‘What about the woman?’ asked Alix. ‘Did anyone search her?’ Dziri gave it some thought, then shook his head and sighed, the truth dawning. ‘No,’ he replied softly. ‘They did not.’ He shrugged. ‘She was a woman… it would not have been right.’
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
Alix was quiet on the way back upstairs, but glanced at Rocco as if expecting a comment. He had nothing to say. He was wondering how far Nicole and her son would travel; whether it would be somewhere new to begin again, or whether, as Amina had suggested, she would return to Oran. He thought maybe the latter.
‘She stabbed him.’ Alix spoke softly. ‘She stabbed Slimane!’ She sounded very sure of herself.
‘It looks that way,’ he agreed neutrally, unable to deny it. ‘But where did the knife come from?’
‘But Slimane was attacking her. You heard what happened. The man confirmed it. Slimane would have raped her, probably killed her to keep her quiet. It’s-’ She stopped as an officer appeared at the end of the corridor. He didn’t appear to notice them.
Rocco stopped walking, too. ‘I know. I know all that. But it wasn’t Slimane’s knife.’ Nicole had lied, about the nature of the threat, the sequence of events — maybe all of it. Some might consider it a minor point, but he wondered what else she had lied about. To him. To everyone.
He should have asked her more questions. But would it have made any difference?
‘What are you going to do?’
He didn’t know. That was the problem. What could he do? ‘Make a report. File it.’
‘Will anyone read it?’
‘I’ve no idea. You know what paperwork is like; it gets lost in the system or overlooked.’ He rubbed his eyes, too tired to think. ‘In the meantime, I’m going home. I’m tired.’
‘Will you issue a warrant for her arrest?’
‘Probably not. There’s no proof. Nobody saw anything, not even our only witness.’ Rocco still wasn’t sure how far he could trust Alix’s discretion. She hadn’t spoken to anyone about his illicit visit to the Ecoboras place, and he hoped she would be as discreet about this as well. ‘You can report it if you wish.’
She didn’t reply, and they turned to go upstairs. Then she said. ‘Why would I do that? You’ve done your duty, and that’s good enough for me.’ She was silent after that, until they entered the main office. There was nobody about. ‘Where is that? Home, I mean.’
He told her and her face lit up. ‘Really? Poissons? I was going there tomorrow. May I come with you? There’s someone I have to visit.’
He shrugged. ‘Of course.’ Everyone and their dog seemed to know Poissons, he thought. Algerian gangsters and their thugs, new police recruits. ‘Anyone I know?’
‘Claude Lamotte. The garde champetre. ’
‘Christ. Claude? How do you know him?’
‘He’s my father.’
Rocco stared at her, trying to find a likeness. But there was none, save a faint familiar something around the eyes. The rest, he thought, was nothing like Claude’s solid figure, which was fortunate for her. If she had anything like the same character, though, she’d make a good cop. It prompted a thought.
‘Does he know?’
‘About me joining up?’ She shook her head. ‘I wanted to surprise him. If I’d told him what I was planning, then failed, he’d have been doubly disappointed.’ She shrugged. ‘A failed marriage is bad enough in a daughter, don’t you think?’
‘He’ll be pleased to see you. He’s been getting the house ready.’
Alix went to the locker room to get her things while Rocco waited. She came out again and he drove to Poissons. On the way, he stopped at the side of the road and turned off the engine. Sat there in the dark, thinking.
Alix looked at him. ‘You’re not going to get all romantic on me, are you?’
‘I have something to do,’ he said. ‘I won’t be a minute.’
She nodded. ‘OK.’ She didn’t ask what, simply reached out and turned on the car radio.
He liked that.
Rocco climbed out of the car, leaving behind the sombre tones of Georges Brassens singing about lovers on public benches.
The air outside was a shock after the warmth of the car, the atmosphere icier than ever as the coming winter began to drape itself over the landscape. Quiet, too, with that unique winter hush that never happens in the city, no matter what time of day or night.
He climbed over the gate and walked onto the parapet over the canal, feeling his way. He didn’t need a flashlight out here, just his normal senses. He stood for a moment, listening to the faint gurgle of water against the banks, the flapping of reeds caught in the shifting current, a splash as some unseen night creature hurried away. Then he took the cloth bundle out of his coat pocket, unwrapped the familiar shape, careful of the sharp point.
A French commando dagger with a black finish. Lethal, deliberately sinister, a tool of a specialist’s trade. Nicole said Farek had brought one home, one he’d got from the army. It made sense. Farek hadn’t been in the commandos, but as an armourer he’d have had access to such weapons, most likely to sell on the black market.
He held it for a moment, feeling the delicate balance. A precision piece. Why had she left it behind?
Maybe because she no longer needed it.
He thought about it for a moment, the kind of circumstances that would make a thing like this necessary. Then he made a decision. He flicked it away, sending it spinning out over the water, round and round, unseen. He waited, heard a faint splash as it was swallowed by the night and the cold, cold water.
Then silence.
He turned and walked back to the car.