‘The situation could have been even more embarrassing for me as I’m part of a working party to crack down on drugs that has just been set up here at the Élysée and which reports directly to the President. You know that the battle against drug trafficking is one of the President’s priorities?’ Daquin nods. ‘A battle for civilisation that must be won…’
Overwhelmed by a flood of violent images and feelings, Daquin closes his eyes for a second. A battle for civilisation… Opens his eyes again. Careful, don’t lose track.
‘In short, our team is tasked with drawing up a coherent policy and taking action without getting bogged down in red tape like the interministerial mission, or getting caught up in interdepartmental squabbles either. The people are sick and tired of drug-related crime, and we need to come up with some effective solutions. This team includes some of the President’s inner circle, and a few men on the ground. At our last meeting, yesterday afternoon,’ a pause, ‘yes, that’s right, Wednesday afternoon, I mentioned your name. The door is open to you, Superintendent Daquin.’
Daquin smiles. So this is the carrot.
‘You do me a great honour.’ A hint of irony. ‘If we’re talking about territory, I’m afraid that I might not be suited to that of the Élysée.’
Deluc’s expression suddenly becomes grim. End of the charm offensive?
Cheese. No, thank you, I’ll keep to this wine. And a baked Alaska. Haven’t had one of these for years. Memories, memories. At the Grill Bar of the Ritz, with Lenglet, and a few others. With champagne. And a strong coffee.
‘Let’s have coffee in the drawing room. Brandy?’
Two brandies. He’s not certain that Deluc is used to drinking so much, or, more likely, the part he’s playing has gone to his head. He’s just slightly losing control.
‘The chief of the Drugs Squad told me that your investigation took you to Pama’s doors. A member of Jubelin’s staff was apparently somewhat involved in drug trafficking before being murdered.’
‘Correct.’
‘Is it news to you if I tell you that Madame Renouard, whom I know well in another context, is a regular cocaine user?’
‘No, you’re not telling me anything I didn’t know.’
In a confidential tone. ‘I myself am a Pama shareholder.’ Laugh. ‘A small shareholder, of course. I don’t have the means… I bought some shares because I believe in the reconciliation between the socialists and private enterprise and the free market, after years of a mutual lack of understanding. It was a political gesture…’ Deluc seeks a sign of understanding, which is not forthcoming. Daquin sips his brandy, staring at his glass.
‘Jubelin has succeeded in creating an active and profitable private company in a field dominated by huge, nationalised state-run machines, and suddenly he has revived the entire sector and paved the way for the whole industry to break into new international markets. He has enterprise in spades. And enterprise is what we need nowadays. I consider him as a hero of the ’80s. It would be a pity if this firm’s reputation were to be damaged by the behaviour of a couple of its senior managers…’
‘On that point, you may rest assured. I don’t think that’s likely to happen.’
Daquin has finished his brandy. Stretches his legs with a sigh of satisfaction. Perrot must be extremely important for Deluc not to say a word about him.
‘You’re very quiet, Superintendent.’
‘Because I don’t have very much to say. But I’m listening to every word you say.’
Friday 27 October 1989
Daquin has come in to work very early on the diskette found at Annick’s place. Frankfurt stock exchange, Tuesday 19 September 1989, fluctuations in A.A. Bayern’s share values. Interesting, the company for which Pama has just made a takeover bid. Pass this on to Lavorel, if… But first of all, carefully plan how he’s going to tell his inspectors that he’s been told to go on leave. Romero and Lavorel. A slice of his life. At this precise moment, the most important. He’s playing for high stakes.
The inspectors arrive. Daquin points to the board.
‘I received these yesterday morning, sent anonymously.’ Le Dem turns pink and stares at the floor. Daquin annoyed. ‘I did chat up this guy in a bar in the Marais a few days ago. These photos aren’t rigged. You can look at them, Le Dem. Of course, I didn’t know who he was until I found myself staring at his corpse, last Wednesday. This guy is Michel Nolant.’ Romero recalls Daquin’s shattered look in the ransacked bedroom. ‘Naturally, the same evening I informed Inspector Bourdier who’s in charge of the investigation.’ A pause. ‘Just as well. And I think I’m impervious to this kind of blackmail because I’ve always been open about my taste for boys. But that’s not all. First of all, the director of the Drugs Squad received the same photos at the same time. And he’s decided to send me off on leave, pending the results of an internal inquiry. I’m only here today because he gave me permission to inform you myself of his decision.’
Romero and Lavorel exchange glances.
‘We resign.’
‘Don’t get carried away. I’m not sure what to do myself.’
‘You know very well that you can’t go off on holiday. Not after all this.’ Romero points to the photos. No need to spell it out.
‘It’s true that if I agree, I’m finished. But the enemy is a big fish. I think that a certain Deluc is behind this intimidation effort…’
‘The kid’s father?’
‘Yes, the kid’s father. Presidential advisor. In all likelihood, he’s the person who had me followed and photographed – by one of our chaps, incidentally – and who had someone tell the chief to sideline me. With one major question mark: did he go so far as to have Nolant killed simply to give his blackmail attempt more weight? And yesterday evening, he invited me to work directly with him, at the Élysée. Don’t worry, Lavorel, I said no.’
‘What does he want?’
‘It’s obvious. To protect Perrot and Pama. Especially Perrot, I’d say.’
‘Chief, if you drop this now, I’m going back to being a delinquent. And with the experience I’ve gained thanks to you, I think I still have time to make a brilliant career at it.’
‘What about you, Le Dem, what do you think?’
‘I’ve been thinking about it for a while. A farrier is murdered. We nab a horse trader and a vet. All in the trade. Everybody’s delighted. Although I was shocked, I believe it was right. But when we get to the fat-cat financiers and politicians, they stop us. I don’t know how to explain this but I take it as an affront to men like me.’
‘How far have you got with the chauffeur’s supplier?’
‘We’ve found him. It’s the grocer on the corner. A hundred metres from the concierge’s lodge. A Moroccan. He received some heroin in orange juice cartons from Holland. We nicked one from him. It’s in the cupboard in our office.’
Daquin remains silent for a while. Efficient, they really are efficient.
‘Romero, make us a coffee. We’ll carry on the conversation afterwards.’
The all get up. A fifteen-minute break, then Daquin goes on:
‘I’m going to try and sum up. You’ll see, it’s not straightforward. One thing is certain: we’ve smashed an international cocaine ring that goes from Colombia to Italy via France, and arrested those directly running the operation, which isn’t bad going compared with some of our colleagues’ recent operations… A hunch: Transitex is only one link in a much wider network, as is suggested by the involvement of Ballestrino, a major player, as is suggested by the murder of Paola Jiménez, and which explains the pressure to have us pulled off the investigation. Remember, Romero, Aubert told us a whole story about meetings with Colombians to do with horses. A good lie always includes an element of truth. Like Ballestrino, the Ochoas breed horses. Imagine that the Colombians and the Italians, at high level, used the cover of a race meeting to arrange a summit meeting, on 9th July at Longchamp, in the owners’ enclosure, which Jiménez chanced to witness. We’ve seen the bosses meet in the luxury hotels and casinos of the Riviera.’