“Bien, Louise. Tu as expliqué pourquoi il faut avoir le discours?”
“Non, pas de tout.”
Harcourt interrupted. “Excuse me. Is it possible to speak a language that is common to us all?” Still confused by the situation, she glanced at Massey, hoping for some explanation.
Her colleague had continued to stare silently at Petra as though he had seen a ghost. Inwardly he seethed in the knowledge that he had gained a conviction against her for murder, a verdict that the court had subsequently overturned, quite unjustly in many opinions. He already knew of her premature release courtesy of the security services, but was shocked and dismayed to find her fronting this particular investigation.
He was unable to contain his anger and resentment. “I refuse to work with her. She cannot be trusted. She's a liar and a murderer. It's finished. I'm on the next flight out of here.”
Petra snapped back. “Suit yourself. I have no choice. You know who owns me now and why I have a job to complete. This is what one might class as high-grade community service…in the danger zone. If you can't hack it, that's your problem.”
Harcourt raised her voice once more. “Can someone please tell me what is going on?”
Jean-Marie glared at everyone. “Arrêtez…stop… stop now. I not know your problem, but sometimes it is necessary to work with people when there is conflict. It is like so in a war when one ‘as a common enemy. To win we work as a team for the same objective. It is like that now. Everyone ‘elp each other. Your differences are not important. We work to win the battle. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” Harcourt muttered, still mystified by Massey's outburst.
Massey nodded, but remained silent.
Petra replied in French again. “D'accord.” She was still determined to rise above Massey's petulance and settle an old score. Fifteen love to me, she thought.
Jean Marie was losing his patience. He was involved as a favour to assist Petra in infiltrating the football club. His secondary role was to protect her during her stay. He was not prepared to waste precious time arbitrating the disagreements across the table.
“Louise, she say she make a contact at the football. She meet with ‘im tomorrow.” He turned to Petra. “This contact you make this afternoon, ‘e is reliable?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “I have only arranged a meeting with him. Until then, I really don't know. He's the white player who was a substitute today. He speaks perfect English, which should make life easier. He said that he was part American, part French and part Russian.”
Massey smirked. “He's probably involved with the Russian mafia, knowing her track record.” He was still quite willing to discredit whatever she reported.
Jean-Marie ignored the detective's comment. “I know this young man…'e is very correct, ‘ow you say…good-mannered? They call ‘im Alexis. Before, ‘is father manage the team, until ‘e die in tragic accident with car. Roche follow as new trainer.”
“Who's Roche?” Petra asked.
Harcourt related the discussion that had taken place earlier at the football ground. Jean-Marie added that it would be useful if she could speak with Alexis about the current trainer's activities at the club.
Not wishing to be sidelined, Massey pushed copies of two photos across the table towards Petra. “You could also ask him if he recognises these individuals. They both carried membership cards for the football club.” He pointed at the photos. “This one was found murdered in Moss Side, Manchester. The other one died in a motoring accident in Derbyshire. Ask him to explain that.”
“And posing as a student at the university, how do I explain being in possession of photos provided by Greater Manchester Police? So much for protecting my cover.”
Harcourt stepped in and offered a solution. “Could you not say that a friend sent them to you, knowing that you are from that area and that you are now studying in Limoges? She could have taken them from, say the Manchester Evening News. The newspaper could have published them on behalf of the police in their quest for the youths’ identities.”
Petra pouted her lips and shrugged again. “I suppose so, but it's a bit far fetched.”
Massey's confrontation with Petra continued. “Is that a refusal to help?”
“Not at all. I'll give it a shot. I'm just concerned about blowing my cover. I'm aware of the connection, but my brief differs from the focus of your visit here.”
Massey still argued. “I disagree. If your contact is unable to recognise these guys, our suspicions will be confirmed. It will prove that they were not involved with the football club. We will have made some progress towards establishing that this place is possibly some kind of transit point to the U.K. for illegal immigrants. Have you heard of Project Nexus?”
Petra shook her head.
“I thought not,” Massey said, confident that his knowledge and experience would make her aware of her standing in the pecking order. “Project Nexus is a European initiative dedicated to counter-terrorism. Their surveillance systems are far superior to anything that we may implement here. I believe that your objective is to infiltrate, gather what intelligence you can, report back and get out. Our objective runs in tandem, but links more specifically to the deaths of these two young men in the U.K. You, D.C.I. Harcourt and I are small fry in this investigation. We are just foot soldiers, preparing the way for the main task force.”
There was a silence. Petra wished that Rob were alongside to support her. She was a novice, especially in the counter-terrorism community. Maybe head office had assigned her to a low-key assignment in order to test her capabilities. Massey's arrival on the scene was only complicating matters.
Jean-Marie came to her rescue. “Petra, what time you meet Alexis?”
“Seven o'clock tomorrow evening.”
Jean-Marie folded his arms across his chest, suggesting by his body language that he was about to end the discussion. “I suggest that we all meet again in the hotel early on Tuesday morning. Tomorrow, I arrange meeting for the detectives at the gendarmerie in La Bastide. There we discuss the situation with the police judiciaire. They ‘ave responsibility for enforcement of law and investigation. They also ‘ave the power to arrest and to detain any suspects if it is necessary.”
