Maintenon: The Dead Man's Touch, Inspector Gilles Maintenon Mystery #11. Chapter Sixteen. Louis Shalako.

The old man is home and he is not pleased...

Louis Shalako

When they finally returned to the room, it was like bloody Christmas in there.

Because of the location of the door, roughly a quarter of the way down the wall, and because Maintenon was the Boss, he’d taken the smaller side of the room, not even half, and also with being in charge, he had two desks, and spinning on the chair, a smaller desk behind him just for typing. There was another row of stuff, filing cabinets, lined up along that wall, going right into the corner. An interior wall, there were no windows, which had also been a factor in the original layout. This is where any number of files and folders were piled up, inside and on top, mostly dead but some still pending or at least with a shred of hope. What this also meant, was that the coatrack was in his end, and there were six desks in the other end, and then the little shelf, built over yet more filing cabinets. They’d left a little corner for the tele-printer set-up and then there was their little coffee nook, cramped and awkward. It was a bit like a classroom and he was the teacher. Again, their back wall had no windows, which were to Maintenon’s right and their left. Up here just under the eaves of the venerable old building, they got everything from rain to snow, bits of leaves and good old pollution, pollen and bugs even, coming in those windows, and one had to wonder just if they would miss the coming and going, the coos of the doves and pigeons that roosted there. There was a hung jury on that one—some were for and some were against. Fresh air wasn’t all that fresh sometimes either.

Roger’s people had finally brought everything up from his office, drawings and samples and catalogues, and he had no doubt been glad enough to clear all that out of there. Only problem was, this room had been small enough to begin with, and now there were heaps of stuff, mostly piled here and there at Maintenon’s side of the room. There simply hadn’t been anywhere else to put it, and naturally enough, the others being curious enough, they’d been pawing through it in the meantime, just having a look as it were.

Some of the drawings had been unrolled, corners held down with a stapler, a pair of scissors, a box of paper clips, whatever had come to hand. All of that was on his desk too.

Why in the hell anyone would be looking at the electrical diagrams was a very good question. They were detectives after all—

There was also another heavy package, on the corner of his desk, and when he opened that one up, it was his trusty MAB Model D and his personal Beretta. His special hat—an English chirper type, in a rough brown tweed, a couple of spare clips and some other odds and ends of evidence from the Dead Reckoning case down in Bagneres de Luchon. His eyebrows rose. Rather heavy and an oddity of some sorts, there was also the rock someone had hit him over the head with, complete with bloodstain. All nicely tagged and labeled. Someone had been very thoughtful, and that might make a nice paperweight—a little macabre, but it would definitely be a conversation piece. One hell of a souvenir, and he had been on vacation after all.

When he retired, they could put that in a museum and show it to the tourists.

As for the weapons, one would be going in the drawer, and the other one would be going home with him. That and the hat, another souvenir from an old case, that one dating back many years. It had happened in England…1927 or so he recalled, and where in the hell did the time go, anyways.

“Gilles! You did it. You really did it.” Margot, enraptured by the possibilities.

She’d been looking at the paint chips, and was wondering if Gilles would go for the golden eucalyptus for her office, number 11034 in the catalogue. That and the mahogany baseboards and window trim, and the creamy yellow carpet. She had a few ideas for the lighting as well.

“Er, yes.” His arm swung, drawing attention to all of this. “Can we put all of this shit in one of the interview rooms, please—”

“I’ll do it, sir.” Pelletier—of course.

“No. Not while your brain is still fresh. You have reports to write.” He raised a hand as blank expression after blank expression sort of froze upon him. “For fuck’s sakes, I’ll do it myself.”

Sensing the mood, Pelletier put his head down and began pulling exhibits from a couple of fresh cardboard boxes they’d brought with them, just in case.

The Boss was awful cranky all of a sudden, but it had been a long day, up and down all of those stairs. He’d only been back on the job for three days after a long layoff.

And then there was that concussion…

There were a few quick glances, back and forth between them, and then the rest went back to what they were doing.

Margot: I've got a few ideas for the decor and the lighting.

***

Interview Room One was closed due to a persistent leak in the roof, one that seemed incapable of repair judging by the number of attempts. This involved roof hatches, and ladders, big boots and loud clomping around, and people going up there with tar, and brushes, and bits of sheet metal, buckets of glue and big sheets of black rubber.

Rooms two and three were presently occupied, Archambault and a suspect, and an officer from across the hall if the low rumble of the voice was any indication. As to the suspect, one must assume there was one, but that was somebody else’s problem and so be it.

Interview Four would have to do, hell, the extra walking might even do him some good, although all the damned stairs at the Boitard residence were even now sort of speaking to the joints, the hips and the knees in particular. The first thing to do, was to shove that desk right into the corner, and line up a couple chairs beside it. Considering all the fucking stuff back there, this might take a few trips…but the truth was, he was going to need a desk now, wasn’t he.

Going back for another armful, Pelletier was hammering away at the keys, and there were the two evidence boxes at the side of the desk. He was still using Levain’s at least until Monday…

Predictably enough, there were questions and answers, and by the time he was done, another twenty minutes had gone by, and it was time for a coffee at the very least.

Also rather predictably, as he had begun to expect, Pelletier had more ideas; and if that was all they had, they might as well try one or two of them out. Right about then the phone on Maintenon’s desk, now more or less visible, began its persistent ring.

It was LeBref.

“Gilles.”

“Yes, go ahead.”

“Who’s there?”

“Just me, Pelletier—Margot and Garnier. Why, what’s up.”

“Okay. Don’t put me on the speaker, that’s all. Look, it’s just how you said. I waited five minutes and then let myself in. They were all in the kitchen and they all stayed in the kitchen. It was Jardine who called the lawyer, Gilles—not the Monsieur or the Madame. Whether that was by instruction or purely on his own initiative, I don’t know. He seemed to know what he was doing. He hung up and went back to the kitchen and the talk sort of died down for a while and then got quite a bit louder. I knew the lawyer would show up one way or another. I was only going to get so much time. While I was there, they all stayed in the kitchen, okay. So nothing much there. Anyhow, I got the hell out of there, and hung out for a while down the street.”

“Okay.”

“Jardine was the first and only one that left. He went striding down the street and found a cab on the next block. Hopefully Firmin could keep up with him. I was on foot, he had to run back for the car. I haven’t heard anything back yet. Anyhow, the old man is home now, and I reckon he knows all about it by now…”

“Okay. I got you. You might as well stay there until the end of your shift and we’ll see you tomorrow—we’ll see what happens.”

“Roger that, good buddy. See you tomorrow.”

Gilles put down the phone and looked at the clock.

Hmn.

There was still time left in the day. Idly, he opened up one more envelope. Bits of paper. Pelletier’s assignment, and their possession of the vehicle had now been made official.

It didn’t get much better than this, which was kind of sad when you thought about it.