The Fourth Guardian

by Geoff Geauterre

  "If I'd accepted the findings of the tribunal without question I would have been sent to a penal colony, or executed, but instead, I demanded a full hearing. What your people call a trial by jury."

  "They asked questions. You supplied answers."

  "I told the truth. And the Block of Truth glowed white."

  "What the devil did that mean?"

  Regis looked chagrined. “Why, my dear fella, don't you get it yet? It meant I was pure of heart."

  "I'm going to be sick."

  Regis looked pained. “That is exactly how everyone felt, I'm sure."

  "So they booted your ass before somebody figured it out and put a crown on your head."

  Regis sighed. “Too true."

  "You sensed a monster working in the dim alleys of Marseilles, and the removal squad kicked in."

  "Did I tell you, you ought to be a writer?"

  "What does this monster do?"

  "Would you like a peek?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "A peek. A glimpse. A short review. A—"

  "Yeah, yeah, I get it! Show me what in the hell you think is here, and I'll—"

  Regis gripped Roger's arm. “Reach into my mind. See what I have seen—now!"

  Roger's eyes narrowed, and then closed as the image formed. “I see a ... a girl, laughing with friends. She's smiling. Pretty face...” Suddenly he sucked in his breath.

  She was hanging upside down, her arms and legs spread out, blood pouring down her jerking body. Her eyes stared in horror at the laughing figure wielding the razor, and she screamed as the icicle of the thin steel's edge slid deeper into her flesh!

  Roger gulped, got up from the table, and raced around the café, scrambling for some place to puke, which he found in a trash can.

  When he was through, he returned, white-faced, and trembling.

  "All right?"

  "So,” he croaked. “That's how you ‘sense’ things happening. I thought they were just shadowy insights.” He licked his lips and grimaced as he wiped with a paper napkin.

  Regis smiled wryly. “At first, that's just what they were. Then the images sharpened. Muted voices became clear, and my reaction is to suffer a haunting, unless I do something about it."

  Roger shuddered.

  "Your world is full of misery, you know that? If people had this gift, or curse—call it what you will—they'd be running around with axes, meat cleavers, or what have you."

  "I can control most of it. Channel it away. But the ones who call out with such force and clarity; those I can't ignore, and then I have to take care of the injustice myself."

  "And your quest is to dampen this misery, isn't it?"

  "We have a long way to go before that happens."

  "But what does it all mean?"

  "Your world has cried out, and as I am the sword of the faithful, I will avenge all your wrongs."

  "Stop watching Islamic films. They're not good for your health."

  Regis gestured across the way to a small bistro. Roger then recognized the venue from his “glimpse” of horror. She had been at that café. It was a place where dockworkers, merchants and tourists mingled.

  "We must be quick here. We've other matters to attend to, and this is not the first time it's happened. Our predator is cunning, and I'll need your help."

  Roger closed his eyes, and just then, all he could see ... was something he wished he'd forget.

  "I'm in."

  * * * *

  Chief Inspector Loisieur was enjoying his afternoon coffee, or at least, hoping to enjoy it ... when a well-dressed tourist sat at his table.

  He frowned. Tourists were, after all, an essential part of the Marseilles scene, but really, to sit down at another's table uninvited was a bit much.

  The man's clothing was English. His gaze on the Chief Inspector was curious. Intense. He was about to remark on the affront when the intruder spoke.

  "Do you wish to capture the one you call the Asp?"

  Loisieur froze. He suspected this was a sensation-seeking new reporter ... but there was no one else. His mind raced. What would be lost if he simply nodded?

  Regis smiled. “Have a small, trusted contingent of men here tonight. I have a man following this creature closely. I wouldn't appreciate it if he was harmed.” Regis looked into the inspector's eyes. “Even by accident."

  "Who are you?"

  "That's a secret."

  "Monsieur, I cannot—"

  "If you're not up to it,” said Regis tightly, “I'll use my own people, and the incompetence of the Marseilles police will be laughed at from one corner of the planet to the other."

