‘Your job? Who says it was murder?’ The senior officer’s nose quivered as if he had just caught the first smell from the body. He looked away, momentarily distracted.
‘You got that?’ said Rocco abruptly. ‘That stink in the air? It’s called putrefaction. Decomposing tissue. It happens when a body has been in a warm place, or under ground or in water. The bugs and larvae begin attacking the tissue, laying eggs and eating their way inside. You might like to take a closer look… since you’re heading up the investigation.’
If Massin recognised the challenge, he ignored it. But a flicker of revulsion crossed his face. Or guilt, thought Rocco. Maybe even lack of guts, given his track record. Give him five minutes near this place and he’d be away back down the road to his office like bald tyres on a skidpan.
‘I’m perfectly familiar with the aftermath of death,’ Massin replied stiffly. ‘What I want to know is, who ordered you here, to this region?’
Rocco shrugged eloquently, a gesture calculated to annoy the man. ‘Me? I’m merely following orders. Part of the latest barmy “initiative” cooked up by someone with too much time on his hands, who thought investigators should be out in the country slopping through cow shit instead of in the cities, solving major crimes.’
‘Take yourself away. Now. You are dismissed.’ Massin was almost quivering with rage, his body stiff as a brush. Behind him, his two companions had stopped a few feet back, watching and listening.
‘Excuse me?’ Rocco gave the man his most insolent stare. He wasn’t sure whether a commissaire had the power to throw him off an investigation; it had never arisen before. Maybe this might be the moment he found out.
‘I said you are dismissed. I do not want you on this investigation!’ The words snapped out, surprising the other two men and causing the drivers and assistants to fall silent. Captain Canet and Claude watched from a distance.
‘Sir?’ One of the other officers, braver than the other, stepped forward. He looked at Rocco as if he had made an obscene suggestion, then introduced himself with a brief nod. ‘ Commissaire Perronnet.’ Then in a soft aside to Massin, ‘Is something wrong, sir?’
‘Yes. This man is not needed here. I want him elsewhere — anywhere. But not here!’
Perronnet looked momentarily nonplussed. He touched Massin on the arm and murmured, ‘A word, sir?’
They turned away and talked in undertones, leaving Rocco staring into the distance. But he caught fragments of conversation, most of it coming from the junior officer.
‘… lead investigator… has a very good record… sent here from Paris… nobody else available… could be political… the uniform… neo-Nazi movement.’
When they turned back, it was as if a switch had been thrown. Massin’s face was more composed, and he was looking at Rocco with eyes that no longer held open dislike. He’s struggling, though, Rocco thought sourly. Like a cobra studying a particularly juicy-looking rodent.
‘Very well.’ Massin appeared to reconsider his decision. It took a few moments, during which the junior officer said nothing, but stared at Rocco with an intensity which conveyed a simple message: Don’t say a word or you’re on traffic.
‘It seems,’ murmured Massin finally, forcing out the words, ‘that you are necessary to this investigation after all.’ He lifted his chin, haughty and begrudging. ‘You have primary responsibility and I want regular reports on your progress, copied only to me. Nobody else. You understand?’
‘Perfectly,’ said Rocco. In other words, so you can stitch this up any way you like, you dumb shit, he thought dourly. Kill it off if it looks like causing inconvenient embarrassment, dumb it down if it can be passed off as a minor crime. Claim the credit if it goes hot.
Massin turned and strode across the lawn to the monument, accompanied by the second officer, leaving Perronnet studying Rocco with an open air of interest.
‘He doesn’t like you much, does he? Do you always affect people that way?’
‘It’s my friendly nature,’ said Rocco dryly. ‘Never mind, I’ll try to weather the disappointment.’
A raised eyebrow. ‘Insolent, I see. Is there history between you?’
Rocco thought about it for two seconds. He didn’t have to spell out his past to this man; if Perronnet were really that interested, he could delve into the personnel files. If he did, he’d no doubt be unable to resist taking a peek at Massin’s file, too, and something told him that would not be available for scrutiny. ‘Not that I’m aware of.’
Perronnet looked sceptical. ‘Didn’t sound like it to me.’
‘If you don’t believe me, you could always ask him.’
Perronnet looked surprised by the challenge. He seemed about to reprimand Rocco, but merely said, ‘Maybe I will.’ He looked across the cemetery as the two men returned, both looking pale, Massin with his jaw clenched tight. ‘But let’s get this cleared up first, shall we?’ he continued softly. ‘And maybe tomorrow, you might do the courtesy of presenting yourself to the station and making your acquaintance with your colleagues. Just a suggestion to the wise.’ With that, he turned and fell in with the others, accompanying them out of the gate and back down the track.
‘You should try pissing on electric cables,’ said Claude. ‘It’s a lot less dangerous.’ He joined Rocco to watch the cars reverse down the track. ‘I’ve never heard anyone talk to a commissaire like that before and survive.’
‘You heard?’ He’d thought Claude and the others were out of earshot.
Claude smiled. ‘I might be getting on a bit, but my hearing’s still good. You know the top man — Massin, is it?’
‘It’s a long story.’ He turned and watched Canet and his men at work around the monument. He might as well leave them to it; for now, he had other things on his mind. ‘Tell me without looking in that direction, why would Didier Marthe be in the woods behind the cemetery?’
‘Didier?’ Claude visibly strained himself not to look towards the trees. ‘I don’t know. I mean, he might be looking for shells. But up there? It’s risky — even for him. You saw him?’
‘I could smell him. I’m just wondering if he was in the area when the body was dropped.’
‘We could ask him, but I doubt he’ll tell you.’
‘Maybe he won’t have to. Not directly, anyway.’
CHAPTER TEN
Rocco? Contrary… dogged… astute.
Didier Marthe’s home was a large, ramshackle house at the end of a twisting, narrow lane near the centre of the village. Following Claude’s directions, Rocco steered over a series of potholes and deep ruts into a wide, sunken yard containing an ancient manure heap, dark and evil-smelling. Twenty metres away, across from the house, a fast-flowing stream cut between the yard and a belt of poplar trees and disappeared towards what Rocco judged to be the road leading towards the station, where he and Claude had just driven. He recalled a slight hump in the road near the village outskirts, just before the first scattered houses, and guessed it might be where the stream ran beneath the road.
He stopped the Citroen and climbed out, and. was struck immediately by the silence hanging over the property. Everywhere else he had been, from the village centre to the cemetery, birdsong was evident and plentiful; here there was none, only the clack-clack of a loose shingle on the side of an outbuilding.
‘Does he have a vehicle?’ There were none in sight, although plenty of recent tracks were evident in the dried mud of the yard. They criss-crossed each other, showing where the wheels followed the same route around the yard in a circle, entering and leaving.