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

Hermione, of the silken hair.

Louis Shalako

Inspector Martin had been looking for Gilles, and someone up in the room had directed him down to the second floor. The pair of policewomen were down at the far end of the new room, just inside the door and with their heads down over the latest pile and the latest open box…muttering to each other in low tones.

“Hmn. I have to admit, I’m impressed.” Walking into the room, with their muddy footprints on the white carpet clearly visible, he’d taken it all in with a glance. “That’s good work, young man. Interesting.”

A blushing Édouard swelled up in spite of himself, albeit a little tongue-tied in the presence of another senior officer; and one with a reputation that was formidable indeed.

He knew who he was, of course. All that driving in the motor pool.

Roger had taken off some time before, with a glance at the watch and hardly a word, although their experiment had been convincing enough.

Martin turned to Maintenon, not without a quick nod to Garnier hovering there in the background, still with a muddy shoe in one hand.

“Well, you old dog. And it’s about time, too—” With an expansive gesture, he indicated the room, in all of its vastness. “You weren’t the first one to ask, either. I considered it myself, but we’re just so fucking busy right now…it just wasn’t on the cards.” His was a much larger group and the disruption would have been total. “I mean, if you have to think about it, really think about it, it’s probably a bad idea…”

“So. What can I do for you?” They weren’t exactly the best of friends, neither were they enemies, which did happen in the senior ranks, and the junior ranks as well. “And. It’s not like I had never thought about it. Who knows, maybe that knock on the head did me some good after all. I don’t know. It struck me that all it took was the nerve to ask.”

Martin stood there with his mouth open, and then shut it. That wasn’t exactly what he was getting at. He had meant it as a compliment. There were feuds, of course. Such feuds often went on for years, to the extent no one could properly explain why, sometimes. Memories faded, it all seemed so silly in retrospect, and yet what was done was done…and never to be forgotten. As for the remark about the knock on the head, it would have been in pretty poor taste if anyone else had said it…the fact that Gilles had said it was something just a little bit different.

However—

It was best to keep it short sometimes.

Martin proffered a file folder.

“Well, it’s just this: the Garreau kid has disappeared again.”

“Oh, really.”

“Yes, really.” Martin shrugged.

Gilles accepted the file. He wasn’t exactly overworked lately, and Pelletier for one had more questions as he recalled—good questions. Now was their chance…

Martin had turned back to the pair of younger men.

“How long did it take you to do that?”

“Oh, God. Longer than you think…and that’s without slapping fresh mud on the shoes, er, for each and every footprint.” One could clearly see them fading out, and exactly when the fresh stuff began again.

Martin nodded, thoughtfully.

“…which is what it would take, considering what we see in the photographs…”

Martin nodded again.

“So. How long do you think it would take to put those footprints down.”

Pelletier shook his head.

“Fuck. Anything up to an hour—an hour, maybe more, and in the middle of the night, with the chance of someone waking up at any time.” You wouldn’t want to get caught doing that. “And I’ll tell you something else too. Your back, your knees, are going to be hurting like hell.”

And he wasn’t exactly old or decrepit.

“Hmn. Either someone was being very, very stupid—or very, very clever.”

"I have a feeling you will go a long way in the homicide business."

“And very, very quiet…” Édouard—

All they could do was to shrug; and to think about it. As for the time-frame, all they could do was to try the experiment.

They still had plenty of carpet, and it took barely a minute to mix up a fresh bowl of muck. Jot down the time, and start in on the next strip of rug.

Martin grinned at the sight.

“All right, gentlemen. And good luck. I have a funny feeling you’re going to go a long ways in the homicide business.”

And you never really know, do you.

He stuck out a hand.

“Anyways, welcome back, old friend.”

“Thank you. Thank you very much.”

***

They’d cleaned up as best they could, and the younger men had rolled up their strips of carpet, used and unused, tying them tightly with twine, and piling that up beside where the women were working. According to Roger, the contractors were expected almost any day now, and they’d better figure out what to do with all this crap, for surely the workers didn’t need to see it, and they sure as hell wouldn’t much like working around it. Once they had found what they were looking for in the files, the rest could go back into storage.

With Garnier in charge of the camera and tripod, Pelletier had the folder, and his bowl and spoon, and Gilles had taken off first, as befitted his status, leaving them to their fate as junior men.

