INSPECTOR PASCAL MYSTERIES 1000
#32 Details by T.K. Naliaka ©2022-2023
​
It was a long, narrow, bright, high-ceiling gallery with tall, glazed windows and doors nearly four meters in height, framed by pale green crushed velvet drapes held back by gold silk corded tie-backs.  Two men, one big and broad-shouldered in a police uniform and the other, lean and dressed in a brown suit walked slowly along to the end.  The suited man grasped the brass handles of the last set of doors with gloved hands, pushed the doors open and stepped out to the wrought iron railing to view the garden below.

A voice behind them called dismissively. “Inspector Pascal, Sergeant Braque, we searched all that!  There’s nothing!”

Braque growled. “Inspector Wilson is insulted that Inspector Kingston called you in.”

Pascal shrugged and closed the doors. “Inspector Kingston’s draft chronology suggests the killer must have hidden the murder weapon inside here, as he had no time to do otherwise.  We simply prove or disprove that premise.”

Wilson, stocky and ruddy-faced, called over. “Did you look under the rug?  Maybe you’ll trip over something we just didn’t see!”

Pascal turned aside to Braque.  “Kingston suspects the killer is the victim’s uncle, Darrell, but Wilson hasn’t located the murder weapon.”  They watched Wilson leave to rejoin the group of police in the grand salon.

Pascal, more cheerfully then, considered the uniformed man with him. “Sergeant Braque, have you ever read Zola?”

“No sir, what’s that?”

Pascal peered up and down at the closest set of doors. “Not what... who.”

“All right, who’s that?”

Pascal clasped his gloved hands behind his back as he paced slowly along the gallery hallway, “An author.”  Pascal halted to gaze thoughtfully overhead. “Zola created a literary style called, ‘naturalism’.”

“He liked the outdoors?”

Pascal laughed. “That would have spared generations of students the misery of being required to read him!” Pascal pulled one drape away from the next set of doors. “No, Zola obsessed in excruciatingly descriptive details.  One didn’t just write ‘a door framed with curtains.’  One added every grain of the wood, examined the cracks... could there be meaning in the peeling of one flake of paint... the minutia of the weave of the fabric, the texture, a pulled thread that might evoke the tugging of a heart... nuanced shadings of colors... the bleak purposeless of that solitary chair in this vast emptiness.  Such minute details could reveal the scene, a character...” Pascal rolled his eyes, “Not to suggest Zola actually knew anyone of even reasonable character to model for his literary efforts.”

Braque was game. “So, this room tells a story?”

Pascal let go and paced further along, “Perhaps!”

Braque squinted. “It’s an old money family that likes to hunt.”

Pascal shook his head, “Mais, non!  That is deduced from the taxidermy decorating the salon, not this room. What do we see, here?  Certainly, from the unusual custom height of the windows and doors and the volume of curtains required for them, once no expense was spared.” Pascal pulled another curtain away from the wall. “These drapes are becoming threadbare in places, and are sagging.”

Braque lifted the bottom of it to look closer, “Years past replacement date.”  He straightened, tallying the sets of drapes in the room. “It’ll cost a lot to redo.”

“Possibly contradicts their current outward appearances of comfortable wealth or perhaps it’s simply carelessness.” Pascal stepped backwards. “This window has one silk cord.”  He looked up and down. “Where’s the other one?”  Pascal shook, spread, then turned out the drape.  “Houp-la!  What does that look like?”

Braque peered at the lining. “It’s a dark stain.”

“That?”

Braque stretched as high as he could to see to where Pascal was pointing on the window sill. “I can’t really tell, maybe a smudge of blood.”

“Odd place for one if it is. Can you bring me that chair?”

Braque crossed over to pick up the sole piece of furniture in the entire hallway.

Pascal set it in front of the window, lifted his foot to step up on it, then noticed a deep depression in the cushion.  He hesitated. “Why is this, the only chair here?”  Pascal cautiously set it aside. “Can you give me a boost, Sergeant?”

“No problem, sir.” Braque squatted and clasped his hands together.

Pascal positioned his foot, then nodded as he reached up, “Ready!”  As Braque heaved him up, Pascal grabbed the sill to steady himself and set his other foot on Braque’s shoulder.  There were two smudges, one like a tip of a shoe, the other a smear.

Wilson, returning with two policemen yelled. “Careful! Those are very expensive curtains!”

Startled, Pascal overbalanced slightly, grasping at the drape.  There was a clatter overhead of a slipping rod and clacking rings as the screws attaching the left curtain rod bracket pulled out of the wall. 

“Look out!”

Pascal jerked aside, throwing his arm over his head a second before he was suddenly enveloped in darkness as meters of plush, lined heavy velvet plummeted on top of him.  Braque staggered, unable to keep Pascal being swept off by the material.

Wilson burst out laughing, but his two officers saw Braque’s scowl and thought better of it. They heard an exclamation behind them. “Where did that come from?”

Inspector Kingston with his two officers and Darrell, the uncle of the deceased, were staring at a large hunting knife tied with a gold silk cord embedded in the wood floor next to a heap of fallen drapery.

Wilson opened his mouth, then shut it.

Darrell abruptly shoved Kingston, sending him sprawling.  He grabbed Wilson, pulled Wilson’s gun from its holster and held it to Wilson’s head. “Stay back!”

Braque and the other police raised their hands.

BOOM! Darrell flinched, dropped the gun and folded to the floor. Three officers piled on him as Wilson stumbled clear.

