Louis Shalako
Pelletier came
walking in. He’d just been somewhere else, but Gilles didn’t have time to wrack
his mind over just where that was.
“Ah—Édouard. Just the man I wanted to see.”
“Sir?”
“Is the car out front?
I want you to take Hermione and see if you can find Alain Garreau.”
“Yes, sir.” He looked
around.
“I think she’s just
gone to the bathroom. She knows what it’s about. It’s good experience for both
of you, and hopefully you can get back before quitting time…”
“Okay. Ah, are Firmin
and Janine having any luck?”
They’d staked out the
Boitard residence the previous evening, but the Madame had stayed home. If she
really was having some kind of a relationship with Victor, it would just be a
matter of time…and in any case, now they knew he was back in town, they could
put some thought into another city-wide bulletin.
“Not so far. Firmin is
following Genovy for the time being. Janine’s off somewhere. In a case like
this, people can forgo overtime pay by taking a few hours off during their
regular shift. Quite frankly, that’s up to her—she’s not all that familiar with
the routine around here, either.”
Firmin knew the
routine, and while not exactly known as an overtime-hog, he knew enough to take
it when he could. As for sleep, and the family life, that was his problem and
no one else’s.
Gilles unwrapped the
remains of his sandwich. Someone had been thoughtful enough to do that for
him—they really were a pretty good bunch. While the edges of the bread were
beginning to dry out, it was still good and he was still hungry.
Looking over, he could
see that Édouard was pouring out two cups of mostly-fresh coffee.
Another thoughtful one—
Which was a very good
thing, sometimes.
***
He’d given them a
two-minute briefing. Gilles picked up the phone and dialled a familiar number,
now that those two were on their way.
In an odd moment, he
was completely alone in the room, and his eyes swept the place as he waited for
the call to be answered.
Fuck.
It really was the end
of an era, and the general slovenliness of the room stood in stark contrast to
their new digs—
“Hello? Criminal
Records and Archives. Constable Bazin speaking.”
“Ah, yes, Constable.
Inspector Maintenon of the Special Homicide Unit speaking. I wonder if you
could do me a favour.”
“I would be delighted.
So, what’s up, Inspector.”
“I was wondering if we
had any kind of a map of the catacombs here in Paris. I’m also interested in
the sewer system.” Parts of which went back to Roman times, and much of which,
even now, went back to medieval times…and some of it had probably been built
yesterday.
“The other thing is, we
need them in the largest possible scale, and a street map of a similar scale…”
The other thing was,
that the sewers and catacombs, tunneling in general; had been used before in
the commission of certain types of crime—breaking into banks and museums and
the like, even an occasional wine-cellar. A man like Bazin would know that, and
see the significance without prompting…
 |
| Bazin: let's see if he's any good... |
“We don’t need maps for
the entire city.” Just the ones from the area of The Hemingway Room, and if his
hunch was right, the area of the bank.
The two places weren’t
that far away from each other, and it was on the same side of the river, which
was an important point. Sewers went to
the river, and not under it.
And.
If Bazin was to be of
help at all, or if he was to be any good at all, a bit of explanation might go
a long way.
The Boitard residence
was quite a long ways away from either of those two locations, and it was too
much of a stretch—surely one couldn’t count on going too many kilometres across
town, and all of it through the sewers. Yet he couldn’t really say for sure,
either.
Not without those maps.
Bazin might even have
some ideas on that one. Consulting his notes, Gilles reeled off the street
addresses and relevant arrondissements.
“Did you get all of
that?”
“Absolutely. I will get
right on that. It may take a little time, but not too long—” The voice faded
out and then came back again. “That would be in our reference and research
materials…”
“That’s okay,
Constable. Ah, do you think you will be able to bring that up this afternoon?
I’m kind of stuck in the office here anyways, and there is this one other small
matter I would like to discuss.”
“Give me fifteen
minutes, sir. Half an hour, and I will see what we have.” Also, they might have
some external sources, the library, the universities, the archaeology
department or even the Church, in the case of the catacombs…Bazin seemed to
have plenty of ideas and that was good.
“I can ask no more. We
shall see you then, Constable.”
“Yes, sir. I will be
there with bells on.”
As far as little
sayings went, Gilles had never heard that one before. It might have had
something to do with reindeer, or possibly belly-dancers; a kind of unfortunate
mental picture. Be that as it may—
There was an unopened
envelope on the corner of Pelletier’s desk. It was from the lab.
Ah. More soil samples,
or so it would seem. There was another envelope under that one, but he could
only do one thing at a time.
Slipping out the one
thin sheet, he settled in to read that one…
***
“Ah, Andre.”
The younger man stood just inside the door, ridding
himself of hat and jacket. The shirt was damp under the armpits and wearing a
vest and a tie and a shoulder holster didn’t help much either.
Maintenon tossed down the report.
“I’ve just made fresh coffee—I don’t know how welcome
that is, right now.” When they got the new room, they’d have a refrigerator and
they could have a few bottles of cold soda in there, milk, juice, the like.
“Uh-huh.”
He turned.
“So, what’s up? Shit. It’s like we haven’t had much of
a chance to catch up.” He looked around. “Looks like a nice, quiet day,
anyways.”
“Oh, God.”
Andre understood the wry tone. Gilles didn’t like
being cooped up any more than anyone else. And if was hotter than hell on the
sidewalk down below, it wasn’t much better up here, and this was with two
overhead fans going…
Gilles sat as Andre filled a cup and spooned in sugar.
He gave it a thorough stir, spoon clinking pleasantly in the cup.
