Cinq-Mars had a quick shower and was drying soap from his ear sockets when a knock resounded on his motel door. He’d ordered a pizza, yet this was swift service. He figured they didn’t have time to cook it, never mind the delivery. He opened up wearing only a towel surprising his guest as much as he was surprised by him. Constable Dubroc did his best to avert his eyes.
‘Come in. I’ll be dressed in a jiff.’
‘I’ll wait out here, thanks.’
He regretted losing the time to himself. He dressed quickly and joined Dubroc on the porch. ‘What’s up?’
‘Overheard stuff. Thought I should share it.’
‘Good. Share.’
‘I’ll be jammed up if this gets out.’
‘Gotcha. I will blow no whistles.’
‘I overheard a conversation.’ Dubroc stalled after saying that, either to review the talk in his head or to reconsider repeating it.
Cinq-Mars gave him time and space and stretched out his legs. Finally, he prompted him. ‘Anytime you’re ready, Constable.’
‘This isn’t easy. Never thought I’d be doing something like this. You understand, I’m telling you about a conversation among my superiors.’
Cinq-Mars nodded gravely. ‘I understand your dilemma,’ he assured the other man. ‘Seems to me, if you want to tell me what you overheard, if you feel that it’s your duty to go that way, then it must be pretty damn important.’
Dubroc took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘Yeah,’ he agreed.
‘Take your time,’ Cinq-Mars said. ‘Hungry at all?’
‘I’ll get something later.’
‘No need. Here comes a pizza.’
The delivery car drove in and parked and Cinq-Mars signaled the driver over, who was searching for door numbers. He paid with a bill and held up his hand for the man to keep the change.
‘Pepperoni, all right?’
‘I can do a slice. I don’t want to eat your dinner.’
‘Constable, I’m a detective, so trust me on this: I have a very strong suspicion there’s more where this came from. Dig in!’
The first slices were all but inhaled, and they slowed down only as they started on their second pieces.
‘Who was talking?’ Cinq-Mars inquired.
‘I won’t say. Tell you this. A chief inspector, an inspector, two captains and a lieutenant, all in on it. That’s a lot of weight out here in the boonies. I’ll keep their names to myself.’
‘Fair enough. Quite the rogues’ gallery. How did you happen to listen in?’
‘They knew I was in the room. Furniture, to them. Probably they didn’t think I had a clue.’
In which case, what he had to say could not be all that incriminating.
‘I guess they don’t know I met you,’ Dubroc added.
‘How does that matter?’
‘They were talking about you, Sergeant-Detective.’
His news might be of interest after all. ‘Me, huh? And?’
‘They want your ass in a sling.’
Cinq-Mars nodded gravely again. He could always take the high road in any internal battle among cops, but that position assumed a fair fight. An assumption he could never count on.
‘How did they word it exactly?’
‘“Take him down.”’
‘That’s plain enough. And the man talking had the rank of—’
‘Chief Inspector.’
Weight.
‘Something about money and a woman in jail,’ Dubroc continued. ‘Not clear to me, that part.’
‘I can guess. Any plan on how to take me down?’
‘They seemed to know. Nothing was said about that.’
The two men finished their slices and each helped themselves to another. Cinq-Mars had forgotten to bring anything to drink, so went into his room and returned with two cans of Coke. They swilled them down quickly.
‘I’m not sure what I can do with it but thank you for the tip.’
‘No problem.’
‘I’ll keep the source to myself. One thing, if I may.’ Cinq-Mars had to be careful how he broached his query. After Dubroc had put himself out and taken a risk, he didn’t want to imply that he didn’t trust him, even though he didn’t, not fully.
‘What’s that?’ Dubroc asked.
‘Why are you telling me this? I asked for your help, but you have no loyalty to me. Going against your superiors, as you said, that’s a tough nut.’
The way Dubroc rocked his head to one side suggested to Cinq-Mars that the man was comfortable with the question and with his reply. ‘Another name came up. One of the captains mentioned it.’
‘A name.’
‘Yeah. One of our own. The captain mentioned that this other guy was around. “In the neighborhood,” how he put it.’
‘OK. And?’
‘No matter what, this other captain could never find out that they talked about you. Almost like they swore to never let that slip.’
‘This other captain, does he have a name?’
‘That’s the thing. I’ve worked under him. I know he’s a good one. If these other guys are telling me that the captain is on your side, and you on his, then maybe that’s the side I want to be on, too.’
‘His name?’
‘Captain Borde.’
Cinq-Mars nodded again, more positively this time. ‘Gabriel Borde. Good friend of mine. And a damn good cop. He’s honorable. For the record, Constable, I now know that you are, too.’