INSPECTOR PASCAL MYSTERIES 1000
#9 Joyful by T.K. Naliaka ©2016

    “M-m-my n-name is J-J-Joy… J-Joyful M-M-Marcos…”
    “Joyful Marcos…?” He peered at her, “… Mexican?”
    Petite, in a white apron over a classic black maid’s skirt and blouse with her long black hair held away from her face by a white headband and tied in a bun, the maid shrank in her chair as all eyes focused on her, “N-no. I-I-I  f-f-from Ph-Ph-ilipp-ppines.”
    Inspector Farragut turned aside and leaned over to mutter to the man standing beside him. “Inspector…what did she say?”
    Pascal murmured into his ear, “Philippines.”
    Farragut grumbled. “I can hardly understand her.”
    Tacrone Antoine threw out his hands. “See what we’ve been putting up with?  My wife felt sorry for her, kept her on and now she’s dead thanks to her incompetent ignorance!”
    Joyful cried out. “It was accident!”
    Tacrone Antoine jabbed his finger at her, “Oh yeah?  You didn’t clean up last night and this morning you were talking smack to her face when she told you to do your job!”
   She paled and cried, “No!”
   Farragut gestured with his chin. “Mr. Antoine, would you please come outside with me?”
    The door closed.  After a minute of watching Joyful weep, Pascal spoke up. “Sergeant Braque, can you find us some water and a couple of glasses… a small towel?”
    “Yes sir.”
    Pascal sighed and pulled a chair over to sit near her.  He offered her a clean kerchief, “Here, wipe your face.”
    She sniffed, but she took it.  Two minutes later Braque was back with a towel, a pitcher and a pair of tumblers.  Pascal decanted water for her and for himself.  He held out a glass.  After a moment she accepted it and after another prompting from him, took a swallow, then a second after he drank some of his to encourage her.  He poured a little water on the towel to dampen it and gave it to her to cool her swollen, reddened eyes.  After another few minutes he offered, “I don’t think your name is J-J-Joyful.”
    She shook her head miserably. “Joyful.”
    “It’s a lovely name. Your mother must have been so happy when you were born.”
    Her tears welled up, but she nodded.  She looked at him and begged. “Please, don’t anyone tell her what I did.”
    Pascal glanced at Braque, standing quietly by the windows. “What did you do?”
    She twisted the towel in her hands. “I came this morning and the kitchen was all mess, with wine spills, broken glasses and dishes and food just dumped everywhere.  Miss Tey’nesha came in very angry and yelled at me for not cleaning up last night, but I was trying to tell her I had cleaned up – everything!” Her lips trembled as she took a deep breath. “It took me two hours to clean it.  I had all the cleaning supplies out on the counter.  Mr. Tacrone came in and said Miss Tey’nesha wanted the bourbon and some ice and water, so I gave him everything and he took it all back to their bedroom.  Then after a while I heard him shouting on the phone for the doctor.  He came in and threw everything on the counter to the floor.  He said I gave him bleach instead of water!  I ran to their bedroom and she was on the floor screaming and vomiting!”  She looked up, clasped her hands and pleaded heavenwards. “I didn’t mean to!  I’m sorry!”
    Pascal leaned back and sat silently.  He looked at Braque, then stood up. “Can you show us?”
    She nodded.  They followed her to the kitchen. Pascal looked around. “It’s immaculate.”
    She blinked. “But, I had to clean it all up.”
    “Ok… bring out the cleaning supplies – exactly how they were.”
    She opened the under-sink cabinet and set all the containers on the counter.  After a moment, Pascal said, “Show me the bourbon, ice and water.  Exactly how you gave them to him.”
    She opened the freezer and set out the box of ice on the counter, used tongs to fill a small ice bucket, then she took out a bottle of water from the cupboard.  She opened another cupboard, looked up and down and pushed at the bottles, “The bourbon...”
    “Perhaps it’s still in the bedroom?”
    She nodded. “Yes!”
    Pascal and Braque followed her.  It was unpleasant with the stench of vomit, so she covered her nose with the kerchief as she cast about anxiously looking for the bottle, checking the dressers, opening the doors of the nightstands, then she went on her hands and knees to look under the big king bed.  She stood up, stymied.  Braque pulled on his gloves and went into the adjoining master bathroom as Pascale opened one of two large walk-in closets.  A minute later Braque left the bathroom and began searching the other closet.
    “Sir! I found it!”
    Pascal went in to look where Braque was pointing. “That’s interesting.”
    Thirty minutes later, Tacrone Antoine twisted around in his chair and exclaimed, “Wait! What are they doing?”
    Standing behind Farragut, Pascal nonchalantly thumbed through his notepad. “The odor will ruin everything before they can sanitize the room.”
    Antoine stood up with alarm as the officers carried armloads from the closets - clothes, suits, dresses, shoes, boxes, bags, suitcases out to pile on the patio couches. Pascal glanced at his watch, “A little sunshine and fresh air. We’ll back in an hour; get it all packed back inside for you before tonight.”
    Left alone, ten minutes later Antoine had his gym bag at his feet, the bourbon bottle in one hand and his other hand turning on the garden spigot.  Pascal strolled up. “$100 a bottle bourbon and hose water… mind if I have a taste?”
   Antoine froze, then he looked at the police closing around him. Braque took the bottle of bleach-tainted bourbon out of his hand. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Tey’nesha Antoine.”
    Pascal watched them go, then he walked over to Marcos. “Has joy been restored to you?”
    She wiped her tears, nodded and smiled.
                                                            by T.K. Naliaka ©2016 All rights reserved

