It was Heutelet who explained to Nosjean what Bique à Poux was getting at. ‘Matajcek had a barn in the woods,’ he said. ‘It was built years ago. Long before the war. During the war, we hid our guns there. Matajcek used to hide stolen cattle. I think he had more than one from me in his day.’
‘Where is it?’
Heutelet produced a map and jabbed a finger at it. ‘There,’ he said. ‘It’s falling down now. The roof’s collapsed.’
Nosjean stared at the map. ‘Can I get at it from here?’ he asked. ‘It’s quicker this way than from the road,’ Heutelet smiled. ‘You can’t drive up to it, but if you cross our land and go through the fence, you can drop into the valley. Then you just cross the stream and climb up the other side and there it is.’
Nosjean left his car at the Heutelets’ and set off walking. The deep grass of the fields was wet with the recent rains, and his trousers were soon soaked and he could feel the water squelching in his shoes.
After climbing through the fence, he descended into the valley, most of the way on his back, because the rain and the snow had made the banks muddy and his feet shot from under him as he began to climb down, so that he slithered all the way to the bottom, crashing and smashing through the wet undergrowth.
At the bottom he picked himself up, soaked, muddy and angry. The bank out of the dip was even more difficult. It was so steep and so muddy after the rain it was almost impossible, and he had to follow the valley for some way until he found a winding path upwards. It hadn’t been used for years, but it was clear of big trees as if it had been made by farmers and labourers heading home across the fields.
After a while, through the trees to his left, he saw a rough stone wall in the shape of a gable, and a few beams that had once formed a roof. Deciding he’d see nothing from the back, he circled the ruin to approach it from the front.
As he began to move forward again, he saw what looked like an area of heavily-matted undergrowth, but it dawned on him abruptly that the leaves were all dead and that it was, in fact, a hiding place of cut branches concealing a car.
Moving round it, he was creeping slowly nearer to the barn when he saw a splash of red through the trees.
Dropping flat on his face he stared through the undergrowth. The red came from a windcheater with black lines down the sleeve and it was worn by a young man with long hair and a drooping moustache who was relieving himself into the bushes. As he did so, he spoke over his shoulder to someone and Nosjean saw another youngster appear through the door of the barn. This man also wore a windcheater, a blue one this time with red and white lines down the sleeve.
Two, Nosjean thought, and even as he did so a third man appeared and they stood in a group, talking.
Whoever they were, whatever they were up to, Nosjean suspected it was no good. Men didn’t hide in derelict barns in the middle of woods in winter for no reason at all.
As his thoughts ran on, he heard a voice inside the barn and one of the three men turned and waved.
Four, he thought. Four!
For a long time, he remained where he was, watching, wet, cold and muddy but warmed by his discovery. After two hours he came to the conclusion there were no more than the four men he’d seen, and it seemed to be time to report to Pel.
Returning the way he’d come, he picked up his car at the Heutelet farm, taciturn as they questioned him, and drove to the city as if the hounds of hell were after him.
‘Four?’ Pel said. ‘Describe them.’
Nosjean did so to the best of his ability.
‘Four,’ Pel mused. ‘All young. All tough-looking. All wearing clothes that fit the description you got from the bank clerk. Get me the list from the sergeant in the charge office, Nosjean. Darcy, get hold of Lagé. He’s been doing nothing at the hospital for days and we’ll need him. And Krauss and Misset.’
When Nosjean returned, Pel was on the telephone to the Chief. ‘It’s obviously the same lot,’ he was saying. ‘They’ve been using the place – with Matajcek’s knowledge, I imagine – until the uproar dies down. They’ve probably used it before, judging by the amount in his bank account. I’ll want a squad of uniformed men. I want to surround the place. Yes, I can get the men from Savoie St Juste. And I’ll take Sergeant Massu and his man.’
There was a pause and Nosjean distinctly heard the Chief say, ‘I thought you didn’t like Massu. You put in a note about him a couple of days ago.’
Pel’s eyes flickered towards Nosjean and he gestured to the telephone. ‘He’s a good policeman,’ he said. ‘I don’t like his methods and I don’t like his temper, but he’s got a good record for keeping his head in a crisis.’
