Death on the Pont Noir - By Adrian Magson Page 0,29

headaches, either.’ Ketch was rumoured to suffer from regular debilitating migraines.

‘Yeah. I heard.’ His voice was hoarse. Jesus, how long was this going to last?

Then Brayne pitched in with a question. He stood up and moved into Tasker’s line of sight and said, ‘I hear you had a spot of bother in Amiens nick.’

‘Nothing worth talking about.’ Tasker fought to keep his voice and temper level. This was taking the piss. What bloody right did this number-cruncher have to ask him questions? Then he realised Ketch was looking at him, waiting for an answer. ‘The cops got a bit heavy,’ he said grudgingly. ‘Pushed us around a bit. Nothing we couldn’t handle.’

Ketch looked at Brayne. ‘Is that what you heard?’

Brayne nodded, but with a tight smile on his heavy face. ‘That’s about the strength of it. They questioned Calloway and George, but left the others alone. Calloway made a call, our friend in Westminster did the business, then George handed over a wad of cash as compensation and they were out of there. No charges, no record.’ He looked at Tasker. ‘I think I got that straight?’

‘Yeah. That’s about it.’ Tasker barely bothered to hide a sneer, but he was worried. How the hell did he come to know so much? He really didn’t like Brayne; the man was a smooth talker and thought himself above everyone else in the organisation. Tasker knew he had a string of bankrupt businesses behind him and wasn’t as clever as he thought he was. But Ketch and the Twins had decided he was the dog’s bollocks and relied on him for financial advice. And that made him untouchable.

For now, anyway.

‘Okay, George.’ Ketch stood up and flicked his sleeves straight. He wasn’t as tall standing as he looked, and Tasker knew he wore lifts in his shoes to compensate. But he was no pushover and had done more than enough to gain a bad reputation. ‘Time we were going. You keep yourself handy, you hear? Might need you to go back over there for a repeat performance.’ He smiled and adjusted a handkerchief in his sleeve. ‘Actually, there’s no might about it. It’s a cert. You’d better start getting the team ready and practising your French.’

‘Sure, boss. When?’ Tasker felt his spirits slump. Out of the fire into … what?

‘Not sure, George. Waiting for the word … or le mot, as they say in French. Soon as I know, you’ll know. But soon.’ He flashed another smile, as false as the rest, and tapped Tasker’s chest with the back of his hand. ‘Chin up, my son; much more of this international travel and you might develop a taste for the old French cuisine, eh?’

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

‘Lucas?’ It was late in the afternoon when Desmoulins stuck his head round the door and got Rocco’s attention. ‘Those crash-damaged vehicles you were asking about?’

Rocco blinked, his thoughts still on Saint-Cloud’s briefing and his final words. He wasn’t in the habit of telling Massin everything he was doing day to day because it wasn’t necessary. But he didn’t like being told by an outsider to hold back information about his movements; it went against the grain of all he’d been taught.

‘What about them?’ He’d forgotten about the Englishmen, and had almost pushed the crash investigation to the back of his mind. If Saint-Cloud wanted his help on security checks for de Gaulle, he would have to hand over some of his caseload for others to handle. Still, his curiosity in unexplained events never entirely vanished, no matter what other priorities came up.

‘Nothing’s shown up in any local garages, but a Renault truck has been found torched in a quarry near Picquigny. There are remnants of camouflage canvas and green wood on the scene, so it could be the one you’re looking for. The locals thought the smoke was a farmer burning dead wood, so they didn’t bother checking it out earlier. They only just got round to calling it in when they realised what it was.’

Picquigny. About ten kilometres to the west of Amiens. Rocco stood up. He needed a break and some fresh air. ‘Better take a look, then. Get Rizzotti, will you? And tell him to bring his camera. Let’s go see what we can find.’ He wasn’t expecting much, but it was an outstanding matter to be checked out, and it might serve to clear his mind a little.

By the time they arrived, the remains of the truck were cold, with only a thin veil of