INSPECTOR PASCAL MYSTERIES 1000
#25 Table Manners by T.K. Naliaka ©2016
 
    “Pleased to meet you Mr. Pascal.”
    “Enchanté, Madame Olinger.”
    A spry, silver-haired seventy-three years old, she insisted. “Call me Collette.” She leaned past him to address the large, heavy man seated on Pascal’s left. “You could take some pointers from this gentleman here, Mr. Hubert.”
    Red-faced and uncomfortably bulging out of his tuxedo Hubert snorted. “I earned my millions without being a gentleman.”
    Collette curled her lip. “Manners don’t cost anything.  Mr. Pascal, what do you do?”
    Pascal demurred, “Nothing worth millions.”
    Hubert jabbed one of the shrimp on his plate, plunged it into the red tomato cocktail sauce and stuck it into his mouth.  He gagged, “Spicy!” Hubert dropped the fork and quickly reached for his water glass. The fork, counter-weighted with the shrimp, clattered off his plate, somersaulted and landed on Pascal’s lap.
    Collette gasped as red sauce splattered on her white chiffon sleeve. “Hubert, you slob!”
    With patient restraint, Pascal set Hubert’s fork back on the table.
    Collette offered. “Come.  I’ll show you the lavatories.”
   A few minutes later, Pascal stepped out, still brushing at the damp patches on his black tuxedo pants.  Collette emerged dabbing at her wet sleeve. “Honestly, if I had known Hubert was attending, I wouldn’t have signed up for tonight’s dinner.” She looked at him. “You don’t seem very familiar with these subscription dinners.”
    Pascal shook his head ruefully. “It was recommended to me to try.”
    She patted his arm reassuringly. “This isn’t typical!”
    He murmured conspiratorially. “Maybe we should wait until Hubert has finished the next course.”
    Collette laughed.
    They returned to their seats.  As Pascal helped Collette with her chair, he glanced at Hubert.  Hubert had face-planted into his bowl of soup.
    He heard Collette exclaim. “Ugh!  Mr. Hubert, you don’t have to be such a pig!”
    Pascal grimaced, then he noticed with a pang of alarm, the woman on Hubert’s left who had her head on her arm, resting on the table.  He looked at the others; everyone slumped in some manner beside or over their bowls of soup.
    Collette gasped. “This is a bit creepy!  What on earth is going on?”
    Pascal reached out, quickly lifted Hubert’s head and pulled the bowl away. Pascal wiped Hubert’s face and pressed his fingers against Hubert’s neck to feel for a pulse as Collette pushed Lady Wynona out of her bowl and blotted the soup from Wynona’s nose.  Pascal shook his head disbelievingly. “I think they’re all drugged!”
    Collette looked aghast at her untouched bowl, “The soup!”
    Pascal hurriedly re-positioned another guest who was half-submerged in his second course. Pascal glanced up as he heard voices coming from down the hallway to the kitchen, then he quickly gestured to Collette as he jumped back to his seat and lowered his head. “Act like you’re drugged too.”
    Her eyes widened, but she did as he told her.  Pascal carefully eased out his phone.  A moment later, two masked men carrying large canvas sacks exited the kitchen.  After two rings, his call connected.
    The voice was small and a bit squeaky. “Hello?”
    Pascal frowned. “Who’s this?”
    “Robby.”
    Pascal glanced cautiously at the men approaching at the other end of the dining room and whispered. “Robby, this is Inspector Pascal; is your father there?”
    “He’s in the shower?”
    Pascal winced. “It’s an emergency, can you get him? Tell him I need his help – hurry!”
    “OK, but he doesn’t like to be bothered while he’s in the bathroom.”
    The men began stripping the unconscious diners of their jewelry, watches, phones and wallets and stuffing what they could find into their bags.  Pascal pressed the video button, eased his arm out surreptitiously and carefully pushed his phone into the floral centerpiece.  His other hand felt along his belt under his tuxedo jacket.
    On the other side of the connection, Robby peered at the small phone screen as he knocked on the bathroom door, “Dad?  There’s a phone call for you!”
    A minute later, one of the men made it to Hubert, tugging to unfasten Hubert’s watch, then reached his right hand into Hubert’s jacket pocket.  He cried out with fright as the next sleeping man suddenly came alive, grabbed his arm and smacked a steel handcuff around his wrist.  Pascal snapped the other cuff around the armrest of Hubert’s chair.
    Robby jumped, “Whoa!”
    “Leroy!” The other man swore as Leroy haplessly pushed and pulled against Hubert’s dead weight, yanking frantically at the locked cuff.  Furious, he impetuously pitched his sack across the table to hit Pascal, but Pascal dodged and caught it.  Empty-handed, the man swore again as Pascal tossed it under the table, then kicked Leroy’s sack out of Leroy’s reach.
    Pascal stumbled as he turned to face the man charging at him.  He twisted around to see Leroy had grabbed his ankle.
    “Sean! I got him!”
    Pascal was slammed back against the table.  Sean’s hands squeezed tight around his neck.
    Robby jumped up and down, excitedly pumping his fist. “Hit him! Hit him!”
    Sergeant Braque, with only a towel wrapped around his waist opened the bathroom door.  He frowned. “Robby, are you playing a video game on my work phone?”
    Pascal smashed his forearms against Sean’s arms to break the choke.  Sean snatched up a steak knife and lifted it high, but he flailed blindly when Collette hit him over the head with a solid silver candlestick.
    Pascal wrested the knife from him, drew up his legs and kicked Sean away to crash against the serving carts.  He grabbed a wine bottle, lunged after him and dropped Sean with one blow.
 
