Death on the Pont Noir

Chapter FORTY-ONE



Wheels within wheels, thought Rocco, wondering at such audacity – or was it stupidity? – between brother officers. It was always the same: one hand shook another and favours got passed along. But this was a favour like no other. What the hell was Saint-Cloud thinking? Couldn’t he see the danger to his own position? Or had he got a blind spot when it came to fellow officers?

He shook his head. It was too much to speculate about. He’d have to come back to it. ‘Delarue,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know he was politically active.’

‘Me neither. But he’s a crook, so what’s the difference? The DST reckons he’s trying to spread his power base overseas and is playing at middleman for various contracts. The OAS and Corsican gangs are just a couple of the groups he’s getting into bed with, and they’re prepared to pay good money for the right expertise. Delarue is playing at being a broker.’

‘You can add the British to that list. A gangster named Ketch in London, and his associates. If the DST wants chapter and verse, they can contact Detective Inspector David Nialls at Scotland Yard. But don’t give the information to Jules Broissard. Find someone else.’

‘If you say so.’ There was hesitation in Santer’s voice. ‘Lucas, have you told anyone else about all this?’

‘I’ve tried. They don’t believe in the criminal connection.’

‘Jesus, you have to push harder; you’re leaving yourself open, otherwise.’

‘I will, I promise. But right now what I need is something concrete.’

‘Good. You haven’t said why I shouldn’t tell Broissard.’

‘I think he’s too close to this, and we’re hardly friends. I can’t prove it, but I don’t want to take any chances that he’ll just sit on the information until it’s too late.’

‘Good enough for me. I’ll find a way round him.’

Rocco put down the phone and found Claude looking at him with a serious expression.

‘Sounds like this is getting heavy, Lucas.’

‘It is. I just don’t know how heavy.’

The phone rang again and he scooped it up. Probably Massin or the Ministry, summoning him to a disciplinary interview. The Foreign Legion was suddenly looking like an attractive proposition … if they took mature recruits with police experience.

But it wasn’t Massin or the Ministry. It was David Nialls.

‘Something’s going on, Lucas,’ the CID man said crisply. ‘Just had word that Tasker, Fletcher and Calloway have just got on a late boat for Calais.’

Like a snowball, Rocco thought. This business was rolling downhill, gathering speed and volume.

‘There’s not much I can do without some hard facts to pass on,’ he said.

Nialls sighed sympathetically. ‘Yes, I know. All I can tell you is, two other men have gone to ground, possibly on the same trip. They’re known associates, used mainly as heavies. Their names are Biggs and Jarvis. Ring any bells?’

The two others involved in the wrecking of the Canard Doré. Rocco felt a trickle of excitement running through his veins. There was no way these five men would be coming back for another bout of fun and drinking; it just wasn’t feasible. It had to be something else.

Nialls confirmed it.

‘Look for the distraction, Lucas. It’s how they operate.’

‘I would if I could figure out what it might be.’

‘Well, I’m not sure if this will help, but there’s one thing to bear in mind about Tasker: putting aside everything else he does now, he’s a born-and-raised bank robber. And he’s got two drivers with him. Would that be distraction enough?’