Read Online Murder Without Pity by Steve Haberman - Free Book Online Page A

‘Joxe,’ Henri?” the policeman asked. “Not ‘Victor’? Not even after three years? You do keep a grudge and over a little disagreement. I never realized you were that fond of Arabs.” He revolved his flashlight in circles over the curtain. The beams hit the right side paneling. “Who’s in back? Some Bulgarian cow? Or does your taste run to North African meat? You naughty boy. You should be home snuggling up to pretty Yvette.”
    “Bored?” Henri said, still looking ahead. “Haven’t clubbed anyone lately?”
    “Carrying out orders: Inspect every suspicious vehicle. Such as this one.” He fixed the beam on the dashboard like an accusation. “You listen to rap? Who’s the group?” He broke out into a singsong voice. “‘Putrid race, la-la. You sons of bitches, la-la. You SS-cops. Kill. Kill. Kill. La-la-la.’ Or something like that.” He struck Leclair’s face with the light. “Henri, we’ve lost our way. From Voltaire and Hugo to, let me guess, Public Assassins? Or is it Cop Killer? What’s happened to our once great motherland?”
    “Go back to Toulon,” Henri said, staring now at Joxe. “You’ll have lots of company there.”
    “It’s no longer just in the south of France. The Politics of Order are gaining everywhere in Europe.”
    “You must be drunk, Joxe.”
    “Henri, wake up. See what’s happening. Graffiti everywhere. Arabs everywhere. Our Seine’s become a toilette. The Marais’s turned into a huge gay bathhouse. Those Israelites multiplying like rats. Gypsy gang shootouts in churches. My advice: Get on board while you can.”
    Stanislas strained forward to risk a peek, to see if Joxe wore the ALPHA 1 armband, to match a face with the voice that made him sweat. But Joxe had stepped back. Stanislas struggled against his pounding heart and the horns to detect the direction of the policeman’s walk…around back to fling open the rear doors?
    A light lanced through a tinted side window. The beam died. Joxe continued around to the rear.
    The inside door handle rattled suddenly in violent fits, left, right, left. “Yoo-hoo,” Stanislas heard Joxe call out. “Mademoiselle-of-the-night.” The cop had somehow picked up his presence in the van, he feared. “Or is it Mademoiselles-of-the-night? Yoo-hoo.” How would he explain his presence? How explain the tape? They could risk punishment and destroy it, he realized. Or blow his investigation’s secrecy. Left, right….
    “We can go?” Henri shouted.
    The handle jerked left.
    “There aren’t any cars ahead of us.” Henri pounded the horn with his fist, and Stanislas saw him try to wave the policemen aside with several frantic sweeps of his hand. “Joxe, you’ve had your fun,” the officer shouted.
    Joxe slammed his riot club against the rear door. Then he returned to the driver’s side. “For the time being we’ll lift the barriers, Henri. Old friend, think about what I said. Believe me, you and Yvette don’t want a son-in-law named Ahmed.” He moved back, and Stanislas could see him through the blurry windshield, laughing amid the reddish smoke, motion his men to step aside.
    Henri jammed on the gas. The engine roared above the honks. The Renault lurched ahead through the reddish pall.
    Stanislas warned him to slow down. Though they had passed that checkpoint, other police roved, and he couldn’t let Henri’s bitterness put them at risk. He told him to dodge around the side streets for awhile.
    “He was best man at my wedding,” Henri said, preoccupied.
    There was no irony in the officer’s voice. Only sadness from his own personal war. Stanislas patted his shoulder in sympathy and left him with his thoughts. He eased on the headphones and with a press of a recorder’s button heard the tape again.
    “…want about our food. At least our police are more civilized .”
    “ I didn’t signal from a phone booth that night to chat about your problems, Lenny . I called because I must know if you rang me at my