    Four minutes later, police were swarming in from every entry.
    Pascal spoke into his phone. “Yes, Sergeant; your cavalry has arrived.  Everything’s secure.”
    A moment later he added, “Robby?  Thank you for your help.”
    Pascal slipped his phone back into his pocket with a wry smile. “That’s it.”
   Collette laughed. “So! It’s Inspector Pascal!  You must promise me you’ll come to next month’s dinner!”
    Pascal chuckled. “I don’t know… will Hubert be going?”
                                                                                                   by T.K. Naliaka ©2016

Put a French detective in a wine cave and who knows what he'll deduce!
INSPECTOR PASCAL MYSTERIES 1000 No. 24 Chilled
by T.K. Naliaka ©2016
1000 words of fast-paced, short-story fiction mystery-adventure that fits in a tea break!

INSPECTOR PASCAL MYSTERIES 1000
No. 24 Chilled by T.K. Naliaka ©2016
    “Inspector Pascal, it’s been four weeks!  What have you found?”
    Light brown-haired and hazel-eyed, lean and trim in a dark brown suit, white shirt and dark green tie, Pascal looked over to the three of them seated in the canvas-stacked art studio. “Unfortunately, most thefts have no witnesses.  The thieves are identified when they sell the stolen items.  None of Giorgio’s objects have surfaced and with his poorly-catalogued collection, it’s been difficult to confidently identify any missing items.  Perhaps the thief who killed Giorgio is more patient than most, who usually steal to sell as quickly as possible as they want the money, not the objects.”
    Sheila rolled her eyes disgustedly. “You have nothing.”
    He clasped his hands behind his back. “I have gotten to know Giorgio, through the home he built for himself and through our interviews with everyone who knew him.”
    Henry snorted. “What good is that?  We knew him better than you can ever hope to.”
    “Of course, but that isn’t necessary.” Pascal pointed to the chrome and black coffee machine. “Giorgio made a fresh Italian espresso in the morning after he opened his studio here precisely at 9 a.m. to start his work day.  A wine-lover, he installed a climate-controlled cave in his house which I was tasked to inventory.  I found that he maintained a large yet unpretentious stock, not so Italian he didn’t appreciate a robust French Cabernet Sauvignon or a pale rosé from the Cape.  Giorgio bought rare antiquities to keep, but he bought wine to drink.”
    Rudy shook his head disbelievingly. “You’ve been reading wine labels for four weeks?”
    Sheila muttered. “He probably didn’t just read the wine.”
  Behind them, standing watch at the door the big-broad-shouldered uniformed police sergeant’s eyes narrowed.
    Pascal shrugged. “There were many details to… digest.”
    Henry rolled his eyes, “Unbelievable.”
   “I clarify: I take notes, not other people’s property.” Pascal continued. “I had plenty of time on-site to compare the scene to the facts of this case as they were first presented to me.  Sometime after 9:00 Wednesday the 24rd and at least twelve hours before 14:47 on Friday the 26th, Giorgio was killed – not in the wine cave, but here - by a thief who then carried his body to the house and left it in the cave.”
    Pascal folded his arms. “But… human nature is such that we only do what we absolutely must do and no more.  It’s seventy meters from this studio to the house, a long way to carry a dead man.  The thief used up a lot of time, energy at great risk… for no apparent reason.  Coincidentally, there was one other person who was inconvenienced by this effort… the coroner.  She was unable to more precisely narrow the time frame of Giorgio’s death with the body as chilled as it was.”
    Pascal picked up a bottle of Merlot from the work bench, “And he was chilled.  This perplexed me: Giorgio was quite relaxed about almost everything except his espresso and his wine, so why did Giorgio keep his wine cave at ten degrees lower than the optimum storage temperature?”
    They became still.
    Pascal returned their gazes. “Or perhaps he did keep it at the optimum temperature, but his killer lowered it to more quickly chill Giorgio’s body.”
     Rudy sat up. “What are you saying?”
    Pascal turned to him. “Perhaps it was never theft; but murder and thus a need to support an apparently ironclad alibi.”
    Sheila laughed. “You’ve had too much wine!”
    Pascal set the bottle down. “So, I stopped looking for stolen goods and started looking for motive and opportunity”
    Rudy paled, “Motive?”
   “Rudy, you left at noon on the 23th, sent by Giorgio to collect a 12th century chair Giorgio had purchased and returned mid-day on the 26th.  Henry, you were absent the 23th to the 26th, a hundred miles away attending seminars at a retreat when Giorgio was murdered.  Sheila, you asked for three days off to visit your mother.  Giorgio was alone, prey evidently to an intruder.”
    “I discovered Giorgio had another habit.” Pascal stretched out his arm and pointed to a small wooden box with rollers, displaying Wednesday 24.  “Every morning as he brewed his espresso, Giorgio set the date on that little perpetual calendar.  The coroner couldn’t estimate the time of death with a cold body, but by this, it seems that Giorgio was certainly alive to set the date at 9:00 a.m. on the 24th, thus he was killed either later on the 24th or on the 25th.”
    They were all nodding slightly – Henry, Rudy and Shelly.
    Pascal considered them coolly, “… or was he?”
    Their nodding ceased.
    Sheila grimaced. “What’s your point?”
    Pascal held up two large photos. “These are from the preliminary photos of the crime scene here. Note this same calendar.”
    Shelley peered at it, “Tuesday 23.”
    Pascal nodded, “The date Giorgio was murdered.”
    Rudy shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
  “I conducted all my interviews here. The murderer noticed the incriminating date and surreptitiously changed it to the 24th, but I had already entered Giorgio’s calendar with only his fingerprints on it and the date of the day of his murder as evidence for the prosecution.  I wiped it clean and returned to its spot.  The murderer’s fingerprints were lifted off it, with the date changed from Tuesday 23 to Wednesday 24, evidence for the charge of first-degree murder… Henry.”
    After a frozen moment, Henry leaped to his feet in livid fury.  “You…!! You set me up!!”
   Before he could snarl another syllable, he was pinned flat on the floor with his hands being handcuffed behind him.  Sgt. Braque hauled him to his feet and shoved him back onto his chair. “Sit down!”
    Pascal agreed. “Of course I did.  You checked into the conference and your room on the 23rd, then you promptly departed to murder Giorgio. You drove back in time that evening to be present at the conference soiree and three days of seminars for your alibi.”
 by T.K. Naliaka ©2016

