Can initiative be a suspect quality in a homicide investigator? INSPECTOR PASCAL MYSTERIES 4000 #6 Suspended by T.K. Naliaka ©2019-2021 Inspector Pascal Mysteries 4000 #6 Suspended
by T.K. Naliaka ©2019-2021 “Inspector Pascal, a comprehensive review of the case* (#5 Under Pressure) raises many concerns that you acted irresponsibly and in negligent disregard for the lives of the police officers and civilians present with you.” Lean, dark-haired and hazel-eyed, dressed not in his usual suit, but in a brown tweed blazer over dark chino pants, with a brown plaid cashmere scarf draped loosely around his neck, Pascal regarded the four-person Internal Affairs Inquiry Board seated at a long table across the conference room, disbelievingly. “… negligence... disregard? The man was about to kill us... all. We apprehended him. How there is a problem?” The Board chairman, Royal persisted. “It is not clear that you had exhausted all the less dangerous options.” Pascal considered him steadily. “There was no other option. I created one. I did not know that it would work. But it did. Point final.” “Sir!” “The panel of four board members looked at the grey-haired man in a navy suit sitting at the end of the table. “Inspector Durant, you have had your time to reply to questioning.” Durant spoke up angrily. “No! I want it on the record that I protest this! Radcliff ambushed his company partner, with the intent to murder him and panicked when he discovered police in attendance! He had a semi-automatic rifle aimed at all of us and was about to open fire. It was impossible to be able to draw our weapons in time to save ourselves!” Pascal persisted. “Radcliff wasn’t mentally able to surrender at first. He was still focused on his plan and escaping without witnesses. I could not press him too quickly. He had to be worn down first.” “Every one of the persons in that building had to be treated at the hospital for gas inhalation.” Pascal’s eyebrows went up as he turned to the heavy-set woman at the end of the table. “And I wasn’t?” She pressed on, looking down through her reading glasses. “We have statements from the other police officers and Dr. Gladstone that you told Radcliff that you expected your deaths to be made into a film.” She peered over the top of her glasses to stare incredulously at him, “A film?” Pascal tapped his fingers irritably on the table. “Why is it necessary to explain the obvious? It was to convince the man who was holding us all at gunpoint that I possessed the mindset to be capable of the act. That was the only thing stopping him – his inability to judge with confidence what I would or wouldn’t do. Every moment more he hesitated, his fate was increasingly tied to ours.” Royal slapped the file he was holding to the table. “No! Pascal leaned forward. “It was the perfect crime! How long would it have taken investigators after we were all massacred to discover that man Radcliff as a suspect? It’s not his real name. He discovered Gladstone, encouraged him to confide in him, then schemed to take his work. Even though now we know exactly what to look for, there’s almost nothing to find! He would have lived very well off the sale of Gladstone’s formula, presenting it as his own! If we couldn’t survive, at least we could make sure Radcliff failed, never again be able to harm anyone else.” The four members of the oversight board stared at Pascal. “But rather than open the gas valves, why didn’t you use your weapon? According to this diagram, your position was the furthest in the room from him.” Pascal retorted. “Why? It’s evident by that same diagram that the others were in my line of fire. I had the best chance of surviving, shielded by all the others, but if I had tried to shoot, at best there would have been dead and wounded. How is it better if he was killed or apprehended later, but only after killing so many? To me, that is not acceptable!” Royal blurted. “You can’t just turn gas on inside a building!” Pascal shook his head. “When one is facing certain death, risky options appear as lifesavers to embrace, not hazards to avoid. Our job is to bring dangerous murderers to justice. Every encounter, every investigation is different. Anything can happen! It is not possible to have zero risk. I did not corrupt my authority or responsibility in any measure.” Royal closed the file. “Perhaps this time you were just lucky.” Pascal returned Royal’s gaze, then glanced at the other members of the board. They shuffled their papers, but it was clear that the decision had already been made. Royal announced. “The Board considered that you have already been warned as taking too many risks in your performance evaluation.