‘Silence her? For what? She knows nothing.’
‘Are you sure about that?’ He gave a twist of the knife, prompted by Nicole’s words now flooding back to him. ‘ I have always been able to remember everything I hear. ’
‘You think I would take a woman into my confidence? Hah!’
‘Then you’ve nothing to worry about, have you?’ Rocco waited, wondering where this was going but content to play it through. The more unsettled Farek became, the easier this would be. For now Farek would be assessing his chances, happy to play the brigand at bay until he saw a way out.
If he didn’t, it could get very messy.
‘So. What are you offering me? A deal? Free passage back home?’ Farek stabbed the end of his cigar in Rocco’s direction, suddenly angry. Rocco’s taunting seemed to be working. ‘I have a right to be here! It is written in law!’
Behind the gangster, Youcef and Bouhassa shuffled their feet. Rocco tensed. They were like guard dogs, picking up signals from their leader and getting ready to attack. One wrong move and this was all going to hell.
And Farek was playing controller.
‘You can have passage back to Algeria,’ Rocco said calmly. But an Algerian jail, he thought. On charges of murder, with your wife as a witness. He didn’t voice the thought, much as he wanted to; he decided it might be a bit too provocative.
Farek nodded, lips pursed as he considered the situation. ‘Very well.’ He turned his head and spoke briefly. Moments later, a man in an apron and two men in dark suits stepped outside, hands held high. A rattle of weaponry came from behind Rocco, and he held up a warning hand to stop anyone opening fire.
‘Step five paces forward and down on the ground,’ he ordered, and saw a flicker of movement as armed officers moved forward alongside him to cover the three men.
Seconds later they were being hustled away. There were no signs of weapons.
Then a brief argument broke out at the cafe door, and Youcef was standing outside, looking flustered. Bouhassa had virtually lifted him out with apparent ease on the orders of Farek, then moved to stand alongside his boss.
‘My brother,’ explained Farek. ‘He is nothing in all this.’ He waved Youcef away with a brief word, and the huge figure turned and did as he was told.
‘What the hell’s he playing at?’ It was Godard, moving in to stand close to Rocco. He motioned three of his men forward to take Youcef away. One of them patted down the big man, then shook his head. ‘They were all unarmed. They must have left their weapons inside.’
‘He’s playing us. Drawing it out for the maximum effect. Get your men down. If they go back inside, it won’t be for coffee and biscuits.’
But suddenly Farek was walking forward, hands in the air and flicking the cigar away. ‘OK,’ he called. ‘I’m coming.’
Bouhassa stayed where he was, staring at the surrounding policemen. It was impossible to tell if he was armed under that djellaba, Rocco noted, but if he made any kind of move for a weapon, he’d be cut down immediately.
Farek stopped three paces away, eyes fixed on Rocco. It was as if nobody else was there; just two men meeting alone. He only glanced away when Youcef voiced a protest as he was being bundled into a police van, hands cuffed together.
‘He’s not all there, you know,’ he said, looking back at Rocco. ‘He’s not responsible for his actions.’
‘Tough,’ said Rocco. ‘He’s going to face charges of murder of a man named Saoula and the attempted murder of a police officer. We’ll let the courts decide if he’s guilty or not.’
Farek’s expression stiffened. ‘I don’t know anything about that. What police officer?’
‘Marc Casparon. He got away and gave us a full account. You were right there. Ever heard of the charge of conspiracy? If not, you soon will.’
Farek said nothing, merely turning to watch the van take his brother away. For the first time, Rocco detected an air of doubt lurking beneath the swagger. Then the gang leader turned back to Rocco with a faint smile on his lips. ‘You might get him, you might even hold me for a while… but you’ll never enjoy it.’ He tilted his head sideways. ‘See the sawmill? Top floor?’ He chuckled nastily. ‘Look death in the face, Rocco. And say goodbye.’
Rocco turned his head, saw a flicker of movement at a window near the top of the building. The old sawmill which should have been cleared by the uniforms earlier in the day. An ideal firing point.
A sniper?
Everything that happened next was in slow motion. Rocco heard a shouted warning from Godard alongside him. He began to move but knew he was too late. He saw a puff of smoke at the top of the sawmill and heard a dull slap, followed by a squeal from Bouhassa in the background as the fat man turned to run. Then another slap, but further off.
But by then Rocco’s world had turned red.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
Godard was white with anger when he returned from the sawmill accompanied by several of his men, all with their weapons drawn. His jump boots were scratched and dusty and he looked as if he had been rolling in cobwebs. He slapped his cap against his leg in disgust.
‘He’s gone. There’s a rope down the far side of the building where he abseiled down. Tyre tracks indicate he had a motorbike and rider waiting. Merde!’ He kicked at a tin can with the toe of his boot. ‘We missed a trick. Sorry.’ He held out a gloved hand and showed Rocco two brass shell casings. ‘He left these behind.’
‘He knew what he was doing. They won’t lead anywhere.’ Rocco sipped water from a bottle and spat it out, then stood still while a uniformed officer wiped blood off his face with a piece of damp cloth. ‘He waited to see what was going to happen, then took them out.’
Massin appeared, scowling at Farek’s body lying nearby and stepping round the spray pattern of blood across the ground.
‘You seem remarkably calm, Inspector, considering you were standing right next to him when he was shot. How can you be sure you weren’t the target?’
‘Because he was too good.’ He looked across at the Cafe Emile, where a second, larger body was lying close by the front door. Bouhassa had tried to run for cover the moment he’d heard the first shot. But a second bullet had caught up with him. ‘Two shots, two clean kills. One of them a head shot on the move.’
Godard nodded and spat dust to one side. ‘A professional.’
Massin looked unconvinced. ‘But why kill Farek?’
‘Someone wanted him silenced; to protect others or to protect their interests. That’s the usual reason.’
‘But at his level? Who could have ordered it?’
‘Most likely his brother, Lakhdar. Or one of the gangs. We’ll soon find out. The Paris gang task force will either see Lakhdar Farek emerge as the new overall boss, or everything will go back to the way it was.’
‘Pity. It would have been a major coup to get this man behind bars.’
Rocco said nothing. Massin, thinking of glory again, and his reputation in the Ministry. It would have been a coup indeed, no doubt earning him considerable kudos among the suits and senior brass who judged these things. Somehow, though, he doubted Farek would have remained inside for long. Sooner or later he would have talked his way out, cutting a deal in exchange for leniency. A man like Farek knew an awful lot of secrets.
Like those closest to him.
Rocco returned to the station after the cafe was secured and found the custody officer waiting for him. Alix was hovering in the background.
‘You said you wanted to question one of the illegals,’ the officer said. ‘We need to process him out of here.’
‘Right.’ With everything else that was happening, he’d forgotten about the man and his willingness to talk. He wasn’t sure what the worker could tell him, but as part of the investigation, he needed some corroborative evidence about what had happened on the truck. ‘Do we need an interpreter?’