For Inspector Pascal - an embezzlement investigation or something more chilling? Inspector Pascal Mysteries 4000 # 4 Cold-Blooded by T.K. Naliaka ©2017-2023 Classic-style, murder-mystery detective adventure fiction in only 4000 words for all ages! Inspector Pascal Mysteries 4000
# 4 Cold-Blooded by T.K. Naliaka ©2017-2023 The bright blue sky had shifted to a drearier grey. Two men, a big, broad-shouldered uniformed police officer accompanying a dark-suited brown-haired, hazel-eyed man beside him; taller than he appeared compared to the sturdy policeman, hiked single-file along a narrow footpath. Once well-tended with stone walls flanking the path, grass and lanky weeds grew through most of what was left of its gravel underneath. About one hundred meters from the main house the path opened to a large, turn-of-the-century Victorian-age, iron-framed glassed atrium that anchored the west side of what appeared to be a hectare-sized garden nestled inside the agricultural commercial operation that produced corn and hops for the estate brewery. Despite the size of the building it was surprisingly easy to overlook. Dug into a rockier depression reinforced by an old stacked-stone perimeter wall, a stand of evergreen pine trees and overgrown hedges shielded the structure from the views at the main house and tall weeds veiled its foundation. It sat silently as they approached a small, wrought-iron bridge that arched over a canal of still, stagnant water to a center island. A startled trio of ducks scurried from them, flapping and splashing into the water to paddle frantically to the opposite side. The men crossed over the channel, then on to halt at the top of the gravelly rise to consider the design of the long-fallow garden. From where they stood, they could easily see that the earth excavated out of the moat had been heaped to form the middle rise on which they were standing, a long, keyhole-shaped channel connected to the old atrium, via an iron sluice gate. It must have been quite charming in its early days, but under that clouding sky, it sat gloomily in neglected isolation apart from the actively-farmed fields around it. The early spring chill breeze rustled dried stalks of tall grasses and cottontail reeds edging both banks of the channel, hinting that in the warm months of summer most of the canal was well-obscured by greenery. After silently considering all of it, the uniformed policeman asked. “What are you thinking, sir?” The other frowned slightly before he replied. “There didn’t seem much to doubt. The accountant vanished one month ago. The family business here is short a substantial sum of money. The strong inference that he is living well in a nice, non-extraditable country has highly influenced the investigation, but the accountant’s family has insisted that he was as honest as the day is long.” “Families tend to believe the best of their own.” “Yes, they do, Sergeant Braque, and the information collected in the case file hasn’t really helped me develop a sense that favored the accountant’s family’s assertions over the incriminating juxtaposition of facts that he’s gone and the money’s gone.” He tapped his notepad pensively against his palm, then he folded his arms. “So, I decided I needed more information about the two entities – the accountant and the estate. The accountant’s history is indeed quite respectable.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I’m not as convinced about the Killeen family history.” Braque glanced at him, “How so?” “Well, eighty years ago, it faced bankruptcy after the accountant disappeared, along with a substantial sum of money. Fortunately, founder Killeen was able to renegotiate his debts, and was able to recover.” “Eighty years ago! Is there anyone alive today who was here then, too?” He shook his head, “No. Great-grandfather Killeen died years ago. Grandfather Killeen died years ago.” “All right, what else?” He drew in a deep breath, then let it out. “Sixty-four years ago, the estate faced bankruptcy when the bank officer responsible for the account disappeared along with a substantial sum of money. Fortunately, with the bank’s assistance, the Killeens, father and son, were able to renegotiate their debts with their creditors, and were able to recover.” Braque raised an eyebrow. “That’s two cases of the same crime against the same two owners.” He shook his head, “Not two… three cases of the same crime.” “More?” “Yes. Twenty years ago, the…” Braque interjected, “… estate almost went bankrupt when the…” “… brewery manager disappeared along with a substantial sum of money.” Braque nodded. “I see what you mean… what about their debts?” “Fortunately, insurance covered most of them, so they were able to recover.” “Who was in charge at the time?” “The grandson Killeen… unfortunately he