She edged the sugar bowl towards him and sat back, hands folded in her lap. ‘Don’t you know it’s impolite to stare?’
‘It’s even more impolite to deceive an innocent man.’
A smile touched her lips. ‘OK. I deserve that. May I call you Lucas?’
‘Of course. May I call you Jacqueline?’
‘That would be nice.’
‘You said something about an apology.’
She frowned, although whether at the change in tone or remembering the business that had brought them together, he wasn’t clear. ‘Yes. That. I’m sorry about the other evening. It was crude and clumsy, and I should have had nothing to do with it.’
‘So why did you? Or were you following orders?’
‘Yes.’ No hesitation. It sounded like the truth. ‘I was instructed to find out why you were visiting Pascal Rotenbourg. I was told you were a policeman, but acting in a private capacity. Was that true?’
‘No. I don’t have a private capacity. Who are you working for?’
She looked away. ‘You know I can’t tell you that.’
‘Fair enough. Let me throw a name in the air. If you don’t run screaming out into the street, I’ll know I’m right. Is it ISD?’
Her mouth opened in surprise. ‘As I said—’
‘I know. You can’t tell me.’ He waved a hand to indicate their presence here. ‘Is this just another assignment for you? Is the waiter your backup in case I start throwing crockery? Because this is tiresome and Levignier should know better.’
He began to rise, but Jacqueline lifted a hand to stop him. ‘Please, Inspector. Lucas? Don’t go.’ Her cheeks were red, and he wondered if she was as tough as he’d first thought. ‘I came here to apologise.’
‘Why?’ He sat down again.
‘Because I feel I was used … to get close to you. And that doesn’t mean,’ she added quickly, ‘what you might think. I don’t do that sort of work.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it. What do you do?’
She glanced across at the waiter, before leaning forward slightly. ‘Nothing very important. Liaison, mostly, between departments and government, and research, of course. Occasionally, as a go-between … and sometimes a means of gathering information.’
‘Like the other evening?’
She smiled briefly. ‘Well, that didn’t exactly scream success, did it? I decided to act innocent, and it was the only scenario I could come up with at short notice.’
He nodded and took another sip of coffee. It was lukewarm. ‘And the heel – whose idea was that?’
She frowned. ‘Nobody’s. It broke, really.’ She stared at him. ‘You think I did that deliberately?’
‘Yes. I’m sorry. What about the two men in the Renault?’
For the first time, she looked angry. ‘They were supposed to be there to make sure I was safe. I didn’t realise until you saw them how it must have looked. I’m sorry.’
‘Two apologies.’ Rocco smiled. ‘I’m impressed. Your father clearly taught you well. All part of the diplomatic service culture, I suppose.’
‘My fath—?’ She sat up. ‘How do you know about him?’
He pushed the cup away. ‘Because I’m a cop. I ask questions and I find answers. What else did Levignier tell you?’
‘God, was I that bad?’ She had the good grace to look sheepish. ‘He told me that you were investigating a death and he wanted to know more, but couldn’t find out through the usual channels.’
‘And you accepted that?’
‘Of course. Much of our work is by its nature confidential, even secret. The moment we show an official interest, it ceases to be so.’
He nodded. It sounded reasonable … at a stretch. ‘But you don’t know why he’s taking an interest? Or why me talking to Pascal Rotenbourg is something to concern him?’
‘No. It’s not as if Levignier confides in me. I simply follow orders.’ She looked away in confusion. She had a very nice profile, he found himself thinking. Soft skin, slightly tanned, no blemishes. He remembered the smell of her perfume.
Then he realised she was staring at him. ‘I’m sorry.’ It was his turn to feel confused. She was looking very grave. ‘I don’t wish to sound rude, but you haven’t said why you felt the need to apologise. You could have said nothing, and I wouldn’t have given it another thought.’ He realised how ungallant that sounded and added, ‘Well, maybe a little.’
