Free Death on the Rive Nord by Adrian Magson Page B

‘How the hell did he do that?’
    ‘He’s a card player. He’s used to numbers. Haven’t you ever played?’
    ‘Yes, I have.’ Rocco’s card playing, though, was limited to days gone by in the army and his early days in the police, when it was used as a hedge against the boredom of inactivity between duty calls.
    ‘So, you know it’s all about remembering number sequences. It’s what he does.’
    Rocco stood up. ‘Where is he? I need to meet him.’
    ‘Actually, on his way to Amiens. He’s visiting a friend, and I suggested he might drop by later to make a statement.’
    Rocco made a mental note to get Claude some recognition for this. It was too common among some officers to look down on their rural colleagues, and he wanted Claude to get out from under that mantle of low regard. By anyone’s standards, this was good police work.
     
    By midday, Rocco was seated in an interview room facing Etcheverry, a former vet, now gambler and seemingly upright citizen.
    ‘Thank you for coming in, Mr Etcheverry,’ he said cordially, ‘and agreeing to make a statement. How did you hear about our enquiry?’ It was an ice-breaker, a device he’d found useful for settling nerves and establishing positions right from the off.
    Etcheverry smiled and clasped two large hands together on the table between them. His fingernails, Rocco noted, were bitten down and slightly grubby, and his clothes had a down-at-heel appearance. A vet fallen on hard times, he decided. He was built like a bear, and made the chair creak when he moved, which made Rocco wonder at the manualdexterity required for veterinary work and playing cards, and how on earth this man coped with both. He decided he knew next to nothing about human motor skills and let it go.
    ‘Through a friend of a friend,’ Etcheverry replied warily. He had a soft, cultured voice and spoke very precisely, leaning forward with his eyes fixed firmly on Rocco’s. It was slightly unnerving this close, and Rocco guessed that intimidation probably played a natural part in the man’s approach to gambling. Mind games, they called it.
    ‘That’s very public-spirited of you.’
    ‘Well, one tries to be a good citizen.’ He grinned almost slyly and ducked his head. ‘One never knows when there might be some recompense, of course …’
    Rocco let that go without taking the bait. Money seemed a big factor in this man’s life. ‘Perhaps you could tell me what you saw.’
    ‘Well, I told the other officer—’
    ‘Of course. But this is for the official record. I’ll also need you to sign the statement afterwards.’ He hesitated, then added pointedly, ‘So we know who has contributed to solving a case.’
    Etcheverry’s eyes lit up, impressed at the idea of official recognition. He described how he had spent a very pleasant evening playing cards with ‘friends’, and on his way home saw a truck at the side of the road. He remembered the number and recited it carefully.
    ‘Amazing,’ Rocco complimented him, playing on his ego. He wrote down the number. ‘Is that what they call a photographic memory?’
    ‘Well, perhaps not that, exactly,’ Etcheverry smirkedmodestly. ‘I can’t recall vast passages of text like some, but it helped me get through veterinary college and allows me to play poker without losing my trousers.’ He sniggered at the idea. ‘Um … is there any kind of reward for information leading to an arrest?’
    ‘Maybe. Did you see anyone with or near the truck?’
    ‘A driver, you mean?’
    ‘Anyone. Inside or out. Taking a leak, checking the tyres.’
    ‘No. Sorry. To be honest, it was just a flash.’ He leant forward to explain, breathing a gust of peppermint over Rocco’s face. ‘I was in a hurry to get home to my little dog – an Italian greyhound. She gets a little anxious when I’m out, you see. Very highly strung, as a breed.’
    Rocco crossed off the word ‘wife’, which he’d scribbled down as a question for later. Perhaps he’d