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| Oh, God, when will it be over... |
Louis Shalako
At last, it seemed as if it was all over, but no, it wasn’t over
yet. Finally, as if in some silent but collective agreement, perhaps a slight
nod from Langeron, and it was their time, maybe, to answer a few questions.
Roger Langeron, having a police department to run, had to go, and as for Delorme, he was only acting head of the Unit—he held the rank of Inspector and proper form had to be observed. Someone had to take the responsibility, just for the official record. He still had his own case-load, and his own little crew down the hall to run, and so he had excused himself. He had to leave as well. It was just them, now.
It was their turn to give Hubert some information, which might have been a hopeful sign.
“All right.”
This time, it was the new guy who went first, Constable Martin Garnier. He had written the sergeant’s exam only days before but didn’t have the results back yet. He was temporarily with the Unit, just helping out and getting some experience. He was, in fact, giving up (or deferring, to be exact), two weeks of vacation for the opportunity. His own boss would have never given him up, even temporarily, otherwise. He’d been specifically requested by Levain himself, who had gone so far as to suggest the man write the test, just in case, which really said something. He might have been a little self-conscious, regarding himself, right about then, which was no big help for poor old Hubert.
Having introduced himself, and briefly explained himself, he got right down to it.
“Okay. Regarding the deep freezer unit in Maintenon’s kitchen. I interviewed as many of the neighbours as I could catch, and I went back at different times of day as many people work or simply go out in daytime hours. Sometimes the uniform is very helpful, rather than plainclothes and simply showing ID. Alphonse drove me around and he’s kind of known there by sight anyways. The car is, for sure. That thing’s absolutely spotless, by the way. We now have some actual witnesses, who have told us that they did see the, er, activity. They simply thought someone was moving in, or perhaps someone on the other side of the street was getting a new freezer, and maybe some new rugs. A renovation, redecorating or something. People see something and draw the most obvious conclusions; and then, they just forget about it. A delivery van with signs on the sides, men in coveralls, it all seems legitimate enough. Bear in mind, the people on the same side of the street can see much less due to the angles. We didn’t get anything from Maintenon’s immediate, next-door neighbours, upper or lower, left or right. Nothing much from the barber shop next door or the little dress shop across the way on street level. Ah, the one big question was, how in the hell did four men carry that huge weight up the stairs? That’s a very large freezer, three bodies and all that ice. We’re talking anything up to a couple of dozen bags of ice.” That ice had to come from somewhere as well, just one more avenue of inquiry, and one which needed following up.
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| Garnier: good enough for a tryout. |
It seemed unlikely that they would have driven for kilometres, all over town, buying it one bag at a time.
Hubert listened carefully…open-mouthed. Yes, this guy was good all right—good enough, anyways.
“So, they drag the freezer, already out of the crate, out of the van and up to Maintenon’s residence. The lid was off, and they had to squeeze it in through the doorway, then put on the lid, and throw in four small bolts. They even had the wrench, as they were properly tightened. A nice touch. They have their three bodies, all wrapped up in fairly light rugs, or heavy packing blankets, and it takes two men for each load…one guy to hold the door perhaps, and another one grabbing bags of ice, two at a time. He’s running up and down to lug all that up the stairs. It saves them the weight, and they didn’t have to dispose of the crate. One person I spoke to has confirmed the name, Montgolfier Brothers on the side…” All of this confirmed to some degree by eyewitness accounts.
They hadn’t even been there a half an hour. That was all it took. A good plan. A quick, slick, and very professional operation.
It was a blue delivery van, as stated by Madame d’Coutu, and for the men, rolling three rugs up into one big bundle, stuffing a bunch of empty ice bags into one or two bags, and taking all of that down wouldn’t have taken all that long. Take a quick peek out into the street. If the way was clear. Pop that in the back, slam the door and they were off. Their plan was obviously to get out of there before Madame came home from shopping.
Leaving her, and Gilles, with a fait accompli.
The housekeeper, an old-fashioned type, in the dark so to speak, and knowing next to nothing about freezers, might have lifted the lid, saw ice cubes and thought nothing of it…she sure as hell wouldn’t be digging down into it. It wasn’t in her personality, as Maintenon himself had noted.
“I’m thinking the ice cubes were a clever gag—a deterrent to any curiosity she might have had. She almost certainly, opened the lid.” Even though she had officially denied it.
Garnier had more ideas.
“What if the freezer with three deaders in there was a prank? Rich school boys come to mind. Someone at the University. A Military academy perhaps. It seems terribly elaborate, with extensive planning, and it must have also been expensive, or certainly dangerous and one would have to wonder about the motivation…and why, er, Gilles, specifically.” One had to wonder why no one had claimed responsibility. “If caught, the consequences would have been serious enough.”
Mischief, theft, offering indignities to the bodies of the deceased, there were a few potential charges, and they were all criminal. False pretences, illegal entry, trespass.
