“You seem to know a lot about the system.”
“My father used to be the manager here until he died in a motoring accident a couple of years ago.”
“Oh dear…I am sorry. What happened?”
“He was killed by a hit-and-run driver shortly after leaving a training session at the ground.”
“Did they find the driver?”
Alexis shook his head. “The police investigated but, despite appeals for witnesses, the case was closed as no-one came forward.”
“How awful.” Petra showed some empathy towards his obvious sadness. “You must have been devastated.”
“One day…one day the truth will out.”
Petra continued to probe into the club's affairs. “So, who manages the club now?”
“Ludo, Ludovic Roche. He took over straightaway. He considered himself my father's assistant and took charge without any official appointment or even any opposition. He's been there ever since, but the atmosphere's not the same now.”
“I take it that you don't approve.”
“There's a very strong clique within the club now. By having favourites, he has taken full control of everything. He was always in disagreement with my father. There were some terrible arguments. All that has changed since my father died. He runs the club like a dictator, bullies everyone in order to get his own way. Some players are quite fearful of him.”
“Why don't people stand up to him?” Alexis's evident loathing towards the man intrigued her.
“It's a successful club. He gets results, so why rock the boat? Consequently, it doesn't pay to cross him. Ludo originates from Marseille and still keeps in touch with former cronies there. They visit occasionally. I've met one of them a couple of times. He has connections with Marseille football club, one of the top teams in France. I suppose that he's quite a useful contact for up and coming young players with talent to progress. I've chatted with him, mostly about football matters.”
“But you say that you're seldom picked for the team. Why do you still play for them?”
“I often ask myself the same question. I suppose that it's because I love football, I have friends there and it's convenient. In addition, I think that Roche knows more than he lets on about my father's death. By staying on, I can keep an eye on him. One day he may slip up. I'm determined to unearth the truth.”
“You think that he was responsible for your father's accident?”
“I wouldn't go that far. He plays his cards close to his chest. If he wasn't involved directly, I'm certain that he knows more than he cares to admit.” Alexis sipped his beer. “I've said too much. You must be bored. Let's talk about you. I only know that you're a student.”
Petra realised that not only had she found a contact in the football club but also a possible ally. She was discovering a less public side to the club's affairs. The personal issues between Alexis and Roche were not within her remit, but she was forming the impression that Roche was a nasty character who could be quite capable of criminal activity.
She needed to prevent the conversation drifting in her direction. “I would never have guessed that so much intrigue lay hidden behind the scenes. Thank you for being so open with me, especially as you hardly know me. For all you know, I could be a spy for Monsieur Roche.” She giggled, partly from amusement. It was her way of diluting the intrusiveness of his questions.
“You're far too nice for anything like that.” Alexis finished his beer. “Say, why don't you come and meet my family? I live fairly close.”
She considered it more prudent to become involved in his domain as opposed to inviting him into her contrived situation. Besides, it would be an opportunity to learn more about La Bastide, the objective of her mission. Having found the chat with Alexis to be easy and relaxing, she accepted his invitation readily.
During those first moments with him, she had merely scratched the surface. He had confirmed her first impressions from the football match. Apart from his good looks, he exuded great charm and courtesy towards her. He stood at least six feet tall, blue eyed with the figure of an athlete, one who played football and possibly other sports. He was obviously bi-lingual and could possibly speak Russian. As a trainee accountant, he was probably quite intelligent, but could be equally amusing, as she had already discovered.
Besides his confident manner and candour, there seemed to be a deeper side to his nature, an aspect yet to probe. Though he had captivated her from the start, her new acquaintance would intrigue her even more. She finished her drink and followed him from the comfort of the bar into the relentless downpour outside.
“Where have you parked your car?” he shouted before she dashed away to avoid the rain.
Petra pointed towards the side street.
“Wait for me there. I'll turn down the street and you can follow. I live not far from the football ground.”
Petra was unaware that this invitation alone would begin to turn her world upside down.
8888
As Alexis opened the door to his apartment, he turned to Petra and said hesitantly, “I live with my grand'maman. She is my family. Both my parents are dead. I'm afraid that she's eighty three years old, but sometimes acts like a teenager.”
Petra was unsure whether to smile or empathise. “I'm sorry. I mean, I'm sorry that both your parents have died.”
“I'm sure that you will like grand'maman. She speaks very good English, considering that she is Russian. She spent most of her life in America. She speaks very little French. She does not like them very much.”
He led the way into a dark, lavender scented hallway, an aroma that reminded Petra of her own grandparents’ house when she was a toddler. A door on the right was ajar, revealing a surprisingly modern kitchen. Alexis tapped gently on a closed door opposite. He opened it slightly and peered inside the room.
“Hi, grand'maman, are you asleep?”
“If I was asleep, I would be awake by now…and stop calling me grand'maman. There's nothing French about me. If you are coming in, shut the door. I'm reading, so I don't want to be disturbed. That means none of that dreadful music of yours to distract me. It's bad enough with the atrocious weather. The sky out there is laden with doom and foreboding.”
