and threatening; this hand patted her arm, then moved off her. She felt Slimane give a start as he also became aware of the other man, and a threatening snarl burst from his lips, his head turning away from her.
Then the other hand touched her arm, and the knife was pressed into her hand.
Closing her eyes against the horror, Nicole took the weapon. She clasped her hand around the wooden handle, still warm from Slimane’s heat. He muttered and stopped pushing, sensing something wrong.
She had to do it. To make him stop!
She placed the point against Slimane’s body where it hovered above her, and pushed as hard as she could. One thrust, going deep. That was all it took. She felt him go stiff, felt the breath burst from his mouth and a questioning noise, like the cry of a small child.
Then he fell to one side.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
Rocco got Claude to take him back to the station, leaving Jean-Michel to move on immediately to another location. As he walked into the main office he found Desmoulins waiting with a large mug of coffee. He was surprised to find it was nearly noon.
‘Get this down you. Don’t stand too close to Massin, though — I put something in it to help you dry out after your swim.’ He shrugged at Rocco’s look. ‘I spoke to Rizzotti; he told me what happened. You were one lucky bastard, you know that? Next time I buy a loto ticket, give it a kiss for me, would you?’
Rocco took the mug and swallowed a mouthful of coffee laced with cognac. After what he’d just heard from Nicole, he could have done with the cognac alone, but it still tasted like nectar. ‘Right, what’s come in so far? Any sign of Farek or Tourrain?’
‘Tourrain’s downstairs, wishing he’d taken up another line of employment and talking like an old lady. Says he’ll do anything to get a lesser charge. I think he’s terrified of finding himself in the general prison population and wants isolation.’
‘No chance,’ said Rocco. ‘A security guard called Metz did the killing but Tourrain was right there, watching it happen. He’ll have to take his chances.’
‘Serves him right, then, the weasel. We can do without his sort. He must have made a fortune out of the supply line of illegals, and being paid to keep the factories fed with information.’
‘What’s the news on the Gondrand killings?’
‘Well, we spoke to another lawyer who did some recent work for Michel. He reckons Michel and Tourrain were full partners, both in the motor business and one or two other ventures. Because of Tourrain’s position in the police force, he kept a low profile and took a smaller percentage, but that was a small cut of quite a lot of cash coming from the illegals, the leases on the factories and the car sales. I think if we keep looking, we’ll find a whole lot more on both the Gondrands and Tourrain going back quite a while.’
‘Do it. And while you’re at it, check any land deals he might have made while he was working for the planning department. He’d have had advance notice of parcels coming up for sale or development, and I’m pretty sure those factory plots were part of it.’
‘Will do.’
‘What about Lambert?’
‘Gone. Wiegheim was in here having a rant earlier — mostly about you. When he went back to his office, Lambert had cleared out his things and disappeared. Ecoboras is now closed, probably for good. Massin reckons they were probably underpaying the illegal workforce while recording inflated costs and a phantom local staff, which is against the terms of government contracts. Wiegheim claims he knew nothing about it but I think Lambert had him scared to death. They must have been raking it in. Their head office is about to get a nasty visit from the government auditors.’ He looked Rocco in the eye without expression. ‘And there’s one other thing. The security guard you mentioned: Metz.’
‘What about him?’
‘He was found in the canal a couple of hours ago. They just identified his body.’
‘I’ll try to hide my disappointment.’ Rocco couldn’t summon any guilt or sympathy for the dead man; Metz had tried to kill him. Fortunately, he hadn’t been up to the job. ‘Anything else?’
‘Maybe. One of the illegals brought in last night claims he was on the truck with the dead man you fished out of the canal near Poissons. He’s offering to tell what he knows if we go easy on his legal status.’
‘Suddenly everyone’s a negotiator. Name?’
‘Choose one of three he’s given so far.’ Desmoulins looked sceptical.
‘Well, that’s not going to help him. Put him in a separate cell. I’ll speak to him later. What about Farek?’
‘Massin wants to talk to you about that. He’s waiting upstairs.’
‘Let’s go.’ Rocco led the way to Massin’s office, where they found the commissaire sitting at his desk. In front of him, nursing a cup of coffee, was an Algerian man Rocco recalled seeing before. He couldn’t recall where or in what capacity, though.
Massin did the introductions. ‘Inspector Rocco, this is Monsieur Yekhlef, until recently our janitor.’ He explained about Yekhlef’s theft of information and dismissal, adding, ‘I think it might be a reasonable assumption that Farek’s presence in the area is not unknown among the community. All we have to do is find someone who will talk. As Mr Yekhlef is most anxious not to return to Algeria…’ He didn’t finish the sentence, but gave Yekhlef a cold stare. The janitor returned the look with an air of resignation and a nod. Massin stood up and adjusted his uniform. ‘In that case, I will leave you to discuss the matter. Please don’t break any of my furniture.’
He walked out, leaving the three men staring after him. Desmoulins looked quizzically at Rocco. They were barely able to hide their surprise. Massin was giving them a free run at this man.
Yekhlef seemed focused on Rocco, eyeing the dark clothes, the splash of iodine on his face and the cuts and bruises he’d picked up from the encounter on the canal bank and his escape from the boat.
Rocco grabbed a chair and sat down facing him. ‘I don’t know about you, Monsieur Yekhlef,’ he said softly, looking directly into the other man’s eyes. ‘But it seems you have nothing to lose and a lot to gain if you help us. There are lives depending on this. Yours as well as others. One question: where will I find Samir Farek?’
Yekhlef swallowed, placed the coffee cup on the desk with extreme care and sat back. His hands were shaking. He clamped them together and nodded. ‘I do not know for sure, but I was taken to see him at a place called Cafe Emile, on the Beauvais road out of Amiens.’
Desmoulins said, ‘I know it. It’s a dump, due for demolition years ago but still in use.’
‘Why would he go there?’
Yekhlef shrugged. ‘Because it is where men from my community go… and the police do not.’ His eyes looked watery with strain, and he coughed to clear his throat. ‘I heard him saying to his men that they would use it as their base because it was safe and they have eyes to keep watch. He will not go back to Paris or anywhere else until this matter of honour is settled.’
‘Honour?’
‘He thinks you have taken his woman.’ Yekhlef spread his hands in apology, absolving himself of any input or opinion on the subject. ‘For him, it is more important than any other matter.’
‘Then he’s a fool. I never even knew his wife existed until a few days ago.’ He looked at Desmoulins. ‘Can we get a team together? Full gear.’
‘Of course. It won’t be easy, though. The place is surrounded by open ground. They’ll see us coming.’
Rocco wasn’t surprised. It was probably why they had chosen it. ‘Right. I’ll brief Massin.’ He turned to Yekhlef and thanked him, then stood up and went to get ready.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
Samir Farek was in a killing mood.
He’d timed things badly. He should have been able to move freely about this rat-hole of a town, but after the