She gave a trace of a smile before replying, then said, ‘Levignier has always been … remote with me and others on my level. But there has been talk – the way there always is talk around any office.’
‘What about?’
She shrugged. ‘About men, and what they do … or say. He has a reputation for going after young interns.’
‘And you?’
‘Until the other evening, no. I knew him, of course, from contact with other officers and from a remark he made about my father, whom he claimed to admire. But I wasn’t aware that he had singled me out in any specific way. I receive my orders from a head of department.’
‘But this time?’
‘He called me himself and gave me my instructions. It was unusual, but at the time I didn’t think anything of it. I assumed it was the normal way to test employees in the field ready for other assignments.’ She toyed with a gold bracelet on her wrist. ‘He told me what I had to do, and insisted on having my report in person that evening, after I’d … we’d … met. I had to go to his apartment in Robineau, near the Jardin du Luxembourg.’
‘Expensive place to live.’
‘Yes. He has family money, I hear.’ She shivered slightly, and he asked if she was cold. She shook her head. ‘No, it’s … just that when I got there, it was as if he already knew it hadn’t been a success, and wasn’t interested, anyway.’ She looked straight at Rocco. ‘I’m sorry – this must seem silly to you, but it was creepy. I think he wanted – no, expected – me to stay the night. As if it was part of my duty.’
‘What did he say?’
‘That’s just it. He didn’t. But he was very close … and touching me, whereas before, nothing. I know when a man is trying it on, Lucas. The signals were very clear and he even sounded a little drunk, although I don’t think he was.’
‘What happened?’
‘Nothing. I felt uncomfortable, so I decided to get out. I haven’t seen him since.’ She paused, then added, ‘And the men he sent to be with me that evening. They were not there for my security after all.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘I saw one of them three days ago, walking into our building. He was wearing a visitor’s badge, which told me he wasn’t a direct department employee. I asked a colleague if he knew him, and he said I should not involve myself. He said this man does “arm’s length” work for the department. When I asked what kind of work, he wouldn’t say, but hinted that men like that do not play nice. I took that to mean they use violent methods.’
‘And you’re OK with that?’
‘How could I be? It doesn’t sound right but I’d be a fool if I pretended governments don’t use irregular methods. Governments and the people working for them.’
‘You mean Levignier.’
‘Yes. He’s a patriot and makes no secret of it. Duty is everything to him.’ She nudged her coffee cup a centimetre or two away. ‘I’m glad you didn’t have to see what he might be capable of. But you should be careful.’
‘Why? Does he carry a grudge?’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘That would be too personal. But I hear he has a man who does.’
‘What’s this man’s name?’
‘Delombre. But that’s all I know about him. People tend to avoid him – he has that kind of aura.’
‘I’ll bear it in mind.’ That name again. The man was in danger of becoming a bogeyman. ‘So what now?’ He knew he was probably being dense, but he still couldn’t see why Jacqueline was here, other than perhaps to assuage a sense of guilt about the other evening.
&
nbsp; ‘Now, I’m going to visit my aunt.’ She stood up, a fluid movement full of grace, and smoothed her skirt. ‘I’ve already paid for the coffee. It was my treat, after all.’ She gave a fleeting smile. ‘I hope there are no hard feelings.’
‘None at all.’
Rocco instantly felt … what did he feel? It was odd. As if he’d missed something important, something crying out for attention. He stood, too, nearly upsetting the table and making the coffee cups rattle.
Jacqueline walked to the door, then turned suddenly and said, ‘My aunt Celestine lives in Poix. Do you know it? She joined an artists’ community there many years ago, but it’s long been disbanded. She lives near the church, in a house with a small turret. She’s my family’s black sheep.’ She stopped speaking. ‘Sorry. I’m gabbling.’
Rocco felt a tightness in his chest. He glared at the waiter, who had moved to open the door for them. The man scuttled away out of earshot, grabbing a tray of cutlery as he went.