“I've brought someone to meet you.” He took Petra's hand and drew her into the living room. It was furnished tastefully, but still exuded a homely, comfortable feel. Petra was surprised by the luxurious furnishings and particularly by an enormous floor-to-ceiling bookcase that filled the length of one wall.
His grandmother sat in a soft leather chair. It was well worn but looked comfortable, almost moulded to her shape through years of togetherness. She faced a mock Italian marble fireplace, complete with a wrought iron basket and imitation coals. Obviously, it was a centrally heated apartment. For an octogenarian, the old woman was immaculately dressed with perfectly styled hair, soft silver in colour. On seeing Petra, she removed her spectacles and placed them on a low side table with the book that she had been reading.
Her eyes glinted with a sparkle and brightness that belied her age. “Welcome, my dear. You must be Louise. I have been waiting to meet you since Alexis told me about your chance encounter at the football yesterday. You have chosen a dreadful day to visit. Mind you, I am sure that the storm will have subsided by the time you leave.”
She rose from her chair with the aid of a silver-topped cane, crossed to Petra and gently kissed her on both cheeks. She stepped back a pace and deliberately scanned her from head to foot. She nodded her head slightly as a sign of approval. Her silver hair gleamed in the artificial light from a leaded crystal chandelier.
Petra felt a shiver run down her spine. Her mind flashed back to her teenage years, to the fortune-teller whom she had visited at a May fair. She too had been an old woman, but haggard and intimidating. However, this old woman was different. She was elegant and refined. Immediately, she seduced Petra in a similar way, but this time the experience was pleasant.
“Well, Louise, you sure
do live up to expectations. Do you take tea?”
Petra nodded. “Yes, please, that would be nice. France seems to be a nation of coffee drinkers.”
“They have some strange habits over here. They put fruit syrups in their beer. Have they no respect for the skills of the brewers? I used to like a good beer in my younger days. I settle for tea now.” She turned to her grandson. “Alexis, off you go and make a pot of tea and make sure that you use the English tea bags.” She turned back to Petra. “The French make tea like dishwater, don't you think?”
Petra smiled. She was warming to his grandmother with her every utterance.
The old woman sank once again into the folds of her armchair. “Now, pull up a chair and sit by me.”
Petra positioned herself alongside on a Bergère armchair covered in a beautiful toile de jouler fabric. Alexis disappeared towards the kitchen. His grandmother leaned forward, placing her carefully manicured hand on Petra's knee. Three diamond cluster rings adorned her fingers. They sparkled and danced, matching the vitality in her eyes.
She leaned in towards Petra. “You are the first young lady whom Alexis has ever brought home. He is normally mad about his football. He never has time for romance or the opposite sex. He prattles constantly about Bordeaux or Marseille and spends all his free time either training or playing. Sometimes he disappears for days on end and when I enquire, the answer is always the same. He has been visiting some other part of France to watch football. It's unnatural for a handsome young man to be besotted by twenty two men running around in their shorts, don't you think?”
Petra grinned, lost for words.
The old woman continued. “I was astonished when he told me that he had met ‘the most beautiful girl in the world’. That is how he described you.” She smiled. “He was not wrong.”
Petra lowered her head, allowing her long hair to hide her blushes. She was unused to such forthright compliments.
“Alexis tells me that you are an English student at the university, but you are not English are you?”
Her words startled Petra for an instant. She took a few seconds to compose herself, mindful of her cover in her current role. “Yes, I am English. I was born in Cheshire in the North West of the country…near Manchester.”
“I apologise. I had no intention to challenge or offend you, but you cannot possibly be from English stock.”
Petra relaxed. “My grandparents were Czechoslovakian. They fled from Prague to England shortly before the German invasion in nineteen thirty nine.”
The old woman smiled. “I knew it. As soon as I saw you, I could see that you were of Slavic origin.”
Alexis entered with a tray of tea and the conversation began to focus on his ambition to become an accountant. There was no mention of football or the club at La Bastide. Perhaps his grandmother had warned him to avoid the subject.
Petra managed to impart a potted version of her life history using a combination of fact and fiction. She described how her parents had died in the Asian tsunami, a tragedy that resulted in her living with her sister. She explained that she had originally worked with Klara in her saddlery shop, but had left to return to college in order to resume her studies in European cultural developments. She mentioned her elder brother who worked for an international company in the U.S.A. Mindful of her current circumstances; she managed to omit the unsavoury aspects of her life and any reference to her present involvement with the security services.
Alexis listened intently, allowing Petra and his grandmother to continue their discussion without interruption.
Despite the constant concern about revealing something inconsistent with her contrived story, she enjoyed meeting Alexis's grandmother. She sensed an affinity with her. The old woman gave the impression of being a fascinating individual who possibly had her own skeletons in her past life. An opportunity to discover if she had a mysterious tale to relate presented itself as she bade farewell.
His grandmother accompanied them to the door. “You must call again and we can chat some more. Alexis says that tomorrow he is working away with his company in St. Etienne. He won't be home until quite late. Perhaps you could stop by if you have some free time at the university. I don't receive many visitors. You would be most welcome, my dear. I'm always at home.”
