Nine

Marc Casparon, known as Caspar, had once been a top undercover cop with the Sud-Méditerranée Task Force and the Paris anti-drug group, targeting organised gangs involved in drug imports and bank heists. He had lived out of the mainstream, first in the south, then moving to Paris to follow the targets he knew well, working the streets and back-alleys, always on the periphery but rarely noticed. His record for gaining inside information had been unsurpassed, and he had never been rumbled. But the pressures of living such a stressful and lengthy lie had been enormous, and had eventually taken their toll. He’d been forced to retire, with considerable persuasion from Santer and his close colleagues, who’d seen what it was doing to him.

When Rocco had last spoken to him, he’d been working as a security expert and missing the excitement of his old life. But Rocco wasn’t about to ask him to step back into the gutters; that would have been cruel. Instead, he was after Caspar’s inside knowledge of the Paris gang community and in particular, Lakhdar Farek.

‘Lucas.’ Caspar sounded pleased to hear from him. ‘You were lucky to get me. I was on my way out.’

‘Work?’

The other man chuckled. ‘Yeah, but not the old kind. I’m reviewing security for an electrical factory up near Orly. The pay’s good and I can choose my hours. Anyway, how are you? It’s been a while.’

They traded information for a while, until Caspar said, ‘What can I do for you? You know I’m not in the job anymore, right?’

‘I know. But I was guessing you might still have your ear to the ground. I need information on someone you might know.’

‘Go on.’

‘Lakhdar Farek.’

There was a brief silence, and Rocco could picture Caspar trawling through his memory, the name rolling through files and slotting into position like a juke-box selector. Eventually Caspar said, ‘What did you want to know? You know he’s not like Sami, right? He’s worse.’

‘So I gather.’ He relayed what Santer had told him about Farek’s threat, and added the latest information on the death of the supposed JoJo Vieira.

He heard Caspar take a deep breath. ‘Yeah, I heard Farek was going after a cop, but I didn’t realise it was you. And I’m a bit surprised about JoJo being on the take as an informant. I knew him from way back and he was strictly fifth grade, mostly surviving on what he could steal, which wasn’t much. I never thought he’d risk being a snitch; he wasn’t any kind of a hero. He might have seen it as an opportunity to get a regular handout for whatever he could slip past the cops as information, but he must have also been pretty desperate. Are we sure it’s the same man?’

‘Not totally. But if it helps, this one’s got the Chinese symbol for good luck on his left shoulder.’

‘There are plenty of those, but it might narrow it down. I’ll see what I can dig up.’

‘The other thing I’d like to know is, who does Farek use for his dirty work?’

‘He’s got a couple of guys, both from down south and clean – at least, on the surface.’

‘Suspected but nothing proven?’

‘Not yet. The most obvious is a Corsican named Borelli. Jean-Michel Borelli. He’s dark, with short cropped hair, aged thirty-five and looks like a boxer. Imagine Aznavour only bigger and uglier. I heard he had to leave the town of Bastia when he got into a fight over a woman with the son of a local clan chief – one of the ‘old men’ who control things down there. Borelli beat the kid up but stopped short of killing him. The father gave him two hours to disappear and he came to Paris via Marseilles. The other man is younger, an Algerian, like Farek. His name is Mokhtar Abdhoun. He looks like a teenager but don’t be fooled – he’s vicious and very quick-tempered. He comes with a bit of a reputation back in Algiers.’

‘Are there any photos?’

‘Not sure. Like I said, they’re clean as far as I’ve heard, so unless you can get something from official travel records, no. But I’ll see what I can find. It might cost you a few drinks, though.’

‘I’ll cover whatever it takes. But I don’t want you getting close to Farek or his people. It’s too risky.’

‘Nor do I. I have an old contact who probably knows more about Farek than most people and owes me a favour. Anyway, I just got engaged, so I’ve got good reasons to stay safe.’

Rocco was pleased to hear the news. ‘Congratulations. Who’s the lucky girl?’

‘Her name’s Lucile. She’s a former cop so she knows the game. We’re getting married next year and probably moving out of the city. You’ll have to come.’

‘I’d like that. Just make sure you don’t get spotted with this Farek thing. I prefer weddings to hospital visits.’

‘Me too. Anything else?’

Rocco remembered the receipt for the jacket. He read out the number at the top and Vieira’s name. ‘If you could follow that up for me, it would help a lot. Anything you can get. I’m stuck here on a protection job, so I can’t get away. I’ll make good any expenses.’

‘Don’t worry about it. I’m glad to help, to be honest. Gets the old blood moving again. I think I know this shop so it shouldn’t take long.’ With a promise to call as soon as he had anything, Caspar rang off.