                              INSPECTOR PASCAL MYSTERIES 1000
                                           # 8 A Beautiful Cup ©2016 T.K. Naliaka

    “Inspector Pascal!”
    He glanced away from his monitoring of the knot of officers and forensics experts conferring inside the ramshackle old farmhouse, “Yes?”
    “Sgt. Braque is asking for you!”
    Big and broad-shouldered, Braque was squatting by the edge of the silage pit.  He straightened.  “Sir, it’s far worse than anyone thought.” He grimaced. “There are more than a couple of bodies – a lot more. That, this decrepit property… everyone’s uneasy.”
    “Sergeant, the deceased owner was 102 years old.  Mrs. Deveraux simply wasn’t physically able to keep up the property after her husband died. They’re wasting their time focusing on her.”  After they hiked together back up the short path to the stable, Pascal stopped to pivot slowly to see what he could of the three adjacent properties. “It must be someone close by - who knows this place very, very well.”
    Fifteen minutes later, Pascal halted discreetly by the driveway of the neighboring house a quarter-mile away.  From where he stood at that vantage point, the property line was obvious. Overgrown with hedgerow and tall grasses, vines and dead trees, the Deveraux ten-acre parcel seemed an abandoned wilderness alongside the eight-acre perfectly manicured grounds in front of him.  The neighbor’s brick rambler was immaculate, no shutters hanging by one hinge, no weeds, not a blade of grass out of place.  Neat flower beds bloomed with summer flowers.
    Sgt. Braque phoned him. “I got the property records you asked for.”
    Pascal listened, then he said, “Please ask Inspector Schmidt to get over here.”
    Five minutes later, Schmidt drove in and parked.  The front door opened and a brunette woman of about fifty, dressed in a floral shirt over mid-calf pants and sandals came out of the house. “Can I help you?”
    Schmidt showed her his badge. “We’re investigating a problem next door to you.”
    “Oh my, we’ve been very curious! There are so many police cars over there today!  Is everything all right?”
    Pascal noticed a solidly-built man of about sixty standing just inside the house, watching them as Schmidt replied. “I’m afraid not, Madame.”
    “I’m Lil Park and that’s my husband Raymond. Would you like to come in?  We were just sitting down for some tea.” She called him. “Raymond, this is Inspector Schmidt with the police department!  There’s a problem at Mrs. Deveraux’s property and they’d like to speak with us!” She waved apologetically. “You know men; he’s just not a big talker!”
    Raymond sat in a corner chair to watch them as they sat on the couch.  She emerged from the kitchen with a large tray.  She set a gold-rimmed china cup and saucers in front of them, each with its own small pitcher of milk, sugar bowl and a silver spoon.  Pascal raised his cup to inspect the intricate blue, white and gold design and the Korean manufacturer’s stamp on the bottom. “This is a beautiful tea set.”
    She smiled. “Why thank you! I was raised to always give our guests the best we have.”
    Pascal turned the cup in his hands thoughtfully as Schmidt pulled out his pad. “Mrs. Park, I need to ask you some questions - whether you’ve seen anything unusual.   Strangers passing through, that sort of thing.”
    “It’s very quiet here so we don’t usually see anybody.” She added. "That widow Deveraux, she’s a bit strange you know, so we keep to ourselves.”
    Schmidt clarified. “She’s deceased.”
    “Oh!  How sad!”  She indicated Pascal’s empty cup. “Can I pour some tea for you?”
    The doorbell rang.  After a long moment, Pascal asked. “Aren’t you going to answer it?”
