Fifteen
‘You want what?’ Detective René Desmoulins stared at Rocco in surprise. ‘But I thought this whole Bourdelet thing was … well, a delicate situation, him being who he is. Sorry – was.’
‘Are you saying you can’t do discreet?’
‘No, of course not … I mean, of course I can. But it’s why they brought you in, isn’t it? Need to know basis only.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘Top secret and all that.’
‘You’ve been reading too many comics. But I suppose it’s true enough. In any case, this is an important issue time-wise, and I can’t handle it all myself. Nor can I farm it out to other stations. The Ministry is in a hurry as usual but they want discretion – and they’re keeping an eye on me.’
‘Seriously?’
‘A black Peugeot 404, driver and passenger. And they’re being very obvious about it. While they’re watching me, they’re unlikely to spot you. Are you in?’
Desmoulins was nodding eagerly before he’d even finished. ‘Yes, of course. What do you want me to do?’
‘Door-to-door stuff and finding any background information you can dig up from the three locations: neighbours, gossips, anything. You know what it’s like, very few people live in a vacuum. They might have talked to someone they trusted.’ Rocco dropped a slim folder on the desk. ‘In here are the names and details of the three victims. There’s a judge, a politician and a former senior cop, so don’t go charging in with both feet.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘You can leave me to do that. We’ll do Bourdelet first. I’ll deal with the house and you can canvas the area. Somebody must have delivered the letter and it would help if we could find out who. I’ll need to check we’re not in conflict with any local investigations first but, as soon as I confirm we’re clear, I’ll leave you to it. Somebody might have noticed something, a person or car, maybe a motorbike.’
‘Understood. What if we find nothing?’
‘Then we look again. There has to be something. None of these letters dropped out of thin air. If we find the source for one it will lead to the others.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘The letters are the common ground so far. That and the fact that each victim bought copies of paintings, probably from the same source. The writer must have been acquainted with all three men, or at least knew their backgrounds well enough to blackmail them about their weak spots. Finding out who won’t be easy.’ What Rocco didn’t tell Desmoulins was that there was already a potential suspect, namely Cezard, but he didn’t want to colour the younger man’s judgement. It was better if Desmoulins went into this investigation with open eyes and a fresh approach. That way he might see something Dreycourt and Rocco could miss.
‘Got it.’ Desmoulins hesitated, scanning the names and addresses. ‘Paris, Abbeville and Mers-les-Bains. That’s going to take me out of the area. Can I do that?’
‘Up to a point. Take it as read that you’ll be out of your immediate jurisdiction some of the time, so don’t tread on any toes and don’t tell anyone what you’re doing. I’m the visible face on this, you’re in the background. Just keep it that way and stay in touch. Hand over anything urgent already on your desk to Massin and he’ll farm it out. I’ve already cleared it with him.’
Desmoulins smiled. ‘Fab.’
‘Fab?’
Desmoulins’ cheeks flushed. ‘Sorry – it’s a British expression. I picked it up from a friend. It’s short for fab–’
‘Yes, I worked that out, thank you.’ Rocco nodded at the door. ‘Don’t let me hold you up. Go.’
Desmoulins went.
Rocco sat at his desk and chewed over what he had to do. A plan of action would be good, as he had a lot of ground to cover and not much time to do it. He would inevitably be forced to go over some of the same ground as Desmoulins, not because he didn’t trust the young detective, but because he was going to approach the investigation in a different way. Hopefully when they came to compare notes they would overlap and that would point to a way forward. Gaining a common intersection for all three men would be hoping for too much, but you never knew. A senior member of the government, a judge and a senior cop: on the surface, it was quite possible they had met, even knew each other well. Social circles at the top of the tree invariably brought people together from different backgrounds. Their lives might have touched somewhere along the way, if only like billiard balls glancing off each other on a green baize table.
He still felt discomfited by what Massin had revealed to him. It had been uncommonly open of the man to bare his soul in the way he had, and Rocco felt a level of admiration for him in spite of their past clashes. Even more he sympathised with the loss of his career, and all because of a moment of weakness in an unbearable situation. Being dragged through a careless and uncaring grilling the way he had been was unprofessional and brutal enough, but the subsequent trashing of his character was as much the fault of the tribunal as it was Petissier’s. How Massin hadn’t harboured a deep abiding grudge against the man all these years was a mystery, and Rocco wasn’t certain that he himself would have been so understanding.
He was relieved he hadn’t had to work too hard to sell the idea of bringing Desmoulins into the investigation. It would be good training for the young detective. Massin’s limited agreement was, Rocco understood, conscious of the Ministry and wanting to avoid reflections on himself if it didn’t work out. Not that Massin was the only one with that outlook. It was an instinct for self-preservation common among most senior officers. Promotion was hard-won and the ground easily lost in a growing and flexing agency where competition was tough and there was always someone else on the career ladder looking for a chance to find a slot for their talents.
He pushed away from his desk and took a tour around the office, hoping for some inspiration. Without realising it, he ended up outside Doctor Bernard Rizzotti’s office at the rear of the building. The stand-in pathologist was behind his desk, studying some papers, and Rocco knocked once and walked in.
‘Ah, here comes trouble,’ Rizzotti murmured, lifting his spectacles off his face and scrubbing at his hair. ‘What have we got now? Don’t tell, more dead bodies. I thought things had been a bit quiet lately.’
‘No, nothing like that.’ Rocco sat down. ‘I need some inspiration.’
‘Is that all? How about a drink? I have some fresh formaldehyde around here somewhere. Mix it with a healthy shot of fruit juice and it might do the trick. You could have some trouble standing up afterwards, but that’s your risk.’ He put the papers down. ‘Is this connected with your new high-profile assignment in Paris? Bourdelet, isn’t it?’
‘News gets around fast.’
Rizzotti gestured at the phone. ‘Fraternal and professional interest: the grapevine’s been vibrating like a harp string, although from what I hear, there seems little doubt about what happened. He walked into his office, locked the door and shot himself while of unsound mind. Is that correct?’
‘I’m not sure about the state of his mind, Doc. But it seems that way, from first reports.’
‘No other way out, perhaps.’
‘That’s one of my questions. Is it possible for someone to be pressured into killing themselves?’
Rizzotti shrugged. ‘I’m no psychologist, Lucas, but I’ve known of a few suicides driven by desperation or fear or loss. So yes, I suppose it’s possible. They were mostly ordinary people, with what might be described as ordinary lives. I imagine a senior figure like Bourdelet might have seen an impending fall as more drastic than most, professionally speaking.’ He gave a weak smile. ‘It’s not as if there are many jobs like that going around. If he had little else to hold on to, like a family, then he might have decided to let go very easily. But to judge that I’d have to have known him on a personal level.’
Rocco thought about it. Rizzotti was right, everyone had their own limits, their personal sense of what was too much to bear. Reputation and self-esteem were high up on the list for most people, and maybe Bourdelet had seen his imminent fall all too clearly, making his decision the only one possible.
‘How about disgrace?’
‘It would be more than enough for some, certainly; others might decide to fight it out, even disappear for a while until things blew over.’ He gave a knowing smile. ‘In my experience politicians are usually adept at weathering that kind of thing before emerging in a new guise once the dust has settled. I wish you good luck with this one, Lucas. You’re going to need it.’