Adrian Magson - Death on the Rive Nord

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.