    She shrugged. “It’s probably just another pesky salesman.  Does our house look like it needs a new roof?”
    Pascal set the cup down and stood up. “I’m expecting a document.”
    “Oh!”  She rose quickly to shadow him to the front door.  Outside, Braque was waiting.
    Pascal took the folded paper from him and tucked it into his suit pocket. “Thank you Sergeant. We won’t be long.  Wait for us outside.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    As she escorted him back to the others, Pascal paused and asked. “You’re traveling soon?”
    She pulled the bedroom door shut. “N-no… just tidying up.”  She smiled. “I didn’t catch your name?”
    “Inspector Pascal.”
    “Oh!  You’re an Inspector… also!”
    Pascal sat down; noticing that Raymond’s intense gaze had shifted from Schmidt to fix on him, then to the window whenever there was a glimpse of any of the three police officers outside, then unwaveringly back to him, as if Schmidt wasn’t even there conducting an interview.
    Ten minutes later, greatly relieved to be back outside in the driveway, Pascal sternly stopped Schmidt. “The woman is lying.”
    “Her?  She’s cookies, tea, gardening and crochet.” Schmidt gestured dismissively.  “Look at this place; this is hardly the lair of a crazed mass-murderer.”
    “Harmless… so you drank her tea.  How many others did too… and regretted it?” 
    Schmidt paled. “They wouldn’t dare.”
    Pascal agreed, “Never with witnesses.”
    Schmidt pulled Pascal aside. “You know I need more than that to go on!” 
    “They’ve packed a room-full of suitcases; they’re in a hurry to leave. They’ll disappear and set up somewhere else!”
    “But, there’s absolutely nothing on them, no police records…”
    Pascal unfolded his paper and held it up. “Does either of these two people look familiar?”
    “No.”
    Pascal raised an eyebrow. “But, we were just talking with them.”
    Schmidt quickly took the paper.  He peered at the copy of two drivers’ licenses, then read the home address on both, then the house number in front of them, “Rae and Lily Park... Korean!”  He gasped, “Stolen identities!”
    “Yes, I think we have two very, very cunning and dangerous people who kill and have been killing for a long time.  I shudder to consider the fate of that Korean couple who owned this place.”  Pascal shook his head grimly. “They needed widow Deveraux; as long as she was alive, her ramshackle property was cover for them.  The stolen home was the perfect trap; outside beautiful, but with treachery and wickedness inside.”
                                                           ©2016 T.K. Naliaka All rights reserved

INSPECTOR PASCAL MYSTERIES 1000
#7 The Greenhouse Case ©2016-2023 T.K. Naliaka

“The department appreciates Inspector Pascal’s preliminary efforts in organizing this investigation.  It has moved to a higher level of expertise, thus I and my associates will be leading it from this point on-wards!”

Standing by the glass entry vestibule, Sergeant Braque frowned and glanced at Pascal, back-dropped and framed by green tropical plants and the grid of the glazed greenhouse steel frame, standing still by the work table, with his left hand outstretched to set the dossier on the tabletop.  After a moment, Pascal seemed to be aware that all eyes were looking at him, then at Inspector Garland and back at him again.  He straightened, deferring to the senior investigator’s authority as if it was the most perfectly normal circumstance to have another inspector barge in and snatch a case out of the hands of an investigator junior to him right in front of an audience of murder suspects and other police, “Yes, sir.”

