by Mark Hebden
‘Where is he?’
‘His house at Benoit de l’Herbue.’
Slamming down the telephone, Pel turned to find Aimedieu in the doorway. ‘Duche, patron,’ he said. ‘They’ve just telephoned from–’
‘–Benoit de l’Herbue. I know. Who’s handling it?’
‘Inspector Goriot.’
‘I’m on my way. Let the Chief know, then follow me.’ As he reached the car park, a small Renault shot in and Duche’s wife almost fell out of it. Seeing Pel, she ran towards him, her hair flying.
‘Philippe didn’t do it,’ she said at once.
‘Do what, madame?’
‘That bomb at the airport.’
‘We know he didn’t.’
‘He’s angry that he’s still suspected. He doesn’t do that sort of thing these days.’
‘If he did, he’d go to prison for a long time.’
‘He’s a good man.’
‘He wasn’t always, madame.’
Duche’s house stood on its own and round it, behind trees and crouching against cars, were policemen. As Pel climbed from his car round the corner, he heard a few shots. A police brigadier gestured.
‘Take it easy, sir,’ he said.
‘What’s the situation?’
‘He’s quiet. But he’s not coming out.’
As Pel turned away, his arm was touched and he found himself facing Councillor Lax.
‘Ah, Pel,’ he said.
‘Chief Inspector Pel!’ Pel snapped. ‘What are you doing here, Monsieur le Conseilleur?’
Lax had been just about to launch into a series of questions and demands about the police when Pel’s attack stopped him dead.
‘What do you mean?’ he said. ‘What am I doing here? I represent this district and, as such, I’m responsible to the commune, which in its turn is responsible to the arrondissement and upwards to central government.’
‘This is a police affair and you should not be here. It might be dangerous.’
‘Danger’s not important,’ Lax said heroically. ‘I heard about it and felt my place was here.’
‘How?’
‘How what?’ Lax looked startled.
‘How did you hear about it? I’ve only just heard about it myself and I was in the Hôtel de Police. If you’d step into my car perhaps we can discuss it.’
Lax looked worried suddenly. ‘Suppose I don’t want to?’
‘You’d better, Monsieur le Conseilleur,’ Pel snapped. ‘I need to talk to you. Aimedieu, get in front. I want you as a witness to what’s said.’
When Lax climbed out of the car again, he was white-faced and scared.
‘You’d better leave, Monsieur,’ Pel said shortly. ‘If you don’t, I’ll have one of my men escort you away.’
As Lax vanished, Pel peered round the corner. Among the parked vans and cars policemen were still keeping their heads well down. Several windows and one or two of the tiles on Duche’s house had been shattered by the shooting. Chunks of plaster had been gouged out and there were two holes in the door. Goriot was standing near one of the vans holding a loudhailer and trying to look like Napoleon directing the Battle of Austerlitz. His smile at Pel was stiff and triumphant. Pel didn’t return it.
‘What’s going on?’ he demanded.
‘I sent my men to make an arrest.’
‘Why?’
‘I learned he’d acquired a gun. But he gave my men the slip. He’s holed up in the house there.’
‘Has he done any shooting?’
‘One shot.’
‘Where did it go?’
‘It hit the roof opposite.’
‘If he was aiming at you or your men it was a poor shot.’
Goriot said nothing.
‘What about your men? Have they fired?’
‘Yes.’
‘Much?’
‘Not much.’
‘Their “not much” seems to have done a lot of damage.’ Pel indicated the broken windows of the house and the bullet marks in the doorway. ‘You’re using a steam roller to crack a walnut.’
‘I’m in charge,’ Goriot said.
Pel drew himself up to his full height. It wasn’t much but he had the gift of making it look more than it was.
‘That is something you definitely are not,’ he said coldly. ‘I’m here now and I’m in charge.’
‘The Chief welcomes action.’
‘Not this sort. Tell your men to hold their fire.’
Goriot hesitated and Pel snapped. ‘Now!’
Goriot flushed and at his gesture his sergeant ran among the trees and parked vehicles, crouching down. The pecking fire stopped.