While they were assembling their men, the telephone went. Nosjean answered it. It was Catherine Deneuve’s sister to say Bique à Poux was dead. Nosjean put the telephone down, his face tragic.
‘The old man’s died,’ he said.
Pel put a hand on his shoulder. ‘At least he’s clean and comfortable,’ he said.
Nosjean frowned. ‘I think he’d rather have been dirty and uncomfortable and alive,’ he said.
Pel gave him a little shove. ‘He had a good life, mon brave, and he’s done us a good turn. Make it worth his while. There’s a job to do.’
It only took a couple of hours to gather the men at Orgny. Massu was there, with his constable, looking faintly sheepish in front of Pel, and four men had come from Savoie St Juste. There were also a dozen from Dijon, together with Pel’s squad, and a car with a man to handle the radio contact with headquarters.
Pel made his wishes clear. ‘We surround the place,’ he explained. ‘Keep your ears to your radios because I don’t want any move made until I give the word. Nosjean will lead one group from the Heutelet place, Sergeant Misset will approach from the direction of Bussy-la-Fontaine, and Sergeant Krauss from the opposite side. I’ll lead the approach from the main road and Matajcek’s farm. Understood?’
Heads were nodded and there was a lot of hitching at belts and straightening of képis.
‘Report when you’re in position,’ Pel continued. ‘I’ll then give the word to go. But don’t hurry. Don’t go crashing about in the undergrowth like wild elephants. The idea’s to catch them, not frighten them away. When I give the word, you can make all the noise you want. If they start shooting – and they probably will, because with two dead men behind them they’ve nothing to lose with another one – shoot back. You all got your guns?’
They nodded. ‘I shall want you to account for every round you fire afterwards,’ Pel said, and they looked at each other, puzzled, wondering what he was getting at.
‘There may be more than we think,’ he said. ‘We’ll need something in reserve. Off you go.’
There were six car-loads of men and they separated and headed in their various directions. Driving up to the main highway, Darcy turned left.
‘Matajcek’s place, Patron?’ he asked.
‘Yes. As fast as you can.’
Darcy glanced at him. ‘You’ve got a look in your eye, Patron,’ he commented. ‘Is something in the wind?’
‘More than you think,’ Pel said.
‘You think this lot’s involved with Gestert and Vallois-Dot?’
‘Not directly,’ Pel said. ‘But it’ll sort itself out.’
‘Here?’ Darcy’s eyebrows lifted. ‘Arresting four bank robbers who murdered two cops in St Symphorien?’
‘I think so.’
Darcy gave him another curious look but he knew Pel and decided he was best left alone in this mood. It would all come out in the wash.
They pulled up in the muddy lane outside Matajcek’s farmhouse, where they left the cars, then, with Darcy leading, Lagé operating the walkie-talkie and Pel close behind, they moved quietly up the lane into the wood.
Eventually, the lane became no more than a pathway and they started to push through the trees.
After a while, Darcy held up his hand, and they stopped, crouching down.
‘I see red, Patron,’ he whispered. ‘It’s a kid in a red windcheater.’
‘Nosjean reports himself in position, Chief,’ Lagé said quietly. ‘Right.’ Pel gestured. ‘See if we can get a bit nearer. Spread out. Darcy, stay close to me. Lagé, you stay alongside, too.’
They moved a little nearer and halted again.
‘Misset’s ready, Patron.’
‘Only wants Krauss,’ Darcy said.
‘He’s bound to be last,’ Pel observed. ‘He’s a dim flame, if ever there was one.’
A few minutes later Krauss reported in.
‘Tell them to spread their men out and report back.’
After a while, the other groups reported themselves ready. Pel nodded. ‘Tell them we’re going in, Lagé,’ he said. ‘Come on, Darcy, let’s go!’
They moved forward at a half-run, the undergrowth crashing before them.
Almost at once the man in the red windcheater appeared by the barn. He called something to someone inside and a moment later a man in a blue windcheater appeared also. He carried a sawn-off shot gun which he fired in their direction. They heard the pellets striking the leaves and the boles of trees.