* Our recommendation is three months suspension, pending a review to determine whether you should continue with the department.” Pascal’s face darkened, but he said nothing. Durant jumped to his feet. “I protest!” “Inspector Durant, your performance is also under review. All the officers in attendance testified that Inspector Pascal ignored all of your orders.” “I understood what he was doing! I played along!” Durant glared at them as he sat down. “This is unfair!” Pascal spoke up. “When does this suspension be effective?” Royal didn’t meet his gaze, “Immediately. If you sign that you acknowledge the decision of the Board, the suspension can be revised to two months at half pay.” Royal passed a paper to the officer in attendance who then set it in front of Pascal together with a pen. Royal stood up. “This Board review is adjourned. Inspector Pascal, if you want time to read the full decision, you can return the signed acknowledgement tomorrow.” Pascal glanced at the document, then sat back looking expressionlessly down at the table as the Board members got up and filed out, leaving him alone with Durant. After the door closed, Durant leaned towards him. “Pascal, you don’t have to decide or sign anything right now. You can also appeal this.” Durant shook his head, still angry. “I don’t how we got out of that encounter alive, but what you did, worked. Whether it was luck or something else, I don’t know. But I was always told, lucky generals are better to keep than unlucky ones. I’ve worked with you enough to know that I can trust you.* No matter how this turns out, that won’t change.” Pascal finally nodded. “I understand. Thank you.” Almost to the elevators, two uniformed police officers trotted down the long corridor to catch up with him, “Sir! Sir!” Pascal stopped and turned around. He recognized them as part of Durant’s team, officers Pen and Bannon. “Sir, we want you to know that there was no complaint from us, from any of us. They’re all new to the Board, they’re just trying to tell all the investigators who’s boss of them.” Pascal looked at their outstretched hands offered to him. He finally shook one then the other. “I appreciate what you say.” They saluted him, “Good day, sir!” Fifteen minutes later a big, broad-shouldered uniformed police sergeant stormed into the quartermaster’s office. “Officer Leonard! Have you seen Inspector Pascal? He’s not answering my calls.” He shrugged. “He was suspended and was ordered to return what was issued to him.” The big man glared. “I’m not hearing you!” Corrected, Leonard flushed. He stood up, “Sergeant Braque... sir. He turned in what was issued to him and left.” Braque stared at him until he saluted. Braque strode out, growling. “Now it’s clear!” Stepping outside into the fresh air of the mid-afternoon, Pascal discovered that the warm morning sunshine had been replaced by cool grey cloudy overcast. He turned up the lapels of his tweed jacket against the growing chill as he looked up and down the street, a dreary and greyer expanse of concrete dotted with planted ornamental cherry saplings which had been pretty with pink flowers in the spring and lush with green canopies during the summer. As he considered the scene, they seemed emaciated with their fallen leaves on the ground around them and with just thin, leaf-less branches reaching to the sky. Pascal slipped his scarf from his shoulders, doubled it and looped it around his neck for protection against the drafts, then felt in his pocket for his car keys. It was becoming too uncomfortable to waste his time standing any longer on the exposed wide rise of cement steps to the police department, his overcoat and personal phone were in his car. The board inquiry had gone on two hours past lunch and he was hungry. Most of the restaurants nearby were usually to capacity with police and investigators, so he stuck a cigarette in his mouth and began descending the stairs to quit the place. At the sidewalk, before he could take another step to walk towards the car park, an insistent voice calling out caught his attention. “Commissioner Clarke! Commissioner Clarke!” Pascal looked over to watch a group of reporters with cameras and microphones trotting to intercept a solid, square-built balding man in a dark grey overcoat striding around the corner with two aides and two plainclothes officers striding to keep pace with him, headed for the police department. Forced to stop by the onslaught of reporters and unable to roll his eyes in annoyance because he was being filmed from four angles, he composed himself to listen to the most persistent and loudest question. Since his path was blocked, Pascal waited for the group to finish