‘I know Poix – but not well. How long are you in the area?’
Jacqueline lifted an eyebrow, and he detected a glow of amusement in her eyes. ‘A couple of days. Not more.’ She leant forward suddenly and kissed him, a brush of soft skin against his cheek. Her breath was warm on his face and he enjoyed the sensation of her nearness.
Then she was gone.
Across the street, a man bent over a street map at a café table looked up surreptitiously as Jacqueline Roget emerged from the Augustine. He dumped the remnants of his marc into his coffee and swallowed it in one. He got ready to leave, making sure he remained in the shadow of a parasol, and watched as Roget strode down the street, admiring her long legs and neat figure. Some men were born lucky, he figured wryly, and this man Rocco must have been conceived under a magic star. Quite how he came to be friendly with a woman like Jacqueline Roget of the ISD was a mystery, but that was somebody else’s problem to sort out, not his.
He ducked his head as Rocco himself came out of the restaurant and stood scanning the street. He doubted the inspector would pick him out, even this close. He’d been working surveillance for many years, in all manner of settings, and had never been made yet. But he still didn’t want to take the risk. From what he’d heard on the grapevine, Rocco wasn’t a man to tangle with.
As soon as Rocco was on the move, the watcher stood up and walked inside the café, heading for the telephone on the back wall.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
‘Yes.’ Delombre picked up his phone and listened. The call was from his man in Amiens. He’d been ordered to stick close but not be seen under pain of death. Rocco was on the move again.
Christ, what was it this time? He couldn’t be interested in tracking down the other former inmates of the sanitarium; the gangster was a legitimate state witness and the two embassy people were in state care for their own health. With Devrye-Martin taken care of and unable to talk, that took the skids from under the idiot cop’s feet.
‘He went to a restaurant? So what? I said anything important, you fool, not his lunch appointments.’ He was about to slam down the phone when his man mentioned a familiar name.
‘Who?’
‘Jacqueline Roget. I know it was her because I used to work in the same section of the building. She was waiting for him and they had coffee. Looked very cosy, too, at the end.’
‘Give me a minute.’ Delombre turned and stared through the window. Roget. She was a gofer, a junior officer attached to ISD, but with no direct-action responsibilities. He knew Levignier had had his eye on her for a while. The man had a weakness for young women in the department. It would be the ruination of him one day. But what the hell was Roget doing meeting with Rocco? Then it came to him: Levignier’s idiot plan to incriminate the cop in an allegation of rape: he’d gone all secretive about who he was planning to use. It had to have been the Roget woman. And that plan had failed.
Now she was turning round to bite him.
He spoke into the phone. ‘Stay with Rocco, you hear? Keep me informed of his movements. If you get seen, I’ll come and shoot you myself.’
‘Yes, sir. Should I advise Levignier?’
‘No. You don’t advise anyone, least of all him. This stays with us.’ All his instincts were telling him that Rocco, the country cop, the one he’d misjudged, was on the verge of kicking all their lives to hell and back. What an idiot he’d been. The bloody man was like a shark, sniffing out his prey from miles away, then zeroing in.
But it was too late for recriminations. He was going to have to make a decision that should have been made several days ago. And if Levignier didn’t like it, that was too bad.
But first, he needed to see what this interfering cop looked like.
‘Give me a place where we can meet,’ he told the watcher, and made a quick note of a café in the centre of Amiens, near the cathedral. ‘Fine. Three p.m. Be there or leave a note if you have to move.’
He dropped the phone back on its rest and swore long and fluently. Then he dialled Levignier. He needed to find out what was happening.
‘Has the bulletin gone out yet?’ he asked him. He was referring to the official intelligence bulletin from the Ministry, alerting selected police districts to the possibility of the kidnappers having moved their way.
‘An hour ago. It should be reaching the stations anytime now, having gone through several different hands. Why? Problem?’
‘Not at all. I was just checking to see where we were on this.’