When they arrived at the room, Pelletier dropped the folder on Maintenon’s second desk. The bowl went beside the row of shoes along the back. Levain was expected back this morning, and he’d been using the desk because there weren’t any others. Levain was nowhere to be seen, perhaps he wasn’t in yet or maybe he’d already left, what with it being after ten. In the meantime, they’d clear one of Maintenon’s desks for him.

Garnier came clomping in next, heavily-laden and red in the face from a bit of exertion.

It really was stifling in the halls sometimes, what with no windows…this room at least had a row of upper panels that were routinely cranked open, if only just a bit in winter, but definitely all the way in summer.

“Ah, Édouard.”

“I’m sorry, sir—I have to go back down, ah, just for a minute.” He was headed for the door.

Gilles caught Garnier’s eye.

“Did he forget something? What’s he going back for?”

“Hermione, I should think.” With a quick wink at Margot, at her desk, on the phone but no doubt aware, he turned to put the camera on the desk and the tripod in the corner. “Heh-heh-heh.”

He’d pull the film in a minute, and then it was coffee time.

Hermione—Gilles nodded.

“At last. Something that makes sense—” The tone was priceless and the others broke up in laughs.

“He’ll be back in a minute, Inspector.”

“I know that. Whatever happened to Martine?”

All that bought him was a Gallic shrug from Garnier and a patient, sad little grin from Margot.

She looked up.

“There are times when it’s better not to get involved. Besides, that was last week.”

Gilles wasn’t going to argue with that one, and she was probably right anyways.

***

Garnier had gone off on one of his own cases, now that he was no longer needed.

“Has anyone seen LeBref?” Gilles had been waiting to hear from him, and now it seemed Firmin was out of the office for the day. “He’s been gone for days now.”

Still on the phone, Margot turned and gave a shake of the head. Gilles was standing at LeBref’s desk, looking for a note, a file, a report…nothing. There was a quick knock at the door and a constable entered, looked around, gave a quick salute and deposited a big brown envelope on Maintenon’s desk. She turned and the door slammed. Margot put her hand over the mouthpiece…

“I think he has court this afternoon.”

“Ah.” So there was a chance then, and maybe they’d get some kind of report on his activities after all.

Just then, Pelletier came back, looking a little flushed, and right on his heels, Andre Levain.

“Andre!” Fuck, Gilles hadn’t seen the man in months, which worked both ways, and Andre hadn’t seen the office in three weeks.

Levain was looking sleek and tanned, whereas Gilles had lost a kilo or more over the last couple of months, and they hadn’t seen each other in all that time.

They had some catching up to do.

“Shit. I forgot the shoes.” Pelletier—

“Forget it. I’ll call down and have the Constable, ah, Hermione bring them up.” Maintenon had taken their extension number down, which neither Pelletier or Garnier had thought to do.

The resulting beet-red blush on Pelletier’s face said an awful lot about something.

They were ruled by their glands at that age, as everybody knew.

Andre Levain, back after the family vacation...

***

There is deductive reasoning and then there is inductive reasoning. Deductive reasoning works from the top down, where one takes general principles and then uses those principles of logic, working one’s way down that ladder, in order to find certain specific facts—of which they had an abundance or so it would seem. It was hierarchical.

Inductive reasoning, started with facts, small facts, little facts, and worked its way up, and then attempted to define certain principles. This was taking small things and then extrapolating—to generalize. To come up with some sort of rule. It was a kind of science, trying to replicate things, or to see if they could be replicated…it was linear enough in its own way.

Maintenon had followed it so far.

Also, so far—

Neither method had gotten them anywhere.

According to Pelletier, there was also reductive reasoning. Which he hadn’t been able to find much on, and this despite a trip to the library.

Yet he was pretty sure he hadn’t invented it—

According to him, reductive reasoning involved taking everything that resembled bullshit, and then just throwing it away.

Whatever was left, might even be the truth.

Gilles didn’t quite have the heart to tell him, but he’d actually had a hand in writing that part in the manual. It was just a theory, and many a senior officer had contributed to that confounded thing.

He hadn’t been all that enamoured of it at the time, and it was a little uncomfortable, having it quoted back at him all these years later…

Still, at least he had read it.

END

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