and continue on. He found his lighter, cupped his hands and was about to light his cigarette when he paused. Between him and the approaching group, a pair of men shuffled slightly and stomped a bit to keep warm as they conversed between themselves, yet from Pascal’s position he could tell that they were less talking than watching. At first glance, they had appeared to be waiting for a taxi, but Pascal saw that when one pulled up, they turned their backs to it, so it drove away. Pascal glanced at the big station building behind him, with a few police and visitors walking up the entry stairs, then at the Commissioner, then at the two men. There were about eight reporters, enough to keep the Commissioner’s close protection busy, making sure the reporters didn’t press too close, so the plainclothes policemen weren’t able to see anything beyond them. Pascal’s hazel eyes narrowed. The scrum around the Commissioner moved forward a few more feet, the man being sturdy enough to move the group along before he decided to stop to answer another question. The two men Pascal was observing casually shifted positions, the taller one turning his back to the group so his shorter, stockier companion could light his cigarette while continuing to surreptitiously watch over his shoulder. Pascal took out his cigarette and lowered his lighter to return it to his pocket. He swore under his breath as his hand reflexively rested for a moment over the place on his belt where he kept his pistol holstered, but it and the holster, his work phone and his badge were sitting in a drawer in the storeroom, under lock and key. The only thing he could pull out was the paper receipt for them. He frowned, considering the problem of lost seconds trying to push his way into a crowd of reporters to confront a group of people who didn’t know him and without his badge he had no quick means to convince them to listen to him. If the two suspiciously loitering men did intend to attack, he’d have simply put himself in harm’s way. Without his pistol, he couldn’t just circle around from behind the two men and order them to the pavement, even that at the serious risk of being initially mistaken by the police as the threat... and there were a lot of people who could be hurt or killed if any shooting were to start. Pascal hunched his shoulders, tugged to lift the collar of his jacket higher, discreetly roughed his hair, stuck his unlit cigarette back in his mouth and then walked down the sidewalk with his arms folded tightly to keep warm. Passing the two men, he paused and looked back at them. “Eh, mec. Donne-moi ton briquet?” The two men glanced at him, not understanding and wary, but when they saw him reach out his unlit cigarette to them, the one smoking fished out his lighter and flicked on the flame. Pascal leaned over and after a couple of draws until his cigarette glowed red, he leaned back appreciatively. “Merci.” He shuffled a bit to show that his feet were getting cold and took a step to move on, then puzzled at sight of the group of reporters with cameras approaching them, asked the two men. “C’est qui? They exchanged guarded glances. The thinner man growled. “What did you say?” Pascal searched around for the words. “L’homme... man? Cinema...? Movie star?” The thinner man snorted as the other muttered. “Yeah, he’ll be starring in the news tonight.” Pascal clicked his tongue and curled his lip with annoyance as it became plain he was going to have to not only wait for the group to pass, but move aside to make way for them. He glanced to see if anything was behind him, then stepped back to stand beside the pair at the curb to smoke and watch the slow-moving gaggle. He gave to no one in particular his opinion of the inconvenience, “Idiots.” They glanced at each other. Pascal pushed his hand into his pocket and pulled out the folded official receipt for his pistol to illustrate his comment, “Ticket.” As he irritably pushed it back into his pocket, he pointed with his chin and flicked the ash off his cigarette towards the police station, “Idiots.” He’d achieved eliciting a grunt of shared disgust from both of them. Pascal could sense the two were tense, but with his obvious foreign origins and complaint of petty treatment, he’d slightly eased their suspicions and in a small, credible way validated their attitude, so they weren’t so tense to feel a need to move away or be put off what they intended to do, as he considered what he might do. By the way the stockier, shorter one had lit his partner’s cigarette, Pascal had noted that he was right-handed, and by the way the taller one lit Pascal’s cigarette, Pascal knew he was left-handed. He hugged his