‘Fat lot of good that’ll do,’ Darcy commented. ‘At this range. Standing by the bole of a tree, he rested his right arm against it, steadying it with his left. The crash of the shot echoed through the wood and Pel saw the man in the red windcheater go head over heels.
Two more men had appeared now and there was shooting from Nosjean’s party on the other side of the barn. One of the men ran to the back of the building but there was a fusillade of shots and he staggered back against the wall and slid down to a sitting position.
Misset’s men and Krauss’ men could now be seen on either flank, then Nosjean, leading his men forward as if he were storming the Malakov at Sebastopol. As they went forward, a thin shaft of sunlight lanced down unexpectedly, falling directly on the barn so that the men were illuminated as if by a spotlight.
‘The sun of Austerlitz,’ Pel said.
The firing was continuous now, and the man in the blue wind-cheater fell. For a while, they waited for the fourth man to appear, but there was no sign of him and they moved forward warily.
The man in the red windcheater was dead, shot through the heart by Darcy’s first bullet.
The other two were both wounded, but neither of them so seriously he wouldn’t be able to stand trial for murder. Inside the barn were suitcases filled with money – five, Pel noticed, one doubtless for Matajcek – and two .38 pistols, one at the feet of a fourth man who was standing with his back to the wall, his hands as high in the air as he could get them.
Darcy whipped him round so that he was facing the wall, resting on his hands, his feet well back and wide apart. His gun in his fist, Darcy ran his hands over him.
‘No weapons, Chief!’
‘Manacle him.’
As the man was handcuffed, Darcy began to stuff his pistol away.
Pel stopped him. ‘Let’s have a look at that,’ he said.
Darcy looked puzzled. ‘Three shots, Patron,’ he said. ‘That’s all I fired.’
‘Let me see.’
‘What is this, chief?’
‘Don’t argue!’
Darcy looked indignant. ‘It’s not usual, is it?’
‘It is this time.’
Frowning, Darcy handed over the revolver. Pel broke it open, examined the contents, and handed it back. Darcy had begun to stuff it away again when Pel laid a hand on it.
‘Keep it in your fist,’ he said.
‘Why?’
‘You might need it.’
‘We’ve got them all, Patron.’
‘Holy Mother of God,’ Pel snapped. ‘Can’t you do as you’re told for once?’
Darcy stared at him, startled, but he kept the gun in his hand.
‘Misset?’
Misset glanced at Darcy, equally puzzled, but he handed over his gun. Pel went through the same rigmarole.
‘Krauss.’
‘Patron, I didn’t fire.’
‘Don’t argue.’
Krauss handed over the weapon. Pel broke it open, examined it and handed it back.
‘Nosjean.’
‘Look, Patron,’ Darcy began, ‘if we have to go through this performance every time we arrest somebody–’
‘Massu.’
Massu scowled. ‘I only fired one shot.’
Pel made no comment but stood with his hand out. With a shrug, Massu handed over the pistol. Pel broke it open but this time, instead of merely glancing at the rounds in the chamber, he tapped them out into his hand, studying them carefully. Then, slipping them into his pocket, he tossed the weapon to Darcy.
‘See that Ballistics get a look at that,’ he said. ‘I think you’ll find it’s the gun that killed Vallois-Dot and our friend at the calvary.’
Darcy’s jaw dropped. Massu was standing with his feet wide apart, his dark ugly face growing red. Then, suddenly he made a dive between Darcy and Pel and started crashing through the trees.
‘Get him, Darcy!’
‘Shoot him, Patron?’
‘In the leg. If you don’t hurry, he’ll be too far away.’
Darcy crouched and fired. The first shot missed, but the second brought Massu down and, as they ran towards him, he lay groaning and clutching his thigh.
Pel stared down at him. ‘I told you, Massu,’ he said coldly. ‘It’s not the job of the police to be judge, jury and executioner. Especially when you get the wrong man. The man you and Vallois-Dot executed in the Plaine looked like Geistardt. He even had a similar name, but it wasn’t Geistardt. His name was Hannes Gestert and he was an insignificant crook; not an SS officer but an unimportant corporal of Engineers.’