Thirteen

‘Why?’ Rocco decided to hold off telling him that he’d been to see the artist. If something other than expertise was driving Dreycourt, he’d prefer to know about it sooner rather than later. It wouldn’t be the first time that an expert had reached a decision on the strength of suspicion fuelled by emotion.

‘Because as an artist he’s capable and skilled enough. More so, in fact, than anyone else I can think of – and I’ve looked hard at all the names I know.’

‘But is he capable of blackmail?’

Dreycourt looked conflicted and gave a puff of resignation. ‘I don’t know. But it could be anyone … Someone helping him, for example. What do you think?’

Rocco hadn’t had much experience in the field of blackmail and extortion, but he was guessing that this level of crime was rare, and therefore the list of potential names would be limited.

‘Blackmail is a very personal crime and relies on specific knowledge. It’s not a case of picking a name from a telephone directory; it takes personal acquaintance with the target’s background, their vulnerabilities and the degree to which they can pay up. You won’t get all of that by reading the newspapers, not even for a public figure such as a politician.’

Dreycourt looked doubtful. ‘I understand what you say, Lucas. But surely Cezard is high on the list of suspects, isn’t he?’

‘Not on my list, he isn’t. I wouldn’t have even known about him if you hadn’t told me. Are you sure none of the others could be involved?’

‘I’d stake my reputation on it. If you want names, I can supply them, but I think you’d be wasting your time.’

Rocco nodded. ‘Would they admit to it?’

‘Probably not willingly, if they thought a charge of forgery was involved. But most artists like to know who buys their work. Whoever is doing this would have known who bought the painting, which would have given him some indication of the buyer’s wealth and maybe even their vulnerabilities.’

‘Even to the extent of knowing about a government slush fund?’

Dreycourt tilted his head to one side. It was a reluctant concession. But he wasn’t done yet. ‘It’s an open secret that the prime minister and Bourdelet didn’t get on, and no first minister wants to get embroiled in a scandal. Any accusations stick, whether several steps removed or simply untrue.’

‘Yet they do get embroiled, from time to time.’

‘True enough. But I still think Cezard holds the key to this.’

Rocco sat back. If Dreycourt’s suggestion was correct, it stood out as a straightforward case of extortion between a forger and a foolhardy politician. Do as I say, said the threat, or the exposure will ruin you. Providing the blackmailer covered his or her tracks, it would be a difficult nut to crack.

‘You don’t seem convinced,’ said Dreycourt.

‘It’s a blackmail attempt, certainly,’ Rocco agreed, ‘but without a specific monetary sum or the name of the person involved, I can’t see it going anywhere. And I doubt whoever it is will put their hands up now.’

Dreycourt looked glum. ‘True. But Bourdelet’s reputation is still ruined, professionally and privately.’

‘That could be what the blackmailer really wanted.’

‘It would still be good to find out who is behind it.’

‘How? I doubt the internal security section will allow me anywhere near the situation.’ In Rocco’s experience, anything involving a government minister, even a junior one, usually had a blackout imposed on the basis of national security. Any investigation would be carried out by senior officers from the Interior Ministry.

Dreycourt took a letter from his pocket and passed it across. ‘That’s your letter of authority, countersigned by the deputy minister of the interior and the senior investigator for the finance ministry. It will get you through most doors pretty much – although I’d caution you against trying to climb too high with it.’

Rocco looked at him. ‘Or what?’

‘You’ll find yourself running out of breathable air.’ His expression was bland, but along with the words, the meaning was clear. Rocco proceeded at his own risk.

Rocco grunted at the warning; his investigation was going to be limited. He checked the letter. The signatures meant nothing but the names and titles were familiar and impressive.

‘Why didn’t they get one of their own people to deal with it in-house? That way they’d have full control.’

Dreycourt shrugged. ‘I can’t say. It’s probably hand-washing. Bring in an outsider to look into Bourdelet’s activities, and they can avoid any accusations of bias or cover-up.’

‘Or of a failed investigation if anything goes wrong?’

‘Or that. I can make any access arrangements depending on how you plan to proceed, but how much leeway you’ll actually get is questionable.’

‘That doesn’t sound promising.’

‘It’s a sensitive issue. Bourdelet’s office has been locked and sealed until you get there, so you’ve got a clear run with that but probably no further.’

Rocco thought it over. As with any investigation, he would need a free hand to ask questions. Lots of them. Some would be delicate, even painful, depending on the interviewees. But if they really wanted answers to why Bourdelet had killed himself, the deeper the probing the more it could lead to embarrassment for the government. That alone would shackle any attempts to speak to people above a certain level.

‘I’ll need to see his home, the same with the other two victims.’

Dreycourt nodded. ‘That’s fine. What else?’

‘Bourdelet’s office and staff. They would have been the closest to him.’

Dreycourt looked doubtful. ‘That’s the bit that might not be so easy. Government premises and staff are strictly off-limits. The internal security section are the only ones allowed to question civil servants and senior members when it comes to events inside the ministry. Sorry, but that’s protocol, I’m afraid. I’ll see what I can do as far as his secretary is concerned, but that might be as far as you can go.’