Pascal threw the folds of velvet aside and climbed to his feet.  Kingston stared at him with baffled astonishment as Pascal holstered his pistol, “C’est tout, Sergeant?”

Braque lowered his hands, “Absolutely, sir!”
 
©2022-2023 T.K. Naliaka for TIPTOPduTOP
​

INSPECTOR PASCAL MYSTERIES 1000
#31 Drawn In
There's a job to be done and Inspector Pascal wants none of it!
New! Classic-style, short-story mystery-adventure in only 1000 words, for all ages.

INSPECTOR PASCAL MYSTERIES 1000
#31 Drawn In
By T.K. Naliaka, ©2018 All rights reserved
 
   “Come in!”
   They opened the office door.  Standing before the window by an imposing deep brown mahogany desk, an older grey-haired man in a three-piece dark tweed suit turned to look at them.  Both he, neat in a grey suit and crisp white shirt with a copper and blue tie, and the big-broad-shouldered uniformed police sergeant shadowing him stepped inside, “Inspector Oswald?  I received a message to report to you?”
   “You are?”
   “Inspector Pascal.”
   “Ah, yes.”  Apparently not recalling ever encountering him*, Oswald glanced at the typed list of names on a paper on his desk.  He directed Pascal to sit in the chair in front of the desk, then indicated to an attractive brunette woman in a black blazer and black pants standing by him. “This is my deputy, Inspector Draw.”
   Pascal noticed that she didn’t have anywhere near the saucy confidence she had projected when they’d first met**.  She was guardedly watching him, having bluffed her way into that deputy promotion by stepping on Pascal to get what she needed, aware that Pascal might take this opportunity to enlighten Oswald.
   Even though she’d made no effort to offer her hand to him, Pascal smiled with warm cordiality. “I’m completely charmed, Inspector Drew.”
   Her eyes narrowed.  “It’s Draw.”
   Oswald lifted a thick binder and intoned grandiloquently. “The Alexander Park case... we have an opening.”
   Pascal looked at it, then back up at Oswald. “That is a very important and complex investigation.”
   After a long silent pause, Oswald finally set the binder down. “Yes, indeed, it is!”
   Sergeant Braque, standing near the door kept his face bland as he muttered. “It’s the biggest mess in the department, which is saying something.”
   “Inspector Drew…”
   She flushed, “Draw.”
   Pascal touched his hand apologetically to his head. “Of course, pardon me.  Inspector-or-or…”
   She didn’t believe him. “What is it?”
   “I lost my train of thought.”
   Increasingly unimpressed, Inspector Oswald frowned. “You’re correct there; it’s definitely a very demanding case, requiring a high-energy person.”
   Sergeant Braque’s eyes narrowed.
   Inspector Oswald continued. “I was informed that you speak French.”
   Pascal’s gaze went from obliquely considering the tropical leaves design carved into the side of the desk in front of him, back to Oswald. “I… speak French?”
   Braque, struggling to stay out of this conversation, was reduced to inaudible mutterings. “He is French.”
   Sensing a tension developing in the corner, Inspector Oswald looked at Braque. “Sergeant, wait outside.”
   Pascal glanced at Braque without protest.
   Braque nodded curtly, “Yes, sir.”
   As Braque went out and closed the door, Oswald clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels. “As per our inquiries, you are one of three in the department on file as having a level of fluency in the language of French.”
   Pascal cleared his throat and demurred deferentially. “Certainly, it’s nowhere near Inspector Draw’s level of fluency.”
   She glared at him, but quickly had to smile agreeably because Oswald liked it.
   Inspector Oswald lifted a folder.  “On my instructions, Inspector Draw has created an assessment test to rank the three of you for suitability for this case.”
   Pascal looked over at her.  She looked down her nose back at him.  He turned back to Oswald. “Will we be permitted some study time to refresh before sitting for it?”
   Oswald hesitated, “W-well… h-how much time?”
   Pascal appeared thoughtful, “… two weeks?”  He watched Draw with an expectant raised eyebrow so he could see every barely restrained twist of her mouth as Oswald pondered if this was a good idea or not.
   Oswald decided to flex his negotiating skills, “One week; take it or leave it.”
Pascal pensively pressed his fingers together.  He spoke up. “Will we be provided with a study guide?”
   Draw’s jaw started to sag, but she pulled it up hurriedly as Oswald turned to her. “I think Inspector Draw can provide that... yes?”
   She nodded, “Of course, sir.”
   Exuding brightening confidence - that Draw would be working overtime all week - Pascal agreed to the terms. “This sounds very fair; thank you, sir.”
   Needing to finish, Oswald clapped his hands. “That’s it. When can you take the test?”
   Pascal opened his notepad and thumbed consideringly past a few pages before he replied, “Thursday, next week?”  Oswald glanced at Draw who finally nodded, so Pascal clicked his pen and diligently wrote the appointment into his notes, “Very good, sir!”
   “You’re dismissed, Inspector.”
   Pascal rose, then as he opened the door, he turned, “Well! What do the French say…”  He paused and frowned looking for a helpful prompt from Draw, “au-au… re... re…”
   Oswald interjected, “Au revoir!”
   “Of course!”  Pascal smiled as Draw fumed, and closed the door, “Allez tchao!
   “Ciao?” Oswald frowned and glanced at Draw. “Is he Italian?”
 