‘Give me your loudhailer.’
With the instrument in his hands, Pel was about to step forward when Duche’s wife appeared again.
‘Can I come with you?’
‘I think you’d be wiser to remain here.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Arrest him.’
‘You can’t.’
‘I most certainly can. But I shall only be arresting him for possessing and using a firearm without a permit. It’ll mean a sentence. Will you wait for him?’
‘For a lifetime.’
‘I don’t think it will be as long as that,’ Pel said drily. ‘And it’s better than leaving him where he is, where he might be goaded into shooting someone. That would carry a much longer sentence.’
As Pel prepared to rise to his feet, the Chief appeared. ‘Where in God’s name are you going?’ he demanded.
‘To talk to Duche.’
‘I forbid you to go out there.’
Pel looked at the Chief. His face was a mixture of determination, high dudgeon and anger.
‘Lax was here before I was,’ he said. ‘Perhaps before any of us. As he was at the airport on the night of the bomb. He had information.’
‘What are you getting at?’
‘He’s been seen with Forton.’
‘Who by?’
‘Misset.’
‘Can you rely on Misset?’
‘This time I can. Forton’s great-uncle to Inspector Goriot. Goriot doesn’t like me. He’s been using Darcy to get at me. He’s probably ruined Darcy’s career. Information’s been passing from him to Lax via Forton. The stories about Darcy stemmed from that source.’
‘You know?’
‘Lax’s just admitted it. Aimedieu was present and will confirm. Goriot goes and Forton receives an official letter from the Prefect. If not, I go.’
The Chief looked worried. Not Pel, he thought. Mother of God, not Pel! He drew a deep breath. ‘Leave it to me,’ he growled. ‘I’ll attend to it. It’ll take time, of course.’
‘Not if Goriot resigns at once through ill-health.’
The Chief gave in. ‘Very well. If necessary we’ll get a psychiatrist’s report. He’ll take his pension early.’
‘I don’t care what he does,’ Pel said shortly. ‘So long as he does it.’ He turned away and blew into the microphone of the loudhailer to test it. ‘Philippe Duche,’ he said, and the iron voice rang out among the houses. ‘Can you hear me? Wave something if you can.’
There was a pause, then a handkerchief appeared in the window of the house and waved from side to side.
‘This is Chief Inspector Pel. I’m coming in to talk to you. Hold your fire.’
He handed the loudhailer back. Goriot looked shaken. ‘You can’t do that,’ he said.
‘Why not?’
‘He’ll shoot you.’
‘If he does, doubtless you’ll be happy to try to take my job.’ Pel’s eyes glittered. ‘But I shouldn’t bother. You couldn’t do it.’
He rose and stepped forward to a point where he could plainly be seen from the house. There was no sound and slowly Pel began to walk towards the door. The watching policemen held their breaths but, as he reached it, they saw it open and he vanished beyond it. Inside, the door slammed behind him and he turned slowly to face Duche.
Duche was scowli
ng. ‘I could have shot you,’ he said.
‘But you didn’t, did you?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Name of God, I don’t want to shoot you! You and Inspector Darcy have been decent to me. And with no good reason!’
‘Some flics are human.’
‘I didn’t plant that bomb, Chief.’
‘I never thought you did. Too amateur. You were always a professional, Philippe.’
‘Is that the only reason?’
‘No. You’ve gone straight. I spoke to your wife.’
‘She’s a good woman.’
‘She must be, to convert you.’
‘Why are you here?’
‘To tell you to give up.’
‘They’ll send me to prison if they get a chance.’
‘They certainly will now. But not for the bomb. And not for the shooting at the airport. That’s been sorted out.’ Pel nodded at the rifle Duche held. ‘Is that licensed?’
‘You know it isn’t. It belonged to my brother. His widow kept it in the attic and I knew about it. When I heard that bloody Inspector Goriot was after me I went and got it.’
‘That was silly. You’re committing a crime: possessing a firearm without a permit. There’s now also another one: you fired it.’
