Louis Shalako
Gilles let Levain drive, as was his usual habit.
His tired mind was definitely elsewhere these days,
thought Andre. He had a full life of his own, both on the job and at home with
Nichol and Maelys.
The Inspector was quite a few years older. Gilles had
been yanked out of bed in the middle of the night, handed a tough case and
there was probably a lot more to it than that.
He must be terribly lonely at times. He was also the
best there was, although there may have been some personal regard, factoring
into that equation.
There was nothing anyone could really do about it and
that was just the pure, un-distilled truth.
“Where are we going, Andre?”
“Ah, the Hôtel-Dieu, Gilles.” With a victim such as
Banzini, perhaps that was just as well.
It was big and modern and they had all the best
equipment.
People would want to know that every effort had been
made to save Monsieur Banzini.
There was a long silence, the background hiss of the
tires and the rumble of the motor almost reassuring.
“Very well.”
“Are you all right, Gilles?”
“It’s just that I’m tired. Very, very tired.” He
turned to his partner of some years. “I’ve got one of those fuzzy little
headaches that just won’t quit. Among other things.”
Andre switched off the car. The great thing about an
official car was that you could park just about anyplace.
“Well, here we are, anyways.”
***
It was very quiet, this deep into the building. There
was the faint sound of water dripping from a nearby sink unit.
(Paul Roletschek.) |
On his internship, Doctor Emile Adam was very young,
and very tall. He had spectacles and a thick head of stiff black hair that had
been professionally trimmed only that morning. There were hints of white flesh
edging the winter tan, around the short side-burns and the line along the back
of the neck.
The gentleman might be a skier, or something, in the out-of-doors. There really wasn’t much golf going on in November…
There was no question as to his intelligence or his
competence.
He had Banzini laid out on an operating table, as he’d
be going to the morgue and Doctor Guillaume for the autopsy.
“Vital signs were all gone when we got him. Ah…and. If
you gentlemen will look just here…”
Open-mouthed, Gilles and Andre bent over the table,
Maintenon reaching into a breast pocket and pulling out a pair of thin,
black-rimmed spectacles.
“Wow.”
Biting his lip, Maintenon could not help but agree.
“We’ll leave Doctor Guillaume to remove this.”
“I quite agree—but I must tell you that I did pull it out, about as far as you
see—” The dart, for surely that’s what it was, had been gripped by the doctor’s
forceps and pulled out about ten or twelve millimetres. “It was embedded,
practically flush with the surface of the clothing.”
He’d withdrawn it, just enough for him to see that
this was not normal.
This was clearly no accident.
This was clearly homicide.
Even Doctor Adam could see that.
“Merde.” Maintenon tipped his head.
It was too late to go back and do it again—
“Write your report, doctor, in the most precise terms
possible.” He gave Andre a look, receiving a shrug in return.
“I’m terribly sorry, I know I shouldn’t have touched
it.”
“Oh, I don’t know—”
(Paul Roletschek.) |
Maintenon shook his head as Andre straightened up. On
a thought, Andre began looking for the pockets of the deceased or attempting
to. Baffled by the costume, he gave up. There weren’t any pockets to go
through, which sort of brought this one home to him. Hopefully his personal
effects would be coming along at some point—it was already a case of too many
cooks.
Hmn. Killed on stage in front of a packed house.
With
a fucking blow-dart.
Ha!
Ha.
This one was looking like a real doozie.
“Don’t say it, Andre.” Maintenon stood there,
thinking. “Don’t even think about
saying it. Ah, shit. But. I wouldn’t worry too much about it, Doctor Martin. I
must say, I’m impressed.”
His eyes flicked up from Banzini’s bland, well-fed
face to the doctor’s troubled features.
The doctor shrugged.
“Honestly, I really am sorry. I was just a bit slow on
the uptake.”
Gilles clapped the fellow on the shoulder in sympathy.
“I meant the killer.”
Levain’s eyebrows twitched.
Poor old Maintenon was sounding, and looking, better
already.
***
Doctor Adam stood there, never having had a chance to
observe homicide detectives so closely before.
Certainly none as famous as Maintenon. The hulking
figure at his side was Levain. Yeah, you wouldn’t want to mess with that one…sacré merde.
