Death on the Pont Noir

Chapter THIRTY-THREE



Rocco stopped a car’s length further on and got out. His MAB 38 was in his coat pocket but he left it there. If these men had wished him harm, they would have waited to catch him unawares, preferably somewhere more remote. And they wouldn’t have wanted the area stage-lit like this.

Tasker smirked as he recognised Rocco, and stepped away from the vehicle, placing himself half in shadow. But his hands were in plain sight. He was dressed in a sharp suit with a loud tie, and looked heavy and solid and unstoppable.

‘Well, look who’s come home at last,’ he said, cocking his head to one side. ‘You know, you’re a hard man to find, Rocco. The locals clammed up when I asked where you lived. Well, I say I asked them … it was actually Bones here who did the talking on account of he’s clever like that and I don’t like even thinking about your shitty language. What’s all the secrecy about, then? You a bit shy?’

‘What do you want, Mr Tasker?’ said Rocco. ‘I am busy.’

‘Hey – is that any way to welcome a man to your manor?’ Tasker threw his hands wide, the picture of innocence. ‘I mean, you come to mine and I’ll make you welcome.’ He grinned nastily. ‘Very welcome indeed – eh, Bones?’

The man known as Bones shrugged but said nothing. He climbed back in the car and started the engine. Speaking was clearly not his job. Rocco kept his eyes flicking between the two men. He didn’t see Bones as a threat; he was probably a driver and interpreter. If Tasker was here to do something physical, he’d want to take care of it himself. But there were still two of them and one of him. What concerned him was that they had gone to the trouble of finding out where he lived. There had to be a reason for that.

‘Get to the point.’

Tasker sneered. ‘Fair enough. I’ve got something for you. It’s in my jacket, so don’t you go shooting me, will you?’ He reached very carefully into his inside pocket and took out a white envelope. He stepped forward into the glare of the headlights, turning to glance at the house and gesturing with the envelope. ‘Nice place, by the way. Yours, is it?’

Rocco ignored him.

‘Never mind. See, thing is, little birdies have been telling us that you’ve been looking into things which don’t concern you. You even went and spoke to DI Nialls in New Scotland Yard.’ He lifted his eyebrows, waiting for a reaction from Rocco. ‘Yeah, you were spotted, don’t worry. We’ve got spies everywhere. Especially in the Allendale. I thought it was a bit outside your jurisdiction, you being French and all. But there you were, large as life. What was that about?’

‘What. Do. You. Want?’

Tasker scowled in mock hurt. ‘Aw, come on – don’t be like that.’ He pointed the envelope at Rocco and said, ‘We could’ve planted you first chance we got, you know that? Followed you back to that fleapit hotel you stayed in near Victoria and you’d have been found the next morning with your throat cut. Or we could have dropped you in the river with some weights tied round your ankles.’ He paused, dropping the smile. ‘I’d have paid good money to see that, you kicking against the current. But the boss said he didn’t want no “international incident”.’

‘Which boss is that?’ said Rocco. ‘Ruby Ketch?’

A flicker touched Tasker’s eyes. ‘Yeah, you have been busy, haven’t you? A right little French beaver. Well, fat lot of good it’ll do you … if you’re dead.’ He lifted the envelope and slapped it hard against Rocco’s chest. ‘But you’re lucky – for now. The boss said to give you this. A little goodwill gesture, he called it. Personally, I’d rather give you a bullet.’

He let the envelope go, forcing Rocco to catch it by reflex before it fell to the ground. It felt heavy, pliable, a good two-centimetres thick. Paper.

‘There’s a good boy.’ The words were uttered softly, and Tasker’s grin was sly. ‘Now, you stay away from our business, Rocco, me boy, and we’ll forget you ever existed.’

Rocco tossed the envelope back at him. ‘Trying to bribe a policeman in France is a serious offence,’ he said. ‘Tell Mr Ketch that I do not play those games.’

Tasker’s smile was still in place. He slipped the envelope back into his jacket and shrugged. ‘I told the boss it was a no-go, but he insisted. He likes to be nice, see, to avoid nastiness.’ He pointed a finger at Rocco and mimed pulling a trigger. ‘But I don’t.’

He turned and walked to the passenger side and got in. Bones was already behind the wheel and closing his door.

Seconds later, they were gone, leaving a whiff of exhaust fumes in the air, and the uncomfortable feeling in Rocco’s mind that something bad had just taken place.