  Regis stood. “I'm not requesting your assistance, Inspector. I'm demanding backup."

  Loisieur looked up, nonplussed.

  "At ten tonight, you and your men will be here and in disguise. Do not speak of this to anyone. You may cue them in when they are planted around the square. If, however, you choose otherwise, be prepared to resign."

  With that, he turned and walked away.

  Loisieur stared. Who, he asked, bubbling over with rage, did these people think they were? Then he got control of himself. Perhaps ... perhaps ... he already knew.

  His coffee grew cold.

  * * * *

  At exactly ten, while the nightlife was just starting, his men in plainclothes moved about inconspicuously. The stranger appeared, smiled at Loisieur, sat beside him, and asked if he had a nice day.

  In turn, the chief inspector said he had, which was no more than usual, and pointed something out on the menu.

  "That's very good. Keep looking the part. You should have been an actor."

  Loisieur grunted from under his fake moustache and beard.

  "I like that suit also. It becomes you, wearing something American."

  "Merde."

  "Now, now, you won't have to suffer this much longer. I want you to look over my shoulder towards the bistro."

  Loisieur shifted his gaze. “I see it."

  "There are more policemen dressed as waiters than there are waiters."

  "I took precautions."

  "How improvident. Signal your man behind you and have some of them go away. They don't know how to serve."

  Loisieur took a deep breath and then did as he was told.

  A few moments later, several waiters who had just been standing around, left for the kitchen, and then elsewhere. A real waiter came by, stopped at a table behind them, took an order, then stopped by them as well, and more coffee was ordered, and this time with a crème-filled Napoleon.

  Loisieur complained. “I don't like those pastries; they're too fattening."

  "All in the line of duty,” Regis soothed.

  "You're not in disguise."

  "I am a tourist."

  "Who do you work for?"

  "Is that so important?"

  "Yes. I must know. If for no other purpose than to know."

  Regis just looked at him a long moment, and then smiled. “You know, Inspector, I'm going to do you a favor."

  "What's that?"

  "I won't tell you. Oh, look. Your pastry is coming."

  "This is humiliating."

  "If you play a role, you must play it well."

  Loisieur grit his teeth. “Am I to be given lessons now?"

  "Be smart. Learn while you can."

  Loisieur's fork went into the confection, and forcing himself, he took a bite.

  "Good. Look around a moment. Do you see that unkempt sailor arguing with the barman?"

  "I see him. Perhaps I should send someone over for that."

  Regis shook his head sternly. “That wouldn't do. That man is mine. There are three others in the place who work for me too, but of course, the sailor doesn't know that."

  "Of course,” said the policeman sarcastically. “You have your own police force!"

  "Don't be cross,” Regis chided softly. “They're only private investigators I hired to keep the sailor in sight and safe."

  "All right,” sai
d an exasperated Loisieur. “You have demonstrated you can control some minor situation, but what is it all involved with? What, monsieur, is the bloody point?"

  Eyes that seemed to glow in the dark, pierced him. “The point is to trap the murderer of Lily Dupoint, a seventeen-year-old art student found floating in the waters here."

  There was some confused blinking.

  "I'm not sure I see..."

  "I'm here to help you capture the man your people have been protecting."

  "What?” he spluttered, struggling to keep from leaping up in outrage.

  "You know the one we were speaking about earlier? The charming fellow you people gave such a rakish name?"

  "You are out of your mind!"

  "Am I?"

  There was a bubbling angry retort that came ready. “Listen, whoever in hell you really are. We've been trying to find that creature for—” And then he saw what Regis really meant and was silenced. “Oh, I think I see ... what you mean.” He licked his lips nervously. “It's true. We didn't want to start a panic."

  He looked up, angry and helpless. “To think we have some damn Ripper character roaming the streets at whim, while everything we've tried has failed. It is despicable! I've had to trail this monster by the corpses he's left behind, and now there's nothing but to finish it once and for all! It's him or me!"