arms tighter and puffed a grey haze as he glanced towards the Commissioner to monitor his progress. It all happened at once. The commissioner had exhausted his patience with the reporters and marched forward; out of the vestibule doors of the main entrance of the police department stormed one very large, uniformed and angry police sergeant closely tailed by two other uniformed policemen trying to speak with him. Halfway down the steps, unexpectedly spotting just the person he was searching for, Sergeant Braque called, “SIR!” Startled, Pascal’s gaze went from focusing on the Commissioner over to see Braque with Pen and Bannon. With dread, he heard the loud gasps of the two men beside him as they took in the sight of the trio of uniformed policemen advancing towards them. They both hurriedly reached inside their jackets. Seeing all of this abruptly converging as their hands emerged with guns in them, Pascal quickly flicked his cigarette into the face of the man closest to him. As the man swore, ducking and batting away from his eyes the stinging hot ash and burning embers from the glowing fag, Pascal grabbed for the man’s gun hand, seizing his right wrist, swung his arm around the man’s neck, yanked him around, pivoting on one foot as he kicked out hard with the heel of his other, hitting the back of the other man’s elbow like a pile driver. The taller man’s arm jerked out spasmodically. There was a BOOM and a tschak! as the camera of one of the reporters, held high overhead in his hands was shattered into pieces. With screams and cries of fright, the reporters scattered for cover. A revolver flew out the man’s grip to land with a thud and heavy clattering bounce at the feet of the Commissioner. Surprised, he and his entourage looked down at the weapon, then up. Braque yelled as a dozen police reached for their guns. “Nobody shoot! That’s an order!” Off-balance, Pascal and the stockier man together crashed to the ground with the man desperately writhing to pry himself out of Pascal’s headlock, while frantically trying to free his gun hand. Losing his grip on it, Pascal desperately chopped down hard on the man’s arm when he glimpsed it swinging up. The police and passersby all dove for the ground at the second BANG, but the bullet hit the base of the trunk of one of the trees with a small burst of bark and wood splinters just ten feet from them. The taller man, with his weapon being picked off the pavement by the Commissioner himself, scrambled to grab for his partner’s handgun. He cursed furiously and hammered his fist against Pascal’s back, as Pascal leveraged himself over the other man to pin that one’s arm so the weight of both of them was on top of the gun. Realizing police were closing in on him from all directions, the man shoved his self away to bolt, and ran two steps only to collide head-first into a human wall. Sergeant Braque slammed him to the ground, reached down, seized him and bodily threw him to the other police officers converging on them. Straining to keep the man pinned, Pascal felt his feet suddenly losing traction, completely losing contact with the ground as the man abruptly pulled him hard, leveraging to flip him. Tires screeched and a dozen horns blared as drivers swerved and braked when Pen and Bannon charged into the street with their whistles blasting and their hands up to stop traffic as the two struggling men tumbled off the curb and into the street. Pascal sprawled hard on his back across the pavement as the furiously cursing man threw him over. Pascal rolled over to look up into the barrel of the gun, but Braque jumped to stomp his foot on the man’s arm, pinning his hand to the pavement, smashed his fists on the man’s head, then yanked the weapon out of the stunned man’s grip. After a long frozen moment, before comprehending it was finished, Pascal climbed awkwardly to his feet as he watched the still resisting man be dragged away by at least five uniformed police. Feeling dazed from being thrown so hard, Pascal turned away and followed unsteadily along the curb to distance his self from the growing crowd, re-wrapping his disheveled scarf to hide his face from the view of the bystanders and people rushing past. He folded his arms to tuck his scraped hands under them to keep them warm as he headed slowly to the car park to retrieve his vehicle. The morning sun shone warm and brightly through the east windows. There was a knock, a call, then the click-tack of a key in the lock, and the door opened. “Good morning, sir! Here’s coffee, that bread that you like, some butter, fruit and today’s newspaper.” Lying on the sofa with a blanket pulled over him, Pascal, still in his clothes