Total Chaos by Jean-Claude Izzo

Author:Jean-Claude Izzo
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Europa
Published: 2016-05-30T04:00:00+00:00

Sanchez was already there, waiting for me. I was surprised. I’d been expecting some kind of loudmouthed mia, but he was short and pudgy, and from the way he greeted me—limp handshake, lowered eyes—I could see he wasn’t a very self-confident kind of guy. More the kind who always says yes, even when he’s thinking no.

He was scared. “I’m a family man, you know,” he said, as he followed me into my office.

“Take a seat.”

“I’ve got three children. My cab’s my livelihood. I can’t afford to make mistakes. Red lights, speed limits...”

He handed me a sheet of paper. Names, addresses, phone numbers. Four people. I looked at him.

“They can confirm it. At the time you say, I was with them. Until half after eleven. After that, I went back to work.”

I put the paper down on my desk, lit a cigarette, and looked him straight in the eyes. Little piggy eyes, bloodshot. He lowered them very quickly. He kept wringing his hands. There were beads of sweat on his forehead.

“What a pity, Monsieur Sanchez.” He looked up. “If I send for your friends, they’ll be forced to make false statements. You’re going to get them into trouble.”

He looked at me with his red eyes. I opened a drawer, took out a file at random, a thick one, put it down in front of me and started leafing through it.

“I’m sure you realize we’d never have asked you to come in here for something as trivial as a red light.” His eyes widened. Now he was really sweating. “It’s more serious than that. Much more serious, Monsieur Sanchez. Your friends will be sorry they trusted you. And you—”

“But I was there! From nine to eleven!”

Fear had made him raise his voice. But he seemed sincere, and that surprised me. I decided to quit fooling around.

“No, monsieur,” I replied, firmly. “I have eight witnesses, and they’re as good as all your witnesses. Eight police officers, all on duty at the time.” He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. In his eyes, I could see his worst nightmares coming true. “At ten fifteen, your taxi was on Rue Corneille, in front of the Commanderie. I could charge you as an accessory to murder.”

“It wasn’t me,” he said, in a weak voice. “It wasn’t me. I can explain.”

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