‘I wasn’t aiming at anybody.’
‘I didn’t think you were. Especially as you hit the roof opposite.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Arrest you. For using a firearm without a licence.’
‘What’ll happen?’
‘With your record you’ll inevitably go to prison. But I’ll be there. I’ll speak for you. I don’t think it’ll be for long. But you’ve committed a crime and the law demands punishment. But not for something you didn’t do. I think your wife will wait for you.’
‘I’m sure she will.’
‘You might even get off with a fine. Could you pay one?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll get the press boys to tell your story. I’ll also talk to your customers – personally – and explain what happened. Will you come with me?’
Duche paused, then he said, ‘I’ll come with you, Chief. Not with that other bastard.’
‘That other bastard has nothing to do with this. You’ll go to headquarters with me and I’ll charge you. For the gun. That’s all.’
‘Can I see my wife?’
‘I see no reason why not.’
Duche thought for a moment, then he nodded. ‘I’ll come.’
Pel indicated the rifle. ‘Not with that in your hand.’
Duche gave him a twisted smile and handed the weapon over. ‘I’m ready.’
‘Then let’s go.’
The door opened and they emerged in silence. Pel appeared first, holding the rifle, then, immediately behind him, Philippe Duche. They walked together, side by side, Pel making no attempt to threaten Duche with the weapon. As they drew nearer, Goriot stepped forward.
‘Stay where you are!’ Pel snapped. ‘I’m arresting this man!’
As they approached the parked cars, he wasn’t very surprised to see Darcy standing by one of the trees.
‘Will you drive us to headquarters, Daniel?’ he said.
‘I’m suspended, patron.’
‘You’ve just been recruited as a civilian reservist and it’s an offence to refuse to assist the police when called on to give help.’
Darcy grinned and opened the rear door of his car. Duche climbed in. Pel sat alongside him. ‘I think that’s that,’ he said. ‘We can go now, Daniel.’
Twenty
The Chief sat back in his chair, looking pleased.
‘I’m glad that’s all over,’ he said. ‘Duche won’t suffer much. It might even be dropped. The psychiatrist’s report blames Goriot entirely. We seem to have done well lately. We’ve found another of Records’ Missing Persons. A boy this time. He was running with a gang in Paris.’
‘I think we’ll find one or two others before long, too,’ Pel said. ‘They’ve already found something at Lugny. It was under the new floor of the laundry. It looks like an old woman. I think it’ll turn out to be Madame Weill. We might even find more because it seems one or two others appear to have “walked out” at various times in the past. You’ll probably find your Missing Persons list is smaller than you anticipated. You might even be able to call off the search.’
‘Probably,’ the Chief said placidly.
‘Which will mean that I shall want Morell and Cadet Darras back on my team again.’
Trust the little bugger to think of that, the Chief thought. ‘Your wife appears to have handled herself very bravely with this Ferry type,’ he said.
‘She’s not a nervous kind,’ Pel said comfortably.
‘Misset did well, too.’
Pel was still suspicious of Misset’s part in the affair. Madame Pel had often heard of Misset but she had a kind heart and, knowing her Evariste Clovis Désiré, had spun a yarn that Misset had put up a heroic fight. Pel didn’t believe it but he wasn’t prepared to argue with his wife.
‘My wife said he did,’ he agreed.
‘Don’t you believe her?’
‘My wife is generous-minded.’
That night, except for the Sullys, everybody was happy. Nosjean, recovered from his anger at the Tuaregs, was with Mijo Lehmann. She was talking about marriage again and, as usual, he was trying to fend her off. De Troq’ was with the girl from the Palais de Justice. Not only with her, but with her parents too, who were looking him over. They had decided he was quite a catch with his title but that it was a pity he was only a sergeant, and were encouraging him to go for promotion. ‘With your background it shouldn’t be difficult,’ they were saying: De Troq’ was thinking that, though the girl was all right, her mother was a bit pushy. Judge Castéou was with her husband. Pel was admiring his wife.