Inspector Garland crunched down the gravelly greenhouse aisle with his hand held out for the file.  Braque’s eyes narrowed, knowing how much work Pascal had already done for the case as he watched Pascal force himself to hand it over.  Inspector Garland took the dossier with crisp professional decisiveness and opened it.  But before he could humiliate Pascal any further by boxing him awkwardly between him and the table, Pascal stepped aside smoothly and walked away to park himself beside Braque with his hands clasped behind his back.  Sergeant Braque glanced at him.  Pascal’s face was a bland, unreadable mask, but Braque could tell he was angry. Braque peered sideways to monitor the slight smirk on his counterpart, Sergeant Ricardo, assigned to Garland, standing across the vestibule entry from him with two other uniformed police officers.

Inspector Garland paged through the documents then raised his gaze to the three men, “You! What do you do?”

The man, in a blue work coverall answered. “I’m the gardener.”

“When did you first notice that the greenhouse door had been broken into?’

He pointed to the man in a khaki shirt and trousers. “He noticed it first.”

“Who are you?”

He replied, “The greenhouse production manager.”

“Of course. When did you see this?"

“Well… when I got to work at 7 a.m. as usual.”

“So, you found the body at 7 a.m.”

“N-no… I didn’t find the body.  He did.”

“And you are…?”

“The groundskeeper.”

Garland raised an eyebrow.  “I thought he said he was the groundskeeper.”

“No-no, I’m the gardener!”

“What’s the difference?”

Sergeant Braque watched Pascal’s mouth press into a tight line.

“Well, I maintain the flowerbeds and ornamentals and he mows the lawns, does the tree pruning and hedge trimming.”

“All right then, what do you do?”

“I’m responsible for the ornamentals production.”  He swept his arm to indicate the rows of potted flowering plants around them. “We sell all these.”

Garland frowned. “What do you mean… ornamentals?”

“You know, potted houseplants – flowers mostly, fancy tropical plants.  It’s geranium season so we’re selling a lot of those.  Next to poinsettia season for Christmas, now is our most profitable month of the year.”

Garland nodded. “So, you work with him.”

“No, I’m the gardener.”

Garland glared at him. “I heard that already!”

“I work outside.  He works inside.  Get it?”  He twisted around to appeal to Pascal, delivering a coup capable of derailing Pascal’s career advancement. “Can’t you please explain it to him?”

Aghast, Braque watched Garland’s face turn red. “I can cite you for being uncooperative!”

The gardener protested. “I’ve answered everything you’ve asked!  Twice!”

Braque was surprised to see that Pascal’s stoic comportment had shifted to the intense stillness of a cat with its prey in sight.

Suddenly, Pascal strode forward to the greenhouse manager and demanded. “Why was the groundskeeper inside the greenhouse before you arrived at 7 a.m.?”

The two of them, the gardener and greenhouse manager looked up at him, then both turned to stare at the groundskeeper. “That’s a good question.”

The groundskeeper jumped up, but Sergeant Braque had one cuff on him, then the other before he could take a single step and shoved him back into his chair. “Sit down!”

Pascal addressed him coldly.  “He caught you trying to rob the cash register inside the greenhouse, so you killed him, but the manager arrived!  You simply didn’t have time to grab the money, so it didn’t appear that robbery was the motive!”  Pascal turned to Inspector Garland, “Inspector, my compliments for so efficiently uncovering the truth.”

After a startled moment, Sergeant Ricardo hustled to take charge of the suspect from Sgt. Braque.  Braque went back to stand by Pascal at the vestibule.  Inspector Garland looked at all them looking at him, the two other police officers glancing thoughtfully between him and Pascal. “Inspector, you’re dismissed!”

Pascal replied, “Yes, sir!”

Hustling to keep up with Pascal as he strode to their vehicle, Sgt. Braque frowned. “Sir, you had it in your hands to take back the case, but you just validated him instead. Why?”

Pascal stopped to peer at the blue sky then he replied. “What’s more important?  Squabbling with him for the credit or bringing a murderer to justice?  Garland got what he wants, fleeting glory for his performance appraisal that he’ll find is hard to maintain and I got what I wanted when I was assigned to this case.  I’m here to serve justice on behalf of the victim by identifying his murderer.  That is the only reason that brought us here.  I was just worried that the killer would be able to slip away, but we got him.  Success was achieved… point final!”

“Very good, sir!”