Can one be too French for this test of wits, words and women?
Inspector Pascal Mysteries 1000 # 23 Faux ami

 INSPECTOR PASCAL MYSTERIES 1000
#23 Faux ami by T.K. Naliaka ©2016

    Waiters collected their champagne glasses as they passed into the dining room.  As they peered at the place cards to locate their seats, the tuxedoed man on his right offered his hand. “I’m Inspector Sampson.”
    He shook his hand, “Inspector Pascal.”
    Beside Sampson, a raven-haired, grey-eyed woman in a formal black jacket and long skirt smiled and reached out. “I’m Inspector Beryl.”
    He grasped her hand, then kissed her lightly on each cheek. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
    She flushed slightly. “You didn’t kiss Inspector Sampson.”
    Pascal shrugged.  “Is he a doting adored grandmother, a cooing baby or a beautiful woman?”
    Sampson laughed. “No, I definitely don’t qualify.”
    Beryl conceded with a wry smile. “What can I say?”
    A slim attractive brunette woman in a red satin gown approached with her hand outstretched, “Inspector Pascal!”
    She smiled as he kissed her, “Inspector Draw!* How are you?”
    Draw widened her eyes, “Busy! I have a couple of intense cases right now.  Look!  We’re neighbors tonight!”  She glanced over towards their host, senior Inspector Oswald taking his seat at the head of the table.  After they all sat down, Draw leaned over to Pascal. “I adore your accent.”
    “I’m completely charmed!” Pascal reached over for the white wine. “Permit me to pour?”
    She smiled and held out her glass.
    After they’d dined and their plates had been cleared, Inspector Oswald set a large magnum of champagne on the table, tapped it with his spoon to interrupt the conversations and announced. “A challenge – whoever can solve the crime, wins this bottle!”
    Pascal suppressed a disappointed sigh as the genial ambiance was suddenly replaced by a competitive tension as everyone fell silent to listen intently to Oswald’s story.
    Draw turned to Pascal. “Aren’t you interested?”
    Sampson and Beryl glanced at her, then at him.
    Pascal demurred. “It’s clever.”
    Draw persisted. “Come on!”
    Pressed, he finally replied. “Perhaps the key to the solution is a faux ami – a ‘false friend’ as it is called.”
    Draw leaned closer and lowered her voice. “What do you mean?”
    “The coroner’s report stated intoxication as the cause of death, but the victim was a teetotaler and the coroner who wrote the death certificate hails from Lille, in France.”
    She shook her head, unenlightened.
    Pascal continued. “The English meaning - to be intoxicated - is always associated with alcohol. In French, intoxication is not employed in quite the same manner.  It’s toxin.”
    Draw’s eyes widened. “He was poisoned?”
    “Well… all the coroner wrote was intoxication.  In French, particularly if there are no other qualifiers, this can mean food poisoning.  The victim’s last meal was at a local seafood restaurant.  Possibly it’s a case for the public health authorities, not for homicide.”
    Draw’s mouth curved cryptically.  To Pascale’s surprise she suddenly stood up.  “If I may, Inspector Oswald; was it really murder or a case of accidental food poisoning?’
    Inspector Oswald raised his hands and clapped. “Indeed!  Bravo Inspector Draw!”
    There were several perplexed voices. “How is that?”
    Pascal looked up at Draw to watch her smoothly offer his explanation as if it was her own. “The cause of death should have been translated as food poisoning… not intoxication as in drunkenness, hence the confusion.”
    The gathered investigators nodded appreciatively, “Very interesting!”
    She walked over, shook Oswald’s hand and accepted the big bottle.  Oswald then announced. “Congratulations for earning a place on our team for the Alexander Park investigation!”
    Draw beamed and shook his hand again. “It’s an honor, sir!”
    After a stunned pause, the other investigators rose to politely applaud.  Pascal carefully set his napkin on the table and slowly stood up.  As they all filed past Oswald and Draw to the terrace for cordials, Draw coyly held her hand out for him. “I’ve so enjoyed your company tonight!”
    Pascal clasped her offered hand, “Surely not as much as I enjoyed discovering your zeal for French champagne.” He turned, “Inspector Oswald…”
    “Yes?”
    Draw froze.
    Pascal exclaimed, “… such a unique method you employed!”
    Pleased, Oswald replied. “We needed someone who speaks French.”
    “Ah!” Pascal smiled at Draw. “She has an adorable accent.”
    Draw’s eyes narrowed. “I-I’m… charmed.”
    Pascal raised an eyebrow, “… until we meet again?”
    She coolly retracted her hand from his grip, “… of course.”
 