   “What do you have, sir?”  Braque matched his pace to Pascal’s as they strode to their vehicle.
   “Coincidentally, Senior Inspector Oswald is recruiting a French-speaker…”  Pascal snorted, “Again.”
   “You’re not really considering it, are you?”
    Pascal grimaced, “Under his authority?  No thank you!  I don’t know Oswald enough to determine whether he’s a simple buffoon or corrupt.”
   Braque rolled his eyes. “It could be both.”
   Pascal concurred. “One should never rule out that combination.”
   “What about Inspector Draw?”
   Pascal clicked his tongue dismissively. “She is very unrestrained in what’s she’s willing to do in pursing her foolish ambitions.  What a waste of an otherwise quite attractive woman.”
   “Very good, sir.  Where to now?”
   Pascal glanced at his watch, “The library.”
   “Ah! What are you researching?”
   Pascal grinned slightly. “I have to study for my French exam.”
   Braque halted mid-stride to stare at him.
   Pascal chuckled. “Let’s reserve one of those quiet rooms with a couch.  Inspector Oswald and Inspector Draw are certainly going to verify if I’ve put in the study hours I requested, so if I sign into the library and sign-out two hours later every day this coming week, Oswald will be satisfied, I will have caught up with my sleep and be completely refreshed and prepared to fail the test.”
by T.K. Naliaka for TIPTOPduTOP ©2018 All rights reserved
 * Inspector Pascal Mysteries 1000 #23 Faux ami
** Inspector Pascal Mysteries 1000 #22 Garbled

INSPECTOR PASCAL MYSTERIES 1000
 #30 Truthfully
By T.K. Naliaka ©2017
 
   “Sir… Sir, over here!”
   Awkwardly trying to sit up with his hands handcuffed behind him, he called across what appeared to be a small dingy basement to the big, uniformed policeman handcuffed to a water line running across the ceiling and down the wall. “Sergeant Braque!  That strange odor in the dentist’s office... ”
   “… It was knock-out gas!”  Braque was working the cuffs around a loose clip overhead. “Sir, this pipe isn’t attached as well as it looks.  I might be able to…”  He stopped as two men wearing medical masks to hide their faces came down the stairs.
   One held up a silver and gold badge, “Inspector Pascal!” He tossed it aside dismissively. “Exactly what brought you here?”
   Pascal began to get up, but they shoved him back to the floor. “Don’t try anything.”
   The taller of the two pulled a pistol out of his jacket and pointed it at Braque. “Who tipped you to come here?”
   Pascal spoke up quickly. “I am not authorized to inform him as to the details of a case!”
   The tall man kept the pistol pointed at Braque. “So, he’s expendable!”
   Pascal shouted.  “I will not give you any information if you kill him… nothing!”
   The other man chuckled. “I have something here that will make this all a lot easier on everyone.” He stuck his hand inside his coat then pulled it out, “Sodium pentothal.”
   Pascal watched warily as the man showed him the small glass drug bottle.  The tall man left Braque, crouched by his accomplice and took it as the other pulled out a syringe in a sealed sachet.  When Pascal glanced at him, Braque pointedly looked up.
   Pascal took a deep breath, scrambled to his feet and plowed with his shoulder past the smaller man, headed for the stairs.  Tackled, then pinned to the floor under their weight, he was warned. “Don’t fight it, Inspector!”  The voice near his ear purred. “This will make you very comfortable so you can answer our questions.”
Pascal felt the burn of the injection in his arm.  Everything went black.
 
   Braque watched with sick dismay as they shifted Pascal to prop him against the wall.
   “We first have to test him.”
   The tall man leaned over. “What is your name?”
   The hazel eyes stared emptily at him.
   “What is your name?”
   Finally he replied softly, “Pascal.”
   “Correct.  Where are you from?”
   His eyes closed for a moment then opened.
   “Answer me. Where are you from?”
   “de…  la… de… la…” The head rolled slightly,”… France.”
   The other man snorted, “France?  How did you get a job here?”
   Pascal shrugged, “Application.”
   Braque tugged at the cuffs on his wrists as the tall man grumbled. “Just get on with it!”
   The other leaned closer. “Who told you to look here?”  He jostled Pascal. “Who told you to look here?”
   Pascal frowned, perplexed, “Ici ?”
   The man was blank for a moment, then he echoed, “Ee-see?”
   The tall man leaned closer, “Maybe it’s Betsy.  She works in billing!”
   The other insisted, “You mean… Betsy?”
   Pascal’s eyes seemed to gaze about, without actually seeing anything, “Comment?”
   “Did Betsy tell you to look here?’
   “Vous êtes qui?”
   “eh-key?” The small man gasped, “Becky!  It’s not Betsy, it’s Becky.  I knew it!  She was here the week before checking on inventory!”
   Braque stared at the two of them, then at Pascal.
   Pascal frowned, “Qu’est que c’est que ça ? »
   The smaller man blinked. “What?”
   The tall man grabbed Pascal by his jacket lapels and began to shake him. “He’s talking gibberish!”
   Braque shouted. “Leave him alone!”
   He snarled back. “You say another word and you’re dead!”
   Pascal suddenly straightened and pushed against the man, “Laisse-lui!”
   The man gasped. “Leslie!”
   The tall man snarled. “There’s no way Leslie knows anything!  She was in Tortuga!”
   Braque called to them. “You need to know that we have protocols!  When we go out in the field like this, we check in at regular intervals! We’re overdue!  There are police looking for us!”
   “You’re lying!”
   “Ask the inspector, he’ll confirm! Ask him about the codes!”
   “The taller man turned to Pascal. “What about the codes?’
   “Code?”
   “Codes!  Codes!”
   There was a long pause then Pascal muttered, “Quelle code?”
   “He won’t tell you!  He doesn’t trust you!”
   Pascal agreed, “C’est vrai.”
   “We’re not getting anything out of him!”
   “Give him some more; that’ll make him talk!”
   Alarmed, Braque shook his head. “It doesn’t work like that!  You’ll just kill him!”
   The taller man jumped up to yell at Braque, “You!  Shut up!”
   Braque heaved himself up and kicked out with both legs, hitting him center-chest like a mule, launching him to crash against the cement foundation wall.  As the man slid down in a heap on the floor, Braque yanked down sharply, tearing out the corroded screws of the old brackets holding the pipe to the ceiling and smashed the metal pipe straight down on top of the head of the smaller man, knocking him out.
   A trickle of rusty water leaked over the floor as Braque stomped on the loosened section and worked it back and forth until the metal gave way and broke to free his cuffed hands from the pipe.  Two minutes later, after recovering the handcuff keys to transfer the cuffs from them to their captors and half-carrying, half-steering Pascal up the stairs, Braque looked around, recognizing the closed dental office they’d entered to search earlier that afternoon.  He hustled Pascal to their parked vehicle.
 