from the previous day, opened his eyes and lowered the ice pack he was holding to his swollen right cheek to peer with surprise at the tray being set next to him. “I don’t recall giving you a key.” Braque countered. “I don’t recall either. Next time, don’t walk off. I wasted two hours yesterday looking for you until I found your car was back here.” He sat up stiffly, slid his legs over to set his feet on the carpet and leaned over appreciatively for the cup of steaming coffee. “Merci, Sergeant.” “You’re welcome, sir.” Braque picked up the folded newspaper and handed it to Pascal. “Take a look at page four?” Hungry, having had nothing to eat since breakfast the day before, Pascal broke off a large chunk of the bread, buttered, then chewed it, then took another sip of the hot coffee, before setting the cup down to take the paper. He unfolded and opened it slightly awkwardly with what he’d hoped was only a sprained left wrist that he’d wrapped to his fingertips, glanced at the headline, then thumbed through until the fourth page and opened it wide to look at the articles. Braque pointed to the small report. “Italian tourist foils robbery attempt near Police Headquarters.” Braque grimaced, “Italian tourist?... Robbery?” Pascal shrugged, setting the paper aside to eat the rest of the bread and butter. “I told the reporters that.” “You did? Why?” “To leave me alone.” “I see.” Braque glanced at the article, then at Pascal. “They believed you?” Pascal explained. “I grew up on my grandfather’s farm, just forty-one kilometers from the Italian border, and since I wouldn’t have to study for it, I picked Italian as my foreign language requirement for my Baccalaureate diploma. “Sto italiano.” Braque chuckled appreciatively, “Very good.” He fished in his shirt pocket to extract a small envelope and held it out, “Your invitation... dinner.” “Invitation?” Pascal took it and opened it. He read, then frowned dubiously. “Tomorrow night?” “Yes, sir... How do you want me to reply?” Pascal sighed. “Sergeant, I have no authority for three months, possibly never, to have you do anything on my behalf.” Braque shrugged. “I’m on my time. I took the day off. Half the department today is sequestered staring at the security videos with the Commissioner on their backs demanding why no one else at the police department noticed two suspicious men loitering in front of the building.” Pascal reached for one of the pears. “It’s not complicated. The weather was changing cold quickly, so people were hurrying to go inside. I happened to be the only one at the moment who was stepping out, with nothing else to do.” Braque nodded, then persisted. “How do you want me to reply?” Pascal took a bite of the fruit, then leaned back against the sofa cushions. After thinking a moment, he straightened, then very carefully stood up. Braque considered the wrapped wrist, the scraped knuckles, bruising and the bottle of painkillers on the coffee table as he watched Pascal limp gingerly around the salon while eating the pear, then straighten a bit more before returning to the sofa to lie down. “Do you need to see a doctor?” Pascal shook his head as he leaned back, “No, I’m just very sore.” He grimaced as he crooked his arm over his face. “I’m not interested.” “But, sir... are you sure? It’s coming from the...” “... the Commissioner? His signature is on my suspension order.” Pascal raised his arm slightly to shake his head. “I decline.” Braque took back the invitation and read it for a long moment before he asked soberly. “Are you intending to resign?” Pascal lowered his arm to fold his hands on his chest as he looked at Braque. “What do you think I should do?” Braque was quiet. Finally he replied. “I hope you don’t, but it wasn’t right what they did.” Pascal drank the last of the coffee before churlishly reaching for the blanket to keep warm. “I’m not in the mood for any of it.” “Sir, I know you’re mad, and you have a right to be angry, but I think it’d be a mistake to not accept the Commissioner’s invitation.” After a long silence, Pascal finally grumbled. “I wish I didn’t have any respect for your advice.” Braque brightened. “Sir, no worries; we’ll take care of everything. How about Monday, instead? It’ll give you a few more days to recover.” Pascal sighed. “D’accord.” Braque watched him doze off. “I’ll take that as a yes.” ~ ~ by T.K. Naliaka ©2019-2021 Inspector Pascal Mysteries 4000 #5 Under Pressure Inspector Pascal Mysteries 1000 #12 Harmless Inspector Pascal Mysteries 1000 #22 Garbled Inspector Pascal Mysteries 1000 #19 Best Suited
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January 2019
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