    Pascal took in a deep draw off his cigarette, then let it out into the cool night air.  He stood for a moment, then he chuckled, tossed the fag to the pavement and crushed the glowing red ember out with his heel.  He walked thoughtfully down the curving brick path to the car park.
    Sergeant Braque, chatting with three other sergeants keeping warm by an outdoor heater, set his cup of coffee down. “Sir, is it over already?”
    “Dinner’s finished… everyone is mingling over cordials.”
    Braque watched Pascal, “Sir? How did it go?”
    Pascal shrugged, “Interesting.”
    Braque frowned.
    Pascal admitted. “Well, it wasn’t what I had expected.”
    “Inspector Pascal!”
     A hotel waiter was trotting down the walkway.  He pulled up in front of Pascal, “For you, sir!” He handed Pascal a note card.
    Pascal opened it and read:
 You deserve something better than a jug of inferior champagne
presented to that opportunist.
Some advice – the Alexander Park case is a mess; avoid it.
     Pascal muttered. “I can believe that by the way they’re recruiting.”
    The waiter handed him a small bottle of Port, a restricted mark twice the price of the champagne.  Pascal looked up. “Who sent this?”
    The waiter shrugged and shook his head.
    Pascal started back, but the waiter neatly blocked him. “I won’t get the hefty tip I was promised if I allow you to pass.”
    Pascal acquiesced, “All right.” He pulled out his wallet, “Please convey my appreciations… to… to…”
    The waiter chuckled as he took the bill, “She prefers to remain anonymous.”
    Pascal watched the waiter leave.  He considered the bottle of Port in his hand and re-read the note, smiled, turned around and bumped into Braque right behind him.
    Braque grinned, “Ah- ha! I’d thought so… she!”
 