‘You agreed to it, Delombre. I hope nothing goes wrong.’ Levignier’s words were calm enough but laced with accusation. The tone suggested that while the real servants of the state were above being judged, men like Delombre stood to lose a great deal in the event of failure.
Delombre fought to keep his temper. He had no doubts that if the ball went out of the park, as one of his past commanding officers had been fond of saying, he would very quickly find himself shouldering the burden of blame. The idea of having to go underground for a long time didn’t bother him particularly, but he knew what the final consequences would be: having a man just like himself, trained and motivated to do one thing and do it well, coming after him. It could only ever end one way.
‘Nothing will go wrong,’ he said calmly. ‘We just need to keep the police distracted for a while, that’s all. If they’re looking for her elsewhere, they won’t bother searching here, will they?’ What he really wanted to say was that it would keep Rocco distracted, but that would be to admit that the damned man was getting too close. And after all his assurances to Levignier and Girovsky that it wasn’t going to happen, he couldn’t afford to put himself in that kind of danger. If Levignier didn’t take direct action, he knew that Girovsky eventually would.
‘If you say so. Our man is almost there, but it just needs a little while longer – and a reminder.’
‘How so?’
‘Well, I’ve been thinking, perhaps a word from our “guest” to show that all is still well might give him the impetus he needs. A sort of lovey-dovey connection, if you wish.’
‘What kind of word?’ God, Levignier and his mind games. The man was obsessed with convoluted plans to achieve his ends. Delombre favoured more direct methods – such as the kind he’d used with Devrye-Martin.
‘A message containing a personal detail, to prove she’s still … viable. I believe it should tip the balance of his judgement in our favour.’
‘You want me to prepare her?’
‘If you would. But don’t hurt her; we need her alive and able to talk, not damaged or dead.’
‘How long do you want this to go on? What if talking doesn’t work?’
‘Then she’s no longer of any use to us, is she? Before you do that, though, I suggest you acquaint yourself with the search team as soon as possible. They’re in the Pantin area – you’ll get their location from central command. Find out what they’re doing and put them off digging further. The intelligence bulletin should help. It would be embarrassing if they happened to st
umble upon our two furniture removers, wouldn’t it?’
‘Very well. What if they’re close?’
‘In that case, cut to the chase and deal with the removers. You’ve got the address?’
‘I have. Any specific orders?’
‘They need to be retired.’
‘Oh, goody.’
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Rocco walked back to the office, his mind in a whirl. At one point he stopped and turned. He’d got the odd feeling of something in the air, as if he were being watched. It gave him an itchy feeling in his shoulders. It wouldn’t be the first time in his career that he’d been under surveillance, nor the last. But there was nobody obvious in sight.
What had just happened? He was confused. Had he just been played by an expert, or had Jacqueline Roget genuinely wanted to apologise to a target she’d never met before the other evening? And had the reference to her aunt’s house been an invitation – or had he mistakenly taken it as such and blundered over the line of acceptable behaviour?
He was still trying to figure it out when he was met at the door by René Desmoulins waving a sheet of paper. It looked like one of the Urgent Response bulletins issued by the intelligence section of the Interior Ministry when they wished to poke the entire country’s police force into a buzz of activity. Behind Desmoulins the building was a rush of voices and hurrying feet.
‘There’s a flap on,’ said the detective. ‘All hands on deck. Godard’s been ordered to call in all his men.’
‘Not being invaded again, are we?’
‘Even worse. The Interior Minister has gone public about a recent kidnap victim. All regions are on full alert for signs of her, but we’re the hot spot.’
‘Do we have the victim’s name yet?’ News reports over the past couple of days had been long on drama but short on detail. No doubt the authorities had been anxious to keep the victim’s name out of the limelight for fear of a reprisal killing or instigating copycat crimes, but it probably wouldn’t have made much difference in the end. It rarely did.
Death at the Clos du Lac (2013) Page 21
