by Mark Hebden
They circled the parking lot, driving quickly up and down the rows of stationary vehicles, and left with Claudie glancing back, puzzled. She had seen no black Renault 304, numbered 9235-QX-21. Pel offered no explanation.
‘Where to now, patron?’
‘Faux-Villecerf. And fast. Auguste Raby-Labassat’s there. Doing an inventory. Remember? Looking after his interests. Counting the things he’s come into on his father’s death.’
Claudie drove fast.
Faux-Villecerf was silent and still in the sun when they arrived. The shutters were all closed but they were well aware they were being watched. Pel was a little concerned that he had only Claudie with him but everybody else was occupied with the mass arrests. They had radioed for a backup team from Traffic and he was hoping they’d arrive, because there was no time to waste.
The car roared through the empty streets. Outside the baker’s a van was unloading flour, and one of the big tractors towing an enormous trailer was coming down the hill so that they had to wait impatiently as it rattled past, making enough noise to wake the dead in the churchyard. As they set off again, they saw a police car approaching the village along the Halève road.
Reaching the top of the hill, they saw a small black Renault tucked among the bushes and caught the number as they passed – 9235-QX-21.
Claudie stopped the car outside the gates of the château and they went the rest of the way on foot. There appeared to be no sign of life, then Brochard appeared silently from near the stables. His hands were still bandaged and he seemed to be surprised to see them.
‘What are you doing here?’ Pel demanded sharply. ‘You’re supposed to be off sick.’
Brochard looked sheepish. ‘I had a feeling that business at Evian was somehow connected with the murder here, patron. I thought I’d have a sniff around.’
He looked as though he felt Pel was going to send him packing. In fact, Pel was more than pleased to see him.
‘Got your gun?’
‘Yes, patron.’
‘Can you use it?’
Brochard glanced at his hands. ‘Not very well, patron.’
‘Right, then, watch that fire escape,’ Pel said, indicating the wooden staircase the Baron had built from the courtyard to his mother’s room. It seemed a safe place where Brochard could be useful but wouldn’t get hurt any more.
As Brochard vanished, they went inside. They could hear a radio playing. It sounded content, even self-satisfied.
‘Auguste,’ Pel murmured. ‘Enjoying his new property.’ There was no sign of the new Baron in the hall or the great kitchen and none in the small modern kitchen across the corridor. Just Sous-Brigadier Morelot’s man sitting smoking. He leapt to his feet as they appeared, trying to hide his cigarette behind him. He was very young.
‘Who’re you?’ Pel demanded.
‘Masse, sir. Julien Masse. I was told to keep an eye on Monsieur Raby-Labassat.’
‘He seems to be upstairs. How do you keep an eye on someone upstairs when you’re downstairs?’
Masse flushed. ‘I’ll go at once, sir.’
‘Stand still, you damn fool,’ Pel rapped. ‘Things have changed. Anybody else around?’
‘I’ve seen no one, sir.’
Pel gestured. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Upstairs. Have you got your gun handy?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Don’t be afraid to use it. Are you a good shot?’
‘Yes, sir.’
It was a good job, Pel thought, drawing his own gun, because if he were called on to fire he would probably shoot himself in the foot.
They could hear Auguste somewhere ahead of them in one of the rooms. Pel placed a hand on Claudie’s arm.
‘He must be mad,’ he whispered. ‘He couldn’t possibly hope to get away with it a third time.’
They reached the landing as he spoke. Just ahead of them a figure swung round and a gun came up. Pel gave Claudie a shove that sent her reeling, just as a bullet chipped a chunk out of the woodwork where her head had been. Masse fired twice and removed a whole patch of crumbling plaster from the wall. Pel pushed Claudie into a doorway and more shots rang out. Pel fired back. He didn’t expect to hit anything and he didn’t, but the old walls and doors seemed to be spraying chips of plaster and wood. The stink of cordite filled the landing.
Outside Brochard heard the sound of the shots and headed at once for the staircase. He’d read his history and knew Napoleon’s maxim, ‘March to the sound of the guns.’ He shot up the staircase like a rocket. The door to the bedroom was locked but the Baron’s carpentry had not been very sound and it burst open under his shoulder charge.
