 |
| Firmin, followed him to the confessional. |
Louis Shalako
“Any word from the boys?” Firmin and LeBref, still
not back at work, and no calls either.
No messages on the desk, and this was the morning
after so to speak.
“Er, not so far, Gilles.”
Gilles had gone to the washroom. He’d gone down the
hall and around the corner to talk to another inspector, Martin, regarding one
of the cases belonging to LeBref. By the time he’d gotten back a policewoman
from Criminal Records was just leaving. Armed with a copy of their list or
lists, the constable had deposited another handful of file-folders onto his
desk and Édouard was already
reading the first one.
“Which one is that?”
He looked up.
“One of our alleged victims in the restaurant case. Joachim. Kramer. Born in a village in East Prussia,
twenty-six years old…minor brushes with the law, originally in Germany, but a
couple in France as well. Nothing really startling, petty theft and
shop-lifting. One was just plain vagrancy, that was in Germany. It doesn’t pay
to be labelled a criminal type over there these days and he probably knew that
much. Then there’s military service. He may, or may not, be a non-believer.
That might explain his presence in France. Anyhow, he paid a fine, did his
thirty days, reported to his probie
officer as directed. One of the conditions was that he seek gainful and lawful
employment—or get the hell out of the country.” He shrugged. “It’s like Fritz
said. At least he had a job, and this after what looks like a fairly long
period of unemployment, going by the application form. Which does have a gap or
two, including his little stint of incarceration…”
As for the employment history, not much to talk about.
He was young, he had basic schooling and no specialized skills. An old and
familiar story, pure working class, or maybe he couldn’t stand life on the
family farm either.
Maintenon grunted, dropped into his seat and picked up
a folder of his own. He sighed, deeply. He’d run away from the family farm
himself. That was before the War.
“Ah, what the hell. We’ll have a quick gander and then
we’ll get the hell out of here for a while.”
“Which reminds me. I want to see if that Lalonde
character is in here.”
You couldn’t really argue with that now, could you—
***
They were so close to getting out the door. Hats and
jackets, briefcases, notebooks and pens. They’d left a note for the others
even, and then Firmin walked in the door.
Both Maintenon and Pelletier looked at the clock,
looked at each other…ah, what the hell
as the Inspector had said. Sighing, they took off their hats and put the
briefcases down for the moment.
“All right.” Firmin. “The first place he went was to
confession.”
“Monsieur Jardine.”
 |
| Jardine: confession and some new underwear. |
“Yes. I made sure—I went into the church and he
definitely went into the booth. He was in a dark grey, pin-striped suit,
something a little unusual in that crowd. I just caught the back end of him,
but it was him all right. The priest was in there because I heard the rumble of
voices. I couldn’t make anything out, but then that is the purpose of the
booth. There were a few other folks there in the pews, either waiting their
turn or doing their prayers of contrition.” This had been in a smaller church,
not Notre Dame, and less than ten blocks from the maison. “What was
interesting, was that the cab waited for him. He obviously had other places to
go. All you have to do is put a little money down up front, they will leave the
meter running, but they will wait.”
“Okay.”
“Anyhow, as soon as he got out, I stood up and headed
for the booth. He’s never seen me before, right, Édouard?” The point there was to act natural. “Anyhow, no one
else said a word and he basically just kept going for the door. I reckon—you
might check your notes, but I reckon Thursdays might be his afternoon off.”
Truth was, they would
have to ask, as that sort of thing definitely hadn’t been in the case notes.
“Due to the location, I
could hang back a bit—it’s a small church on a long street, and I was parked
fairly close. I actually opened the door to the booth, just in case he looked
back, but I don’t think he did. Then I nipped out, grabbed my own vehicle, and
the block was fairly long. I managed to catch up again all right…the first
fucking light was red, but the cab also got stuck at a red, one block up. I
guess we got lucky on that one.”
“Okay. Go on.”
“Right.” He pulled a
notebook but hardly needed it. “He went to a clothing store, where he bought a
couple of fresh shirts, and six pairs of underwear.”
“All right. Definitely
sounds like the afternoon off.” Pelletier—
“And then—” There was
this tone.
“And then?” The pair
exchanged a glance.
It was like they were
speaking as one now…
“And then, he stopped
in for a little visit with his old friends over at the Croix de Feu party
headquarters.”
Ah.
The Croix de Feu.
Hmn.
Interesting.
 |
| Maintenon: interesting. |
“That doesn’t
necessarily make him a fascist, Inspector.” Pelletier didn’t sound all that
convinced himself, but he was right.
“No, it doesn’t. How
long was he in there?”
“About sixteen,
seventeen minutes.” Firmin had the times in and out down in his notes.
This is what notebooks
are for, the tone seemed to imply.
He gave Gilles a happy
little grin.
“But no, I tend to
agree. He wasn’t just dropping off a quick note or something…it’s also a bit
short if it was purely a social call. A man can impart a fair amount of
information in that kind of time…”
Pelletier nodded at
that—
“Old man Boitard. What
if he was a sympathizer? In his position, he might be a little shy about being
seen there. Yet Jardine, just another working slob, admittedly in a fairly good
position what with being a butler—to a banker. He could come and go as he
pleased…at least, until someone took an interest.” Us, for example—
Now it was their turn,
Gilles and Firmin, to exchange long and thoughtful glances.
“What if he was
dropping off an envelope full of money or something…” Which would be tax
deductible, and also totally confidential in terms of the law. “It takes all
kinds to make a political movement, and such things have to be funded.”
The Croix de Feu was a
modern manifestation, uniquely French, of an ideology that was not exactly new,
nationalistic, anti-communist, anti-socialist, and not without their anti-Semitic
elements. The young man had been reading the papers, obviously, but then so had
they all. And the whole damned lot of them hated the more moderate,
sort-of-liberal, mostly-Catholic,
political parties. Which was one way of describing their current government.
Firmin clapped him on
the arm and turned to the coffee pot.
“…when are you guys
going to get out of my hair…” He turned. “If LeBref shows up, I will tell him
you were asking.”
Gilles reached for his
hat.
They could talk about
it later.
END
Previous Episodes.
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Thank you for reading.
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