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Authors: Louis Shalako
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really interesting has come in so far today.” Tailler
looked at his desk phone, but nothing happened at that exact
moment.
He had a
funny feeling that would go on for some time.
At least
he had a moment to think.
Bodies turned up every day in the city. The trouble was that
none of the other ones really matched the description. One way or
another, they had all pretty much been accounted for. Hundreds of
people died every day in Paris. For the most part, the doctor
signed a perfectly legitimate death certificate. The next of kin
called the funeral director, and the priest of their choice, and
other than the grieving, other than the fact that a loved one had
passed, no one really thought much about it—the process, the
implications. A body, even an unclaimed one, had meaning in spite of some
nihilistic speculations that were a sign of the times and little
more.
A few
files were still open.
A boy
who had drowned three days before, (as of yet unclaimed), a dead
hooker in an alley, beaten about the head and neck and facial
areas, a wino who had apparently had heart or liver failure, and
that was about it.
Somebody
out there knew something. No person existed in a complete
vacuum.
If there
was a body out there, the odds of it turning up seemed very slim.
The whole fact that the perpetrator had dragged it off after Gilles
discovered it, spoke of a plan. Their killer probably had a very
good plan, for the disposal of said body. He was beginning to think
that Gilles had interrupted the transportation of the body—not the
killing, not the disposal itself. A public park was chancy at best,
and not for any real length of time. You just couldn’t get it deep
enough, quick enough, without leaving traces of your work. And then
what? Walk home, whistling in the dark, with a shovel in one hand
and a rug rolled up over your shoulder. Two perpetrators presented
even more problems. Whatever the motive was, it had to be enough to
compel two people to act. They had to act in a premeditated
manner.
“ I’m just sort of thinking out loud here, sir.”
Gilles
almost appeared to be sleeping, but his hand flicked the ash from
his cigar in the general direction of his ashtray.
His eyes
opened and his feet dropped to the floor.
“ Hmn. We have, or have had, once upon
a time, a dead man. And two missing-person
reports. What appears to be a bigamist. It is enough to go forwards
on. Right? That is for sure.”
He
blinked and took in some air preparatory to rising, and then he was
up.
“ Very well, gentlemen. Carry on. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
Taking the now much lighter briefcase and his hat, leaving the coat
behind to dry on company time, Gilles had had enough for one
day.
He’d
always hated putting on a wet hat.
Chapter Nine
He could
hear her talking to the cat in there as he fiddled with the key.
The lock was getting old and worn and he really should have that
looked at.
Madame
Lefebvre had been back for a couple of days and yet events had
ensured that they kept missing each other. Gilles had been leaving
at some ungodly hour in the mornings and she came in for days only.
Her day began at eight-thirty and ended at six.
They’d
missed each other in the evenings as well.
The
smell coming from the oven as he stepped out of the hallway and
into the kitchen was something else.
“ Hello, Madame Lefebvre.”
“ Hello.” Her bright and bristling countenance turned to greet
her employer.
He could
never quite figure her out, but he thought she might still be in
her late forties. A study in domestic efficiency, and he was
grateful to have her.
Thump.
A lumpy,
fur-covered body had dropped off a chair and that was the sound of
four paws hitting the floor under the table.
“ Ah. There it is.”
Madame
Lefebvre smiled indulgently, as she puttered by the sink and the
counter.
Sylvestre came over and tried to trip him up in the usual
fashion. Gilles gave a gentle nudge with the foot but it never did
any good. Not
looked at his desk phone, but nothing happened at that exact
moment.
He had a
funny feeling that would go on for some time.
At least
he had a moment to think.
Bodies turned up every day in the city. The trouble was that
none of the other ones really matched the description. One way or
another, they had all pretty much been accounted for. Hundreds of
people died every day in Paris. For the most part, the doctor
signed a perfectly legitimate death certificate. The next of kin
called the funeral director, and the priest of their choice, and
other than the grieving, other than the fact that a loved one had
passed, no one really thought much about it—the process, the
implications. A body, even an unclaimed one, had meaning in spite of some
nihilistic speculations that were a sign of the times and little
more.
A few
files were still open.
A boy
who had drowned three days before, (as of yet unclaimed), a dead
hooker in an alley, beaten about the head and neck and facial
areas, a wino who had apparently had heart or liver failure, and
that was about it.
Somebody
out there knew something. No person existed in a complete
vacuum.
If there
was a body out there, the odds of it turning up seemed very slim.
The whole fact that the perpetrator had dragged it off after Gilles
discovered it, spoke of a plan. Their killer probably had a very
good plan, for the disposal of said body. He was beginning to think
that Gilles had interrupted the transportation of the body—not the
killing, not the disposal itself. A public park was chancy at best,
and not for any real length of time. You just couldn’t get it deep
enough, quick enough, without leaving traces of your work. And then
what? Walk home, whistling in the dark, with a shovel in one hand
and a rug rolled up over your shoulder. Two perpetrators presented
even more problems. Whatever the motive was, it had to be enough to
compel two people to act. They had to act in a premeditated
manner.
“ I’m just sort of thinking out loud here, sir.”
Gilles
almost appeared to be sleeping, but his hand flicked the ash from
his cigar in the general direction of his ashtray.
His eyes
opened and his feet dropped to the floor.
“ Hmn. We have, or have had, once upon
a time, a dead man. And two missing-person
reports. What appears to be a bigamist. It is enough to go forwards
on. Right? That is for sure.”
He
blinked and took in some air preparatory to rising, and then he was
up.
“ Very well, gentlemen. Carry on. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
Taking the now much lighter briefcase and his hat, leaving the coat
behind to dry on company time, Gilles had had enough for one
day.
He’d
always hated putting on a wet hat.
Chapter Nine
He could
hear her talking to the cat in there as he fiddled with the key.
The lock was getting old and worn and he really should have that
looked at.
Madame
Lefebvre had been back for a couple of days and yet events had
ensured that they kept missing each other. Gilles had been leaving
at some ungodly hour in the mornings and she came in for days only.
Her day began at eight-thirty and ended at six.
They’d
missed each other in the evenings as well.
The
smell coming from the oven as he stepped out of the hallway and
into the kitchen was something else.
“ Hello, Madame Lefebvre.”
“ Hello.” Her bright and bristling countenance turned to greet
her employer.
He could
never quite figure her out, but he thought she might still be in
her late forties. A study in domestic efficiency, and he was
grateful to have her.
Thump.
A lumpy,
fur-covered body had dropped off a chair and that was the sound of
four paws hitting the floor under the table.
“ Ah. There it is.”
Madame
Lefebvre smiled indulgently, as she puttered by the sink and the
counter.
Sylvestre came over and tried to trip him up in the usual
fashion. Gilles gave a gentle nudge with the foot but it never did
any good. Not
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