriving recently, it would have been hard keeping up with everybody. Rocco’s tone when he used the name was enough, though, to tell Massin that there was something significant about Jouanne.

  He tapped the photo. ‘Do we have any further information on this man?’

  Rocco looked at Canet, who stepped forward and relayed what he now knew about Jouanne. By the time he’d finished, Massin was looking stunned. He stepped out from behind his desk and walked around his office, shaking his head. Monteo opened his mouth to speak but a swift wave of the commissaire’s hand silenced him.

  ‘How?’ Massin demanded of nobody in particular. ‘How could this happen – a killer simply strolls into this station and assumes the position of an officer on guard?’ He returned to his desk and began leafing through a folder, scattering sheets of paper until he found what he was searching for. ‘Hell and damnation!’ he swore softly, and tossed two sheets of official-looking paper onto the desk, with a black-and-white photo of Jouanne attached by a paper clip. ‘These made their way up here for countersigning by me. This one even carries the official Ministry stamp!’ He slapped the papers with the back of his hand.

  ‘Impossible,’ muttered Monteo, peering past Rocco at the papers. ‘Clearly forgeries, anyone can see that.’

  Rocco and Canet looked down at the papers. It was a transfer authorisation for Junior Officer Romain Jouanne to be attached to the Amiens commissariat as part of his training period. Massin’s signature was on the bottom.

  ‘They look authentic to me,’ said Rocco. ‘Especially with the stamp.’

  ‘They are,’ Massin confirmed. ‘I’ve seen enough of them in my time. Somehow this Jouanne was able to get hold of a genuine transfer document.’ He slid the paperwork back into the folder. ‘I’ll have to report this to my superiors; if it’s stolen paperwork they’ll want to hold an internal investigation to find out where it came from. It would have serious security ramifications for all forces if this became widespread.’

  Monteo cleared his throat, clearly wanting to join in, but a warning look from Massin stopped him from speaking.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ said Captain Canet. ‘I should have checked with the issuing office and Jouanne’s supposed last posting.’

  Massin waved the apology away. ‘It wouldn’t have made any difference, Captain. There was no reason why any of us should have checked, although,’ he gave Monteo a cold look, ‘clearly the Ministry needs to review its procedures.’ He looked back at Canet. ‘Do we know where this Jouanne was staying?’

  Canet shook his head. ‘His file says he was staying temporarily in a small hotel in town until a room became available in the gendarmerie barracks. We have an arrangement with them for personnel on assignment. When he didn’t check in for his shift I rang the hotel. They don’t have a record of anyone of that name staying there.’

  Massin was about to speak when there was a sharp knock at the door, and it opened to admit a uniformed officer waving a telex.

  ‘Apologies, sir, but you asked for immediate sight of any information on the missing man, Bouanga.’

  ‘What is it?’ Monteo demanded, but Massin snatched the telex and scanned it quickly as the officer left.

  ‘There’s been a development.’ He handed the telex to Rocco. Officers on traffic du
ty on the outskirts of Arras, to the north of Amiens, had stopped a Simca Vedette being driven erratically. The car, which was large and modelled on sweeping American automobile lines, contained a number of men and a woman. The front seat passenger had produced a handgun and threatened to shoot the officers. In spite of that, they had managed to pull the man from the car and arrest him. As they'd done so they'd heard screams coming from the back and noted an older man and a woman struggling to get out. The car then drove off before they could stop it. The gunman was later found to be a Congolese national, and confessed that three other men in the car were, too, but the identities of the man and woman were unknown.

  Bouanga and Excelsiore, Rocco thought. It had to be. But there was no mention of Delicat. He wondered why the kidnappers had stayed in the area. Arras was less than forty minutes away from Amiens, perhaps even less at night on quiet roads. If Bouanga’s enemies were responsible and intent on disposing of him as they’d threatened, why hadn’t they done so at the house or shortly after taking him, before disappearing? They would have had a head start and been well away before anyone had been any the wiser. And why use Congolese nationals? None of it made sense.

  ‘You look puzzled,’ said Massin.

  ‘They didn’t go far after kidnapping them,’ Rocco replied. ‘Why not? Kidnappers usually get clear of the immediate area to avoid police cordons. And this gang had plenty of time to do that – hours, in fact. They could have been on the other side of Paris by now: away and clear.’

  ‘We’ll probably never know. If they’re driving around so openly and producing a weapon at a road block, they’re clearly amateurs.’ He stopped as his phone rang, and snatched it up. He listened for a few moments, then thanked the caller and put the phone down. ‘That was a follow-up report from Arras. The officers on traffic duty were on foot with their prisoner and weren’t able to mount a pursuit, but an officer going off duty saw what happened and followed the car to a factory complex outside Cambrai. He confirmed that at least one of the men was armed and a man and a woman seemed to be their prisoners. ’