*#22 Garbled

INSPECTOR PASCAL MYSTERIES 1000
 # 22 Garbled by T.K. Naliaka ©2016
 
    He hesitated when he saw him become very still, staring at the folder in his hand, then he began quickly leafing through the documents.  He looked up at him, alarmed. “Sergeant Braque, did you know who’s conducting this briefing?”
    Braque shook his head, “No?”
    “It’s…”
    “Why hullo there, Inspector Pascal! How good to see you again!”
    Pascal turned. “Ah! Inspector Durant*… yes! How are you?”   He hadn’t finished shaking Durant's hand when a second detective arrived.
    “Pascal! I didn’t know you’d be here today!  Come on in, we’re starting!”
    Braque’s eyes went wide with alarm when Pascal looked back at him like a caged animal as he was steered into the conference room in the firm yet genial grips of the other two investigators. Braque spread out his hands helplessly and mouthed silently. “What should I do?”
    The doors closed.
    Fifteen minutes later, standing at the podium in front of a huge illuminated screen, Inspector Garland* paused to look over the group of blank faces staring at him.  He changed the slide displayed behind him and read. “The treatment of the bulwark of the perspective is foundation to be inexhaustive.”
    There was silence. From the middle of the room a hand went up.
    Garland peered across the room, “Yes… Inspector Drew?”
    “Draw… Inspector Draw... can you clarify that?”
    “What’s not clear?”
    Draw cleared her throat, “All of it.”
    Garland leaned back to look at the slide.  He was silent for several long moments, then he clicked to the next and read. “The aspect of the angled of incidentally…”  He raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at Draw.
    She grimaced back at him.
    Pascal had his right arm on the table with his pen poised for notes as he gazed at a point in space somewhat in the neighborhood of the slide.  He eased out his phone under the desk.
    “Perhaps Inspector Pascal would like to reply to that!”
    Pascal froze.
    Garland growled. “All phones are off, Inspector!  You are being called upon to answer!”
    He took a deep breath, then let it out.  Pascal smoothly pocketed his phone, stood up and looked over at Garland. “What was the question?”
    Garland regarded everyone to pointedly display his annoyance. “Inspector Drew had a question about the slide.  Perhaps you could explain it?”
    She countered.  “Draw… my name is Draw.”
    Garland nodded as if Pascal had made the error, not him. “As I said, why don’t you explain it to… Inspector… the Inspector in the fourth row?”
    “Yes, sir,” Pascal looked at all the investigators looking back at him.  He turned his head and considered the slide displayed on the screen. After a long moment, he turned back to address Draw and announced. “The critical aspect was that the angle of incidence was 36 degrees.  Therefore, the defendant’s statement that he’d fired accidentally from the position he’d claimed was false.  It was impossible for him to not have seen the victim as he declared in his sworn statement when the shot was fired.  The forensic evidence conclusively established that it could not have been accidental.”
    There was dead silence, quite awkward in a homicide briefing.  Draw spoke up. “That’s not what the slide says.”
    Pascal glanced aside, then at Garland, then back at Draw.  He looked at the slide.  Pascal cleared his throat and had to admit. “No, it doesn’t.”
    Annoyed, Garland gestured to him with his handful of notes, “If you don’t mind Inspector Pascal!  This is a serious discussion!”
    “Yes, it is sir.”
    The others looked at each other.  Draw persisted, pointing with her pen. “How do you get that out of what’s up on the slide?”
    Pascal suppressed a resigned sigh. “You can’t.”
    Draw shook her head. “So, which one is it?”
    “What I’ve told you is correct.”
    Garland snorted. “You weren’t even paying attention!”
    Pascal reluctantly turned to him. “I… happen to know this case study by heart.”
    Garland was disbelieving, “How!?  It was in a foreign language!”
    Pascal finally told them. “I helped translate the document four years ago.”
    Garland’s scowl shifted to a frozen mask, then he picked up the document and quickly paged through it.  The other inspectors saw him and began flipping through their copies.  Draw held hers up and read loudly. “Translation from the original provided by Valère and... Pascal. That's you?”
    He nodded.  A trio of inspectors in the back row leaned together to huddle and began smothered laughing.
    Garland turned red.  He blurted. “Then there is no need for you to attend this briefing is there?”
    Pascal shook his head, “No sir.”
    “You are dismissed!”
    “Yes sir!”
    Pascal picked up the document, tucked it under his arm, turned and worked his way past the chairs of the other inspectors and exited out the door.
    Braque, with his phone to his ear, turned around quickly.  He was apologetic.  “I was calling Inspector Fortuna* to get you pulled out.”
    Pascal shook his head ruefully, “Never mind. Garland banished me.”
    “Garland!?!”
    Before Pascal could explain, the doors opened and out filed twenty investigators. Two of them went straight to Pascal and to Braque’s surprise, hooked their arms in his and steered him down the hallway.  Six other investigators followed, forming a human screen, glancing behind them as they gathered around.
    Practically captive, Pascal sputtered. “What’s going on?”
    Draw shook her head. “How about you tell us?”
    He glanced at them all, then he answered. “It was part of a team assignment which required a translation of that case study.  From the looks of it, Garland took our translation and ran it through the auto-translator to translate it back.”
    Durant exclaimed. “It’s a garbled mess!”
    Pascal grimaced. “I didn’t recognize it myself until ten minutes into his presentation.”
    Draw laughed. “You’ve saved us all! Garland bailed and cancelled the rest of it.  We’re free for the rest of the morning; the next briefing isn’t until 2 p.m.”
    Durant patted Pascal jovially on the back, “Come on, Inspector!  You’ve just earned yourself a free lunch… on us!”
*Inspector Durant:  Harmless, Inspector Pascal Mysteries 1000 #12
*Inspector Garland: The Greenhouse Case, Inspector Pascal Mysteries 1000 #7
*Inspector Fortuna:  Best Suited, Inspector Pascal Mysteries 1000 #19
                                                                                        by T.K. Naliaka ©2016 all rights reserved

