Lambert nodded in understanding, but gave no sign of bending. ‘No problem. Perhaps when we have time, we can invite you in for a tour? I’m sure something could be arranged.’

Rocco could tell he wasn’t going to get anywhere. This man was trained to deflect the curious by one means or another. The additional bulldog outside was proof of that.

‘Then I’ll have to come back another time.’ He nodded and turned to leave, then stopped, reaching into his pocket. ‘Actually, I have a question you might be able to help me with.’ He took out the photo of the dead man from the canal and held it up for both men to see. ‘It will save my men troubling you again later. Have you ever seen this man before?’

Lambert took the photo and studied it carefully. Shook his head. ‘No. Sorry. Is he dangerous?’

‘Not much. He’s dead. We’re trying to find out where he came from. We think he’s an illegal worker employed in one of the factories around here.’

‘Not here, they aren’t.’ Lambert’s face was a blank canvas. ‘We only employ skilled workers.’

Rocco looked at Wiegheim who, from being impatient and eager to speak before, was now saying nothing. In fact, he seemed suddenly nervous and was sweating visibly, a beading of moisture glistening across his forehead.

Lambert stepped forward and handed the photo back, partly blocking Rocco’s way. ‘Sorry. We can’t help.’ His tone carried a hint of steel.

Rocco ignored him. ‘Mr Wiegheim?’

Wiegheim gave a start, eyes flickering towards Lambert before murmuring quietly, ‘No. I’ve never seen him before.’

Rocco put the photo away and turned towards the door. And wondered why both men were lying through their teeth.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

He left the building and walked towards his car. As he did so, he glanced across to where the canal ran past the corner of the building. A working barge was sliding by, smoke puffing from a blackened stack on its rear structure. It wasn’t the barge that caught his attention, however; it was the tall metal fence separating the building from the canal. There were curved spikes at the top of each metal post, he noticed, bent to prevent anyone climbing into the plant. A professional job guaranteed to dissuade casual burglars looking for easy pickings. On a post above the fence stood the same array of security lights he’d seen at the front of the building. Clearly Lambert took his security duties seriously.

He heard a scuff of noise close by and turned.

The second security guard had followed him from the building and was standing between Rocco and his car, arms down by his side, solid and unmoveable. His stance, blank expression and quasi-official uniform reminded Rocco of a member of the CRS – the Compagnies Républicaines de Sécurité.

‘You should leave,’ the man said bluntly. ‘Now.’

Rocco stepped towards him, and for the first time the guard seemed to realise how big Rocco was. His mouth opened and he looked unsure of himself, but he stayed where he was. A bully, thought Rocco. But a bully who didn’t want to lose face. He was wearing a small badge printed with his surname: Metz.

‘I’m a police officer, Mr Metz,’ said Rocco coolly, staring hard at him. ‘Try throwing your weight around with me and you’ll end up in prison or hospital. Take your pick.’

Metz hesitated for a second, eyes flicking past Rocco towards the building. As if on a signal, he shrugged and stepped to one side.

Back at the station, Rocco spotted Desmoulins in the corridor and asked him if he’d ever heard of the Secretariat for Administration to the Ministry of Defence.

Desmoulins looked blank. ‘Not the Secretariat Administration bit, no. The Ministry of Defence, of course – who hasn’t? You in trouble with the military?’

Rocco shook his head. ‘Could you look up a company named Ecoboras SA? They’re on a new industrial complex near the canal.’

‘I know the place.’ Desmoulins nodded. ‘Friend of mine – an electrician – tried to get a job there and was told to get lost. Not very friendly, all that fencing and floodlights; looks more like a prison camp.’ He looked sharply at Rocco. ‘Have you found something?’

‘I’m not sure. They claim to have a contract with the Defence Ministry.’

‘There’s a but.’ Desmoulins was quick on the uptake.

‘Something jars, that’s all. The plant manager’s name is Wiegheim and they have a security stiff called Lambert who looks like he eats glass for breakfast. I showed them the photo and Wiegheim looked as if he was going to throw up.’

Desmoulins grinned. ‘Guilty conscience, I bet. I’ll see what I can find out.’

Rocco was about to leave when he saw Massin approaching. The commissaire pointed towards his office and led the way inside. As soon as Rocco entered, he closed the door behind him.

‘Are you bored, Inspector?’ He waved a slip of paper in his hand. ‘I’ve just had an unpleasant call from the Interior Ministry. You’ve been asking questions of a defence contractor. Is this true?’

Rocco stared at the officer and wondered what the hell was going on. He glanced at his watch. From leaving Ecoboras’s premises to getting here had taken roughly thirty minutes. Yet in that time, Wiegheim or Lambert had managed to put in a protest to the Ministry of Defence about his visit, a protest which had bounced from there to the Interior Ministry, then on down the line to Massin.

‘I was curious,’ he said, fighting to hold down his irritation. He could do without Massin looking to jump on his bones for such a minor matter. The fact that the Ministry had been called made him even more convinced that Wiegheim and Lambert were hiding something. But what? He explained his encounter with the men.

Massin was unperturbed. ‘Ecoboras SA are party to a very important contract for defence equipment handed out by the Directorate General for Armaments, working with the Ministry of Defence. I have no idea what they are making there, nor am I interested. All I do know is that the military is undergoing a huge re-equipment programme, and every branch of the administration is under pressure to complete the contracts as soon as possible. This particular plant has the potential to offer a great many jobs in the area, and the mayor has asked for full understanding and support when it comes to any dealings we might have with the company.’

The mayor. As if national politics wasn’t enough to be going on with, they now had to defer to local bureaucrats. Rocco sighed. ‘Dealings?’

‘Policing matters. We handle them quickly and with minimal intrusion – but only outside the perimeter fence.’

Rocco was astounded. He was being barred from the place. ‘What if they’re employing illegal workers? Do we ignore that?’

Massin looked sceptical. ‘They wouldn’t take the risk. In any case, they have an approved security team who will handle all internal matters. Especially inside the building.’ Massin sniffed. ‘Your off-the-cuff visit today doesn’t come under that heading.’

Rocco tried one last stab. ‘And if I suspect a crime has been committed?’

Massin’s eyebrows lifted. ‘Do you?’

He shook his head. Massin was right; all he had were his instincts. Or had he carried his prejudices and suspicions out of the city with him, and was now seeing shadows under every stone? He wasn’t going to get anywhere like this, so might as well let it go.

For now, anyway.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

As night fell across Amiens and its burgeoning industrial quarter, a group of six new arrivals was ushered into a temporary cabin and ordered to take off their travel-soiled clothes and place them in a large oil drum. They were watched by two men, both with the unemotional detachment and stillness of professional guards.