“So, what’s up. For one thing, the soil samples from
the little herb garden behind the Boitard residence do not match the soil
samples from any of the shoes seized from the Boitard residence. Not even the
cook’s shoes. Ah, but the sample we took, right by the wall there, on top of
the so-called vault…according to the analysis, they share great similarities
with the sample from one pair of shoes in particular. Those belong to Monsieur
Boitard. And as usual, it doesn’t prove a damned thing.”
“Huh!” Andre nodded along. “The first thing the
defense will claim is that it was a frame-up, and that the foot-prints are
clearly fake anyways—taking our own conclusion and turning it right back on us.
That part is predictable enough.”
“Exactly.”
“Here’s the thing, Gilles. What kind of burglar goes
out back, grabs some dirt, goes in the kitchen, mixes up a bowl of crud, paints
that on shoes, which would have to come from either the old man’s bedroom, or
the front hall maybe…I mean, seriously, it’s just too much, and one wonders at
the mind that came up with that one.” This with Jardine’s little suite right
there.
“Ah, yes. That mind—” Gilles paused, eyes going far,
far away for a long moment. “Yes. The sort of mind that could conceive of
something like this. Interesting…”
And the eyes drifted off into infinity again, and with
a little shake of the head, Andre found his own seat and set the cup down. He
reached for the briefcase.
“…and then there’s the Hemingway Room case…”
Andre opened up his briefcase, very, very quietly. If
he knew anything about that look, The Boss was well on his way, and he was
going somewhere or other.
The big question was where.
Gilles suddenly spoke in a dreamy tone, as if still
not quite of this world.
“Why would old man Boitard, be out there tramping
around in the mud in the first place. He really doesn’t seem the type, even if
it’s his own kids playing out there.” He bit his lip and looked more alert now.
“I’m waiting for Constable Bazin…incidentally.”
“Ah. That sounds like a good idea.” Just a gentle
psychological nudge, which did work sometimes.
“Huh? Oh. Yes—” A quick grin of understanding, and
then he was off again.
 |
| Detective Andre Levain. |
***
It was a bright and shiny morning, with the dew still
glittering on the grass and weeds.
“All right, ladies and gentlemen. The time has come,
to rip this case wide open.”
A half a dozen officers, some in uniform and some not,
stood around three cars lined up in the alley behind the Boitard residence. A
cable-operated steam shovel had been brought in as well as the skilled labour
to operate it, and a couple of manual workers stood around, leaning on their
shovels waiting for the finer work.
The pair had dug down just far enough to expose the
reinforced concrete slabs across the vault, or ramp, whichever one cared to
call it. A feature of such slabs was the longitudinal holes going their length.
This allowed the workers to insert long steel rods with a ring on the outer
end. The next step was to hook heavy steel cables to the pair of rods now set
in the end. It looked like they were ready for the first lift.
But first, a word from Bazin.
“Okay. In the old
days, the ramp would have been protected by wooden doors and padlocks, with
relatively tight joints. That was mostly to keep it from flooding in heavy
rain, and I would expect there will be a drain right there at the base of the
ramp. This would be the lowest part of the entire cellar. You can see the marks
where the wooden frame was bolted to the outside wall. The doors would have
been sloped, just like many another cellar entrance, and that was to shed rain
and snow.” Bazin had done some research, and it all seemed logical enough.
“Now, we don’t believe the vault or the cellar are somehow connected to the
sewers or catacombs in any other way, but we will be inspecting them very
carefully…”
Gilles nodded,
and Bazin trailed off.
“So. According to
Alain Garreau, there were a few items in there when he went to build the wall.
An old bicycle, a broken-down wheelbarrow with a flat tire. He and Rolly did
ask, Jardine and not Boitard, whether to pull that stuff out before building
the wall. With the slabs on top, there was just no way once the wall was built.
According to Alain, Jardine shrugged it off, and since the Boitards were so
very obviously rich, they didn’t think too much about it. It was none of their
business, but they did think they should ask. So. They just went ahead and did
it. Also, Alain mentioned some old planks, leaning up against a wall, and some
debris and miscellaneous objects which appeared to be under an old canvas
tarpaulin. Again, Jardine said it was just junk and never mind it. It was too
much work and just a bunch of junk, so. Just go ahead and do the work because
Madame and the cook were complaining about mice and insects again.” Gilles
turned to the figure seated at the controls of the steam-shovel.
He gave a
thumbs-up signal, and the chugging engine went up a few revs as the man swung
the lifting hook into position and the workers got the cables through the ends
of the rods…
There was a
wrench, a kind of sucking sound as the slab broke free of the remaining earth
and lifted a few centimetres.
The machine,
going into reverse, began dragging and rotating the slab and then, when the
hole was clear, pausing while officers went to the edge of the hole. There was
the top of a concrete ramp, just as advertised. They watched as workers dragged
a baulk of timber and slid it under the end of the slab.
As soon as they
had the rods and cables clear, it would be time for the next lift and so they
all stepped back again.
“How much do you
want to bet?” Back to Jardine again, and they’d been following the same trail
of breadcrumbs all along—
Andre and
Pelletier, standing there at either shoulder, just shrugged.
“Not on your
life. I still need all my money.” Pelletier—
Andre chuckled,
but then he’d learned the hard way from Gilles. He told the young man as much…
Gilles nodded at
that one.
Poor Bazin was
eyeing Hermione’s form from behind, with unfeigned interest, but one could
hardly blame the man for that.
He had, after
all, done it himself.
END
Previous Episodes.
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| Hermione, showing admirable form. |
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