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

What do you mean, having doubts about that vibrator...

Louis Shalako

When they got back to the room, Roger was sitting at Maintenon’s desk, looking very unhappy. Judging by the ash tray and an empty coffee cup, he’d been there a while.

On the phone, he killed it mid-sentence. He slammed it down again.

Three other detectives rose as one and headed to the bathroom, the interview room, a quick nip to see someone down the hall, anywhere but here at this exact moment, or so it seemed…

“Aren’t you guys supposed to listen to the radio when you’re in the vehicle?”

Pelletier flushed, but he’d just been following orders—and the truth was, the more senior the officers he’d been driving up until now, the more likely they were, to tell him to turn the damned thing off. That would be a direct quote, and from Roger himself, and not all that long ago according to his recollection.

This was probably not the time to bring that up—

“We’re terribly sorry, Roger. What’s up?” Maintenon found a chair by Levain’s desk, and dragged it on over.

Édouard put the hat on the rack, the briefcase on the desk. He hesitated, eyeballing the clock and the door.

“Sit down, young man. This concerns you too. You’re on this case, and I’ve gone out on one limb for you already.” Roger tapped a couple of familiar sheets on the desk, creamy white paper, they’d previously been folded and the envelope was right there. “Why did you gentlemen ignore this writ. That’s serious stuff, Gilles.”

“Because that writ will not stand up. Not for one lousy minute. That’s why.” He shrugged, settling into the chair. “I’ll put Rochfort up against just about anybody, anytime, anywhere, that’s why. Quite frankly, I’ve never even heard of this person. What court is that, anyways? Strictly bush-league. And the lawyer, this Savarin. Rochfort will eat them alive, and he hates judicial interference in other people’s cases. Savarin’s more known for corporate work, real estate transactions. Wills and annuities, insurance settlements, trusts, all very practical stuff I admit. He’s way out of his league on this one.”

“I might even agree with you, Gilles. That would be very unofficially—Édouard; and please don’t blab that all over hell’s half-hectare. The thing is, we’re supposed to wait. Wait until the effing lawyers argue it out in court—which, I also agree, would take some little time. A day or two at least. Quite frankly, I’m sure we would win. And yet we never know for sure, now, do we Gilles. Even so—”

“…even so, it would give them—somebody, an opportunity and a window of time in which to remove certain evidence.”

“What evidence, Gilles?”

“How in the hell would I know—” I’ll know it when I see it.

Édouard’s eyes followed the conversation, as well as the ears. Back and forth, back and forth. But this was hot stuff, watching them go at it. It was polite enough, but then there was this tone, more felt than heard. He’d speak when spoken to, and not before.

Maintenon uttered a long, deep sigh. He would have to explain.

“Any evidence. In my judgement, the risk of obeying the writ was far outweighed by the risk of possible removal of evidence, the contamination of evidence or the crime scene, or even the addition of items. Like a fucking vibrator and pair of red shoes, ah, just for example. Right up to this moment, I didn’t have any doubts, regarding the shoes and the vibrator. Now I do, now that I think about it…however. The fact that someone took down the seal on the door. The fact that someone made up the bed. We have no idea, of what else has taken place in that room. It’s already contaminated, in that sense. Then there’s the risk to the life, limb and property of anyone involved as long as our killer is loose and we have no idea of what comes next. That is my call. Sir.”

Not too happy right now.

Édouard held his breath…but no. He had a question. Where were the anti-acid pills just for example—someone around there would have to have some. He went with his second question.

“Gilles.”

“Yes, Édouard.”

“Why in the hell did Jardine even let us in again?” The man hadn’t even brought it up.

“Again. How in the hell would I know. But I would also like to know what he was supposed to do about it. To throw us out bodily would be asking just a little too much from a certain flunky-type, and quite frankly we could have taken him easily enough. The odds were, that he would simply play it cool and—run for the telephone at first opportunity. Which he probably did, incidentally.”

“And yet the lawyer never showed up.”

“Ah. It takes time, sometimes. He might not have been available, and the judge might not have been available, and it just doesn’t happen that quickly sometimes. And half an hour, that’s just plain luck. For your information. Especially with Rochfort. And having failed, one wonders just how far they might be willing to push it.” They could always bring it up at a criminal trial, and try and get certain evidence tossed…

Pelletier sat there with his mouth open. This, was strategy.

And.

The bad guys had their strategy too.

“So. In other words, you’re telling me it was an experiment? A fucking experiment, Gilles?”

“That’s about the size of it. Roger.”