died five years ago. The current patriarch of the Killeen family business is youngest great-grandson, thirty-one-year-old Timonium Killeen, who inherited it just last year after the unfortunate and untimely death of his older brother who died of a case of sepsis, contracted apparently after cutting his foot while wading in a rather dirty body of water somewhere.” Braque glanced distastefully down at the stagnant water in the channel around them. “Sir, none of this is improbable.” “That’s right. It’s not necessarily suspicious. Perhaps the issue is that the family line doesn’t possess the gene that knows how to pick honest accountants.” Braque chuckled, then he asked. “Sir, you spoke with everyone here last week. What brings you back here today?” He chewed his lip for a moment, then he continued. “It doesn’t sit well with me; disappeared persons. In a small town, a place like this could get a reputation, so I wanted to see what sort it has.” “So that’s why you were interviewing this week at the old folks home!” He nodded, then sighed. “It’s too bad they put the elders away like that, they’ve seen a lot and are happy to tell it to anyone who’ll listen.” “What did they say?” “The great-grandfather was considered odd and a bit mysterious. He arrived with a substantial sum of cash, bought this land, planted hops and maize and started the brewery. He built up the business and employed people. He kept to himself, brought in a wife and apprenticed their son in the business, and that son did the same for his son. They’ve all stayed coolly aloof from the community, but that’s nothing that stands out as unusual.” He frowned. “In a hundred years of operations, this is the fourth case of embezzlement by an employee who vanished. There’s a high turnover with a lot of seasonal laborers. They have numerous John Smiths on the rosters, so we’ll never know who they really were or to where they went. If a man could work, he got paid with no questions asked. The first embezzlement, by a local fellow - never seen again - seeded a bitter animosity between his family and founder Killeen. Killeen stopped hiring locals. It’s split; some townspeople blame that family, others the Killeens for ruining the employment opportunities for them.” “Sir, Inspector Markham had this entire estate searched with dogs and infrared, including that building. They even drained the pond inside. There was nothing. There was no trace or scent anywhere on this property of the accountant, except where he worked in his office.” They heard a shout. Timonium, in a tweed blazer, green khaki pants and rubber field boots waved as he approached, “Inspector Pascal! I didn’t know you had come back today!” He trotted over the bridge to them. “Is there something I can help you with?” Pascal gestured to the building. “I’m curious as to the purpose of this.” “Ah! The building was slated for demolition, so my great-grandfather bought it for practically nothing, had it dismantled, transported here and reassembled. He thought he would open a zoological park. Unfortunately, three bad winters and a tax penalty on his brewery operation after his accountant embezzled funds and absconded forced him to abandon his dream. He kept most of his animals as long as he could – my grandfather inherited them.” Pascal raised an eyebrow, “What sorts of animals?” “Mostly exotic tropical birds… some reptiles - iguanas, large snakes… a few large tortoises, carp.” Timonium smiled. “The longevity of those animals is quite amazing. It’s a multigenerational gift. The birds were easy enough to keep, but even so the avian collection my father inherited was about a quarter of what it once was. My cousins enjoyed the animals, but I was the only one who liked to take care of them. I’ve wanted to re-establish the collection, the way my great-grandfather envisioned it. It was a magical place here when I was a young lad.” Timonium laughed. “Imagine this little mound here in the center as your hilltop pirate holdout. A couple of real crocs circling the adventure definitely added to the thrill.” He snapped his fingers. The skittish ducks suddenly lost their timidity and splashed back into the water towards him. Timonium tossed a few pieces of bread from his pocket and they excitedly jostled each other to snap them up. Pascal cleared his throat. “Your parents certainly had much confidence in their children’s agilities to allow you to play with predators waiting for anyone to tumble into the ditch.” Timonium rolled his eyes dismissively and chuckled. “Our imaginations were much bigger than the crocodiles. Great-Grandfather got them free from collectors who had no use for them anymore. The first one was eaten by his prized blue heron. He lost more than a couple from seagulls – they’re really quite aggressive birds. And of course