He addressed Massey and Harcourt. “You ask them about Roche. Maybe their knowledge of ‘im ‘elp your investigation.”
He turned to Petra. “You stay in Limoges and you explain to your people what ‘appen today. In the evening, you question the young man. On Tuesday we share what we know at our reunion.”
With those few words, Jean-Marie managed to diffuse an awkward situation and leave all concerned with something to anticipate. Petra left with the ex-gendarme, thanked him for his support and headed for her apartment, cursing the involvement of Massey. She parked the car and decided to walk to ‘Le Café 1900’ for a large glass of wine before retiring.
The bar was quiet. It was early evening. Feeling somewhat depressed and lonely, she contemplated phoning Alexis. She was tempted, but decided that she had to remain professional and keep to the script. She returned to the apartment, tossed a frozen lasagne in the microwave, opened a bottle of Bergerac and poured herself a large glass. Two glasses later, the realisation hit her.
I haven't phoned Klara about meeting Massey, she thought. She'll be absolutely gobsmacked. She started giggling as she dialled the number. Five minutes later, both sisters were revelling in their collective repartee.
Klara was certainly surprised. “I thought you said that he had transferred to London.”
Petra laughed, unaware of the tragic circumstances that had driven Massey back to the North West. “They must have kicked him out for asking too many awkward questions.”
“How bizarre that he should turn up in France. Who's the woman that's with him?”
“Some other detective from Manchester. She seems to have the measure of him. Perhaps when I meet them again, I should just confide in her and ignore him. That'll piss him off even more.”
“Well, he didn't like me before, so there's no change there. Anyway, this time I don't have to do what he says. I can tell him to get stuffed and he can't do a bloody thing about it.”
“I wish I'd been there to see the look on his face when you turned up.”
Petra laughed again. “Priceless, absolutely fuckin’ priceless.” Her mood had now changed considerably. A renewed confidence had replaced her earlier depression and loneliness. “Klara, you remember that day we lunched at Dunham Massey and discussed my action plan?”
“I can hardly forget it, listening to your crazy ideas and those insane rants threatening murderous revenge for Tati's death.”
“I was pumped up, absolutely on fire that day. I feel like that now. Forget Massey. I'm on a mission, I'm in control…I can take on the world.”
“Sis, I think international terrorists are a slightly scarier proposition than a small-time Manchester gangster called Billy Day.”
“Agreed, but we were novices then, just the two of us. Yet we still pulled it off. We got a result. This time, I have the support of a counter-terrorism team, Interpol and all the security forces of Europe behind me.”
Klara attempted to bring her sister down to earth. “I thought you were over there to check out a local footie team.”
“Yes, but it's all part of some widespread surveillance operation against terrorism.”
Klara was sceptical. She knew her sister too well. “If it's such a big deal, should we be discussing it over the phone?”
Petra started giggling again. “D'you reckon our phones are bugged?”
“I bloody well hope not. I don't want some stranger listening to my private conversations. Anyway, it'll be you that they want to check out, not me. I'm just an ordinary citizen. You're on a crusade to save the world. That's far more important.”
Petra could hardly speak through her bouts of laughter. “Is that how you see me…as a crusader?”
“Not really. You're just my crazy big sister. You see yourself as some do-gooder. When you think about it, it's a little hypocritical considering your past misdemeanours.”
“Watch this space, Klara. I'm on a roll.”
She was even more intoxicated by the time the call ended, but now believed that once again she was in control. Her encounter with Massey still occupied her thoughts. He might be small fry, she thought, but I'm playing on the first team. She turned to refill her glass. The bottle was empty.
That night, Petra slept well. She devoured the lasagne for breakfast, despite the hangover.
Part Two A History Lesson
In accordance with Jean-Marie's suggestion, Petra contacted Rob at mid-day to update him with a progress report. Amused by her encounter with Massey, he went to great lengths to convince her that he was unaware of that particular detective's involvement. It was no set-up. He emphasised that, contrary to Massey's perception, their objectives were quite different.
He advised her to use her charms on the young footballer to pick his brains. She was by no means averse to that suggestion; in fact, she was prepared to pick any part of the handsome young man. She made no comment. He suggested that she should avoid the two detectives and focus on her gendarme contact. He admitted to be baffled by their visit, as the French authorities could have made enquiries about the two young men on their behalf. Obviously, he had never crossed paths with D.C.I. Harcourt who constantly manipulated colleagues and the system to pursue her own agenda.
Petra thanked him for his support and promised to forge ahead with her specific objectives. Jean-Marie had arranged to escort the detectives to the gendarmerie at La Bastide. She decided therefore to spend some time studying the French language C.D.s that she had brought with her. Content with the fact that she had encountered an English speaking contact, she was now more relaxed about her mission.