The man with the gun had turned. As he lifted the weapon again, Brochard appeared from the old Baroness’ bedroom in a rush and grabbed his arms. Together they reeled against the doors leading to the balcony. The doors flew open under their weight and they staggered on to the balcony. As Pel and Claudie and Masse rushed forward, the struggling figures crashed against the balustrade and Pel saw the old stonework give way before them. For a second they teetered on the edge then, still clutching each other, they vanished from sight.
Twenty-two
‘Name of God!’ Pel yelled as he heard the crash.
Beyond the balcony was a sheer drop to the flagstones below, but when they reached it and looked out there was no sign of either Brochard or the man he’d been clutching. Then a movement from the middle of the vast box hedge below caught Pel’s eye. The hedge seemed to heave and Brochard emerged from its side.
He straightened up, shook himself, shedding twigs and leaves, and blinked a few times, then he reached into the hole in the hedge where he’d emerged and, one-handed, levered out a block of stone. Shoving it to one side, he reached into the hedge again and hauled out the man he’d been wrestling with. He seemed to have come off worst. His face was scratched and one eye was a welter of blood.
Brochard became aware of Pel above. He waved and gave him a shaky grin.
‘Charrieri, patron,’ he said. ‘He landed underneath.’ His face went deathly white. ‘I think I’ve broken my wrist,’ he ended.
It seemed to be Brochard’s arrest again, so, as soon as reinforcements arrived, Pel sent him off in the police car with Charrieri handcuffed to a uniformed cop.
Temporary repairs had been done by a doctor from the next village. Charrieri had a broken shoulder-blade and the tough twigs and branches of the box hedge had torn his mouth and almost gouged out an eye. He no longer seemed quite sane, but they managed to get an incoherent statement from him in between falsetto complaints about his injuries. It would do as a basis for a better one later. He named names:
Jaunay, Gilliam. The Welshman, Lloyd Jones. Cornelius. They weren’t important now but he confirmed that Lloyd Jones and Cornelius had been behind the vandalism and the attempt to set fire to the wood at Evian. Charrieri himself had sunk money in the first venture at Faux-Villecerf and had even drawn the plans – in Michel’s office in Lyons, so that his involvement wouldn’t be discovered. When Bronwen had gone back on her promise to go along with them, it had been just too much. While the big boys could stand the possibility of a loss, there were a few who couldn’t. Charrieri had been one.
Pel watched the cars go. He was feeling a little smug. He even felt as if the cold he’d been expecting wasn’t going to materialise after all. Then, as they climbed into the car and prepared to follow, Claudie spoke.
‘You knew something was going to happen, patron,’ she said. ‘Didn’t you?’
‘Yes,’ Pel agreed. ‘I knew. The car confirmed it.’
‘Which car?’
‘The one in the car park in the Place de la Poste.’
‘I didn’t see a car.’
‘I did. Charrieri’s silver Mercedes. He left it there when he picked up the hire car. I’d begun to think he was in the Lorrièere-Coubertin group, because he knew the walls of the château were sound. He told me so himself. He’d obviously examined them. Why? It could only have been for th
e group, and with Bronwen’s permission.’
He lit a cigarette, feeling he deserved it and to hell with good health. ‘He was desperate for money,’ he went on. ‘He’s badly overstretched. I got confirmation this morning.’
Cousin Roger had done a lot of digging and his message couldn’t have been clearer. ‘That block of offices he maintains is the biggest white elephant in Lyons. He lost money building it and the top floors have never been occupied. I hear they’re inconvenient and, under the new regulations, even considered a fire hazard. His money’s disappearing hand over fist. Yet his own office is overstaffed with electronics and people. It’s all show. He liked to look important. There were also one or two things that went wrong, that did him no good. One at Arles. That’s where they picked up all their cheap bricks and cement and tiles. He was borrowing heavily.’
‘And they were leaning on him?’