the rest of them never survived winter, despite my great-grandfather’s and my grandfather’s best efforts. They were good for a summer, then he would have to start afresh the next spring looking for replacements. The heating bills became a burden the business couldn’t afford.” Pascal considered him gravely for a moment, “I see.” Timonium asked. “You want to go inside? I have the key.” “Yes, I would.” They followed Timonium back over the small bridge to walk around to the door next to the sluice gates. Timonium turned the key in the lock, pushed the door open and held it to let them pass inside. As the door closed behind them, Sgt. Braque spoke up. “Is that an electric lock?” Pascal turned around to consider the green light on a small black box mounted next to the door. Timonium nodded, “Yes! I’m in the process of installing a security system. It hasn’t happened yet, but all we need is one drunken trespassing youngster to drown in the pond. You know how the law is these days. We’ll be ruined, even though it wasn’t our fault.” Inside, a large, water-filled pond in the center of the building was surrounded by a sandy edge built to appear somewhat natural, wide in some places, narrow in others with scattered unkempt stands of weedy grasses. To their right, a wide sandy slope rose from the edge of the pond to form a curved overlook about three meters higher than the level ground around the pond. Set back about four meters from the pond, a stone retaining wall supporting the slope had been built to resemble a natural embankment. Timonium paced slowly across the packed sand along the pond’s edge. “It took a week to refill all this after Inspector Markham drained it.” Timonium curled his lip. “I’d be lying if I said it was no problem, but it’s back to what it was, so I really shouldn’t complain.” Braque paused at the base of the slope where he could monitor the entire area. Pascal suddenly hiked up the sandy slope after Timonium. “What’s that?” Timonium turned around to look as Pascal crouched and reached out. The air was cool, but Pascal was surprised when he pushed his fingers through the loose sand. “It’s warm!” Pascal stood up with a large egg held out in the palm of his hand. Timonium nodded. “Yes! As I mentioned, I want to restore my great-grandfather’s dream. I obtained some turtle eggs recently so I’m hatching them out.” Braque frowned and called to Pascal. “That looks a bit large to be a turtle egg.” Pascal glanced around dubiously. “This all seems a bit elaborate for turtles.” Timonium looked up at the iron framing overhead. “It’s not large for birds. They need the space.” Pascal pulled out a small penlight from his pocket and shone it through the egg. He crouched and brushed the sand away from eight more. After a moment he flicked the light off. “If you paid for these, you should demand a refund. They’re not fertilized. They’ll never hatch.” Timonium came over, took an egg, peered at it, then threw it irritably to smash against the rocks. “I will! I despise a cheat and a liar.” Pascal watched disbelievingly. “How did you not know? Even if they were viable eggs, where do you find the money to pay to heat all this instead of using an incubator, especially with your company’s current financial problems?” Timonium’s genial demeanor vanished. He countered coldly. “I know you’ve been asking a lot of prying questions in town.” Pascal replied firmly. “I am looking for the truth.” Timonium snarled. “You’ve made a big mistake, Inspector! This business isn’t your business!” Pascal shot back. “Is that how you dealt with your accountant?” Timonium’s stare was as hard as ice. “I’ve given you plenty of chances to leave.” Pascal quickly un-holstered his pistol, “Don’t move!” Timonium shrugged dismissively, “It’s too late.” Pascal called, “Sergeant!” Timonium glanced coolly down at Braque. “Did you know that crocodiles’ senses are so highly-developed that they can hear your heartbeat and feel every footstep you make? You never suspect that you’re being stalked.” With dread, Pascal looked down at Braque and then further beyond Braque to focus on the still, dark pool. Pascal called. “Sergeant Braque, I think you need to move.” Before Braque could take two steps, Pascal saw it; the pool stillness had changed, subtle yet ominous. The light reflecting off the surface seemed to warp. Timonium suddenly snapped his fingers. Pascal called urgently, “GO!” Braque already had his pistol drawn, but suddenly like a dragon bursting out of its lair; it rocketed out of the depths of the pool. Braque shot three times into the pale gaping fleshy open mouth headed for him. The wave of water sloshing in front of it crashed against him. He lost his footing and went down as the beast snapped its meter-long jaws, just missing catching him. Braque scrambled aside, but