Death on the Pont Noir - By Adrian Magson Page 0,101
answering the description of the Englishman, Tasker.’ He glanced around as if making sure everyone was listening, although not a sound could be heard. ‘She confirmed that you handed the envelope back with … “a degree of force”, was how she described it.’
Mme Denis, thought Rocco. You beauty.
‘I have also received documentation via our embassy in London, supporting the fact that you refused on the spot to take the money.’
‘Documentation?’ Rocco couldn’t believe it.
‘A copy of a statement made by the accomplice of the man Tasker – the same one who took the photographs – witnessed by a third secretary of our embassy and two members of the Metropolitan Police, one of them Detective Chief Inspector Nialls, who I can vouch for personally.’
Rocco blinked at that. It was quite a thing to say, for Massin.
‘I consider it sufficient to back up your claim that it was an attempted entrapment, Inspector, and have already issued directions for your suspension to be lifted. And I apologise for the … regrettable accusations made against you. I’m sure you understand, however, that I had to follow certain … procedures.’ He coughed. ‘I believe you, too, unwittingly, became part of the distraction.’
‘Thank you,’ he said.
Massin nodded and reached down to his side. For the first time Rocco realised he was wearing a sidearm. Massin unclipped it and held it out. ‘I’m sorry – I did not bring your weapon. You might need this.’
It was as good as he was going to get, Rocco figured. And better than he’d expected. He tapped his coat pocket, where he’d put the Walther. ‘Thanks. But I’m good to go.’ He found his respect for Massin rising a spectral level or two; the senior officer could have hidden behind the procedural veil of further investigations into the affair, but had clearly decided to come out in the open – and in front of these other officers.
Someone clapped him on the back and he heard a volley of congratulations.
Then a stocky figure eased through the crowd, holding up a slim wallet for Massin to see. He had impressively broad shoulders and the face of a fighter, although dressed in a smart suit and tie. He spoke directly to Massin.
‘Are you in charge here?’
‘I am,’ Massin confirmed, and looked at the man’s ID. His face registered surprise. ‘How can I help you?’
The man pointed at Rocco and Claude. ‘You and these two – a word, please?’ He turned and walked away a few metres, distancing himself from the crowd of policemen and leaving the other three to follow.
‘This is my authority,’ the newcomer said, when they were standing alongside him. He showed Rocco and Claude his card. ‘It trumps anything you’re likely to see here today.’ He glanced at Massin with a grim smile. ‘I mean no offence, Commissaire, I promise you – but this is vitally important.’
‘Of course. I understand.’ Massin turned to Rocco and Claude. ‘This gentleman is one of the president’s protection team.’
‘Damn,’ Claude muttered. ‘You were in the front of the car!’
‘And you were in the Traction coming towards the bridge. Your names?’
Rocco said, ‘I’m Rocco, he’s Lamotte. Out of Amiens.’
‘Really. Are you undercover?’ The bodyguard seemed fascinated by the contrast between Claude and Rocco, one in corduroys and boots, the other in dark, tailored clothing and black brogues.
‘That’s right,’ Massin interjected. ‘These officers are under my command. Is the president safe?’
‘Perfectly, thank you. All I want to say is, what happened here today stops here.’ He glanced at the crowd of policemen, who were now going about their duties. ‘No reports, no press interviews, nothing. The president would prefer that another … incident following on so soon after the last one would not be in the best interests of the state or the people.’
‘What about the truck?’ Rocco asked, nodding towards the crash site, although he knew it was academic; if the president requested a press blackout, that’s what he would get.
The man lifted his shoulders. ‘It was an accident. A drunk who took the corner too fast.’
‘Corner?’ Claude looked up and down the straight road. ‘Which one?’
The man smiled with a touch of genuine humour. ‘Well, who knows what a drunk sees, huh? You’ll think of something. Commissaire?’ He glanced meaningfully towards the other policemen.
Massin got the message and walked away to spread the word.
The bodyguard turned to go, and Rocco said, ‘I’m surprised Colonel Saint-Cloud isn’t here to deliver that message himself.’
The bodyguard frowned. ‘Saint-Cloud? Why would he?’