“Look at that costume.” Heavily embroidered and very
colourful, the small brown tuft of fibrous material sticking into the
gentleman’s ribcage had gone unnoticed.
“I suppose it’s no wonder. Shit—all those people
tramping all over the place.”
Levain was taking a few notes.
“He was also laying face-down.” That might,
conceivably, have pushed the dart home if it wasn’t there already.
Gilles looked up at the doctor.
“All right. Are you on shift for the rest of the
night?” He checked his watch.
One-forty-five a.m.
Merde.
“Yes. I go off at six-thirty or seven.”
“Good. I’m going to call Doctor Guillaume. Monsieur
Banzini could cause quite the problem for us. There must be a dozen reporters
already camped outside the building. They don’t know anything, and I’d like to
keep it that way. I’ll have him get over and get the body out of here as soon
as possible.”
“I’m attending to the emergency room tonight. I really
don’t have time—” Doctor Adam gulped. “Don’t let them in my hospital—”
Doctor Adam kept looking at his watch, they were lucky
it was a slow night. He’d been away too long already.
They could lock him in the cooler, and wait for
Guillaume’s assistants. No time to babysit a corpse for them. The police and hospital
security staff had their hands full.
“Andre. Get on a phone and get some more officers over
here. Two or three, anyway.”
“Yes, sir.”
***
“Very well.” Gilles hung up the phone.
With Inspector Martin on the scene, everything would
be thoroughly documented, sealed off, scoured for clues by technical staff. The
building would be guarded by twenty men if that’s what it took—and it probably
would.
Some of that could
wait until morning. The Palais was a huge and complex building. It would be
better if they knew where to start. The dart had not been fired from the boiler
room, essentially.
There was also the challenge of the next performance,
which was tonight. Police would have little choice but to let it go on.
Due to the lateness of the hour and the social status
of their mob of opera-goers, officers on scene had gotten a list of names.
There were only a couple of hundred
of them. The bulk of the audience had simply bolted, streaming past the two
officers, tagging along on an ambulance call, who had initially responded to
the sudden death of Largo Banzini.
They were going to have a hell of a time with them.
Box seats were registered. Corporate guests would be
authorized—known, at least.
Most tickets were sold anonymously over the counter,
although there were also reserved tickets. They would have names for them. If
Madame Poincaré was any indication they (the so-called witnesses), wouldn’t be
of much use anyway.
Gilles Maintenon sighed deeply. With the scene
secured, the body secured, it would be extremely wise to go home and try and
get a few hours of sleep. Hopefully he would think of something…
He looked around, but Andre was nowhere to be seen.
Gilles didn’t quite know where to begin looking, so he
just stood there in the hallway of the emergency section of the Hôtel-Dieu.
“Damn it.”
Levain had the car-keys and Gilles was strongly
tempted to call a cab and just go.
***
How the hell he did it sometimes was a mystery. Three
and a half hours sleep if he was lucky…
Andre didn’t feel all that bad, although a couple of
more long days might take care of that.
Nichol had been so warm, inclined to cuddle a bit this
morning and he’d had to drag himself away.
Strutting in late for work, a big smile on your face,
was a strict no-no.
Hopefully he would be home on time for once—not that that
seemed too likely. She had definitely been in a bit of a mood, lately—
Which was fine with him.
Andre leaned on the buzzer and Maintenon’s voice came
back immediately.
“Wait.”
“Yep.”
Andre had the car idling at the curb. The November sunshine
was welcome after days of cold rain and even a bit of frost in outlying areas
first thing in the morning. That’s what it said on the radio.
There was a
crunch when people stepped on a dead leaf. There were a few small shiny patches
of ice, and people were beginning to sand their steps and the walks in front of
their houses. In that sense, winter had arrived. The only thing missing would
be a few flurries and a bit of snow.
The streets were busy, with Christmas coming up.
People tended to huddle indoors when the weather was bad. When the weather was
fair, they bolted for the nearest grocer’s or butcher shop. They got a few
things done while they could.
Then there was the whole Christmas-shopping madness.
Less than three minutes had passed, and the door opened
up. Maintenon seemed to have taken a bit of trouble with his appearance today,
which was good.