“Let’s go home. Tomorrow there will be another case to solve.” Pascal glanced back at the greenhouse as he opened the car door and then grinned at Braque. “And I’m in a hurry to make myself scarce; with my phone OFF before Garland realizes he’ll be working past midnight with the administrative paperwork.  He wanted it, so it’s all his!”
©2016-2023 T.K. Naliaka All rights reserved TIPTOPduTOP

INSPECTOR PASCAL MYSTERIES 1000
# 5 Two Kinds of Men  ©2016-2023 by T.K. Naliaka

“Inspector, there are two kinds of men in the world…”

Pascal stopped reviewing his notes to give him a dry glance. “I’ve heard it, Sergeant.”

Sergeant Braque pursed his lips and rocked on his heels as he watched the yellow elevator indicator blink- blink-blink at floors four-five-six. “… As I was saying, there are two kinds of men in the world - those who wear vests… and those who don’t.”

Pascal lowered his notepad to smooth the grey tone on grey tone paisley Indian silk under his grey wool suit. “You don’t like my vest?”

He curled his lip slightly. “For one of The Suits, it’s actually one of the better ones I’ve seen, I’ll give you that.”

“Well, I don’t actually own a three-piece, so I had to improvise.” Pascal considered him. ”I have to wear a suit.  It’s expected of me in my position. You think you are the only one who has to endure an inspection?  At least you know exactly what’s required, whereas I am always vulnerable to that fog called ‘subjective’ criticism.  I could be perfectly turned out, but if the boss woke up with a headache and his eyes couldn’t handle the shade of suit color I chose that day, I can’t argue with him.  You however, can point to every pin and badge, gig line and bar to demonstrate that you had everything the book said you should have.”  Pascal leaned over. “Are you wearing those striped trousers today?”

“That’s a stripe, not striped trousers. And yes.  That was orders today.”

“See?  Orders give you cover.  I show up and it’s ‘No! Change your tie!’  I keep five in my desk drawer for his every mood of the week, just in case.”

The indicator dinged. Braque looked up, “11th floor, sir.”

Pascal slipped his pad into his jacket pocket. “Ready?”

“Yes sir.”

The doors opened to a wide corridor.  They stepped out and spotted the pale frosted glass façade of the company offices.  Just at the glass doors, they froze.

Pascal turned warily and glanced at Braque. “What do you think that was?”

“It sounded like a scream, sir… over there.”

They crossed the corridor to the opposite office.  Pascal read the two over-sized letters on the polished cypress double doors, O on the left, K on the right, then pulled them open.

Pascal frowned as he looked around.  He glanced at his watch. “This sort of company always has someone at the front.”  He went around the desk.  The computer screen was in standby mode; there was a stack of pouches, a couple of books, the usual collection of office supplies - pens, paperclips.  He glanced over at Braque. “Sergeant, I don’t want to tip yet that we’re police.  Can you stand outside until I can get inside?  If I haven’t called you in three minutes, come in.”

Braque nodded and left.  Pascal grabbed two paperback books and slipped them into an empty zippered pouch.  He called all the extensions from the receptionist’s phone until someone answered. “Hello?  I’m in the front reception with the requested withdrawal funds delivery from Mechanicals Bank.  Because of the large size of the cash withdrawal, it requires a company officer’s signature.”

A minute later, two people arrived at the other side of the hallway door.  A young blonde woman in a slim-fitting sienna sleeveless sheath and black high heels, with a heavy man in a dark blue suit behind her, unlocked it.  She looked at him, then at her leather pouch tucked under his arm, then at him again and didn’t seem to know what to say.

He gestured with her receipt book and her pen. “Are you a company officer who can sign for these funds?”

She shook her head.  Behind her, the man demanded, “How much money?”

Pascal checked in the receipt book, “Thirty-six thousand dollars.”

Her eyes widened and she flushed.

The man indicated with a jerk of his head. “Come in!”

As Pascal stepped inside, he dropped a neon highlighter. “Excuse me.”  As he bent to pick it up, he discreetly propped an eraser against the door jam. He straightened and followed them down the hall and into a room.  Fifteen terrified people sat in chairs around a large conference table.

The woman cried out as the man shoved her, “Back in your chair!” He pushed his pistol muzzle against Pascal’s back. “Put the money over there, then sit down!”

They all watched him as he slowly placed the pouch on the table.  He turned slightly, “Where? There aren’t any more chairs.”