Petra thanked her, adding that she would look forward to meeting her again. She left with Alexis, who walked her to the Clio. The rain had abated, as predicted by his grandmother.
Alexis kissed Petra gently on the cheeks. “Grand'maman certainly took a shine to you. Next weekend, perhaps?” he asked, hopefully.
“If you are playing football on Sunday, I shall definitely be there.”
“It's a date, then,” Alexis said, believing in his own interpretation of the word. He walked on air back to the apartment. Petra drove away, tingling with excitement and anticipation…not for Alexis, but for his grandmother.
8888
Overnight, the previous day's storm had faded from the Limousin in the direction of the more rugged and remote regions of the Massif Central. Petra awoke to find sunshine streaming through her bedroom window. She showered and ate a light breakfast of fresh fruit, muesli and orange juice. Welcoming the change in the weather, she decided to walk the short distance to the Hotel Mercure Royal to meet with Jean-Marie and the two Greater Manchester detectives.
Ludovic Roche became the main topic of conversation as Petra divulged what she had learned from Alexis. Jean-Marie added some additional details about Roche's friend, Michel Dumas, who visited occasionally from Marseille. He was well-known in that area because of his involvement with Olympique Marseille football club. He was reputed to be extremely wealthy, owning an expensive yacht, a magnificent villa overlooking the Mediterranean and several other properties in the port. His relationship with Roche merely emphasised his involvement with the less desirable elements in that region.
Harcourt reported on their encounter with the gendarmes at La Bastide. It appeared that the British detectives had no jurisdiction to operate in France, but after examining the copies of the false documentation, the local police judiciaire promised to act on their behalf.
It was lawful, under the circumstances, to arrest Roche on suspicion of a criminal offence, namely the falsification of legal documents. They could also hold him in custody for twenty four to forty eight hours and search his property. In the course of enforcing the law and investigating a crime, these actions were the right of the police judiciaire. If the investigation were to reveal more widespread criminal activity, other forces could be involved that may eventually include a joint operation with U.K. authorities if a connection to the deaths in the U.K. were proven.
Jean-Marie offered to contact them as soon as he could confirm that Roche was in custody. He suggested that they took time out to explore Limoges whilst they had the opportunity. Dependant upon the outcome of the suspect's interrogation, he explained that they had two options. They could return to England if no charges could be brought against Roche or they could continue their stay if further investigations required their presence.
The ex-gendarme excused himself, leaving Petra in the company of Massey and Harcourt. She was hardly comfortable with the situation, given Massey's antagonism towards her.
Harcourt came to her rescue. “This rich friend of Roche, the one with the yacht, what did Jean-Marie say he was called?”
“Dumas,” Petra replied. “Michel Dumas. The name rang a bell from having read The Count of Monte Cristo at school.”
“This yacht of his at Marseille,” Harcourt asked, “he said that it was named after a football club?”
“Etoile Olympique after Olympique Marseille, according to him,” said Massey, impatiently. “What point are you trying to make?”
“I was just thinking,” Harcourt replied. “As we have time to spare, how do you fancy a trip to Marseille? Maybe we could check him out.”
Massey groaned, anticipating further confrontation with Harcourt.
“Count
me out.” Petra wished to make it clear that she did not intend to become involved, especially with Massey. She imagined that she could work with Harcourt. She preferred her style, despite her having the semblance of a control freak. Just what Massey needs, she thought. She excused herself. “I'll concentrate on my contact here.”
“It's not just around the corner,” Massey said, unconvinced about the value of visiting Marseille. “It must be at least four hundred miles.”
“It'll be like a sightseeing trip,” Harcourt said, weighing up other advantages. “We may even find the sun.”
“It would be quicker to fly,” suggested Massey, fearing the inevitable consequences of his partner's predilections.
Harcourt had already decided. “I prefer to drive. Anyway, we'll need a car down there. We could be back by Friday or before if we leave today.”
Massey sighed. He was losing the argument. “If we find the guy, what then? If we ask him about the case, he'll simply deny any knowledge or any involvement. We have no evidence, so what's the point?”
“Our arrival on the scene may just rattle his cage,” his colleague countered. “You never know what effect it could have. It may be worth contacting Jean-Marie to see if they could tap Roche's phone. If he calls him following our visit, we'll know that they're both involved.”
That's logical, thought Petra. She had remained silent throughout their exchanges. It amused her to see a woman pressurising Massey for a change. She decided to support Harcourt, hoping that she would force him to relent. At least the prospect of a trip south could remove him from her area of investigation. She had wasted too much time in the past looking over her shoulder.
“I've been studying maps of Limoges and France since I arrived,” Petra said. “I think you can use the motorway from here towards Toulouse. I reckon that your suggestion is a great idea. At least you'll be doing something positive whilst the police are investigating Roche. If they are going to search his property in addition to interrogating him, you're talking a minimum of two or three days.” She glared at Massey. “I know…from my own experience.”
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