 |
| Roger Langeron. |
Louis Shalako
Stuck in the
room, which was hotter than hell today, Gilles, Hermione and a couple of other
detectives had opted to have sandwiches sent up from a popular delicatessen a
few blocks away. Known to the proprietor, and also known to pool in for the
tip, it had been delivered within minutes by a cheerful young man who had
another bag for someone else in the building.
He had a mouth
full of corned beef and mustard when Roger, not looking too pleased, came in
and confronted them all with a certain look. He turned.
“Gilles. We need
to talk—privately.”
Margot and
Archambault were on their phones, looking up with eyebrows raised and expectant
looks on their faces. Hermione was reading reports, keeping her mouth shut and
her head down—but this was the biggest boss of all.
“Why don’t we go
down and look at the new room.”
“Sure. Maybe we
can find a quiet corner.”
Maintenon took
one more bite, chewed and swallowed. He downed the remains of his coffee.
Wiping his mouth with a paper napkin, he stood and followed him out of the
room.
Down in
two-oh-seven, there were workers, some rolling paint, and some were cutting
mahogany trim for rooms that were more or less complete. There were doors in
the frames, even carpet on the floor in the private offices. The tiles in the common
areas were mostly laid, although the outer perimeter, where there was much
measuring and cutting, still showed bare concrete and no baseboards as of yet.
Without locks in the doors, all they could do was to pull the door closed and
stand by the window of what would eventually be Maintenon’s own office.
Compared to what they were used to, the carpet seemed awfully nice and he
wondered how long that would last. There was a rectangular area where the desk
would go, that was teak so that he could roll around in his leather executive
type chair…which he’d only seen pictures of so far. Terribly modern, even Roger
didn’t have one of those. There were wires hanging out of boxes in the walls,
dangling from the ceiling, and no lights yet either. The workers were using
lights on poles and one or two live outlets on the hallway wall. As for the
colour, golden eucalyptus had turned out to be a warm and pleasant shade of pale
green.
“It’s better if
no one hears this.”
“And what’s that,
Roger?”
Roger stepped out
the door again, checking to see if there were workers in the offices on either
side of his. With the suspended ceiling nothing but an empty grid, it would
have been all too easy to overhear them…
“Well. For one
thing, I was a little shocked to hear that LeBref has been posing as a priest.
Taking confession, even. Jesus, Christ, Gilles—that has to stop, and I mean,
like right now.”
“Very well. I
will let him know, just as soon as he gets back.”
“Fuck, Gilles.
Just imagine what would happen if the fucking Church found out about that—or
the Pope himself, calling the fucking Minister of Justice. The whole damned lot
of us would be sacked. And rightly so, even if I do say so myself.”
“Then we must
ensure that doesn’t happen.” A bald statement and not very welcome right now.
“All right, all
right. The only problem, is that the news is somehow all over the building.”
“Then deny it. It
was a test of the emergency gossip system and they all should be ashamed of
themselves for repeating obvious nonsense. Joseph is at the courthouse. Sooner
or later, he will be in the car, and then we’ll be able to get him on the
radio. Which brings up an important point.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes. It strikes
me that we really ought to have our own radio set-up, right here in this room,
and a couple of dedicated frequencies, also all the other frequencies…” It
should be as simple as possible and any member of the Unit should be trained to
operate it.
“Uh.”
Gilles could see
him thinking about it.
“…and that way,
the more sensitive stuff wouldn’t have to go through central dispatch…we should
be able to call our own people, on our own radios. All the cars will have them,
after all.”
“Yeah, yeah, I
hear you—” He stood there, hands behind his back, seemingly fascinated by the
wall and windows across the alley. “What that would cost, I just don’t
know—although I do see your point.”
“Are you going to
take disciplinary action?”
“No, Gilles. You
are.” LeBref hadn’t even asked for clearance, taking the responsibility all on
himself.
Of course Gilles
would have denied him permission, which was no excuse in Roger’s opinion.
“Okay. I’ll tell
you what—I’ll have a little talk with Joseph.” And maybe even put a letter in
his file. “He wasn’t getting much out of Jardine anyways.”
Roger grinned
sourly at that one, but it seemed their time was up here.
First, there was
a light thud on the other side of the wall to their left, and at least one
worker was in the next room. Then there were voices, and that made at least two
over there.
Second, there was
a light rap on their own door and Hermione poked her head in.
“One of our boys
is on the run—as soon as he got bail, he went to the bank and then headed
straight for the Gare de Lyon, where he bought a ticket for Nice, which is only
about thirty kilometres from the Italian border. As for Nice itself, it seems
an odd choice for a hideout, bearing in mind his menial occupation and the low
wages—”
Maintenon was
holding up a hand, stopping her in her rush to report.
 |
| Constable Hermione, in a rush to report. |
“Which one?
Genovy?” Genovy was an Italian name, and perhaps he had good reason to head for
home and a kind of imagined safety.
“No. Duquesne.”
And LeBref had instructions to follow him anywhere he went.
Roger didn’t
appear to have made that connection, and if Gilles wanted to tell him, that was
his choice…
“And what about
Genovy?”