   Utterly uncomprehending, Pascal sat up and looked around.  He walked unsteadily to the door, then back again to his couch, in his apartment.
   “Good morning, sir!”
   Startled, Pascal spun around as his hand reached for his holster, but his gun wasn’t in it.  He relaxed, relieved, “Sergeant Braque.” Pascal finally asked. “What happened?”
   Braque shrugged. “You told them everything.”
   Pascal slowly sat down to stare dejectedly at the floor.
   Braque handed him a mug of fresh, hot coffee. “No worries, sir.  They can’t speak French.”
                                  By T.K. Naliaka ©2017, all rights reserved

Pascal and Braque must sort the ghosts from the spirits in this curious case!
INSPECTOR PASCAL MYSTERIES 1000
#29 Spirits
by T.K. Naliaka at TIPTOPduTOP

INSPECTOR PASCAL MYSTERIES 1000
#29 Spirits by T.K. Naliaka ©2017

   Patriciana finally blurted angrily, “Inspector Pascal! How can you just stand there and light a smoke like you’re waiting for the next train!  This is important!”
   Brown-haired and lean in a neat dark grey suit with a pale blue tie, Pascal crushed the glowing fag then calmly considered her and her rotund housemate Ruby, in matching orange printed caftans, glaring at him. The pause had almost given Pascal enough time to finish deducing who was the malcontent at the police department who’d inked Pascal’s name so Pascal would be dispatched to this case.
   Pascal replied conciliatorily. “Please accept apologies for the lack of response despite your many calls to the police department.  There really isn’t a cadre of homicide inspectors who have been trained in the… fantôme… specialty.”
   The two older women looked for confirmation from the big, broad-shouldered uniformed Sergeant Braque accompanying Pascal.  Braque’s job was to support Pascal, not roll his eyes, so he simply scowled. 
   Patriciana seemed somewhat placated. “Well, as I explained on the phone, the ghosts really crossed the line this time.”
   Pascal raised an eyebrow, “… this time? There are more than one…?  They’ve done things?”
   “We’re not sure there’s more than one.  But killing Hannian is really too much.”
   Surprised, Braque and Pascal glanced at each other, “Who’s Hannian?”
   Ruby spoke up. “He’s our gardener!  I mean… he was.” Ruby crossed the salon and out through an open set of glass doors to a patio garden, a verdant, eclectic space of colorful glazed pots with lush flowering vines and big-leafed green philodendrons decorated with quirky ceramic animals, bird baths and wind chimes.  Pascal and Braque could see themselves, small figures reflected from six sleek mirrored garden gazing balls on pedestals nestled among the plants.  “Over there!”
   Perplexed, they followed her out.  Behind a clay-pot-stacked potting table,  slumped backwards over a weathered wooden bench with his head lolled back and his mouth slacked open to the sky was a middle-aged, stocky, grey-haired man in a workman’s overall.  Ruby posed with her arm helpfully stretched out to guide them to the sprawled man.
   Pascal cautiously walked over and touched his hand against the man’s cheek, then Pascal pressed his fingers to the man’s neck to feel for a pulse.
   Sgt. Braque reached for his radio. “I’ll call it in.”
   “Un instant, Sergeant… can you first take some photos?”
   “Yes sir.” Braque pulled out a small camera from his pocket.
   Pascal then gestured to him. “Help me put him onto his side.”
   Braque hesitated, “Sir?”
   Pascal nodded, “Ça va.”  Braque helped Pascal re-position Hannian’s body.  Pascal stuck his hand in his pocket, then after a moment feeling for it, pulled out a small mirror, crouched and held it to Hannian’s nose and mouth.
   “What are you doing?”
   He glanced at Patriciana. “I’m verifying to see if he’s breathing.”
   Patriciana was dubious. “He doesn’t look like he is.”
   “Sometimes it’s very subtle.”
   Finally Ruby asked, “Well… anything?”
   Pascal slipped the mirror back into his pocket. “Perhaps it’s too subtle.” He pointed to a broken shard of pottery by Hannian’s feet. “This isn’t from these pots.”
   Patriciana came to him, then she pointed. “It’s a tile… from the roof.”
   Pascal peered up.  He pulled out his notepad and pen, “All right… from the beginning. Tell me why you called the police.”
   Ruby spoke up excitedly. “For a month, we’ve been hearing odd bumping noises in the night.”
   “From where?”
   “The ceiling!”
   Pascal glanced at Patriciana. “Is there more?”
   “Yes!  Last week when we were meditating on the rug in the salon, we heard strange, very inhuman sounds.”
   Pascal looked over at Ruby, “Inhuman?”
   Patriciana nodded, “You know… how the wind sometimes moans…”
   Ruby interjected excitedly, “But there was no wind!”
   Braque spoke up. “What’s that window for?”
   Patriciana walked over to look. “Oh! That’s just for the roof ventilation.”
   Pascal considered it. “That’s large enough for a person to enter.  Can we use that ladder?”
   Patriciana nodded, “Of course!”
   Sgt. Braque climbed up and peered inside. “Sir, it looks like illegal spirits…”
   Ruby gasped, “Spirits!”
   Braque reached in, “Alcohol… a foam mattress, a flashlight and binoculars.”
   Ruby’s face fell, “Oh.”
   Pascal looked up, then down at Hannian’s body draped like a limp noodle across the bench.  “Sergeant Braque! Could he have fallen from there to here?”
   “That’s what it looks like, sir.”
   Ruby exclaimed. “What would the gardener be doing on the roof?”
   Pascal tapped his pad against his palm. “What was the gardener doing in the ventilation space?”
   Braque descended the ladder and handed Pascal a bottle of homemade gin, “Drinking his brains out, sir.”  Braque gave him the binoculars. “What did he need these for?  Trees block the view.”
   Ruby nodded, “Of course! We picked this property because it’s set-back and well-screened from the road.  We always meditate in the nude, you see.”
   Braque chuckled, watching Pascal at a complete loss for words in two languages.
   Ruby exclaimed. “Inspector! Why that look? You sound French!  Aren’t you used to it?  Everyone we know in France does this, too!”
   Pascal’s jaw sagged.
   Suddenly, Braque burst out laughing.
   Pascal almost started. “What is it, Sergeant?’
   Braque strode inside the salon. “Can you see me?”
   “No. You’re out of the line of sight.”
   “Sir, try again!  How can you see me, if I’m inside here?”
   After a long puzzled moment, Pascal finally raised the binoculars and focused on one of the mirrored gazing balls.  He watched the reflected figure wave at him.  “I see you now!”
   Patriciana couldn’t hide her disappointment. “No ghosts?”
   “No… just Hannian enjoying drinking and spying on your… meditations."  Pascal gave Patriciana the binoculars. "What would you like us to do?  We can take him away or we can leave him here.”
   Ruby sputtered, “Leave him?  He’s dead!”
   “No,” Pascal shook his head. “He’s not.”
   “But… look at him!”
   Pascal replied. “He’s intoxicated… euh… how you say…”
  Braque offered, “Dead drunk.  He’ll wake up tomorrow and won’t remember anything.”
   Patriciana grumbled. “Take him!  He’s fired.”
                                             By T.K. Naliaka for TIPTOPduTOP ©2017