INSPECTOR PASCAL MYSTERIES 1000
#21 Gone by T.K. Naliaka ©2016
 
     The leading trio of two women and a man stopped and waited.  Twelve people, escorted by five policemen formed a semi-circle as a third collection of people stood behind them to watch and listen.
     The prosecutor, Angus announced. “As per the jury’s request to visit the site, this is the trail where the defendant testified he brought his four-year-old daughter for a hike. The document you all have in hand is his original police statement.  We will progress along the path the defendant claims he was on with his daughter before he claims she vanished.”
     She continued. “The prosecution asserts that it is simply not credible that Mr. Heath could have lost his daughter under the circumstances he described.  We remind the jurors of the testimony of his ex-wife that she had protested the court-mandated joint custody.  An intensive search of the area by police, with tracking dogs after the accused reported the child gone never found any evidence that the girl had ever been here in the first place.”
    Guarded by two court officers, a man in an orange coverall with his hands shackled to a belly chain cried out. “It had rained!  I carried her on my shoulders!  I put her down here!”
    Angus rebuked him. “Mr. Heath!  If you cannot adhere to the conduct you are required to maintain during this field visit, you will be escorted back to the county jail!”
     Heath’s face darkened.  He sharply shook his head, but he stayed silent.
     Two men standing slightly apart from all the others, waited as the prosecution team continued on, followed by the jurors. Big and broad-shouldered, the uniformed officer leaned over and murmured. “Sir, what do you think?”
     He replied. “I don’t know.”
     “Sir, if he’s innocent, this would be tearing him apart.  Wouldn’t a guilty man behave as if he was a reasonable person?”
     He was non-committal. “Accomplished liars are convincing.”
     “I’m aware of that, sir. I deal with them every day.”
     He sighed. “I know.  I am obligated to maintain my neutrality since they called me as an advisor.”  He took a moment to study the diagram of the original search grid.  He glanced up, “Uh-oh!”
     They hustled forward to help one of the jurors who had stumbled, “Madame!  Are you all right?” They helped her up and back on her feet.
     The assistant prosecutor worriedly picked his way along the path past the other jurors, “Inspector Pascal! Sergeant Braque!  Is there a problem?”
     Pascal replied. “She just tripped.”
     She brushed her clothes. “I’m not very good at hiking, I’m sorry!”
     “It’s only a little farther.  See?”
     “Oh, I’m sure I can manage that.”
     They gathered by a jumble of rocks to find a trickle of clear water coming out of a small hole, flow in a shallow crack across a flat boulder, dribble down and then run along a narrow, gravelly depression across the trail to continue downhill. “This was the last place the defendant stated he saw his daughter.”  The prosecutor hiked about one hundred feet further and called to them. “Mr. Heath, you stated you were here.  Is that correct?”
     Tears began to roll down his cheeks. “She was playing with the water!  I just wanted to take a photo!”
     Angus called back. “As it is apparent, it’s not probable that the accused could have lost sight of his daughter!  There is an unimpeded view in all directions!”
     Braque frowned, but when he glanced at Pascal, Pascal was staring at the little rivulet.
     Pascal tapped Braque’s arm. “Let me have your nightstick.”
     Three jurors turned slightly when they noticed that Pascal had climbed off the trail to jab between the rocks with the black baton.  Braque inserted himself between them and Pascal to provide a bit of cover as Pascal picked his way around the outcropping to poke among the stones.
     Pascal felt around with his foot to test the ground.  Between some of the rocks the soil was soft and moist.  He pushed the tip of the nightstick into the dirt.  It penetrated slowly to half its length, then suddenly Pascal pitched forward as the nightstick broke through all resistance.
     The jurors cried out in fright.  Braque lunged and grabbed Pascal’s leg as he upended, flailing to catch at anything solid as the earth crumbled away in front of him. Two dislodged rocks barely missed his head before tumbling into the hole.
     Braque dragged Pascal to solid ground.  Scraped and bruised, dirt and grass-streaked, Pascal gingerly sat up.  The crowd - jurors, the accused and the court officials - fell silent as Braque handed his torch to Pascal who got back down on his stomach and eased over to the edge of the hole to peer down inside.
     Pascal finally pushed himself away, got up and grimly handed back Braque’s torch.  The jurors held their breaths with dread as Pascal gravely went to the shackled father, gently rested his hands on the man’s shoulders and leaned close to quietly speak to him.  After a moment, Heath cried out, sank to his knees, bowed his head and began sobbing.
     Pascal finally turned  and explained to them all. “It seems insignificant, but a constant trickle steadily erodes out spaces under the surface.  While playing about the rocks when her father walked away for a minute to take a photo, the child simply stepped on a hollowed-out spot and fell through. The unstable hole collapsed and a few rocks tumbled down to obscure what had happened.  The constant wetness made it practically impossible for the dogs to pick up any trace of her scent.  It seemed as if she had gone, but she is still here... just a few meters from where her father saw her last.”
     The jurors began to cry.
     Pascal appealed to all of them. “Mr. Heath’s child cannot be restored to him, but his honor can be.  It wasn’t any sort of murder or negligence… just a tragic accident.  Please allow him to be free to grieve in peace.”
                                                                                      by T.K. Naliaka ©2016 all rights reserved