“According to
Detective Firmin, he went straight home, and then, after a change of clothing
and possibly a shave and shower, he headed to the nearest employment agency.”
“Hah. I can’t say
as I blame him for that—one wonders if it’s really sincere, or maybe he’s just
following instructions…”
“But why?” Roger
had a point.
“I don’t know.
But that shift, that kitchen full of people, they were up to something…” The
only real question was what. “There’s a lot more than some practical joke going
on there.”
The fact the police had no bodies, didn’t prove a damned thing either way.
Roger nodded
at that.
Hermione was
still standing there, but Roger and Gilles were just about through.
Gilles looked at
her inquiringly.
“Yes?”
“I don’t know,
sir. It’s just that I’ve been thinking about that vault.” She swallowed, being
slightly nervous of her position, which had not been formalized as yet.
She would believe
it when she saw it in writing, and not a moment before.
“Also, there’s
nothing in the reports about the originating officers, or you and Pelletier
even, sort of going through the attic. I mean, the Boitard place has had only
the most cursory search, right, sir?” More for show than anything else…
Roger’s mouth
opened and he turned to Gilles.
“What’s this about
a vault? What vault?”
***
Gilles had given
Hermione a brief nod and she had departed the room.
There was plenty
for Gilles and Roger to talk about, most of which wasn’t nearly as sensitive as
the priest bit—
“And where are
Margot and Pelletier today?”
“Scouring the
town, hoping to grab a couple more of the second-shift people at the
restaurant.”
They would put
them through the wringer, as he said, and hold them for as long as possible.
This would put even more pressure on Faubert, Fritz and crew. They might even
snap and do something stupid—like Duquesne, running for the hills as it seemed,
once he’d been hit with a few charges. And if he got caught, there would be no
bail for him the second time, in that sense, perhaps Genovy was just a little
more experienced. He’d also been a little more cooperative with the
interviewers. Maybe he really didn’t know anything—although the odds seemed
rather long on that. Finding himself another job, somewhere else, might be just
another form of tactics.
“Okay. And you
say you want Constables Lacorse and, er, Hermione—”
“Yes. And there’s
plenty more.”
Roger sighed.
“There always is,
isn’t there.”
“Yes, Roger.” The
tone was meek and mild, and Roger gave a kind of snort.
“So. What
else—while you have me here.”
“Cars, for one thing.”
“Ah. We have, in
fact ordered a whole shit-load of new vehicles, and you will be allocated six
vehicles…”
“Well, thank you.
Er, how long is that expected to take?’
“It’s a pretty
big order, Gilles. It could take anything up to a month or six weeks until
their first tranche is delivered.” For an order of a hundred cars at a time,
they would occupy the line for quite some time, before going back to regular
passenger vehicles.
In the meantime,
they were on the production schedule and would come up in due time; and as soon
as this order was completed, they would do another one. With an estimated
life-expectancy of three to five years, orders were staggered throughout the
year. It was better if they didn’t all crap out at once.
“Shit. That’s
what I thought.”
“I’m sorry,
Gilles. Just the facts of life. But you will have your cars, and no bullshit
about it. In the meantime, I’ll have a talk with Sergeant Simard, and he won’t
give you any trouble.”
“Simard has
always been good to us, for which we are very grateful. There’s just one more
thing.”
“Of course there
is—only one, Gilles?”
“Yes. I want the
young fellow down in the catacombs—Criminal Records and Archives.” He pulled a
slip of paper from his pocket. “Ah—Constable Bazin.”
Roger uttered a
long, sad moan. He blew air out through loose lips, sounding like a horse
blowing after a long run.
“He’s got a very
good brain, or so I am told. His potential is completely wasted down there.”
“I’ll have you
know, Gilles, that many a case has been solved with the help of Criminal
Records and Archives…”
He trailed off,
having made Maintenon’s point for him. He sighed, seeing the logic of it.
“Ah, what the
hell. Why not. And the ladies as well. We’ll find replacements somewhere.”
“Thank you,
Roger.”
“Are you going to
look into that vault?”
 |
| Gilles: herding cats again... |
“Yes, Roger. When
the time is exactly right—” Not a very good answer, but it was all he had.
“First, I want to talk to the Garreau kid.”
“Hmn.”
After Roger had
taken off, Gilles had taken a little wander through their new room, just having
a look at what would soon be theirs.
He was thinking
of putting up a big chalkboard, where people could mark themselves in or out,
with a column for the case name and number, a location, a car number, a radio
frequency maybe, and things like that. It should be visible from the reception
desk, at the very least. With separate offices, people would no longer be able
to tell with a quick glance just who was there and who was not.
Herding cats again—
The other thing
was catacombs—for some reason, the word had stuck in his mind.
The significance
escaped him, and he had some kind of a headache building as well.
Oh, well. It
would come to him in time.
Other than that,
his bottle of aspirin was upstairs, and it would be wise to nip down and see if
Constable Bazin even wanted the job—
He probably
would, but one never knew.
Merde.
END
Previous Episodes.
No comments:
Post a Comment