INSPECTOR PASCAL MYSTERIES 1000
#28 Prickly
by T.K. Naliaka ©2017
 
   The pair, a lean, brown-haired man in a neat tan suit accompanied by a big, broad-shouldered uniformed policeman strode to the group of police assembled in the long, open-air arched stone passageway of the large manor complex. 
   They approached a heavy-set older man in a black suit, “Inspector Abode?”
   “Yes?”
   He held out his hand. “I am Inspector Pascal.  Inspector Fortuna sent me.”
   Abode bristled. “I didn’t request assistance.”
   As the awkward pause lengthened and Abode made no effort to offer his own hand in greeting, Pascal casually withdrew his. “No problem, please inform Inspector Fortuna to reassign me.”
   Unwilling to antagonize the higher authorities, Abode chose ostracizing the subordinate authority instead.  He wrinkled his nose. “What is that… that odor?”
   Pascal frowned.
   Abode grinned at his men, “Smells like a Frenchman.”
   Apart from Sgt. Braque who was furious, most of the expressions on the assembled police officers were embarrassed to unreadable; but the three officers with Abode smirked.
   Pascal dryly retorted. “With a nose like that, were you promoted out of the K-9 kennels?”
   Abode’s face turned beet red.
   Pascal considered Abode coolly. “Convince Inspector Fortuna to change his orders and I will comply.” He pulled out a cigarette, stuck it in his mouth, lit it, took a deep draw, then blew out a grey haze of smoke that hung between them.
   Abode snapped. “Stay outside!”
   As Abode turned his back on Pascal, Pascal glanced at Braque who nodded, then followed the others filing into the building.
   Hiding his irritation, Pascal paced slowly along the grey flagstones of the corridor. After a few minutes, Braque’s message was on his phone:
   COMPANY PARTY. FEMALE VICTIM OFFERED TOAST. DRANK. COLLAPSED CHOKING & BLEEDING FROM MOUTH.  SECURITY IMMEDIATELY LOCKED DOWN. CALLED AMBULANCE & POLICE. VICTIM DEAD BEFORE ARRIVAL AT HOSPITAL. ALL ATTENDING STILL IN PLACE.  63 PERSONS BEING IDENTIFIED & INTERVIEWED NOW.
   Pascal rubbed his ear then typed back:
   POISON?
   After about five minutes, Braque’s reply came:
 UNCONFIRMED. BLEEDING WAS IMMEDIATE. STILL WAITING FOR HOSPITAL REPORT.
   Pascal leaned against one of the stacked granite columns.  A side door at the end of the main function hall opened slightly and a pretty young blonde in a white shirt with a long black apron wrapped over slim black pants holding a glass of wine, surreptitiously slipped out and closed the door carefully behind her.
   Pascal straightened, “Excuse me!”
   She started with fright, saw him and looked about to bolt so he held up his badge as he quickly trotted to her.  “Did you have permission to leave?”
   Her eyes were wide and strained and her hand began to tremble so Pascal shook out one of his handkerchiefs to cover the stem and took the glass from her. “Is this yours?”
   She dodged, “Je ne comprends pas.”
   "Française?”
   She froze, then she finally admitted, “Oui.”
   “C’est géniale!” Pascal pocketed his badge and steered her near to where he had been waiting to sit down, “D’où?”
   She slumped slightly, then accepting the inevitable, she replied, “Marseilles.”
   Pascal set the glass down on the ledge, “Cigarette?”
   She nodded, “Merci.”
   He lit it for her then lit another for himself.  He let her smoke morosely for a couple of minutes before he asked.  “Is this your glass?”
   She shook her head, “Non… it’s Bernard’s.”
   “Who’s Bernard?”
   “He’s the owner here.”
   “You know what’s going in there.  No one is to go in or out and nothing is to be removed.”
   Tears filled her eyes.
   “Why did you agree?”
   She began to cry. “I don’t have work papers.”
   “Ah… Bernard threatens you, and you do?”
   She nodded and covered her face.
   Pascal pulled out another handkerchief, unfolded it and gave it to her. “Comment t’appelles-tu?”
   She sniffed, “Giselle.”