‘Goriot’s gone,’ he was saying. ‘We got a psychiatrist’s report on him. It wasn’t his fault. Being blown up isn’t very good for anyone.’
There was a note of compassion in his voice and his wife kissed his cheek.
‘The Chief’s going with the Prefect to see Senator Forton. He’ll get the message. Especially as Lax has already been seen. There’s to be an apology.’
‘Will an apology help Daniel?’
‘This one will. Lax will get his name in the papers but not in a way he’ll enjoy.’
Even Misset was reasonably happy, basking in the admiration of his family. His picture was in Le Bien Public. ‘AIRPORT BOMBER CAPTURED BY CITY TEC’, the headline said. For once, he’d given them something they couldn’t complain about, though, as usual, his wife had managed to insert a niggle into the praise. ‘You might have been killed,’ she said. ‘And then what would we have done?’
‘Will they give you a medal, Papa?’ his youngest asked.
‘Probably,’ Misset said. But he didn’t think they would. He knew how much luck had counted and was aware that Pel knew him too well.
But he sat back, far from dissatisfied as his eldest daughter poured him another beer, though his satisfaction was tempered a little by the news he’d received over the soup at dinner that his wife’s mother was coming to stay with them.
Finally, Darcy was happy. He’d been called into the Chief’s office and informed that the investigation into the allegations against him had been dropped without any evidence being given or even asked for. He and Pel had celebrated as they usually celebrated successes – with a quiet beer at the Bar Transvaal. There were one or two other cops in there, too, but they were all a bit subdued, because it wasn’t all that long since Nadauld’s celebratory drink had been cancelled by Nadauld’s death.
As Pel had turned for home, Darcy had headed his car for Angélique Courtoise’s flat. She was waiting for him.
‘You’re moving in with me,’ he said.
‘I thought I might be soon,’ she said. ‘I’ve been packed for some time.’
With the car full of he
r belongings, the suitcases and cartons, the portable TV, video and record player, the half-dozen hats for weddings all girls seemed to possess, Darcy seemed satisfied.
‘I’m not a bad cook, too,’ she pointed out.
They ate at a restaurant on the edge of the city and, back at Darcy’s flat, he passed over a glass of champagne. Angélique’s face was full of happiness. She gave him a shattering grin. ‘Champagne in bed,’ she said.
‘Très grande horizontale. Anybody can do it these days.’
‘My mother warned me about living in sin.’
‘Mine warned me about bringing trouble home.’
‘Parents aren’t always right.’
He leaned over and kissed her. She stared back at him. ‘You’re trying it on,’ she whispered.
‘With you I’m always trying it on.’
‘I thought you were a gentleman.’
‘I’ve been known to kick dogs. Have some more champagne?’
She looked up at him under her eyebrows, her eyes sparkling a little with moisture. ‘What are we celebrating? Me being here?’
‘Not just that. I’m back on the job. Pel fixed it.’
‘Good old Pel. I thought he would.’
‘Did you really believe I hadn’t taken bribes?’
‘Of course. Always.’
Darcy drew a deep breath. It was a bit in the nature of the confessional. ‘Last week,’ he said slowly, ‘I crossed the path of two of my old flames. They didn’t seem at all pleased to see me. Just to make sure, I deliberately looked up a third. They’d heard the story. They didn’t want to know me.’
She kissed him gently. ‘Start a story like that and there are always fools who’ll believe.’
‘They cut me dead.’
She put her arms round him. ‘I shan’t, Daniel,’ she said. ‘Never.’
‘I’m glad about that,’ Darcy said gravely. ‘Very glad.’
‘Daniel,’ her voice was solemn, ‘you suddenly sound middle-aged.’
Darcy laughed. ‘I think I’m growing old,’ he said. ‘I’ve suddenly noticed. I’m getting like Pel. Soon I’ll be complaining I can’t give up smoking.’
Note on ‘Chief Inspector Pel’ Series
According to the New York Times, Chief Inspector Evariste Clovis Désiré Pel, of the Brigade Criminelle of the Police Judiciaire, in Burgundy, France is ‘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.’