It could run to a fairly long list of charges.
Where was the punchline? To pull such a prank and not talk about it would be almost inhuman, schoolboys or not.
“The whole point of the exercise was not the old lady—it was Maintenon.” Just to be clear on that point.
What would be the point otherwise, as he put it.
Garnier consulted his own notes. Hubert asked for a couple of aspirin, and Margot found a bottle in her desk drawer. He swallowed them down gratefully, hoping they were indeed fast acting, as it said in all the advertisements.
That coffee was getting pretty rancid and it looked like Garnier was about ready again.
“Okay, so I’m new here and you’ve been away all week. There must be some gaps in our mutual knowledge, and I am authorized to read all reports, er, yours and ours so to speak. You will be reading ours as well, one must presume. There is the question of the theory of the crime. Here’s the thing, Detective Hubert. What if? The bodies were delivered to Maintenon’s home, in the most sensational manner possible, so that the Inspector would have to be recused from this investigation or another. There is cause and effect. We have a result. He was, literally, ordered to take a vacation. What investigation? There’s nothing on his desk that seems all that likely, bearing in mind he did pass the files off for others to take on, and naturally we’ve read all of them as well. It seems to have gotten him out of town, perhaps where he might be more vulnerable. Perhaps the killer followed him down there, looking for the right place and time, one with no witnesses.” Now they were back to the gun, and the fact that Gilles was on vacation…the fact that there was no body, made an investigation sheer hell, a point that Hubert had already made…
Killer? What killer. His head was spinning.
“…a very small place, with a very small, perhaps inexperienced
police department, especially when it comes to homicide…”
“Okay. Wow. You’re right. I have some catching up to do. Ah, what
else?”
There had to be more, he could just tell by the looks on their
faces, all expectant and clearly ready to go with their own contributions.
In spite of it all, a grin cracked his face.
“One at a time, please.”
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| "Too-da-loo, boys." |
There were nods and chuckles, and it seemed they were clearing the
air in more ways than one—not that he wasn’t still in deep shit, because that
sort of went with the territory around here anyways. Margot was looking at her
watch and the clock, and it seemed she was due to wrap up in court this
afternoon, and after that, her case was in the lap of the gods—or the hands of
a jury. There was a pause while she gathered her things and stuffed her
briefcase. There was the sporty little jacket, and then the hat.
She gave them a bright little smile.
“Too-da-loo.”
They wished her good luck, and with a waggle of the fingers she was gone.
The short break was welcome enough. Hubert was on the third cigarette and the ashtray was on fire…he took a moment to grind that last one out.
“Okay. So, according to Doctor Poirier, the older male victim had died from complications related to tuberculosis. The lady had died in childbirth, and the younger male due to kidney failure, related to untreated diabetes. We have no idea of whether any of this has some great significance, or how or where the perpetrators acquired the bodies.”
LeBref held up a hand.
“This bit about some old family secret interests me. One wonders why it was even mentioned…” Whose family, as LeBref put it.
What secret? And yet, as he recalled, Maurice had vaguely alluded to such a thing, mostly in passing, and by that time he’d been about ready to fall asleep in his chair. They’d been reading LeBeaux’s notes, apparently, which put them way ahead of him.
LeBeaux’s luggage was sitting right there at the side of his desk. He bit back a groan at the sight of the duffel bag, full of fishing stuff, boots, a jacket, waders, backpacks, fuck. Hubert hadn’t been able to think of what else to do with it, but he couldn’t just leave it on the train, either. Someone had tucked the fishing rods into a back corner…all that money, and time, seemingly wasted. He supposed it was evidence of a kind.
“What if LeBeaux, in the stillness of the night, sits up and thinks, eureka! I’ve got it, and all of a sudden he knows something you don’t. Would he have acted on his own initiative…” That one was pure speculation, and they all knew it, but it also had to be considered.
“And if so, why not tell you? You’re his partner after all…”
Ah. It was time to repress a scream again.
“Guillaume said he wasn’t buying it. Maintenon’s disappearance, and I have been wondering just why he would say something like that.” Archambault.
“And then there’s this girl, and LeBeaux, and what in the hell happened there.” Firmin.
They were right, of course, all in all, it was a hell of a lot to take in all at once.
He was running out of room in his head just trying to keep track of it all.
Garnier ground on.
“Ah, one quick note here. Your film is being developed, and the lab will be sending up the prints just as soon as they dry…” He looked down at the notes again, and then, again, stabbed him right in the guts—
“Ah, also, we can’t seem to locate the actual camera anywhere in the, uh, gear, or the luggage, was it in yours? Did you or do you have some reason to hang onto it for a while yet?”
The boys down in the lab would be asking about that…those things weren’t exactly cheap.
Hubert’s jaw hung slack.
Just when you thought it was over, it was so not over.
END
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