   “Bon, Giselle.  Je suis Inspecteur Pascal.  Your problem is very small compared to a murder, n’est ce pas?”
   She wiped her eyes dejectedly, “C’est vrai.”
   “Help me and I will help you… fair?”
   “D’accord.”
   Pascal lifted the glass to peer at it. “What did Bernard tell you to do with this?”
   She replied. “He said to dump it into the compost at the garden then wash it in the kitchen.”
   “That’s interesting; why was it necessary to go all the way to the garden to empty it and not just to the sink?” Pascal held the glass of white wine to the sunlight. “Do you see anything?”
   Giselle leaned closer to peer at it.  She shook her head, “Rien.”
   Pascal sniffed it, then swirled the translucent pale yellow wine to watch it drain down the sides of the glass, “Ah, bon!”
   Giselle straightened, “What?”
   “What do you think of those legs?”
   Instead of flowing down smoothly, the draining wine was diverted in multiple directions. Giselle exclaimed, “C’est bizarre!  What’s causing that?”
   Pascal replied, “Glass splinters.  Had it been red wine, it could have been noticed, but with this white, they are nearly invisible.”
   Giselle gasped, “That poor woman!  She swallowed a mouthful!  That’s why Bernard said to pour it on the compost!  If I had poured it down the sink, they would have been piled in the drain catch!”
   Pascal whispered approvingly in her ear, “Beautiful and intelligent!” Giselle smiled. He pulled out a card from his pocket. “Here’s my number.  Call me tomorrow.  It’s going to be hard.  You are a witness and you have to stay and not disappear because it is very important that Bernard goes to prison, oui?”
   She nodded soberly, “Je comprends. He’s very mean.”
   “Très bien!  But I’ll help you, so don’t worry about anything.”
   The entry doors opened.  Nine policemen and Inspector Abode looked out in time to see Inspector Pascal sitting on the low wall with a cigarette and a glass of wine, exchanging kisses on the cheeks with a pretty blonde woman.  She gave Pascal a little parting wave, “Allez, tchao!”
   Pascal looked at them, with their jaws dropped, especially Abode’s.  Pascal stood up and inhaled indulgently. “What’s that… scent?”  He took another drag off his cigarette, exhaling indolently, “Chanel No. 5?”
by T.K. Naliaka ©2017

Inspector Pascal and Sergeant Braque will need strong grips to seize this killer!
Inspector Pascal Mysteries 1000 #27 Spitting Murder ©2017
at TIPTOPduTOP ©2017-2023
New, classic-style short-story mystery-adventure in only 1000 words for all ages!

INSPECTOR PASCAL MYSTERIES 1000
#27 Spitting Murder
by T.K. Naliaka ©2017-2023
 
The big, broad-shouldered uniformed policeman peered around the large room. Satisfied, he said, “Go ahead, sir.”

The hazel-eyed brown-haired man in a neat dark suit at the opposite side of the doorway tapped his pen irritably against the small notepad in his palm, “Why the library, Sergeant Braque?”*

Braque coughed slightly. “The man died here, sir.” 

“Yes… Hector… his body discovered without a mark on it, last night.  What could be lethal about a classic old library with a bar and luxurious seating… with a rare 1805 twelve-volume set of the collected works of Shakespeare?”

“Where do you see that?”

“It’s in that locked glass cabinet.”

At the bar, a tall man with the group – two men, a youth and two women – touched the arm of the smaller blonde man downing a shot of liquor. “Gil, it’s the police again!” He walked to them. “I’m Julian; I own this estate.”

“I’m Inspector Pascal… and this is Sergeant Braque."

Julian gestured to the others. “That’s Gil, she’s Laurencia, there’s Lucinda and my nephew, Seveso.”

There was a skin-crawling howl.  Startled, all turned as one to look.  Gil flailed then cried out again as he spun around blindly, fell to the ground and writhed with his hands pressed to his face as his feet hammered against the floor.

Pascal yelled. “What’s going on??”