with another powerful sweep of its tail, the beast propelled itself higher after him and its teeth clamped like an iron trap on Braque’s left ankle. It pushed itself backwards, easily pulling Braque with it. Horrified at the scene just below him, with the bulk of the monster already half-submerged, quickly dragging Braque to the water with it, Pascal slid and scrambled down the stone outcropping, then flung himself onto the hard leathery head of the crocodile. He jammed his pistol muzzle into the left eye socket of the animal and fired, emptying his entire clip into its skull. Stunned by the explosions inside its head, the crocodile’s jaws loosened reflexively just a little. Braque yanked his foot free. Pascal crashed deep underwater as the crocodile jerked its head spasmodically side to side, smashing it blindly against the concrete lip of the pond. Crawling desperately up through the gloomy murk, Pascal’s head broke the surface into the air, but a claw from one of the crocodile’s flailing feet snagged his suit jacket and he was yanked underwater again. Frantically, he shucked his coat. Freed, he kicked and swam for the lighter water overhead. His head broke through the surface again and he swam away desperately through the churning water seeking the formed concrete edge of the pond. Pascal had one elbow crooked over the edge when strong hands seized him and hauled him up and out, dragging him roughly across the ground away from the pond as his heavily sodden clothes sluiced a trail of water after him. Still blinking pond water from his eyes Pascal rolled over and saw in front of him Braque on his hands and knees still pulling at him, “Sergeant Braque!” Braque shook his head and grimaced as he held his bloody leg. “My ankle is broken!” Pascal glanced back disbelievingly. The pond was a churning caldron of foaming brown scum as the crocodile thrashed. “I shot it in the head!” Braque shouted, “Who knows? It’s a reptile! It might survive, it might be dead already! It could take a day to stop moving!” Pascal got up quickly, pulled Braque’s left arm around his shoulders and helped him hop awkwardly towards the entry. Both of them fell to their knees. Pascal looked up to see Timonium still on the sandy rise by the egg nest, staring down at them with his mouth twisting from disbelief to anger. Timonium glared back at him then raised his hand with a small black remote pointed at him. Pascal twisted around to see behind them the glowing green orb light of the entry door lock change to red. Furious, Pascal reflexively reached for his holster, but his pistol had been knocked out of his grip when the crocodile dumped him into the pool. He spotted Braque’s pistol on the ground near the edge of the pond. Pascal pushed himself up and dashed to it. Timonium, realizing what Pascal was after, climbed down the stone ledge to cut him off. Timonium got to it first, but Pascal plowed into Timonium and sent him sprawling across the sand. “Look out!” Pascal heard Braque’s warning shout and leaped up, only to have his feet swept out from under him by the crocodile’s thrashing tail. He landed hard on his back, but quickly scrambled to get out of the range of the crazily convulsing beast. Timonium had also jumped out of the way, but the two saw it at the same time - Braque’s pistol still where it had fallen. Both men headed for it and then drew back as the writhing crocodile half-rolled over the pond edge, flooding water everywhere. Timonium grabbed a heavy rock cracked loose by the crocodile from the stone retaining ledge. Braque gasped as he saw Pascal hesitate, then dive for the pistol. Timonium heaved the rock up, but before he could throw it, Pascal fired. Hit in the left thigh, Timonium dropped the stone as his leg buckled. Pascal threw himself back as the crocodile completely surged over the concrete lip, bellowing and snapping its jaws, unable to control its arching body, roaring and biting at the air, then rolling and thrashing, throwing sand in all directions. Pascal was almost stunned at the size and mass of it – a heavy-skinned dark monster about four meters in length, a ton of power with webbed feet nearly twice the span of his hands, its leathery-armored tail alone weighing more than Pascal did. There was a horrible screech as Timonium was pinned under the rolling beast, then gored as one clawed webbed foot gouged into him a second before he was crushed under the bulk of the twisting body of the croc. A moment later the animal upended back into the pond, dragging Timonium with it. The pond water still frothed like a boiling pot as the crocodile rolled and rolled in it. Appalled, they stared at it, then they finally looked grimly at each other. Pascal asked bleakly. “Were you able to call?” Braque shook his head soberly. “I tried, but