drove out of the village, Rocco was surprised to see Simeon standing by the side of the road, waving them down. His old moped was leaning against a concrete lamp post. Rocco pulled over and stopped.
‘Can I help you?’
‘Other way round, Inspector,’ the old farmer replied. ‘It’s I who can help you. I’ve just remembered something else about that business yesterday.’
‘Like what?’
‘There was someone else out there.’
Rocco felt his spirits plummet. With some witnesses, it was like their memory came in dribbles, each one smaller and more distant than the last. It was as if they couldn’t let go, determined to recall every detail until, inevitably, they began to remember things which had never happened.
‘Pantoufle, I know. We’re trying to find him. We think he’s dead.’
‘What makes you say that? I know about the blood and stuff. But it wasn’t him I saw.’
‘Who, then?’
‘There was someone in the wood, watching what was going on. A man. But not Pantoufle – I’d know him immediately. I only worked it out this morning; it was bothering me all night. He was standing right at the back of the trees – in shadow. Just watching. But as I was leaving, I heard a motorbike moving away after the crash. Not hurrying, though – like he was being careful not to make too much noise.’
‘He might have been with the other men,’ said Claude.
‘The cameraman,’ Rocco agreed, and wondered howhe’d missed the signs. Taking a leak, most likely, away from his precious equipment. Odd lapse in timing, though, with all the action going on out front.
‘That’s just it, Inspector; he was riding along the track in the opposite direction. I mean, if he was with the others, why go the other way?’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
George Tasker stared out through the window as the Calais train drifted slowly into the channel port, and shifted uncomfortably on the shiny plastic seat. He’d be glad to get off this cattle wagon and hit the ferry bar for a few bevvies. Set himself up for their arrival back in the smoke. That’s when the tough questions would start.
‘What do you reckon they’ll say?’ said Calloway, voicing their collective concerns.
Tasker shrugged, feigning indifference, although he didn’t feel it. ‘Search me. We’ll soon find out, won’t we?’ He gave a nasty smile and looked around at the other men. ‘Nothing’s changed, right? You let me do the talking. If the bosses ask, we did what we came to do. Any of you talk out of turn, you’ll have me to answer to. Got it?’
Privately, he wasn’t looking forward to getting back. They’d been told to keep it going for at least two days, hopefully tying up resources as much as they could,creating a logjam for the simple country Frenchies to fight their way out of. He’d have done it, too, if it hadn’t been for Calloway getting a sneak phone call out to one of his friends. Bloody nancy boy was too clever for his own good, fooling the guards with that lame story. He was asking for a good smack … and he’d get one if this all went tits up because of that call.
He was also niggled by the way the French cop, Rocco, had questioned Calloway first. Being overlooked in front of the others was something he wasn’t used to, and the more he thought about it the more it got under his skin. He had a name and reputation in London and across the South, and it had been earned the hard way. Having some snooty Frog copper treat him like a nobody just wasn’t on. Christ, he got more respect from the Sweeney – the Flying Squad. He was also annoyed at the game Rocco had played. Calloway hadn’t been writing a statement at all; he’d been kept in an adjacent room, then put back in with the others while Tasker was being questioned. Unfortunately, Tasker had already given him a rough time before anyone had clued him in.
And there was the truck key. He shifted in his seat; he’d made a mistake there. He should have told Rocco it was his front door
‘Can I help you?’
‘Other way round, Inspector,’ the old farmer replied. ‘It’s I who can help you. I’ve just remembered something else about that business yesterday.’
‘Like what?’
‘There was someone else out there.’
Rocco felt his spirits plummet. With some witnesses, it was like their memory came in dribbles, each one smaller and more distant than the last. It was as if they couldn’t let go, determined to recall every detail until, inevitably, they began to remember things which had never happened.
‘Pantoufle, I know. We’re trying to find him. We think he’s dead.’
‘What makes you say that? I know about the blood and stuff. But it wasn’t him I saw.’
‘Who, then?’
‘There was someone in the wood, watching what was going on. A man. But not Pantoufle – I’d know him immediately. I only worked it out this morning; it was bothering me all night. He was standing right at the back of the trees – in shadow. Just watching. But as I was leaving, I heard a motorbike moving away after the crash. Not hurrying, though – like he was being careful not to make too much noise.’
‘He might have been with the other men,’ said Claude.
‘The cameraman,’ Rocco agreed, and wondered howhe’d missed the signs. Taking a leak, most likely, away from his precious equipment. Odd lapse in timing, though, with all the action going on out front.
‘That’s just it, Inspector; he was riding along the track in the opposite direction. I mean, if he was with the others, why go the other way?’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
George Tasker stared out through the window as the Calais train drifted slowly into the channel port, and shifted uncomfortably on the shiny plastic seat. He’d be glad to get off this cattle wagon and hit the ferry bar for a few bevvies. Set himself up for their arrival back in the smoke. That’s when the tough questions would start.
‘What do you reckon they’ll say?’ said Calloway, voicing their collective concerns.
Tasker shrugged, feigning indifference, although he didn’t feel it. ‘Search me. We’ll soon find out, won’t we?’ He gave a nasty smile and looked around at the other men. ‘Nothing’s changed, right? You let me do the talking. If the bosses ask, we did what we came to do. Any of you talk out of turn, you’ll have me to answer to. Got it?’
Privately, he wasn’t looking forward to getting back. They’d been told to keep it going for at least two days, hopefully tying up resources as much as they could,creating a logjam for the simple country Frenchies to fight their way out of. He’d have done it, too, if it hadn’t been for Calloway getting a sneak phone call out to one of his friends. Bloody nancy boy was too clever for his own good, fooling the guards with that lame story. He was asking for a good smack … and he’d get one if this all went tits up because of that call.
He was also niggled by the way the French cop, Rocco, had questioned Calloway first. Being overlooked in front of the others was something he wasn’t used to, and the more he thought about it the more it got under his skin. He had a name and reputation in London and across the South, and it had been earned the hard way. Having some snooty Frog copper treat him like a nobody just wasn’t on. Christ, he got more respect from the Sweeney – the Flying Squad. He was also annoyed at the game Rocco had played. Calloway hadn’t been writing a statement at all; he’d been kept in an adjacent room, then put back in with the others while Tasker was being questioned. Unfortunately, Tasker had already given him a rough time before anyone had clued him in.
And there was the truck key. He shifted in his seat; he’d made a mistake there. He should have told Rocco it was his front door
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