Laurencia raised her hands helplessly. “I don’t know!  He was just pouring a whiskey!”

Lucinda pointed towards the bar and screamed, “Snake! A snake!”

Braque spotted a movement along the shelf of bottles then down the wall behind the bar. “It’s a cobra!”

Everyone froze, then leapt up, vaulting over furniture in their fright.  Pascal and Braque jumped aside as Seveso and Lucinda stampeded between them fleeing to the hallway.

Pascal glanced disbelievingly to the sky, “A cobra… shelved alphabetically under ‘C’ perhaps!”**

Braque quickly holstered his pistol, “Sir! It’s a spitting cobra!”

Pascal muttered, “Under “S!’”***

Braque yanked out his nightstick and put on his sunglasses with no-nonsense determination. “I’ll get it!” As Braque ran to the potted green ficus trees in the south corner, Pascal dashed to the writhing man and pushed aside Laurencia who was trying to drag Gil by his right leg across the rug to pull him out the door with her.

Pascal threw himself over Gil to pin him, yanked Gil’s hand away, pried open Gil’s left eye, leaned close and spat twice into it, then he pried Gil’s right eye open and spat hard.
Appalled, Laurencia hauled on Pascal’s arm to pull him away. “That’s disgusting!! Stop!!”

Lucinda grabbed an umbrella from the stand by the door. “Leave him alone!”

Pascal reached out quickly and grabbed one of the big couch seat cushions to parry Lucinda’s frantic blows hammering down on him.

The loud BOOM of a shot made everyone cringe. They turned, then cried out as one.

Pascal lowered the cushion and twisted around to look.  Sergeant Braque, with a large cobra wrapped around his left arm, its head locked in the vise of Braque’s grip and with his right hand brandishing his pistol strode back from the corner like an avenging mythological giant and roared. “Get off the Inspector!”

Lucinda’s eyes rolled up and she toppled over onto Pascal in a dead faint.

Braque pointed with the snake to Gil curled on the floor. “Saliva has enzymes that break down the poison!” Braque pointed the snake at Julian. “You’re all wasting time!  Get him some water to rinse his eyes and call the ambulance!”

The snake hissed and aimed a spit towards Julian, but it fell short, splattering across the coffee table.  Braque jammed his left fist into a sturdy glass tumbler at the bar to cover the snake’s head.  As not a soul had budged, Braque holstered his pistol, went around to the other side of the bar and rummaged through the bottles.  He slammed one on the bar counter and yelled at the group staring at him, “WATER!”

Laurencia, still cringing echoed, “Water?”

“NOW! Pour it into his eyes! Keep rinsing! Get more, NOW!”

Laurencia hesitated, “B-but that’s tonic?”

Braque growled. “It’s good enough! Just start rinsing!”

Pascal set the swooning Lucinda on the carpet and climbed back to his feet. “Thank you Sergeant!”

“You’re welcome sir!”

Braque lifted his left arm with the big cobra writhing futilely around his forearm and bicep and demanded. “Whose snake is this?”

Julian exclaimed. “What do you mean - whose snake is that?  What a ridiculous question!”

Braque retorted. “This is hardly a native species in this locality!”

After a long, long moment, a small nervous voice from the hallway finally replied. “Mine?”

Everyone turned to look at Seveso.  He looked at them all as he wrung his hands. “I ordered it?”

Julian and Laurencia stopped their sloshing tonic water into Gil’s eyes and gaped at him, “Why?”

“I like snakes? It was on sale?”

Pascal demanded. “How did it get in the library?”

“I don’t know!”

Gil finally gasped. “Hector took it out of its cage for a practical joke!”

Julian sputtered. “What kind of idiot plays practical jokes with a cobra?”

There was an awkward silence. Laurencia finally whispered, “A dead one?”

Pascal demanded. “For whom was this joke intended?”

Gil wiped his eyes. “Hector… didn’t say.”

“You kept quiet?”

“I didn’t know what happened to Hector!  It’s just spit!”

Braque glared at him. “It’s not spit, it’s venom.”

Pascal suddenly asked, “Julian. Who inherits this estate after you?”

Surprised, Julian looked at Pascal, “Hector…”

“And if not Hector…?”

Julian was still, then he flushed and glanced at Gil.

“Sir!” Braque gestured apologetically. “My hands are full!”

As everyone turned perplexed to stare at him and the snake, Pascal quickly snapped handcuffs on Gil. “Thank you, Sergeant.”

“You’re welcome, Sir.”

Stone-faced, Julian quickly stepped away, turned his back on Gil, gave Pascal and Braque a curt, grim nod and left the library.  Pascal turned to Gil. “Your too-clever murderous snake scheme just bit you.  Prison is all you’ll inherit.”
 
   * Inspector Pascal Mysteries 1000 #17 No Exit
 ** Inspector Pascal Mysteries 1000 # 4 The Serpent’s Coils
***Inspector Pascal Mysteries 1000 #26 Odds
 

                                                by  T.K. Naliaka ©2017-2023 all rights reserved

The odds aren't 50/50 in Pascal's latest murder investigation!
INSPECTOR PASCAL MYSTERIES 1000
 #26 Odds by T.K. Naliaka ©2017
New, Classic-style, mystery-adventure, short story fiction for all ages!