“Well. Don’t be surprised if there’s a big stink over this, and you end up with a letter in your file over it—old friend.” There was this odd glitter to the eyes, or was Pelletier imagining it—

“Nope. Wouldn’t surprise me at all.” And with a withering smile, Maintenon took off his hat and tossed it at the hat rack.

To no one’s surprise he nailed it.

He turned to Édouard.

“Early in an officer’s career, a letter in the file can hold a good man back. Depending what’s in it, it can derail a promising career entirely. It’s not a demotion, neither is it any real bar to promotion, assuming there is real merit—and real potential. Once a little time goes by. They don’t even dock your pay. However, at my age, I’m not exactly bucking for promotion, and a letter in a file in no way affects pension benefits, whether taken at sixty-five or the somewhat reduced benefits of early retirement…”

Roger snorted at that one.

“Son of a bitch.”

Pelletier laughed, he just couldn’t help it. Even Roger grinned, and Maintenon nodded in acknowledgement.

“…and, if you really want to succeed in the homicide business, young man, you will just have to learn how to take a bit of abuse…”

“See Édouard? This is what I am up against.” And yet Roger remained philosophical—

Gilles was right though.

It was all just part of a bureaucratic system.

***

“Speaking of warrants.”

It was coming up on four-thirty, and Gilles was more than ready to go home.

“Sure. Why not?” He clambered up out of his chair, trying not to make too many old-man noises…

“I’m just going down to two-oh-seven for a minute. You’ve got about ten minutes to write that thing, and we can drop it off on the way.”

This was about when the other detectives sort of began to drift their way back into the room, and it was about time to do some catching up.

Merde.

The door snapped open and here was Firmin. Gilles had barely gotten started with him, and next it was Archambault. They’d quickly established that Archambault had court again in the morning, but he’d try and hammer out something quick if Gilles would authorize the overtime…he’d leave that on the desk for him on the way out the door.

One could hardly blame the man for that, and under the circumstances, one could hardly blame the Boss-man for authorizing it. Also, a teaching opportunity with Pelletier right there, all eyes and ears, and imagination. That and the bare minimum of experience.

There was nothing crueler than the clock, as Maintenon’s plan for an early day had clearly gone out the window, and with Pelletier tapping away at his own stuff, patiently enough, insofar as he had the car keys and Gilles must go home at some point.

As if all that wasn’t enough—and now there were a bunch of them pounding out their reports, last but by no means least, fucking LeBref came sauntering in, with a package under his arm and at that point, the whole damned room came to a stop.

They stared.

“Er, Joseph.”

“Yes, Gilles?”

Maintenon uttered another long, deep sigh.

“Why are you dressed like a priest?”

The little man grinned from ear to ear.

“…it’s funny you should ask, and, I guess it’s kind of a long story…” He turned and winked at the other end of the room. “Well! I suppose I’ve got a minute…and I promise not to bore you good people to death.”

Argh.

***

The morning papers are not good...

It was a sober Édouard when he picked up Gilles on the street next morning.

“That’s unbelievable.”

“What, Joseph?”

“Yes. That too—” He had a thought. “That wasn’t a prank, and you guys weren’t just putting me on?”

“No. Huh.”

“Huh.”

“So. What do you mean, then.” Gilles wasn’t exactly cranky, just oddly tired for first thing in the morning, and the funny thing was, he’d slept like a log.

Or was it a dog—

“Well, no. Ah. It’s just all this political stuff. It’s all bullshit, and downright sickening. It’s very dispiriting, to see the whole world…selling out like that. How much do you want to bet.”

“Ah.” Czechoslovakia.

“…and now the Germans will get their Sudetenland, all the western fortifications. Anyone that thinks they’re buying peace in our time is fucking delusional…” They’d grab another three or four million rabid nationalists, if not outright Nazis, and a good chunk of the industries.

They’d grab mines and forests and rivers and agricultural populations…all that lovely topsoil.

“Fucking idiots. They will buy themselves a few more months, and nothing more…I give it less than a year. The Germans will walk in anytime they feel like it, and then they’ve got the whole thing.”

And Czechoslovakia was an industrial country, well-known for their armaments in particular.

He looked over.

“That’s not good, Gilles.”

“No. No, Édouard. That’s not good.”

The young sergeant had the radio turned on, down rather low, just a little buzz and chatter in the background. The bored tones of cynical routine pretty much said it all.

Thoughtfully, Gilles reached over and turned it off…

“What are they going to do, slap a letter in your file?”

Maintenon grunted at that one, and Pelletier decided to shut up for a while.

The drive to work was fairly quiet after that.

END

Previous Episodes.