The man smirked and swept his pistol towards one of the men. “Roger won’t need his anymore!”

Pascal drew, but the man glimpsed the movement.  Their guns fired at the same time. Everyone screamed and ducked under the table.  The man staggered, but shot back.  

Pascal stumbled against the wall, but he kept his arm up and fired again.  The man fell to the floor, but he was moving, still clutching his gun.  Pascal watched him in woozy disbelief as the man raised it again. There was another shot, then the man flopped and lay un-moving.

Sergeant Braque holstered his pistol, rolled the body over and handcuffed it.  He grabbed the receptionist and almost threw her out the doorway, “Everybody OUT!”  The other fifteen employees scrambled on hands and knees then bolted for the hallway.  Grimly he went to Pascal, curled in the corner.  He eased him down carefully, “Sir!”

Pascal’s hazel eyes were squeezed shut.  He grimaced, “Sergeant Braque.”

Relieved, Braque reassured him. “The bullets didn’t penetrate, but they did give you a mule kick.  I think you’ve got a couple of busted ribs.”

Pascal gasped. “Sergeant, just so you know…  I actually pay attention to everything you say… there are two kinds of men in the world…”

Sergeant Braque sighed and nodded gratefully as he knelt beside him. “That’s right, Wyatt Earp… those who wear bullet-proof vests to a gunfight at the O.K. Corporation… and those who don’t.”  ©2016-2023 by T.K. Naliaka, All rights reserved TIPTOPduTOP

INSPECTOR PASCAL’S MYSTERIES 1000
#3 Gold into Lead  ©2016-2023 by T.K. Naliaka

“Inspector, I just can’t comprehend the kind of callousness to vandalize my home in such a manner to steal a pair of vintage stuffed dolls.  They’re just family memorabilia, not worth anything to anyone else.”

“Let me show you.” Pascal drew the blade of his pocketknife over the gold statuette in his hand.

Oscar leaned forward and peered at the dark grey gash.  He frowned and exclaimed, “Lead!”

Pascal picked up one old stuffed doll from the pile and held it up. “They were cut open and the gold statuettes were hidden inside them, replaced by fakes.”

Oscar turned to his niece, Serena, a thin and unkempt young woman in a loose shirt and slim pants. “I always gave you everything you asked for!”

Pascal replied. “She is an addict needing money.  With her alchemist’s touch, I would wager that a good part of your collection of gold artifacts has already been converted to lead.”

Serena screeched with fury.  Pascal jerked himself aside as she threw.  A hypodermic embedded itself into the upholstered chair behind him.  He drew his pistol from his belt holster as he pivoted around, then he froze.

Sergeant Braque had his hand around the grip of his pistol, but he was like a statue with his pistol still in its holster.

Serena’s left arm was wrapped around his and her right hand gripped the plunger of a hypodermic stuck into Braque’s right bicep.  Serena snarled.  “You try to block my way and he gets a syringe of pure heroin!  One wrong twitch and I’ll push it in him!”

Oscar stood up quickly, “Serena!  You don’t want to do that!  You’ll kill him!”

She spat at him. “That’s the point, you fool!  How stupid are you?  You think they’re going to let me go?  I am not going to prison!”

Pascal spoke firmly. “Mr. Oscar, she will do it.  Please listen to her.”

Her head snapped back to glare at Pascal, but at this she arched an eyebrow at her uncle. “That’s right!  Why don’t you listen to me for a change?”

Pascal spoke up. “Sergeant Braque, I don’t want to see it go like this.  But I don’t see much choice.”

Unmoving, Braque replied calmly. “I know, sir.  I don’t either, sir.”

Serena’s glittering eyes widened. “Shut up you!  Inspector, put the gun down!"

Pascal considered her gravely. “Let’s deal.”

“No deals!  Put the gun down or he’s dead!”

“Please, permit me to show you something you didn’t know.”   Pascal lowered his right arm to his side as he reached over with his left hand, lifted one of the cloth sacks and shook it slightly.  A small dark figurine dropped out of it and thudded on the table.

He glanced over at her. “Bronze. Eight times the value of the two other gold statuettes you just took - combined.”

“Combin…?”Serena stared at it, then her scowl shifted with puzzlement, “How?”

“A very rare bronze-age fertility figurine; it was on display next to the set you stole.  Perhaps, it can still be yours… in exchange for Sgt. Braque.”