INSPECTOR PASCAL MYSTERIES 1000
 #26 Odds by T.K. Naliaka ©2017
 
    “Inspector Pascal, sir… Inspector Antione is moving the murder inquiry to the salon downstairs.”
    Dark-haired and hazel-eyed in a neat grey suit, Pascal glanced at the formal uniformed butler standing at the door. “You’re Jervis?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “I just wanted to take a moment.  This library is delightful!”  Jervis shut the door and crossed the room to join him as Pascal strolled along one of the mahogany shelves to peer at the titles.  Pascal smiled, “C’est magnifique! … Chaucer…Homer… Moore…” Pascal stopped, reached out to pull a book, then pushed it in and with excitement, pulled out the one next to it, “Le Roman de Renart - édition 1890!”
    Jervis’s hand shot out and grabbed his.  Before Pascal could react, Jervis was pushing the cold hard muzzle of a revolver against Pascal’s neck.  Jervis yanked Pascal’s pistol out of its holster and jammed it under his own belt. “I see what you did Inspector - trying to set me up like that!  I’m not stupid!  There are 5,972 books in this room! What are the odds that you’d just randomly pick that book out of the shelves?!?”
    Pascal glanced at the books then at Jervis.
    “You’re my ticket out of here! One wrong move and you’re dead!”
    Jarvis stiff-armed him across the big room.  Pascal awkwardly opened the door and stepped out into the long hallway with Jervis’s arm crooked tight around his neck and the revolver barrel jammed under his chin.
   The big, broad-shouldered uniformed police sergeant standing by the door turned around.
    “Take your gun out and put it on the ground!”
    Pascal rasped out. “Sergeant Braque, do it.”
    Eighteen people – estate staff, the three owners, Camilla, Nigel and Rudolph, various police, turned to look, then stare.
    Seven staff blurted as one, “Jervis!?!”
    Braque eased his pistol out and squatted to set it on the floor. 
    “Put your hands up!”
    Braque slowly raised his hands.
   Jervis scowled at the other police. “Inspector Antione - all of you - put your guns down, now!  Hands up… Now!!”
    They carefully did what he told them to do.
    As they all stood there with their arms raised, Jervis yelled. “I’m leaving!  Anyone who tries anything and he’s dead!”  He jerked Pascal around by the neck and yelled again. “Everybody move back!”
    Camilla blinked disbelievingly at them as Jervis manhandled Pascal past her, “Jervis!  Why?”
    He stopped to snarl at her. “I loaned Percival eight hundred thousand twenty years ago, sealed on a handshake and he never paid me back!  I went every year and he had an excuse.  This year he said there’s no proof, no one would believe I ever had that kind of money anyway so there was nothing I could do!  Yeah? Nothing? Hah!”
    Rudolph exclaimed. “B-but... Jervis! How did you ever get 800,000 on your pay?”
    “I’m very good at saving my salary and investing it in stocks!”
    There was dead silence.
    Nigel gasped. “We should have hired Jervis to manage the estate portfolio instead of Percival!”
    Jervis wrestled Pascal down the hall. “It’s too late now! I wouldn’t work for you idiots even if you paid me a million in salary!”
    Camilla turned excitedly to Nigel. “It’d be worth it!”
    The hallway of astonished staff and police stepped aside as Jervis pushed Pascal past them to the top of the big spiral staircase and shoved him to go down the stairs.  Pascal’s first step was two instead of one, suddenly dropping him down farther than Jervis expected, and with Jervis’s arm around his neck, Jervis went down with him, off-balance.
    Pascal’s right hand shoved the revolver away from his chin as he hunched forward and his left hand seized Jervis’s forearm.  Pascal put his shoulder into the heave to leverage Jervis up and over.  There was a shriek from Jarvis as he was flipped, then was airborne down the stairs to crash against the rail and sprawl stunned at the first landing. The revolver bounced and clattered down the stairs to the main floor.
    Pascal straightened.  He turned around to see a hallway of people staring at him, “Ah…” He tugged his suit jacket and pulled at his tie.  “… he’s all yours, Inspector Antione!”
    Antione hustled down the hallway to him. “Good job, Inspector Pascal, flushing him out like that!”  Antione heartily shook his hand. “He really fooled us!  We had no suspicion, not a clue!”
    Pascal nodded. “Yes… thank you…”  He stepped out of the way as the police officers crowded down the stairs to Jervis. “… d-do you need us?”
    Antione was exuberant, “No!  No…we can handle everything! You just made it easy for everybody! It would have been months of work, if we were lucky! Take the rest of the day off, outstanding job!”
    Camilla and Nigel rushed to the stairs to lean over the rail, “Jervis! Jervis! We’ll pay a million and a half!”
 
    Braque glanced back as he pushed his pistol into its holster, striding to catch up with Pascal as he descended to the marble foyer and out the massive wooden entry doors to the big gravel circular driveway. “What just happened?”
    Pascal didn’t answer until he’d arrived at their parked vehicle.  He opened the door, then stopped to look over at the big mansion, then at him. “I was just looking at the books.  It’s a fantastic library. I saw a rare edition, I pulled it out.”
    “And..?”
    “It was hollowed-out, with a revolver in it…”
    “… the murder weapon!”
    “Yes.”
    “You’re joking!”
    “No!”
    Braque got into the car.  They both sat silently. Suddenly, Pascal rummaged in his pockets and pulled out his notepad and his pen. “Exactly what are the odds of randomly picking out the one book in a room of 5,972 books - that had a murder weapon hidden inside it?”
    “Wait a minute!” Braque turned to look at him. “What were the odds that it was the butler who did it?”
    Pascal chuckled, “Better than the odds today that we’d have the afternoon free?”

by T.K. Naliaka ©2017 all rights reserved