  He narrowed his eyes.

  "All right. I've done what you directed. Maybe I've played the fool, maybe not, we'll see. I'm ready to act. What am I supposed to do?"

  "I've hired an actress who fits the profile of those slain girls, and if she is doing what she's supposed to...” He looked over. “Ah, yes, she is."

  Loisieur looked with a start, a cold clammy feeling settling in his stomach. “Mon Dieu! Not that, I beg of you! We tried something like that only a few weeks ago, and we lost one of our best female agents! The fiend knows who he's dealing with! He's never made a mistake! He'll find out—he'll find out, I tell you!"

  Regis was unshaken. “Don't fall apart. Get a grip on yourself. You sound like a frightened child."

  "Sorry,” the inspector mumbled. “I've been ... strained by all this, you understand."

  "Yes, I do. Now focus. Do you need a drink?"

  Loisieur shook his head wearily. “No, no, really. I'm all right."

  "Good. Now I want you to shift your chair around, and look like you're talking to me in confidence."

  A moment followed the scrape of chair legs.

  "There, just glance for a second. You see her, the one dressed in that flimsy material, sipping wine at the bar? She has a floral scarf around her neck."

  Loisieur shuddered. “I see her. And you realize, of course, that if anything happens to that child, now, while we are all gathered like this—"

  "I understand. It will be the end of you, but that won't happen. I won't let it happen."

  Regis cast his mind over his preparations, seeking some chink in the armor given his people, in the layer upon layer of protection they had, even of those they knew nothing about, which in itself was a protective measure.

  He forced a smile for the other's benefit. “Listen closely. Our crude sailor is going to make a clumsy and ugly pass at the girl, one that will not escape notice. She will resist, but that won't work for long, and then someone will come to her assistance and offer himself as her escort."

  The inspector scowled. “I'm listening."

  "And then you will know why you've failed to capture him."

  As if on cue, the sailor sang out, blustering. He pawed the young girl, told the barman to fetch more chips ... then whispered something in her ear. Whatever it was, it wasn't nice. A look of disgust crossed her features, and she pulled away.

  It wasn't fast enough. He grabbed her around the waist. She struggled to pull free. He grinned in a lewd manner and hovered over her, feeling up her legs. There were a few angry shouts from other patrons, one or two men jumped from their tables and rolled up their sleeves, and another man, one more sedately appareled walked up quietly, pulled out a wallet, and the yelling died down. The sailor slinked off like a whipped cur.

  The girl sobbed, and the man turned as he helped get her things. Shooing the others aside he escorted her from the bar, his intent plain. He was going to take her home.

  They stepped into the street. The girl pointed the way they had to go. The man said something ... and together, they walked in that direction. He had a slight limp, and when they passed under a street lamp, the inspector got a good look through the monocular he'd brought. His fingers tightened and then trembled.

  He gasped, whipped around, and signaled his men to follow. Then slowly, as if forced against his will, he turned and stared at the man seated next to him.

  "You knew,” he whispered, his voice strangling.

  "No, I did not know. I thought as much, yes, but not until this very moment was I sure."

  "How?"

  Regis shrugged. “These girls always disappeared in plain sight. None were taken unaware. Each was an easy target. It fit the profile of not only a maniac, but someone working towards a purpose. The actions were intelligent, logical, and consistent.

  "As you saw yourself, he portrays himself aptly, and in that I congratulate you. Your nephew is a consummate actor, just like his uncle. He would have made a fine policeman if he could have passed the physical. Then there was always that psychological flaw, wasn't there? The one you kept denying, the one that prevented you from using your influence...?"

  "Mon Dieu!"

  "Imagine it,” Regis said sarcastically. “In his own way, he felt the need to prove himself to the world and to you, who he had come to despise."

  The inspector slumped in his chair.