Her hand tightened around the hypodermic. “No!”

Pascal picked up the heavy figurine and held it up in his left palm. “The second you inject Sergeant Braque, nothing will hold me back.  On the other hand, I value Sergeant Braque alive so highly that I would easily agree to let you go free without lifting a finger to stop you or ever reporting this ever happened.  You could be in Hong Kong by Tuesday and disappear, which the sale of this artifact can easily finance, with plenty of money left over.”

Serena stared at him, then at the small bronze figurine as he held it out to her, “That?”

Oscar spoke up. “Twenty years ago, it was assessed at $528,000.”

Pascal stretched out his arm, lifting the figurine towards the eastern windows. “Serena, this one artifact can transport you anywhere in the world or you… don’t… move… at all.”

Enthralled, her eyes followed the bronze figurine, her head turned following her eyes, her body shifted, following her head.  The figurine began to roll slowly off Pascal’s palm. Serena’s grip around the hypodermic involuntarily loosened to reach out reflexively. Instantly, Pascal brought up his pistol and fired.

Braque quickly turned away, still holding his arm rigid. Pascal holstered his pistol and was at his side in one bound. “Wait!”  He quickly pulled out the hypodermic. He held his breath as he peered at it.  He let it out with relief, “Full!”

Braque rubbed his arm with relief. “That was a very tough shot to take.  Thank you, sir.”

Pascal dropped his hand on Braque’s shoulder.  “I wanted you to be able to make dinner with your family tonight.”

Braque gave him a wry nod of his head, “I appreciate that, very much.”

“It’s still a stop at hospital. We don’t know how clean that needle is.”

“Yes, sir.”

They heard a cry and turned together as Oscar crossed the room and fell to his knees to stare in shock at his niece’s body.  He looked up at Pascal. “Did you have to do it like that?”

Pascal’s hazel eyes held Oscar’s stricken gaze with cool anger.  “She didn’t have the ability to honor any deal we made!  The drugs destroyed whatever capacity she once had.  She was going do it no matter what we did, for no more reason than she wantonly destroyed whatever she’d felt like destroying when she robbed you, simply because she could.   It would have been easier pulling five bullets out of Sergeant Braque than the contents of that syringe.  There was too much at stake and what she was poised to use was lethal.”

Oscar held his head as he cried out. “I don’t understand how could it have come to all this!”

Pascal said. “You indulged her without restraint, feeling sorry for her in her circumstances; so when was she ever taught how to restrain herself to keep away from the company of the indulgent?”
©2016-2023 T.K. Naliaka at TIPTOPduTOP

INSPECTOR PASCAL MYSTERIES 1000
#2 The Winery Confession ©2016-2023  T.K. Naliaka

“I can’t take it anymore!  I’m the one who killed Arturo!”

He turned to look at her.  Behind her Rodriguez leaned forward, “Maria! Are you crazy?”

Her hands tightly gripped the armrests of her chair as she stared at him.  

“Inspector Pascal, you can stop pretending that’s not the reason you came here!”  Her brown eyes were wide and strained and her mouth twisted bitterly as she cried. “I killed him!”

Pascal frowned as he set the dark bottle of port wine on the wide, ornately-carved oak desk.  He glanced at Sergeant Braque standing by the door.  The big, broad-shouldered uniformed policeman unclasped his hands from behind his back and returned to his surveillance of the group sitting in the expansive pale-oak paneled office.

Pascal considered the woman, about forty years old with dyed black hair to hide her graying streaks, her makeup a bit too heavy and her blue shirt, black pants and high heels a bit too young for her age.  He looked at the four others there, a couple huddled together, the wide-eyed woman in a blue housekeeper’s uniform, the vineyard’s owner’s teenage son, Ernesto, slim and pale, sullenly hunched in his chair, heavy-set Rodriguez in his black silk shirt and black trousers, then back to her.  “All right… why?”

She stared at him, then she stammered.  “I-I h-hated him!”

Ernesto glanced over at her with anger plain on his face, but he said nothing.

