Death on the Pont Noir Read Online Free PDF Page A

together, referring to the recent ‘advisory’ bulletins circulated to all forces by the Interior Ministry regarding the treatment of visitors from overseas, and how the economy depended on not alienating foreign currency and those with the willingness to spend it.
    ‘Maybe.’ Rocco thought the advice applied less to areas like Picardie, and more to the tourist resorts in the south where visitors had money to splash around. ‘Just make sure they don’t fall down any stairs on the way. It won’t do them any harm to taste a bit of French jail comfort for a couple of hours.’ He knew that Godard was referring to Commissaire Massin, their boss, and his known fear of causing waves which might reach his superiors in Paris. ‘And you can leave Massin to me.’
    Godard grinned. ‘D’accord . Can I cuff them really tight?’
    ‘After what they’ve done here, I’d insist on it.’
    He waited while Godard organised his men and swiftly got the five Englishmen restrained before they could resist. Four of them made do with mild protests, but one man, who seemed to be their leader, pulled his wrists away andswore at Godard. He stood up, showing an impressive breadth of shoulders and a beaten pug face.
    ‘Piss off, Froggy. Nobody puts them things on me.’
    Godard turned and scowled at Rocco. ‘What did he say?’
    Rocco said, ‘I think he called you a frog-eater and an ugly son of an ugly bitch. You going to stand for that?’
    ‘No. I’m not. Can you look away, please?’ As soon as Rocco did so, Godard signalled to two of his men and they closed in on either side of the Englishman. Grabbing him by the arms, they slammed him unceremoniously against the wall and cuffed his hands behind him, then turned him around for Godard to plant a heavy knee into his groin. The Englishman gasped and his face lost all its colour.
    ‘And that, Monsieur Rosbif ,’ Godard muttered, ‘is how we treat animals like you.’ He prodded the man’s shoulder. ‘And for your information, if you could speak our language, anyway, which you obviously cannot, I don’t eat frogs.’ He signalled to his men to take the five men away.
     
    ‘How many of them were involved?’ To Rocco it was academic, but it was useful to know for the record how many men Mote had seen causing the damage.
    ‘All of them,’ growled Mote. ‘All English, all drunk and violent, like pigs. Animals !’ His eyes glittered with anger and bruised pride. He brushed his face with damaged knuckles. ‘Mostly it was the big one. I want them arrested and charged, Inspector. Do you know how many years it has taken me to build this business, me and my wife? Hein ?’ He slapped his chest with the flat of his hand and stared around at his wife for her support. Mme Mote, amousy-looking woman in a floral apron, nodded dutifully and patted her husband’s hand, then dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. She had a large mole on her chin with a single hair sprouting from it, which Rocco found himself suffering an irrational desire to point out to her.
    ‘Charges will follow,’ he assured Mote. ‘What started it?’
    He listened with detachment as the story unfolded. It was a well-worn route to strife: someone had drunk too much, remarks and gestures had been made, the owner had refused further drinks and a brawl had ensued. It was nothing unusual for the establishment, Desmoulins had earlier confided. The Canard Doré wasn’t known for its upscale clientele and had been the location of more than a few bar brawls. But this damage was of a greater scale than normal.
    ‘I’ll say.’ Rocco had seen the results of far worse bar fights than this, especially in Marseilles when visiting naval ships were in and men had been too long at sea on service rations. But for Amiens, it was extreme.
    ‘I’ll have someone come round to take statements and assess the damage,’ he said finally, when Mote had finished his story. ‘You’ll have to apply for compensation, but the court will