Rocco shook his head. He couldn’t justify taking up the detective’s valuable time on a matter of idle curiosity. If Massin found out, he’d have both their kidneys on a plate, and he had no intention of giving the officer that pleasure. ‘No. I’d rather get a team organised to start trawling factories and foreign residents with copies of the photo to see if we can identify the body from the canal.’
‘Right. I’ll speak to Captain Canet and ask him if he can assign some of his boys to it. You think the dead guy came from Amiens?’
‘I doubt it. But we have to start somewhere.’ He explained about the sandal being unusual footwear for the region, and the details uncovered at the canal pointing towards the body having been dumped off the parapet after being taken from a truck or a car. ‘It’s thin, I know, but we work with what we’ve got, right?’
‘Sure thing.’
‘Can you handle the briefing to Canet and his men?’ He should have done it himself, but Desmoulins was good at his job and needed the exposure.
‘Will do.’ Desmoulins frowned. ‘Whoever dumped the body must have stopped for a few minutes at least. Somebody might have seen the vehicle.’
‘Long shot, but a good point. I’ll deal with that.’ He was thinking about Claude and his contacts throughout the area. The uniforms, as well intentioned and effective as they were, would find making progress outside the town very difficult. Viewing visiting policemen with suspicion did not help unlock people’s memories or their willingness to help. The garde champetre, however, was already part of the community and would be more likely to turn up something useful.
Desmoulins pursed his lips. ‘I’ll get a bunch of men on it around town. It shouldn’t take too long to cover all the usual places.’ He grinned sharply. ‘I could put Tourrain on it; that would spoil his day.’
‘Good idea — if you want the job done badly.’
He rang Claude and put him on asking around for any sightings of a truck or van over the nights prior to the body being pulled from the canal, especially along the road near the parapet. It was, as he’d said to Desmoulins, a long shot, but worth a try.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Rocco headed out on the Abbeville road and soon arrived at the Gondrand dealership, an oasis of brightness in a drab line of houses and small businesses. It stood on an extensive patch of gravelled ground with a small office building at one end and streamers fluttering from poles like a circus event. There were some two dozen cars of every description on view, and the impression Rocco got was that Gondrand had taken the American high-volume approach to car sales, with lots of glitz and gleaming paintwork to draw in the customers.
Inside the front office a man in a dark blazer was leafing through a calendar showing smiling women in scant costumes, his feet up on the desk. When he saw Rocco, he tossed the calendar to one side, patently beyond embarrassment, and stood up without haste. He eyed Rocco’s clothes with a commercial gleam in his eye and a professional smile sliding into place.
The younger Gondrand, Rocco decided. He was close-shaven, skin shiny and soft-looking. Pampered.
‘Your father in?’ Rocco asked.
‘Maybe. Who’s asking?’
‘Police.’
‘Right.’ The gleam disappeared and a blank mask dropped down in its place. ‘Well, I’m in charge of day-to- day operations here. What’s it about, Sergeant…?’
‘Inspector. And your father would be fine.’
Gondrand nodded and seemed about to argue, but turned and went through a door at the end of the room. He returned seconds later, visibly annoyed, with an older and fleshier version of himself in tow.
‘Inspector Rocco, isn’t it?’ said Victor Gondrand. He beckoned Rocco to follow him inside and gave his son a steely look, closing the door firmly and indicating a visitor’s chair. The office was small and neat, with little clutter, the domain, Rocco decided, of a professional businessman. And no girlie calendars.
‘How do you know my name?’ queried Rocco.
Victor smiled. ‘It’s good manners, Inspector. It’s not a huge town, so it makes sense to at least know who I might be dealing with, especially a business like ours.’ He sat down, but not behind his desk. Instead, he dragged up a second visitor’s chair and sat near Rocco. ‘What can I do for you? I take it you don’t want to buy a car.’ He glanced out through a small window looking out on the front of the lot, where Rocco’s Citroen was parked.
Rocco decided that this was one Gondrand he might get to like. ‘I’m looking for the driver of a Peugeot four- O-three,’ he explained, and listed the details.
Gondrand made a note on a pad from his desk. ‘Is the driver in trouble? The car’s not stolen, I can be certain of that. We don’t handle that stuff.’
Rocco didn’t argue. He was enough of a cynic to know that not every car on the road had a valid history, and it was too easy for dealers like Gondrand to let details ‘slip’ here and there for the sake of a quick deal. ‘I’m following up an enquiry, that’s all.’
‘No problem. Would you like coffee, a drink, maybe?’ Gondrand stood up and nodded towards a percolator in the corner, with a tray of drinks alongside.
Rocco was surprised. ‘You can check right now?’
‘Of course. Business is good, Inspector, but not so good I can’t keep track of what we sell. My son is less… shall we say, detailed in his approach. Quick turnover, in, out and never look back. It’s not a business method I share, to be honest, but it seems it’s the new way of doing things in this trade. What can you do, eh? Progress, they call it.’
‘My sympathies. In that case, I’ll have a coffee.’
Gondrand nodded and poured a cup, passing Rocco a small container of milk and some sugar cubes. ‘Help yourself. I’ll just be a moment.’
He sat and pulled a file box towards him and began to flick through the cards, whistling a faint tune. Seconds later, and before Rocco had taken his first sip of coffee, he gave a grunt of triumph and held up a card.
‘ Voila. A 1960 Peugeot,’ he read. ‘Four-O-three, licence number as you said, dah-dah-dah, not bad condition, fifty thousand on the clock, one owner, sadly deceased. Sold three days ago to a Mme Nicole Glavin.’ He scowled. ‘Odd. There’s no home address.’ He looked up and gave a forced smile. ‘My apologies, Inspector. This isn’t right. Could you excuse me for one moment?’
He left the office and closed the door, and Rocco decided Gondrand fils, as the only other employee, was in for a shock. He waited, hearing the sound of raised but restrained voices, and wondered why Nicole Glavin hadn’t told him her full name. Too much information on a first meeting, perhaps. Cautious.
Moments later, Victor Gondrand returned. He looked flushed, his mouth set in a rigid line.
‘My sincere apologies, Inspector. My son assures me he completed all the documentation correctly, but did not make a note of the customer’s address because she declined to give him one. She claimed she was staying with friends and had not yet acquired a permanent home.’ He lifted his hands in the air with an expression of disgust and added, ‘Like I said, not good with details. I don’t know what to say.’
Rocco waved it away. It was a dead end. But at least he now had a full name. ‘Don’t worry. These things happen.’ He finished his coffee and decided to leave the Gondrands to fight it out between them. If the bureaucrats at the town hall wanted to join in because due process hadn’t been followed, that was up to them. He shook hands with Gondrand and headed for the door. Then, for no particular reason, a thought occurred to him. He stopped. ‘How did she pay for the car?’
Gondrand glanced at the record card and looked surprised. ‘Cash. Would you believe it? She walks in off the street and buys a car just like that. Merde!’ He grinned easily. ‘I wish there were more like her!’
On the way back to the office, Rocco spotted a collection of industrial buildings in a new development, the like of which were springing up all round the region in answer to the demands of a growing economy and inward investment from countries like the United States. Remembering Tourrain’s acid comment, he turned in and drove slowly around the site, following a curving road which took him past a variety of buildings and vacant lots. Most of