‘Not just the banks. I heard he went elsewhere. Shadier people in Marseilles. Even Vlaxi, I believe. I don’t suppose he knows even now that Vlaxi’s behind the group that ruined him. He was in deep trouble. Faux-Villecerf was the only thing that could save him. And it might have. Within eighteen months, if they could have gone ahead with it. But when Bronwen let him down,’ Pel shrugged, ‘he was a dead duck. He must have tried to approach the Baron, to get his agreement to the scheme. With no Bronwen, they needed that and, after all, the Baron couldn’t have seemed as though he would be hard to persuade with all the money that was available. But, though the Baron didn’t have much time for Bronwen and her ideas, he believed in law and order and the approach must have made him suspicious. When Charrieri turned up he doubtless told him he intended going to the police. Charrieri had to shut him up. But killing the old man put Auguste in the driving seat and he was a much firmer character. A measure of Charrieri’s state of mind was the fact that he was prepared to do away with Auguste, too.’
Pel tossed the cigarette away. ‘I thought he might, mind you,’ he ended. ‘And when neither of them went home last night it was obvious why. Auguste was eager to make sure of his possessions. Charrieri was eager to make sure of Auguste.’
As Claudie settled herself behind the wheel and started the engine, Pel noticed Auguste watching them from the doorway. He looked shaken. He hadn’t a lot to look forward to, Pel decided as they rolled down the drive. Both carefully thought-out schemes would collapse now, and Auguste would have a furious brother and sister on his neck as soon as they discovered what had slipped through their fingers. To say nothing of a draughty house and precious little money to maintain it. He wondered how long he would manage it.
The place would probably end up after all as a nursing home. As a place for old people. Even, as Charrieri and his friends had planned, a holiday hotel for foreigners. There were always plenty of agate-eyed entrepreneurs around prepared to pick up what other people dropped.
Note on Chief Inspector Pel Series
Chief Inspector Evariste Clovis Désiré Pel, of the Brigade Criminelle of the Police Judiciaire, in Burgundy, France is, according to the New York Times, in ‘his professional work, a complete paragon. ‘He is sharp, incisive, honest, and a leader of men and everything else a successful cop should be.’
Outside of work, however, ‘he is a milquetoast, scared of his gorgon of a housekeeper, frightened of women, doubtful of his own capabilities.’
It should be noted, though, things do change to some degree, and in the course of the series he marries - but readers are left to judge that and the events surrounding it for themselves.
What is true, is that Pel is ‘Gallic’ to the core and his complex character makes a refreshing change from many of the detectives to be found in modern crime. Solutions are found without endless and tedious forensic and his relationships are very much based in real life.
Pel Titles in Order of First Publication
These titles can be read as a series, or randomly as stand-alone novels
1. Pel & The Faceless Corpse 1979
2. Death Set To Music Also as: Pel & The Parked Car 1979
3. Pel Under Pressure 1980
4. Pel Is Puzzled 1981
5. Pel & The Bombers 1982
6. Pel & The Staghound 1940
7. Pel The Pirates 1984
8. Pel & The Predators 1984
9. Pel The Prowler 1985
10. Pel & The Paris Mob 1986
11. Pel Among The Pueblos 1987
12. Pel & The Faceless Corpse 1987
13. Pel & The Touch Of Pitch 1987
14. Pel & The Picture Of Innocence 1988
15. Pel & The Party Spirit 1989
16. Pel & The Missing Persons 1990
17. Pel & The Promised Land 1991
18. Pel & The Sepulchre Job 1992
Further titles are available post 1993 See Juliet Hebden (author)
Synopses of ‘Pel’ Titles
Published by House of Stratus
These can be read as a series, or as stand-alone novels
Pel & The Faceless Corpse
An unidentified, faceless corpse is discovered near a memorial dedicated to villagers killed by the Nazis. Pel is on the case searching for a way to name the faceless corpse. The trail leads him from Burgundy to the frontiers of France, aided by a canny Sergeant Darcy and the shy, resourceful Sergeant Nosjean. Follow the irascible, quirky Chief Inspector on a road to solving the mystery of the faceless corpse.
Death Set To Music (Pel & The Parked Car)
The severely battered body of a murder victim turns up in provincial France and the sharp-tongued Chief Inspector Pel must use all his Gallic guile to understand the pile of clues building up around him, until a further murder and one small boy make the elusive truth all too apparent.