INSPECTOR PASCAL MYSTERIES 1000
#20 An Imaginative Man, by T.K. Naliaka ©2016

     “Inspector Pascal, what makes you think I’m not telling the truth?”
     He looked up from his writing. “Why do you say that?”
     She pouted. “I can tell by your expression.”
     He turned the page on his notepad. “Nothing intended, Madame Droxford.”
     She dismissed this. “I’m not that easily fooled.  Your questions have been quite different from the other interrogations.”
     He raised an eyebrow, “How so?”
     She sat down, leaned back, crossed her legs and languidly pushed back the sleeves of her shirt. “That other fellow out there wanted to know where I was on the night of 2nd June.  Very inspector-like.  You asked me what was the first thought that entered my mind when I heard that Randolph had been murdered.”
     Pascal paused and raised his pen slightly. “Have you decided what it was, yet?”
     Her mouth curled slightly. “What’s the right answer; yes or no?”
     Pascal clicked his pen and slipped it into his pocket. “If only we could dispense with this case that easily.”
     She propped her elbows on the chair arms and gave him an up-from-under look. “What’s the issue you’re having that is keeping this case from being dispensed with?”
     Pascal considered her for a long moment before he replied, “A lack of truth and honesty.”
     She held his gaze. “Does that anguish you?”
     He shrugged. “All crimes, especially murder, are thickly obscured by deliberate lacks of truth and honesty, so frankly, we arrive with that expectation. Our job is to sort it out correctly - fact from fiction and fantasy.”
     She straightened. “Why did ‘fantasy’ come to your mind?”
     Pascal considered her oil paintings as he paced slowly past the fireplace.  He turned to her. “We have the crime of murder.  A man was killed on this property.  We don’t who did it or why. But it’s very important that we find the killer, first for justice for the victim, and second to protect society.  Once someone crosses that line to kill, it’s not very hard to cross it again.  It’s not any occasion to be playing games for attention.”
     She finally stood up and walked to stare out the tall wooden-paned windows. At last she spoke. “I hated Randolph.  When I heard he was dead, I thought, I’m free.” She turned to him with her mouth twisted bitterly. “Happy?”
     Pascal replied blandly. “I can appreciate that it must have been very hard for you to articulate that.”
     She scoffed. “Translation: I got her to confess.”
     Pascal leafed through his notes. “At the time of Randolph’s murder, you were at the theatre.”
     “I adore Shakespeare…” Her eyes widened “… and you?”
     He turned another page. “I’m having some difficulty pinpointing Gerard’s whereabouts at the same time, however.”
     She shrugged. “Gerard dropped me at the show.”
     “Dropped you?  He doesn’t fancy Shakespeare?”
     She smiled. “What sorts of things fancy you?”
     “Sir.”
     Pascal turned to the big, broad-shouldered uniformed policeman posted at the door, “Yes, Sergeant?”
     “A message for you, sir.”
     Pascal walked over to him, “Yes?”
     Braque leaned over and whispered. “This is excruciating.  What’s going on?”
     Pascal murmured back. “She’s flirting with me.”
     “That’s cringingly obvious.”
     “I’m letting her.”
     “That’s the excruciating part of it!  It’d be more appropriate if she was chasing you with an axe!”
     “But, there’s something rather odd about this.” Pascal frowned. “How’s Inspector Juneau doing with Gerard?”
     “They’re still inside the salon.”
     “Can you ask Sergeant Lu?”
      Braque peered out the half-opened door. “She just went inside.”
     “May I call you just… Pascal?”
     He turned to see her crossing the room to join him.  He replied. “If you’d like, but it strongly evokes being ordered by superiors."
     She blinked, but recovered. “What’s your first name?”
     “Inspector.”
     She frowned, but Braque seemed much happier.
     Pascal looked at Braque, then at her. “You know what?”
     She shook her head.
     “All I can think of is we’re wasting our time here with you.”
     She complained. “That’s not a very nice thing to think.”
     Pascal tapped his notepad in his palm. “But you know when I get a thought, it always leads to another thought, then another.”
     She smiled and raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”
    “We aren’t wasting our time – Inspector Juneau was tasked with interviewing Gerard and we were tasked with interviewing you, and that is what we’re doing.  So, could it be that you are wasting our time… here?”
     She laughed. “You are such an imaginative man!”
     Pascal pulled the door closed and gave a slight jerk of his head, “Sergeant.”
     Braque didn’t need more prompting.  Before she could react, she was already in handcuffs and firmly in his grip.
     She almost got out the first loud syllable of protest at the top of her lungs, but Pascal stuffed a wad of cotton kerchiefs in her opening mouth. “Shush!”
     She shook her head and tried to work them out “Mmm-mmm-mggg!”
     Pascal opened the door. “Sergeant – don’t let her get out or make a peep until I know what’s going on.”  He held up his phone.  A moment later, Braque’s phone rang. “You can monitor me over the open line.”
     Pascal left them, crossed the foyer, un-holstered his pistol, listened, then carefully eased open the salon door.  He took it all in at once. “Freeze!”
     Gerard was straddling the window sill, with one leg out and the other in. He raised his hands as if complying, then he threw himself back, outside.  Pascal ran to the window.  Eight feet below, Gerard rolled over, scrambled to his feet, then fell with a curse as his left ankle collapsed. 
     Pascal watched him fall and then get up to hop, then fall again. Pascal considered the expanse of open lawn, holstered his pistol and pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Sergeant, she wasn’t wasting our time, she was occupying it.  Inspector Juneau and Sergeant Lu are out cold on the floor and Gerard is absconding out the back.”
     “I’ll get him, sir!”
     Pascal nodded appreciatively as Gerard fell again and began crawling. “He’s all yours!”
                                       by T.K. Naliaka ©2016, all rights reserved.

INSPECTOR PASCAL MYSTERIES 1000
#19 Best Suited, by T.K. Naliaka ©2016-2023

Sgt. Braque had to break into a trot to catch up, “Sir! What happened?”

He stopped.  A long moment passed before he finally replied. “I was informed that I take too many risks. Therefore, my performance evaluation was rated only Satisfactory.  If I don’t start conforming better, it’ll be revised to Probationary status.”

Braque gasped. “No!”

He glanced at his watch. “I’m sorry, I have an appointment.  I can’t be late.”

Braque watched disbelieving as he went to his car, got in and drove off.  Frustrated, Braque finally called after him. “I know you don’t have an appointment!  I manage all of your scheduling!”

