Then he heard a car engine approaching. He turned his head towards the village. Surely Godard or Desmoulins weren’t coming down here. Then he realised the noise was coming from the other way — from the open countryside towards Danvillers.
It was a grey 2CV van, with a bale of straw strapped to the roof. A small crate full of chickens was fastened alongside, and the entire load was bobbing about furiously as the little car hit a series of undulations in the surface.
‘It’s a farmer,’ Rocco called out, and wondered if the driver could see him lying in the middle of the road. Christ, after all this, he was going to end up as a road casualty statistic…
But Tasker wasn’t listening. He was reacting instinctively, turning towards the noise and bringing the shotgun round. Poking it through the gate as the car appeared, he screamed, ‘This is on you, Rocco!’ and pulled the trigger.
The roar of the gun drowned out the car engine noise, blending with the following rattle as the windscreen and tinny bodywork of the car were peppered by lead shot. Luckily for the driver, the angle and distance were just enough to deflect the worst of the charge, and the glass cracked, but held fast. The driver ducked automatically, the car charging on as his foot jammed down hard in a reflex action on the accelerator.
Rocco began rolling, desperately kicking against the ground for impetus. There was no time to stand up; he’d just have to trust that he could stay out of the way of the wheels. As it was, the vehicle missed him by a whisker, showering him in a layer of sooty exhaust smoke and bits of straw and feathers from the load on the car roof. He continued moving, grabbing for the Walther in his sleeve. He felt the gun touch his palm and slide away, then held it, spun it round and began to stand up, finger curling around the trigger.
He found Tasker waiting for him.
The Englishman laughed like a maniac, an expression of near delight in his eyes, and raised the sawn-off. ‘No fucking chance!’ he shouted in triumph, spit dribbling from his mouth. His finger tightened around the trigger. ‘You think I came over on the last banana boat? Too slow, Rocco. Say goodbye, copper!’
‘Alix, Lucas — down!’ Claude shouted from up on the slope above Rocco’s shoulder.
Alix dropped instinctively as if her legs had been chopped beneath her. Slipping from Tasker’s grip, she slumped to the ground like a rag doll. Her movement was so complete, so sudden, Tasker’s face changed to one of shock, and he glanced down in dismay, his hostage momentarily gone.
It was enough.
The roar of Claude’s gun was louder and sharper than the sawn-off, piercing the air with its energy like a runaway train. Rocco, half standing, felt a tug at the shoulder of his coat, and something stung his cheek. A rush of displaced air fanned his face.
The double charge hit Tasker in the centre of his chest, and he was punched backwards before he had time to register the pain, his weapon falling away to the side.
Rocco released his pressure on the trigger. He didn’t need to shoot.
It was over.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
‘In the name of God, what were you doing?’ Claude muttered, scooping up Alix in his arms and pulling her out of the gate away from Tasker’s body. His voice was gruff with emotion and his face red. ‘Am I going to have to keep doing this, getting you out of trouble? Only I should warn you, my girl, my heart is not what it was.’ He pulled back and touched her neck where it had been rubbed raw by the pressure of the shotgun barrels. ‘And look at you — you’ve got yourself hurt by that monster!’
‘Father, stop it,’ Alix replied, shaking with a mix of relief and laughter and dragging him close in a hug. ‘I came down for some butter from the farm and he… God, I never thought I’d say it, but you’re my hero, do you know that?’ She glanced over his shoulder at Rocco, mouthing a silent thank you, the tears finally coursing down her cheeks as reality began to hit home.
Rocco walked over to check the body. Not that he had any fears that Tasker was alive; no man could have withstood that volley of shot. He flicked back the dead man’s jacket with the barrel of the Walther and checked for more weapons. Nothing. If Tasker had carried anything besides the sawn-off, he’d discarded it along the way.
He looked across the lane where the 2CV had ploughed into the verge, spilling the straw bale and its cargo of chickens in a heap across the bonnet. The driver was already out of the car, clearly unhurt, but staring back at Rocco, Claude and Tasker’s body with open disbelief.
A powerful car engine sounded, approaching at speed. Godard and his men, most likely. They would have had a distant, if grandstand view of what had happened from along the lane, and would be coming to secure the scene. And no doubt the villagers would be here soon, eager to see what the cop in their midst had dragged into their serene rural world.
Mme Denis was the first. She came out of her gate and walked up to him, and checked him over, fastening an eye on the shoulder of his coat, where a stray shotgun pellet had opened up the fabric.
‘You should learn to look after your clothes more,’ she said pragmatically, pointedly ignoring the body on the ground. ‘I can repair that, if you like.’ She brushed at some pieces of straw on his sleeve. ‘And it’s your new one.’
‘You don’t have to-’ he began. But she shushed him and tugged at the lapel.
‘Yes, I do. Can’t have you walking around looking like a tramp, can we?’
Rocco nodded and eased it off. If he didn’t give in gracefully now, he’d only have to do it later. She took the garment and put it over her arm, smoothing down the fabric.
‘Nasty business,’ she commented. ‘Is that it, then?’
‘Almost,’ he said, and thought about what he had to do next. ‘Just some tidying up to do.’
Mme Denis walked over to Alix and took her hand, and led her away towards her house.
Claude watched them go, then broke the shotgun and took out the two spent shells. ‘I only meant to fire one,’ he said shakily. ‘But I was so scared for her…’ He gestured at the trigger and coughed, blinking hard. ‘Do you want me for anything else, Lucas?’
Rocco thought about it. He needed someone. But Claude should stay here. There were plenty of others he could call on. ‘No. This is your turf. They’ll need to see you in charge. And you should be around for Alix. She’s been through a lot.’
Claude nodded. ‘Of course. Thank you. And… thank you.’ He lifted a hand, then marched along the lane to turn away a group of villagers coming towards them.
Godard’s vehicle appeared, and Desmoulins was the first out, followed by Captain Canet, who began issuing instructions.
‘You’ve done it again,’ Desmoulins complained, glancing at Tasker’s body. ‘All the fun and I was miles away — Jesus, what the hell happened to him?’
‘He got what he wanted.’
Canet came over and nodded. ‘Good work.’
‘Officer Lamotte ended it,’ said Rocco. ‘Is Massin coming?’ He needed to speak to the commissaire urgently.
‘No. He’s fielding calls from the Ministry, the security agencies and every minister with a telephone, wanting to know what happened and where exactly is Pont Noir and Poissons-les-Marais. Sooner him than me, is all I can say.’
‘It was hardly his fault any of this happened.’
‘I know. But they’ll still want to know why the area wasn’t secured for the visit. You know what they’re like: a bunch of self-interested pen-pushers looking for someone to blame.’
‘It was unscheduled. Nobody knew about it until the last minute.’ Only someone who shouldn’t have, he thought; someone who had slipped under the net.
Canet tilted his head. ‘Well, somebody clearly did; the man driving the truck for one.’ He lifted his eyebrows. ‘I’d wear a thick collar for a few days, if I were you. I know I will.’ He turned and walked away to continue organising his men.