the water ruined my radio.” Pascal nodded, sickened and resigned. “Let’s get out.” Both bruised and wet with sand sticking to their clothes, Pascal helped Braque to his feet, and then with Braque’s arm around his shoulders, helped him hop gingerly to the entry and set him down on the sand to sit. Pascal reached for door handle, but was overcome by a rush of nausea and quickly turned aside to vomit. “Sir! Are you all right?” Pascal wiped his face with an unsteady hand. “I must have swallowed some of that water.” He reached out and turned the handle, but the door wouldn’t budge. He glanced back at the pond, but the key and remote were gone with Timonium somewhere deep below the still-rolling crocodile. Nauseous, Pascal slumped and swore with frustration, but Braque held up an extra full magazine for his pistol. “Sir, it’s a glass house! We don’t need a door! We can make one!” Pascal stared queasily at the magazine, then at the gun in his hand, then through the clear glazed panels. He took the offered magazine sheepishly, “Of course.” “Inspector Pascal… are you able to receive Inspector Markham?” He opened his eyes to focus on the uniformed police officer waiting for him at the door and finally nodded. “Yes.” A minute later, Markham came in. “I am very relieved to see that you’re much better. We were very worried. That pond water you swallowed was horribly contaminated.” “Not drank willingly.” Pascal sighed, woozy from medication. “How is Sergeant Braque?” “The surgery went very well, and the antibiotics have kept him from developing sepsis.” Markham sat down in the chair by the hospital bed. “I brought you the results of the autopsy.” Pascal’s curiosity revived. “What did they find?” “There were human remains and part of a belt and a shoe in the crocodile. There wasn’t much left, but there was enough to identify that they’re all from the missing accountant.” “That poor man; I know what his last moments were.” Pascal shuddered. “So, could it be that they framed the employees who discovered what their real financial situation was, to cover their operating losses?” Markham nodded, “It seems so - the family secret business plan; their cold-blooded strategy to stay solvent.” He sighed. “I am so sorry, Pascal. I don’t know how we managed to miss a twelve-foot-long, one-ton crocodile.” Pascal shook his head. “They burrow into the dirt banks of the rivers to hibernate. It wasn’t in the pond when you drained it, but under everyone’s feet in that sand bank. It lay invisible to infrared at room temperature, which at the time you did your search was about fifty degrees. Timonium simply turned the ground and water heat back on after you left, so it returned to the pond after he’d refilled it.” “Warm it up to kill people, then cool it off to provoke it to hibernate to hide it! Diabolical! The family heirloom! Who knows how many people they killed with it! The experts estimated the age of that thing was over ninety years old.” “Ninety!” Pascal was amazed. “And laying sterile eggs?” Markham nodded. “After we excavated the sand bank, we found a partial skeleton of another. The zoologists examined it and reported that it was a male - dead for about two decades. They thought it was likely that the female ate part of it.” “Great-grandfather, grandfather and father Killeen had been breeding them?” “Probably... until the male died,” Markham leaned back thoughtfully, then he gravely considered Pascal. “It’s the end of the line for the murdering Killeens and their man-eating croc. Timonium was the last of that odious family tree.” Markham shuddered, “Good riddance!” An hour later, there was a small knock at the door. His right arm was crooked over his face so Pascal opened his eyes and lowered his arm to look, “Robby?” A young boy slipped inside the room and climbed up on the chair to ask him breathlessly. “Was my Dad really almost eaten by a crocodile?” Pascal’s eyebrows went up. “Did your father tell you that?” “But no one at school believes me! They said there are no crocodiles around here!” “I can visit your school and inform your classmates that I saw it myself.” “Would you?” “Of course!” “How did my Dad get away?” Pascal smiled. “Ah, well… he was a bit tough and didn’t taste very good so the crocodile spit him out.” Robby’s eyes went wide, then he laughed. There was a knock. The door opened. A large, broad-shouldered man on crutches looked in then called out, “I found him!” Braque frowned, “Sir! Is he bothering you?” Robby grinned. Pascal chuckled, “No, not at all.” by T.K. Naliaka ©2017-2023 all rights reserved.
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January 2019
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When it looks like an awesome daydream, but it's real! for all ages
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