Pel Under Pressure
The irascible Chief Inspector Pel is hot on the trail of a crime syndicate in this fast-paced, gritty crime novel, following leads on the mysterious death of a student and the discovery of a corpse in the boot of a car. Pel uncovers a drug-smuggling ring within the walls of Burgundy’s university, and more murders guide the Chief Inspector to Innsbruck where the mistress of a professor awaits him.
Pel Is Puzzled
New varieties of crime are popping up everywhere in Inspector Pel’s beloved Burgundy. Raids on a historical chateau and the surrounding churches have led to the plunder of priceless treasures. But when theft becomes murder, Pel is called to uncover the true nature of who’s behind the crime wave. The case leads him from Paris to Scotland Yard and a climax involving the famous Tour de France cycle race.
Pel & The Bombers
When five murders disturb his sleepy Burgundian city on Bastille night, Chief Inspector Pel has his work cut out for him. A terrorist group is at work and the President is due shortly on a State visit. Pel’s problems with his tyrannical landlady must be put aside while he catches the criminals.
Pel & The Staghound
Violence, the mugging of gay men, and the disappearance of a wealthy local business man, Rensselaer, troubles Chief Inspector Pel who is baited by his superiors in Paris clamouring for more teamwork, technology, and sociologists. What remains is a harrowing question - has Rensselaer been kidnapped or murdered? Rensselaer’s family don’t seem to mind. Only Archer, his favourite staghound, is anxious for his missing master.
Pel & The Pirates
As Chief Inspector Pel honeymoons with his long-time love Mme Genevieve Faivre-Perret in St Ives, a local taxi driver is murdered on their first night. More puzzling is his attempts to reach Pel before the brutal killing and his message is one of murder, arson, and smuggling. But, can Pel break the silence surrounding the Islanders, and catch the killer?
Pel & The Predators
There has been a sudden spate of murders around Burgundy where Pel has just been promoted to Chief Inspector. The irascible policeman receives a letter bomb, and these combined events threaten to overturn Pel’s plans to marry Mme Faivre-Perret. Can Pel keep his life, his love and his career by solving the murder myst
eries? Can Pel stave off the predators?
Pel & The Prowler
The irascible Chief Inspector Pel basks in the warm glow of his marriage until a series of young women are found strangled, with macabre messages left next to them. Pel breaks his idyllic life in honeymoon heaven and begins an investigation among a student community. What ensues is a deadly game of cat and mouse.
Pel & The Paris Mob
In his beloved Burgundy, Chief Inspector Pel finds himself incensed by interference from Paris, but it isn’t the flocking descent of rival policemen that makes Pel’s blood boil - crimes are being committed by violent gangs from Paris and Marseilles. Pel unravels the riddle of the robbery on the road to Dijon airport as well as the mysterious shootings in an iron foundry. If that weren’t enough, the Chief Inspector must deal with the misadventures of the delightfully handsome Serjeant Misset and his red-haired lover.
Pel Among The Pueblos
A brief spell among the Pueblos, and a shoot-out under a moonless sky brings Pel his reward when the redoubtable Chief Inspector chases leads on a double shooting of two ageing crooks all the way to Mexico. This is Hebden’s eleventh novel in a series that delights and entertains a growing number of Pel fans.
Pel & The Faceless Corpse
An unidentified, faceless corpse is discovered near a memorial dedicated to villagers killed by the Nazis. Pel is on the case searching for a way to name the faceless corpse. The trail leads him from Burgundy to the frontiers of France, aided by a canny Sergeant Darcy and the shy, resourceful Sergeant Nosjean. Follow the irascible, quirky Chief Inspector on a road to solving the mystery of the faceless corpse.
Pel & The Touch Of Pitch
When Chief Inspector Pel accepts a drinks invitation at the house of a big shot, Deputy Claude Barclay, he doesn’t realise how compromised he will become by his acceptance. Shortly afterwards, Barclay is kidnapped; the partially decomposed body of a retired soldier is discovered in a wood and as series of art forgeries need investigating. Pel must tie all three together and solve a scandal, which has become the talk of France.