The next morning, he was subdued as Braque followed him up three floors and along a corridor of offices.  He stopped, knocked, then opened a door.  “I am reporting to Inspector Fortuna.”

“You are?”

“Inspector Pascal.”

“Ah yes! You’re the reckless one.  Need a bit of supervision, so I’ve been told.”

Pascal colored slightly.  Braque’s eyes narrowed.

Fortuna lifted a large, heavy binder. “I have just the job for you.”

Pascal took it, “Sir?”

Fortuna told him. “You go to the police records warehouse depository and locate the original files on this case so we can have them digitized to make cross-referencing them easier.”

Braque blurted, “Sir! That’s a clerical job!”

Fortuna squinted at him, “Sergeant.”

“Sir.”

“Would you prefer patrol duty?”

Braque wanted to reply, yes I would, but he restrained himself, “No sir.”

Two hours later, Pascal stood dejectedly as he surveyed acres of crowded shelving, cartons, boxes and files.  He finally sighed. “Let’s see what Fortuna wants.”  They found a small folding table, two metal folding chairs, set them in a small space they cleared and sat down.  Pascal opened the binder, “Case number 0023-897-1000435.”

Braque grumbled. “That’s clear as mud.”

Pascal became still, then his hazel eyes widened.

Braque asked. “What is it?”

Pascal straightened as he leafed through.  He looked up with excitement. “This is the biggest unsolved murder in the entire department!”

“What!”

Pascal exclaimed, “The Depository murder!” He jumped up and swept out his arms, “Thirteen years ago - right here!”

A half hour later, they paced slowly along a narrow aisle. Pascal referred to the binder as they went, “Stop.  No, keep going… another meter.”

Braque stepped aside and pointed. “The police officer’s body was found here?”

“Yes.”

“Had it been moved?”

“No, killed where he stood.”

Braque indicated with his chin. “Officer Dawson was shot from behind from a distance of fourteen feet.  His murderer was standing there.”

Pascal considered the packed shelves. “We can keep ourselves busy.  Let’s suppose the victim was doing something right here that was a threat to the killer.  The only firm assertion was that the murderer was - perhaps still is - employed in some manner at the police department – with access to this building.  They interviewed hundreds of staff without generating any leads.” Pascal shrugged. “So let’s just take a look at what’s archived here and see if we find anything.”

“These are vehicular reports for the twenty years prior to the murder.” Braque grimaced, “Twenty years!”

“Hold this.” Pascal passed Braque the opened binder.  Pascal pulled out a piece of chalk from his pocket and copied the original outline of the body as it had been found, plus two lines. “Officer Dawson fell exactly here, so let’s make these our margins.  We have all week; we’ll systematically check every single document inside this boundary, starting with the section he was in front of when he was shot.”

Three days later, Braque looked up, alarmed. “I think I found something!”

Pascal glanced over. “Tell me.”

“A hit and run fatality… twenty-eight years ago; Charlene Tandy, married to Todd Tandy.”

“And?”

Braque whispered. “He’s Lieutenant Tandy now!”

Pascal quickly paged to the master list of interviews, found Tandy’s name and read the summary notes. “He was attending a three-day conference at the time of this murder.”

“He could have slipped out of it!”

“Perhaps!”

Pascal straightened warily. “Sergeant…do you smell anything?”

Braque stood up quickly. They grabbed the binder, the file and ran to the closest exit as the smoke alarm blared.  Pascal pushed the exit doors, but they hardly budged. “They’ve been chained!”

As they turned to head for a different exit, they heard the links clattering and the doors were thrown open.

They stepped out to discover Inspector Fortuna and his men. Pascal exclaimed. “How is it you’re here?”

“We’ve been watching the building since you started.  We just foiled an arson attempt.  Unfortunately, the perpetrator escaped.”

“You didn’t send us here to retrieve files! We’ve been here as live bait?”

“You have an interesting reputation, so I thought I’d test it.  The culprit was inside the police department.  After reviewing the personnel evaluations I decided that you both were the best suited for the job.  Pascal, you started somewhat recently so you were clean for my purposes and a potential real threat to the murderer - provided he or she was still in the department.  Braque, you joined just after the murder and worked up the ranks; you know almost everybody.  I passed the word that you two were working on a new lead on the case.”

“You could have told us!”

Fortuna chuckled. “Pascal, you had that egregious performance evaluation sticking in your craw.  You couldn’t be assigned this case, but what if it was unexpectedly in your hands?  Might you actually discover something everyone else missed?”  Fortuna peered at them. “Wait… you really did?!”

Braque replied. “Decades ago, before he became a police officer, Lieutenant Tandy was married to a woman who was killed in an unsolved hit-and-run accident.”

Pascal added. “Possibly Officer Dawson found out, suspected it hadn’t been accidental and was murdered while trying to locate the record.  Officer Dawson died within two meters of the original vehicular report.”

Fortuna smiled as he took the incriminating document, “Outstanding!  While we press the pursuit of our mysterious arsonist, let’s confirm the whereabouts of Lieutenant Tandy.”
​ by T.K. Naliaka ©2016-2023, all rights reserved