  "If there were a God you could have prayed to, if for no other reason than to seek relief from this nightmare, you'd be doing so,” Regis said dryly. “For the sake of justice, it's important that you realize how this insanity was fed. You praised few others and always took credit for everything. Even his achievements were claimed by you."

  Loisieur stared, dumbfounded.

  "If he committed crimes like these and was never caught, wouldn't that have been a way to show the world how good he might have been, solving them, drawing his uncle's admiration?"

  Loisieur wanted to cry out, but he couldn't.

  "I believe his victims must have screamed in agreement, their torture administered when their torturer doubted their sincerity. From an insane viewpoint, it was an interesting contest of wills, don't you think? He got his audience to agree, while you were enmeshed in the gruesome remains of one crime after another with nowhere to turn. So eventually, as had been anticipated, you dumped a good deal of your frustrations in the open, and commiserating with you, he offered suggestions. Unfortunately, they failed, too."

  "I'm ruined,” groaned Loisieur.

  A shot rang out from down the street, then another and another. With a shout, Loisieur stumbled and loped down the steps with Regis behind. Police from every direction ran towards the area the gunshots came from, and just three blocks over, in the partial press of a waste-filled alley, they came upon a scene of bloodshed.

  Three plainclothes policemen were lying prostrate in the gutter, their colleagues attending to their wounds, shouting for assistance. Then there was the shriek of a siren as it hurried towards them.

  Several jeeps converged, emergency lights whirling, then spotlights were turned on and made brilliant spectacles of the tragedy. They could see a foot sticking out from the side of the alley where the monster had taken cover in a basement stairwell.

  A policeman hurried over to whisper in his superior's ear, and Loisieur, gritting his teeth, waved the others off to a distance.

  "This man was shot first from some rifle elsewhere in the vicinity.” He looked keenly at Regis, his glance asking the question.

  "Hmm, yes, but in the leg I think?"

  "It was in the leg."

  "And then what happened?"

  Loisieur gestured vaguely. �
��The girl escaped down the street, screaming that the murderer was fleeing. And my men thought...” He shook his head in disgust.

  "They thought what?” asked Regis innocently.

  "They thought he was escaping after some other policeman shot him, and they ran up the alley. Then everyone began shooting. He was hit several times."

  "The policemen are all right? I made certain they'd only be hit in less-vulnerable spots."

  Loisieur swallowed with difficulty. “They're still alive, bleeding a lot."

  Regis looked at him steadily, waiting for the rest.

  The inspector licked his lips. “The suspect shot himself in the head."

  Regis grunted with amusement. “Poetry. Taken by surprise, unable to escape, and then suicide-prone, he chose to hide within the folds of death. I'm sure his victims would not have approved such an easy end. But then, in every life a little rain must fall."

  Loisieur swung around angrily, grabbing Regis by the arm. “You make it sound as if it had been something orchestrated for your amusement! Are you aware the fiend killed over a dozen women and girls? We did not offer this tragedy to entertain you, monsieur!"

  Regis stopped smiling and nodded soberly. “You're right. This tragedy was all yours, and it is inappropriate that my humor should lighten your obligations."

  "That sounds like a threat!” the inspector shouted, his cry making every policeman within hearing turn towards them.

  "Was it?” Regis asked seriously. “Well, if it was, you oughtn't worry about me. I'm just a tourist. When news of how many bodies have been washed ashore gets around, and it will, you'll be answering so many questions you won't have time to wonder about your future, professional or otherwise."

  "We have complete control of the local papers."

  "You mean, you did have complete control of the local papers. As we speak, news of this matter is being picked up by the international press. When they announce what's happened here, the local papers will have no choice but to follow. I wonder how you will respond when the next few hours will be filled with superiors screaming in your ears for answers."

  "You bastard!"

  "The backlash from the tourist trade. The drop in businesses. And let's not forget the parents who've been told by the police that they were just out somewhere, having fun..."