by John Booth
“Louis is correct. You may call me Charles, if it helps,” the Inspector said dryly.
Before Joseph could think of a reply, Bernache seized the handles at of his wheelchair and pushed Joseph towards the warehouse. It was far too dark for Joseph’s taste as Bernache pushed him through the warehouse towards the room where he fell through the floor.
Joseph saw his duffle coat still lying on the floor where he left it. He shivered and looked away. As soon as he was in position, the Inspector threw a rope around Joseph’s arms and chest, looping it several times around the man before tying it securely. Joseph struggled and cursed, finding he couldn’t move.
“Please be quiet, Monsieur Gauthier, the main act is about to begin,” the Inspector whispered. Joseph found the Inspector’s words robbed him of speech. His heart pounded so fast that the sound of blood hissed in his ears. He stopped struggling and found he was listening for the slightest sound. A large rat scrabbled out from under his duffle coat on the floor and Joseph came close to screaming.
Sabria followed the hooded figure down alley after alley until they arrived at a disused building. Incongruously, there was a taxi with one of its back doors open beside it. Sabria looked around anxiously.
To her horror, the hooded figure waited at the door to the building and waved her forward again. The last place Sabria wanted to go was into a broken down warehouse with a murderer. The Inspector had been very specific with her about one thing, if she wanted to live, she must not run.
Very reluctantly, she walked forward. The hooded figure gave her a bow in acknowledgement of her bravery and disappeared into the building, Sabria followed.
They walked through the warehouse, Sabria staying several feet behind the hooded figure. Then they entered a room. The first thing Sabria saw was the dark shape of a wheelchair. There appeared to be a man sitting in it. It was all too much for her and she screamed.
The scream became a choking sound as the hooded figure turned with lightning speed and lifted her off the ground with a hand around her neck.
“Put her down, Jackie,” the Inspector commanded. He moved to where he could be seen. The hooded figure hissed and dropped Sabria.
Sabria held her hand to her throat trying to massage the pain away. “Jackie? Why would you kill Caren, she was your friend?”
The hood fell back revealing Jackie’s face. It was twisted with anger. She spat at Sabria’s feet. “You left me to rot. After you promised me.”
“They were not your killer,” the Inspector said quietly.
Faster than the eye could follow Jackie covered the space to the Inspector and lifted him into the air by the throat. The Inspector tried to tell her Joseph was there, but he couldn’t get the breath.
“Your murderer is in that wheelchair, Jackie,” Bernache said, stepping out of the shadows. “Inspector Monde has brought him to you so that justice can be done.”
The Inspector dropped to the floor as Jackie lost interest in him. She walked over to Joseph and spun the chair so he faced her. Joseph gibbered in panic.
“I came back for you,” Jackie said, her voice harsh with pain. “I couldn’t leave you stuck and I was worried you might fall to your death before I could get help. We managed to free your duffle coat and I used it to pull you out of the hole.”
“I’m sorry,” Joseph said. “I had no choice. I had to kill you.”
“And I’m sorry I inconsiderately splashed my blood over your coat and you had to leave it here. I’ve put it to good use since.”
“Bitch! I had to hamstring you first so you couldn’t get away,” Joseph said, anger overcoming his fear. “Spoilt the whole kill, it’s nice and clean when I strangle the girl’s first.”
“Death isn’t meant to be neat and tidy,” Jackie said. She moved to where the duffle coat lay on the floor and sank into it. The coat moved and then the remnants of a hand pushed the coat away covering it.
Jackie’s corpse levered itself up from the floor. Most of her face had been eaten by rats and bits of flesh hung down from her jaw. Her eye sockets were black holes as the eyes were missing. Sabria screamed and fainted to the floor.
“Yes Sabria, this is why I wanted you to tell the police. Do you understand now?”
Not waiting for a response from Sabria, Jackie lurched to where Joseph sat. “What about you, Paris Pierre? Do you like the results of your handiwork? Perhaps I should perform the service you paid me for? That would be most fitting, don’t you think?”
“Save me Inspector, it is your duty!” Joseph screamed as the hideous corpse knelt down beside him and started to undo the buttons of his fly.
“I’m sorry, Joseph, but you did pay for her services and it wouldn’t be fair if you didn’t get what you deserve.”
Jackie reached for her target and pushed it into her mouth. Joseph’s screams shook the building. Jackie stood up, fresh blood oozing between her teeth. “And now, how about a little kiss to end the evening properly?” she asked, leaning over to bring what remained of her mouth over his lips.
Joseph convulsed as Jackie blocked both his mouth and nose. In just over a minute his body stopped moving, as did Jackie. Her corpse lay draped over Joseph as if they were lovers snuggling together.
Bernache helped Sabria to her feet. She had missed the death of Joseph and Bernache blocked her view so she could not see what remained of him. “Go home, mademoiselle, it is over.”
Sabria staggered gratefully out of the door without looking back.
Inspector Monde studied the corpses critically. “Do you think justice was done here, Louis?”
“I think justice was done, but it had nothing to do with the law.”
“Let us go then, our task is done.”
“What about their bodies? We can’t just leave them like this.”