The inspector nodded thoughtfully.  They watched him, a trim man about six feet tall, with neatly-cropped light brown hair and hazel eyes as he opened his light grey suit jacket slightly, slipped his hand inside and extracted his black notebook.  He patted his other pockets for a moment to find his pen.  All eyes were locked on him as he carefully opened the small notebook, thumbed to a blank page and clicked his pen. “Go ahead.”

Maria’s face was pale with two red spots burning high on her cheeks. “That’s it!  I killed him!”

Pascal began writing.  Pausing, he raised his pen slightly.  “I am obligated to mention that anything you say right now will be used against you in a court of law.  Many people later regret blurting statements to police that their lawyers would have advised them not to mention.”

She flushed. “I don’t care!”

He spoke up as he wrote. “Sergeant Braque, can you witness her statement?”

Across the room, Braque nodded, “I can, sir.”

“The lawyers are going to want your signature on that.”

Braque replied, “Of course, sir.”

Pascal crossed over to him and held out the pad.  Braque read, then signed Pascal’s note, “All ready for you, sir.”

“Thank you, Sergeant.”

Pascal went back to pace slowly in front of them. “When did you kill the victim?”

She blinked, breathing heavily. “Ahh…”

Rodríguez spoke up. “He didn’t show up for the morning field inspection.”

Pascal glanced at him.  “Ah!”  He asked her, “Sometime during the night?”

She blinked, then nodded,” Yes!”

Pascal pivoted by the big glass veranda doors to pace back in front of them as he wrote. “About what time was that?”

She cast about with wide eyes, “Ah…”

“After midnight?”

She nodded, “Yes!”

“Around one a.m. or… more like 3 a.m.?”

She frowned, “Ah…”

“Two… perhaps two-thirty?”

Rodriguez shook his head. “The crews worked late cleaning equipment.  He always locked up, no matter what time.”

Pascal asked him, “When did you see him last?”

“He closed up at 3:15.”

Pascal paused. “Sir, I must mention that everything you say will be used by prosecutors to validate her confession.”

Rodriguez persisted, “3:15.”

Pascal was soothing. “It’s very stressful; these are extreme circumstances, so you might feel remorse later reflecting her witnessing that you gave the prosecution the keys to conviction.  If you’d prefer, you can make a private statement.”

Rodriguez shook his head, “No, Inspector.  The truth is too important.”

Pascal agreed, “Yes, it is.  When was the body discovered?”

Rodriguez gestured with his chin towards the couple. “Jorge’s wife found it – when she opened the office to clean.”

Pascal glanced at the bucket of water and cloths set near the glass veranda doors.  Jorge gave his nervous wife a squeeze.  Pascal directed his gaze to her.  “At what time was that?”

Ernesto glared with disgust at Pascal.

The woman stammered, “E-e-eight?”

Maria cried out. “It doesn’t matter!  I did it!!”

Pascal was very conciliatory. “A voluntary confession still requires that we corroborate information.  Evidence gets moved, recollections fade.”   Pausing by the big veranda doors, he viewed long rows of green vines stretching for miles.  Pascal peered skyward and frowned thoughtfully as he turned around to pace back.  “Maria, what provoked you to ki…”

They all gasped and started as Pascal’s right foot caught against the full bucket.  The bucket sloshed, he stumbled against the desk. Toppled, the wine bottle spun across the oak top towards the couple.  Pascal lunged to catch it.  Jorges ducked and flung his arm up into an iron grip; his knife thudded to the carpet and he dropped like a stone when Pascal cracked him aside the head with the bottle.

Pascal straightened.  They were staring at him, Maria, the cringing housekeeper, Ernesto.  Maria cried out with fright when a heavy hand dropped on her shoulder. “I got him ma’am.  It’s all right, now.”

She twisted around to look up at Sergeant Braque standing behind her with Rodriguez out cold at his feet.  Braque picked up Rodriguez’s pistol, removed the full clip and chambered round, then slipped them into his jacket pocket.

Pascal read the label, then raised the wine bottle appreciatively, “My compliments, Sergeant!”

“Just following your instructions, sir!”

Ernesto propelled himself out of his chair into the arms of his weeping mother.  Snatching up Pascal’s fallen notepad Ernesto read Pascal’s message to Braque with astonishment. “You knew all along!”

Pascal gave him a wry glance as Braque snapped handcuffs on the two men. “I didn’t.  We stopped by as customers. Your mother’s quick thinking saved us all.”
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