A storm was raging as she approached the area of La Bastide later in the day. She turned off the dual carriageway into a side road opposite Aldi Marché. Her screen wipers could barely cope with the excessive downpour. The cloudburst, combined with the spray from the road surface, almost obliterated her vision. Eventually, through the pervading gloom, she found a space in a tree-lined street where signs allowed parking in designated areas on the pavement.
She dashed from her Clio towards Le Capricorne in an effort to avoid a soaking. Alexis had been waiting for her in his car in the Aldi parking area opposite, but she failed to see him. She was still shaking the raindrops from her coat as he entered swiftly behind her.
The bar area was busy with mostly male customers who were either checking their lotto cards or engaged in conversation over a glass of Ricard. He escorted her through a separate area where some older cloth-capped men sat around a table playing belote, a popular card game. The scene reminded her of a reproduction painting bought at an auction by her late father. It was entitled The Card Players by Paul Cézanne.
Alexis chose a table at the rear of the premises, ordered some drinks and sat facing her. “But for the weather, we could have sat on the terrace outside. During the summer months, I have often spent some enjoyable evenings out there.”
Petra looked through the glazed patio doors. A high wall, washed with faded terracotta paint enclosed the secluded terrace. Empty hanging baskets and wooden planters were still in place, awaiting next year's spring bulbs and seedlings. Sheltered from the inclement weather at one end of the patio, wrought-iron garden furniture was in storage under a makeshift cover of timber and corrugated plastic sheets.
Unsure of what approach she should take with her new acquaintance, she decided to follow his lead. “I imagine that it is quite a popular venue on warm summer nights.”
“We refer to it as le local. It's the kind of place where young people with strong philosophical agendas congregate to air their views, especially opinionated students.” Alexis smiled. “We consider it to be the Latin Quarter of Limoges. Compared to Paris, however, the intellectual level is pretty basic.”
Petra determined to show an interest. “So, what do you discuss in these debates?”
“Oh, the usual stuff: global economic and ecological issues, politics, nationalism, foreign policy, the threat of terrorism…in other words, the mundane regurgitation of current affairs. Talking of students…how was uni today?”
“I spent most of the day studying in my apartment.” Her remark was not far from the truth. “There were no relative tutorials, so there was no need to be there. This afternoon I strolled around the town until the weather changed for the worse. Slowly but surely, I'm finding my way around.”
How strange that he should mention terrorism, she thought. Just as quickly, she dismissed the notion.
Alex had his mind on other issues. “If you need a guide, you need only ask.”
Petra smiled. He was angling. She could not afford to allow him access to her fabricated world. Best to keep him at arms length for the time being, to only encourage encounters on his territory, she thought. Once she had sufficient information, perhaps she could lower her defences a little.
She sipped her fruit juice. It was time to probe. “You didn't play on Sunday. Are you often a substitute?”
“Quite often unfortunately, but I usually make an eventual appearance in most games.”
“Why are there so few white players? Is it really because the local population are mostly coloured or is the club guilty of some form of racial discrimination?”
Alexis grinned and shook his head. “Like I said yesterday, this part of Limoges has a large community of immigrants from former French colonies, so they are the dominant population. Besides, they are good players. Most of them dream about playing for the national team or joining a top club, either here in France or more especially in Spain and England where money is the main attraction.”
“How many players are members of the football club?”
Alexis puffed out his cheeks. “Not sure exactl
y…probably about thirty.”
Petra feigned surprise. “That many. No wonder that you don't always get a game. It must be quite disconcerting not to be picked on a regular basis. I suppose players move on to other clubs if they get overlooked too often. Do they have to wait until the next season to change clubs?”
“It's not that depressing. The club supports two teams that play in different pools. Most players stay for the duration of the season. Sometimes new players join the training sessions, but some don't sign on unless there's a chance to play.”
“I expect that there are other teams nearby where the locals can get a game?”
“Oh, they're not always local guys. I don't know many of them or where they're from. They probably want to play here because of the club's reputation. It's the same at any level, I suppose. If there was a chance to play for Marseille or Bordeaux as opposed to Chateauroux or Calais, there's no contest.”
Petra opened her bag. “It's really bizarre. A friend of mine in Manchester sent me some newspaper pics of two young Frenchman who have died there. She sent them because they were from Limoges and they apparently played football for La Bastide. You must know them.” She passed the copies of the photos across the table.
Alexis picked them up and studied them closely. “I've never seen them,” he said with a puzzled expression. He peered more closely. “These are their registration cards for the current season. How weird. Maybe other players have made their acquaintance. Do you want me to ask around?”
Petra quickly snatched back the copies. “No, it's not important. There must have been a mistake. Who issues those cards?”
“The Haute Vienne Football Federation offices at Limoges. The players complete them at the start of the season. One section is returned to the F.F.F. and the other part belongs to the player. It's his I.D. to prove that he has signed on, a doctor has passed him fit and he carries insurance. The referee checks them at each match to prove that all the participating players are registered. If a player forgets his I.D., he cannot play. To prevent that situation it's easier to keep all the cards together. Here at La Bastide and at most other clubs, the manager retains the cards. Players here don't normally hold onto their registrations. Perhaps those two had signed up but moved on before joining us.”
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