“They will soon be found. Inspector Morin will have every man in the homicide squad out looking for the taxi outside, which is a very good reason for us to leave here now. Besides, I cannot wait to hear how the ever rational Inspector Morin is going to explain all this.”
“You are a very cruel man, Inspector. I can’t understand why I am going to have my transfer cancelled so I can continue to work for you.”
“Neither can I, Louis, neither can I. However, it is good to have you back.”
The End
Elegant Fingers
I
Inspector Morin stormed into Inspector Monde's office. Whatever he had planned to say, the sight of Louis Bernache behind the Inspector's desk brought him to a crashing halt.
"Can I help you, Inspector?" Bernache asked politely. Morin could not help but notice that Bernache was not wearing his uniform.
"Where is Monde? And why are you sitting behind his desk in civilian clothes?" Morin barked when he got over his surprise.
"The Inspector has taken a holiday on the express orders of the Chief Inspector. The Commissioner, Chief Inspector, Inspector, and I met together earlier this morning to discuss the Paris Pierre case." Louis Bernache grinned. "The Commissioner approved my transfer back to working exclusively with Inspector Monde and I have been promoted to detective, effective immediately. This is why I am no longer in uniform."
"Why was I not invited to this meeting? I am in charge of the Paris Pierre case, after all."
Bernache gave Inspector Morin his most wide-eyed innocent look. "I could not say, sir. Perhaps it's because you were busy at a crime scene?"
Morin snorted. "A staged crime scene, you mean! Unless I'm to believe a two week old corpse murdered a man tied to a wheelchair. How can Monde take a holiday with two serial killers still at large?"
Bernache put his feet up on the Inspector's table and pressed his fingers together as he had seen Inspector Monde do so many times. "I think you'll find there will be no more murders of prostitutes, at least not by Paris Pierre or his copycat."
"I forced the best pathologist in Paris to physically attend the crime scene. Do you know what the famous Dr Jean-Paul DePaul said after he had examin
ed the bodies?" Morin blustered.
"No sir, I was not there."
"He described what the corpse supposedly did to Gauthier, which was unspeakable. Then he laughed and said 'I can see Charles's hands all over this one.'"
Bernache raised an eyebrow in what he hoped was a skeptical fashion. "Charles de Gaulle? Surely, you are not implicating the President of the Republic in these murders. Have you verified his whereabouts?"
"I believe he was referring to your boss, Inspector Charles Monde," Morin said. "And do not treat me like an idiot, Bernache, or I'll have you back in uniform before you can blink."
"Inspector Monde was with me most of last night, Inspector, and I will swear to that in court." Bernache took his feet of the desk and sat up. "I have some good advice for you, Inspector. The killer, Paris Pierre and his copycat, are gone. You have two dead bodies, one of whom was your prime suspect for all but the last of the murders. The other body could well be the one who murdered the last girl."
"Had the corpse not been a victim herself of Paris Pierre and been dead at the time!" Morin shouted.
"A creative man might construct a statement to the press saying the murderers killed each other, having been lovers. He might say the girl committed the last murder to take suspicion away from Gauthier, but when he refused to stop his killing, she killed him. The Inspector who tells this tale could take full credit for solving the case. Paris will heave a huge sigh of relief and life will return to normal."
"Pah." Inspector Morin snorted in derision. "And how would I get Dr Jean-Paul DePaul to go along with such an absurd story?"
"As you said yourself, his opinion of what happened is bizarre and would bring derision on him and on his office were he to voice it in public. You might also ask the Commissioner to have a quiet word with him. I've reason to believe he might cooperate for the sake of his reputation."
Morin looked Bernache over. "Are you sure you want to work for a man who gets involved in cases like this? Have you no self-respect?" Morin walked to the door, but he caught Bernache's words as he left.
"There will be no more dead girls on the streets tonight. Knowing that is worth a little loss of self-respect."
Charles Monde had not had a day off work in over two years and was feeling at a loss over what he should do with a whole week. The Commissioner had been quite insistent. Monde was surprised to look closely in a mirror and see how gaunt he had become. He could almost see his skull through the taut flesh, especially in the area around his eyes.
Inspector Monde visited a travel agency to see what might be on offer. Once it became clear that the Inspector did not approve of spending his time sitting on a beach, walking between hills or gambling in casinos, the pretty girl behind the desk suggested an itinerary for visiting palaces and places of interest. It was a three-day tour and started the next day. Inspector Monde was delighted as it would allow him to sit on a coach and brood when he was not discovering his country's history. He signed up on the spot.
The young girl ran down the corridor and up the stairs of the large elegant building. Designed to house royalty, no royal had trod its boards since the revolution. A man followed her, his nailed boots clicking loudly as he walked swiftly over the polished wooden boards. The man stalked her and meant to have his way with her when he caught her. She had to hurry.
The girl ran up another flight of stairs and then along another corridor until she reached the special place she had been seeking. Forgetting the danger to anyone using this particular place of refuge, she pressed the paneling on the wall in two places at the same time.
There was a loud click as the ancient mechanism engaged and a thick oak panel swung open. The girl squeezed through the gap into the hidden room on the other side and pushed the panel firmly shut, trapping herself inside this most secret of places.
