Death on the Pont Noir - By Adrian Magson Page 0,67

place as a standby driver, until a first-team driver had fallen ill a few days before an appearance at Le Mans. Calloway had stepped in and finished fifth – a more than respectable result for a newcomer, and one that had ensured him a regular place on the team. But whatever was bad in Calloway’s make-up had soon made its way to the fore, and after an ‘incident’ at 150 mph, which had resulted in another driver being seriously burnt, he had been dropped.

The rest of the file gave little information that was current, and Rocco felt a sense of disappointment. No mention of running with Tasker or Ketch, no involvement in politics or anti-Gaullist movements, no recorded views on social injustice abroad which might have been a clincher to this latest business. Then he sat up, his heart thudding. He was looking at a brief sentence describing Calloway’s current listed occupation: he worked as a film stunt driver and as a member of a travelling stunt display team.

He put the document away, trying not to jump too quickly to the logical conclusion. Better to let the idea ferment for a while in his mind. But once there, it wouldn’t go away. Who was better to use in a crash scene than a trained stunt driver? Even so, was that enough to assume that Calloway would be involved in a potential ‘hit’ on the president? And was there a connection between Calloway’s occupation and the presence in London of Patrice Delarue? He couldn’t see it, but neither could he ignore it.

He flicked at the lapel of his new coat. It was dark, as were the trousers, jacket and new brogues. He had taken the opportunity, reminded by Nialls’ mention of Savile Row, the location of West End Central Police Station and a number of upmarket tailors, to replenish the parts of his wardrobe that had been spoilt by his immersion in the canal. He’d always had a preference for English clothes, and this had been an opportunity to indulge himself.

It was late by the time he got back to Amiens, but lights were still burning in the upstairs offices used by Saint-Cloud and Massin. He decided to brief Massin first, and told him what he had found out about Calloway’s current occupation as a stunt driver.

Massin listened carefully, then said, ‘So you think this Calloway will drive the truck which will be used to force the president’s car off the road?’

‘Well, he’s certainly an expert at setting up these things. It would require timing and accuracy – something stuntmen live by.’

‘Have you informed Saint-Cloud?’

‘Not yet.’ He considered his words carefully. ‘To be honest, I’m not sure there’s much to tell that he would believe.’

‘You might be right. But you should brief him, anyway.’ Massin stood up and took a turn around the office. ‘The fact that you bumped into Broissard and Portier, though – that’s a puzzle, although it could be nothing. They both have broad duties to do with the security of the state, and that includes by its nature the president. They could have been in London for any number of reasons. But I’m glad you mentioned it. I’ll amend your “sick” note accordingly. In case anyone should ask questions.’

‘Thank you.’ Rocco was still puzzled by Massin’s change of attitude. Here he was being helpful on a grand scale, a total contrast to their early days. ‘What about Delarue’s presence in London?’

‘All I can do is alert the Ministry. We can only speculate about why he was there. I’m sure the criminal intelligence section will be interested to hear about it … unless they already know, of course.’

Rocco left Massin to it and walked along to the office Saint-Cloud was using. Unsurprisingly, the security chief was less welcoming, having already heard of Rocco’s ‘sick leave’ and his visit to London.

‘Was there really a need for such subterfuge, Inspector?’ he asked coolly. ‘We are, after all, working for the same side.’

‘I needed to check out a few facts first.’

‘I see. Did you discover anything?’ Saint-Cloud sat back and examined his fingernails in a manner that indicated he was about to hear nothing of great importance.

‘I’ve got a location,’ said Rocco, ‘as I told you already. Now I think I know who the driver will be.’

‘Really?’ Saint-Cloud looked unimpressed. ‘Who?’

Rocco told him and placed Calloway’s summary file on the desk, reminding him that the driver had previously been in the Amiens area in company with a gangster named Tasker, who