Death on the Pont Noir - By Adrian Magson Page 0,69
substitute.’
The old lady opened the bag with ill-concealed eagerness and took out a folded square of linen. Throwing Rocco a mock scowl, she opened the square with a small sigh of delight, shaking out the colours into the room like a magician performing a conjuring trick. It was a table square, an intricate design of yellows and golds and subtle blues, and she gazed at it with her mouth forming an oval.
‘Mon Dieu, que c’est beau,’ she whispered, and looked at him. ‘How did you know?’
‘I’m a cop,’ he said dryly. ‘It’s my job.’
She flapped a gently admonishing hand against his arm and turned, pulling the existing coated cotton tablecloth off the table and spreading the new one in its place with a practised flick of her hands. She smoothed it down, then stood back and admired it. ‘Now that,’ she said decisively, ‘merits a coffee morning tomorrow, let me tell you. Let the other old biddies try and top that!’ She shrugged and smiled. ‘I know – a touch of vanity. But every now and then, it’s good for the soul.’
But when she turned back, Rocco had already slipped out, pulling the door closed behind him.
‘Ah, the wanderer returns.’ Claude answered his door in an open shirt, with a smell of cooking wafting around him and a towel thrown across one shoulder. ‘I heard you’d gone sick, but I figured that was a ruse. Care to come in and share with your closest colleague or are you sworn to secrecy on pain of the big chop?’ He drew a hand across his throat and made a hissing sound.
Rocco handed Claude a duty-free bag. ‘Sworn to secrecy but a glass might loosen my tongue.’
‘Aiee, yi yi.’ Claude opened the bag and extracted a bottle of single malt whisky. He looked at Rocco with raised eyebrows. ‘You haven’t turned bank robber, have you? I mean, I don’t mind if you have, but just so I know.’ He called over his shoulder, ‘Alix – quick, three glasses before I wake up from this dream and this excellent whisky goes pouf and disappears!’
Rocco was surprised when Alix stepped into view, holding a serving spoon. ‘Sorry,’ he apologised. ‘I didn’t know you had company. I won’t stop—’
‘Ah, non!’ Claude grabbed his arm. ‘You don’t come bearing gifts and depart like a thief into the night, my friend. You must stay for dinner, at least. We have enough, don’t we, Alix?’
‘Luckily, yes.’ Alix gave Rocco a wry smile. ‘How did you know I liked whisky?’
‘Umm … I didn’t.’ It was a moment before Rocco realised she was teasing. He allowed himself to be dragged inside, deciding that sleep would have to wait.
‘So,’ said Claude, pouring generous measures, his voice dropping conspiratorially as Alix moved away to the kitchen, ‘how is Madame Drolet?’ He grinned and raised his glass, winking meaningfully. ‘Santé, mon vieux.’
‘What do you mean?’ Rocco drank, pretending ignorance. No doubt the village rumour mill had been grinding away, making, as his mother used to say, a cake out of a brioche.
‘Well, word is she’s been circling you like an elegant black widow spider, waiting to strike.’ He fluttered his eyebrows. ‘Are you feeling frightened?’
‘She’s harmless.’
‘No, she’s not. Take my word, if you’re not careful, she’ll drag you behind the counter one dark evening, roll you up in her web and paff! – Mme Denis will be needing a new neighbour.’
‘Who needs a new neighbour?’ Alix came to join them and relieved her father of his glass and took a small sip. ‘Are you two ready to eat?’
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The station the following day was unusually quiet, with a seemingly lower number than usual of miscreants with ill-gotten goods and drunks with sore heads. There was no sign of Saint-Cloud and Massin was in a meeting. Rocco was relieved; it had been a late night and he’d drunk more than he’d intended. But it had been pleasant, too, spending time with Claude and Alix, a welcome diversion from work.
He got to his desk and found a note waiting for him. Inspector David Nialls had called with urgent information. He picked up the phone and dialled the number in London.
‘Ah, Lucas,’ Nialls greeted him. The British policeman sounded sombre. ‘I’ve got some news. George Tasker was seen getting on a plane yesterday morning at a small airfield outside London. One of our officers was there helping a local customs and excise officer and recognised him. Sorry it’s late, but the news only just reached me. I’m