There were times when people worried about Gilles.
“Good morning, Andre.”
“Good morning, Gilles.”
Was that a sparkle in his eyes? A gleam, perhaps?
Bordering on a twinkle, for crying
out loud.
Sacre,
merde.
At least someone was happy.
***
The room was quiet. Doctor Guillaume, looking
preoccupied, found the tool he was looking for on the tray beside the
stainless-steel slab.
“Da, di-da, da-da. Hmn-hmn-hmn.”
He’d taken one or two photos of the end of the thing
already. Clad in his habitual outfit of shiny black shoes, dark grey trousers
and long, sky-blue lab coat with a genuine carnation in the button-hole, he
tended to hum and cuss and fuss and mumble to himself as he worked. With
receding, mousy-brown hair, wire-rimmed glasses, thickening round the middle in
recent years, there were still some youthful qualities to Doctor Guillaume.
Perhaps it was his love of the work.
He looked up at Gilles.
“Do it.” Maintenon wanted a quick look at the thing.
His report would also be written as precisely as
possible, which made things hard for defense lawyers…Guillaume didn’t much like
being contradicted.
Especially…by defense lawyers.
Gripping the dart tightly, just below the
tail-feathers, the doctor gave it firm pull and out it came.
“Ah.”
“Nice.” Levain spoke for the two of them.
Doctor Guillaume laid it reverently aside. Unbuttoning
the shirt, he peeled back the fabric. The tiny hole in the victim’s chest was
black and dry, as one might expect by this time. If nothing else, they had the
time of death nailed down pretty tight, and something like two thousand
eye-witnesses…to attest to that fact.
Flashbulbs popped as their technical assistant
Francois documented this interesting exhibit. He’d arrived breathless but
awake, and with a full kit. He’d be heading over to the Palais after this.
He caught the Inspector’s eye.
“Yes, Francois?”
“Nothing, sir.” Yet there was that funny smirk there—
Gilles wondered what that was all about. Pure, boyish fascination, possibly.
Merde.
They were all like that these days.
Monsieur Banzini’s body had been stripped except for
the shirt and jacket, pinned in place by the dart.
With help from his own assistant, a beefy lad named
Ducharme, Doctor Guillaume lifted and turned the body. They peeled off the
clothes and set them neatly aside on the next slab.
They took a few photos of Exhibit A, lying on a tray.
“That, is really something, Gilles.”
There lay what appeared to be a thorn. It was fibrous,
striated lengthwise, and might have been a reddish-brown colour under the
residue of blackened blood. It was easily eighty or ninety millimetres long.
There was a bit of pale fabric or vegetable fluff glued on the butt end,
twisted around and secured with thin black thread.
It was wickedly sharp, all the more obviously so as it
had penetrated almost to the butt.
“A little bit of the tip might have broken off inside
the wound.”
“Thank you, doctor.”
It was true that Banzini had fallen forward, perhaps
it was more accurate to say that he was discovered face down. For what it was
worth, there was a fresh bruise on the left knee. The shaft was unbroken, with
no sign of stress or bending. The thing had gone in, right to the hilt.
Unbelievable.
“Penetration between the second and third rib. Angle
of entry, a few degrees off horizontal. Above, I mean, or he was leaning
forward. I reckon the heart was punctured, but I will, of course, do a full
autopsy.” His eyes glinted behind the lenses. “Hmn. Yes. Of course.”
Maintenon stood there staring down at the vacant face,
features peaceful but eyes still open.
“Yes, I want you to be very, very thorough.”
It was like Banzini didn’t even know what hit him.
Gilles chewed his lip.
“Somebody didn’t like him very much, did they?”
It all came down to motive—and personality.
The personality of the victim, and the personality of
the killer.
(End of excerpt.)
Editor's Note. This is an excerpt from a work in progress, Maintenon and the Golden Dragon, and all all materials are subject to change and revision.
Excerpt # 1.
Excerpt # 3.
Excerpt # 4.
Redemption: an Inspector Gilles Maintenon mystery is the first in this series.
Excerpt # 3.
Excerpt # 4.
Redemption: an Inspector Gilles Maintenon mystery is the first in this series.