She allowed herself to breathe quietly as she listened for the hated man following her.
Her heart was thudding like a steam engine as the sound of his boots went by. Once sufficient time passed and she calmed down, she sat on the high backed chair that along with the table was the only furniture in this secret lair.
Everybody knew about this room in the palace, the staff of the house knew, her family knew, everybody but the hateful man who chased her and made her hide in this place. He and all the others just like him who now stamped through the palace without the slightest respect for its history. The girl knew someone would come and let her out of the room very soon, but for some reason her heart continued to race.
II
Inspector Monde was feeling bored. This was the second day of the tour and he was convinced that if he walked around another chateau he would go insane. What he really found enjoyable was sitting in the coach watching the world go by.
The evening stop-over's in fine hostelries where he could drink the local wine and eat good food were excellent too. Monde felt as if years were dropping away from him. When he gazed in the mirror, he saw a man he almost recognized looking back. His eyes were no longer pools of black in the center of his skull. It was only the places they visited that dissatisfied him.
Today they were visiting a chateau deep in the countryside. Monde could not understand why someone would build a castle in such a remote place. Not that the chateau looked that much like a castle in its present form, though a single round tower from its early role remained. The Château de Chencinnes looked more like a very large mansion or perhaps even a hotel to Monde's cynical Parisian eyes.
Formal gardens were laid out in geometric patterns behind the house. They would look better in late summer Monde thought, when the roses were in full bloom.
Inspector Monde drifted into the house in the wake of his tour party. The guide was explaining that this estate started out as a hunting lodge. Then under royal patronage, it became a castle controlling the lands surrounding it. Prior to the revolution, it had been in the hands of a family so respected that when the revolution came, it was untouched by the peasants. Monde found that difficult to believe. His own experience with the poor in Paris was that they would set fire to a place like this just to see how high the flames would go.
The chateau had been restored and renovated in the nineteenth century by a wealthy lady called Louise Briçonnet. Her family lived in the chateau until late into the Second World War. The Nazis commandeered the chateau as a regional headquarters while France was under their control. Apparently, the family and their servants were allowed to remain in the house. When they upset the Nazis, the whole family was sent to a concentration camp where they died.
Inspector Monde tuned out his mind when the tour guide finished this part of his talk. Monde cared little about which paintings were bought when, or if the cracked vase on the wooden plinth was worth a fortune. Inspector Monde used a straightforward method for deciding the value of things. If he liked it, it was valuable; if he didn't then it wasn't. The Inspector considered himself to be a simple man and he considered the age of something a poor way to judge its value.
The tour moved a long way ahead of the Inspector. He stopped at a suit of armor and was wondering if anybody really wore anything so stupid. The eye slits in the helmet were so small it was wonder a man in it would be able to see straight ahead, let alone defend himself from attack.
When Monde finished with the armor, he turned a corner and came face to face with a painting of a young woman. Unlike the other paintings in the house, this one was fresh and vibrant. The others were covered in lacquer so thick that it was difficult to see what lay underneath. This painting was in subtle clear colors and looked as if it had been painted yesterday.
The young woman sat posed at a desk in summer. She wore light clothing consisting mainly of lace. She held a quill pen in her hand and was in the middle of writing a letter. The Inspector was struck by her long fingers, beautifully captured by the painter. As a child Monde wanted to be a painter but he could never get the hands right. This painter knew exactly what he was doing.
"That is a portrait
of Lisa Madelaine Briçonnet, sir," a male voice said from behind. The Inspector turned to find that one of the people who guarded the rooms had spoken. The guard was a wizened old man. The Inspector suspected the owners of the house saved money by hiring pensioners who would work because it gave them something to do.
"I'm sorry, that description means nothing to me."
"She was the youngest daughter of the family who owned this house during the war. Some say she was the reason the family were sent to their deaths," the old man continued. "I worked here then. I can tell you this, she was a lovely girl."
"How could this girl cause the death of her family? Was she a résistance fighter?"
"No, the Briçonnet's were not fighters. They were more concerned with such things as fine wines, the opera and the ballet."
"As servants, we didn't know everything that happened. But we did see and hear things, if you know what I mean. The Nazi Commandant was a nasty piece of work. He was handsome, if you are fond of dueling scars, but a sneer never left his face."
"The servants had to stay near the kitchens. Soldiers guarded the entrances to their command center to make sure we did. I think they feared we would sneak in and steal their plans. The family was free to roam the house provided they stayed out of the command center. The Nazis had set it up in the ballroom."
Inspector Monde wondered if the old man was going to get to the point or just drivel on, but as he was enjoying the painting he allowed the man to carry on talking.
"The Commandant set his sights on young Lisa Madelaine. She was twenty two at the time, just two years after that painting."
"He raped her?" Monde asked, trying to get the story to its conclusion.
"Oh no, sir. The Commandant tried to win her with charm and wit. Unfortunately for him, Lisa Madelaine did not like dueling scars and Nazis even less. She spurned his advances. He became angry at her disdain. One morning, the Commandant rounded up the whole family and sent them off to a concentration camp. Just like that."