‘Fine.’ Rocco had guessed that would be the answer, but he could at least take what was offered. ‘I’ll start with his home.’

‘No problem. There’s a police guard on the property and Bourdelet’s housekeeper will be there for an interview. I understand she wasn’t on duty on the morning of his death, so she might not prove very helpful.’

‘Was there anyone else working for him, a gardener or driver, for instance?’

‘He had a driver supplied by the ministry, name of Lopez. As to a gardener, I’m not sure. The housekeeper will be able to tell you. I’m not sure how much use any of this will be, though. I get the feeling Bourdelet was a lot more guarded about his private life than most people imagined, especially with colleagues.’

Rocco nodded. It was no surprise. Most people who involved themselves in criminal acts were by nature careful about who they allowed inside their circle of confidants. A moment of unguarded conversation and a slip of the tongue could have career-changing results. That left the driver. Other than his secretary, Lopez would have been the last person to have spoken to him. And a regular and trusted driver would be the one person a man such as Bourdelet might have confided in, intentionally or otherwise. Stuck in busy Paris traffic, it would be natural to exchange a few words. Given a regular routine, the few words would soon turn into a level of familiarity experienced nowhere else among Bourdelet’s office colleagues and acquaintances.

‘I realise this has all come in a rush, Lucas,’ said Dreycourt. ‘But I must impress on you the urgency involved here. Three high-placed individuals – victims – and I think it’s unlikely they will be the only ones. I’m being pressed to get this dealt with as a matter of urgency and close down any further attacks.’

Rocco wasn’t about to be hustled into making decisions purely for the sake of political expediency, and his instinct was to push back. ‘I realise that, Marcel. But you wouldn’t rush to verify a work of art, and my side of this investigation will take as long as it takes. All I will promise you and those above you is that I’ll move as quickly as I can.’

Dreycourt gave a wry smile. ‘It’s true what I’ve heard about you, isn’t it? You really don’t give much of a toss for authority. I like that.’ He reached out and shook Rocco’s hand. ‘I’ll try to get some bodies on the ground to do some of the background leg work for you but it won’t amount to much. The ministry wants this kept as quiet as possible to avoid a public scandal, so too big a team would be open to risk. Call me if you have any specific jobs you can’t do yourself. We’ll talk again soon.’

Rocco left Dreycourt contemplating another coffee and walked back to his car. Before heading back to Amiens, he took out the three letters and gave them a quick read while he still had a chance of doing so in peace.

They were typewritten, the words neutral, with no discernible style that would point towards the identity of the author. Simple demands to be simply met. Or else.

Bourdelet’s response he knew about. The letter was smudged and dotted with dark marks which he guessed were blood. Gambon’s letter mentioned the former police chief’s knowing sale of an alleged forged but unnamed Matisse to an unnamed American buyer as an original, and his purchase of a Boucher, both paintings funded by loans from two named sources. Rocco hadn’t heard of either men, but presumably airing the names had been enough for Gambon to have decided that he’d reached the end of the road.

Petissier’s letter was as Dreycourt described, pointing a finger at the judge’s close connections with criminals who had all walked free of serious charges, and of his subsequent receipt of substantial sums of money which had gone to fund his lifestyle and, it claimed, the purchase of the fake Théodore Chassériau painting. The names were vaguely familiar to Rocco but there were none that he’d been involved with. They were serious enough to have caused ripples in the justice system had the accusations been proved.

Three high-profile men in three different locations, three different lives. Instinct born of experience told him that accepting what he was told at face value would be unwise. Somewhere in each of their backgrounds there must be something to point to whoever had driven the three men to take such desperate measures. All he had to do was find it. He’d originally assumed Bourdelet, as a secretary of state, might prove a difficult one to investigate. Now he had a judge at the Assize Court and a former head of the national police force to look into: one dead, the other nearly so. Looking into the backgrounds of all three, if he wasn’t careful, would be like walking blindfold through a minefield in clogs.

He started the car. It was getting late in the afternoon but he needed to get moving on this before the cases got any older. He had a sense that time was of the essence here, especially with such high flyers. If there was any evidence of criminal activity, it would have to be found and seized before any associates had a chance to cover their tracks. And the only way he could do that with multiple suspects was to get help.

As he left the village and followed the narrow road out towards Amiens, a car drove out from a field gateway and followed at a distance.

A black Peugeot, Rocco noted. Too clean to be local, standing out like a sabot dancer in a performance of Swan Lake. Two figures were visible through the windscreen. They couldn’t have painted their official standing any more clearly if they’d tried.

Rocco put his foot down, raising a trail of dust as his wheels clipped the soft verge, the ground underneath dried out by the summer sun. The black car kept up with him but made no attempt to close the gap. He slowed again, then speeded up with the same reaction.

He sighed and wondered why the Interior Ministry, or whichever agency of the state these two were from, was so openly keeping an eye on him, and whether Dreycourt was aware of it. No doubt someone high up had been propelled by an innate sense of paranoia to set them on his tail, watching in case he turned up something nasty in the official woodshed.