INSPECTOR PASCAL MYSTERIES 1000
#18 Questions by T.K. Naliaka ©2016-2023

 The whisper was by his ear. “What tipped you off that he was the bad guy?”

He turned his head to look at the boy, earnestly leaning close with wide and curious eyes.  He squinted, then he replied. “The first clue was: he said he couldn’t walk very well.”

The boy climbed up on the chair, propped his elbows, then his chin on his hands. “Why was that important?”

“The killer had to have made a quite long jump in order to get away, you see?”

The boy nodded, then he shook his head. “No.”

“Ah, well.  He wanted to fool us, yes?”

The boy nodded firmly.

“So he killed the poor fellow in a difficult place to walk and climb.  Thus, when everyone came to investigate, no one believed it could be him, because he was with leg braces and a crutch.  But he was pretending.”

“Really?”

“Yes.  He was clever at it, over a year of fooling people into thinking he couldn’t walk well, so no one considered him to be physically able to do what the killer did – carry the body and deposit it in a hard-to-reach place.  You understand, when we go to investigate any crime, we don’t know anyone.  We don’t know their names or their histories or what kind of people they are.  We have to get to know them very quickly.  We don’t who is lying or who is telling the truth.  We have to ask questions of everyone.”

The boy nodded, “OK.”

“So how were we to know that he could walk perfectly well?  Everyone who knew him said he’d had an accident the year before.  This means that he thought about it a long time ago, how to fool the police.  All of them had witnessed him being crippled for a year.  The people he worked with believed it completely.  So, he was a very dangerous man – he planned and pretended for an entire year to kill his business partner.”

The boy’s eyes were wide, “Wow. That’s wrong!”

“Yes, it is very terrible.”

“But, why?”

“That’s the other thing we never know -  what we have to figure out – what reason did the killer have in his head to kill this person?  It’s very evil, so sometimes it’s very hard for nice people to understand this.”

“Did you find out?”

“Yes.  That sometimes is quite boring.  It means sitting in chairs, reading a lot of files.  The files we were interested in were about money – so we had to understand the numbers, the addition, the subtraction, the multiplication, the division. You know these?”

He nodded. “Yes!  My dad makes me practice every day!”

“Very good.  After that, you also learn about the numbers.”

“What is that?”

“Well, for example: You have two dogs.”

“I have three.”

“OK, three dogs.  How much food do you feed them… how many bags of dog food every month?”

He frowned, “Um…two big bags.”

“All right, let’s say each bag is $20. How much money is two bags?”

“$40!”

“Good!  If someone said they spent $300 on dog food for their three dogs, what do you think of that amount of money, based on what you know about your dogs and dog food?”

He gasped. “That’s too much money!”

“Exactly.  It might be true if he buys a very fancy food, but it might not be true.  Because we know what the usual amount is, a number like that catches our attention. Therefore, we must have an idea as to what is usual so we can quickly see when numbers don’t seem to fit.  Many times we find that someone claims $300 but they only actually spent $50.  They kept the money or they were trying to hide the real use of the money.  Perhaps they spent it on buying things for themselves, but claimed it was all dog food.”

“Oh!”

“So, we looked at the numbers of the money.  Simply, the payments and the receiving of money didn’t match the bank account numbers.  The murderer was using up the money of the company.  The murderer planned to take over the company – steal from his partner.  His partner of course would never agree to that, so he got rid of the partner, who also knew a lot of information that the murderer didn’t want other people to know.  He figured he could kill his partner in a way that people didn’t know that he did it, then he would be the full owner of the company.”

“That’s mean!”

“Yes, it really is.”

“You said there was a clue.”

He nodded. “When you don’t use muscles, they get a bit smooth-looking and thinner.  I noticed that his leg muscles were as strongly-formed as a footballer’s muscles.  This would not be true after a year in leg braces and crutches.”

The boy sat down and stretched out his own legs. “Oh!”

“Well, so it was an easy thing to set up a little trick – to see if he was stronger than he was claiming.”

They both looked over as the door was opened by a large, broad-shouldered man.  He called. “I found him!”  He frowned. “Has he been bothering you?”

“Not at all; he’s been very good company.”

The boy smiled, nodded then looked at his father.  His father held his hand out.  The boy stood up, “Thank you sir.  I hope you get better real soon."

“I will… thank you.”

The boy went out.  His father carefully closed the door, “Sir.”

“Yes, Sergeant?”

“I want to thank you for…  I just wasn’t able to see that he had a gun.  You took the bullet meant for me.”

Drowsy, he sighed and rolled his head on the hospital pillow to consider him gravely. “I just had a very special ten minutes being completely reassured that it was absolutely the right thing to do.  It would have been awful having to answer your son’s questions at your funeral.  I’ve been greatly enjoying telling him everything he wants to know.”

​by T.K. Naliaka ©2016 All rights reserved

When 1000 words of fast-paced, short-story fiction mystery-adventure with Inspector Pascal Mysteries 1000 just aren't enough, here's four times the adventure!  Readers have been asking for more Inspector Pascal, so from time to time when intrepid Inspector Pascal and Sergeant Braque need more time to solve the crime, watch for the special 4000-word episodes of Inspector Pascal Mysteries 4000 at TipTip duTop. Click on MORE at the menu bar above to see the page exclusively for 4000-word short story fiction mystery-adventure:  Inspector Pascal Mysteries 4000

INSPECTOR PASCAL MYSTERIES 1000
#17 No Exit, © 2016-2023 by T.K. Naliaka

“Yes, Sergeant Braque?”

“Inspector Joplin, I am looking for Inspector Pascal.  You were conferring with him in the study.”

Joplin glanced up from his notes at the big, broad-shouldered uniformed policeman. “He’s still there.”

Braque sharply shook his head. “No, sir; he’s not!”

“I can’t help you then.”

Braque insisted. “Sir, I can’t find him!”

“He’s probably just walking about.”

“Sir!  We don’t work like that!  I was posted in the hallway.  You came out.  I waited.  Inspector Pascal didn’t come out.  I called, then I checked.  He’s not there.  Where is he?”

A bit more wary then Joplin offered, “Perhaps he went out another door.”

“No sir! If he intended to go out by another exit, he would have informed me, but there is no other door. Yet, he’s not there!”

Joplin leaned over the staircase railing to the foyer below. “Mr. Darcy!  Have you seen Inspector Pascal?”

The step-brother of the deceased owner of the mansion, paused at the foot of the staircase.  He turned slightly and pointed towards the lawns outside. “I just passed him on his way to the stable.”

Braque considered him stonily, then Inspector Joplin.  He colored, then pushed past Joplin, descended the stairs and slammed Darcy against the wall.

Darcy gasped as Braque handcuffed him. “What are you doing??”

Ignoring Darcy’s protests, Braque hauled him up the stairs and down the hallway.  He threw open the study door.  “You’re lying!  Where’s Inspector Pascal??”

Joplin, followed by two of his men crowded in. “Sergeant Braque! You have overstepped your authority!”

Braque turned on him and growled. “I was posted outside right there! Prove to me how Inspector Pascal left this room without me seeing him! He never came out!”

They all hesitated, then Officer Blake went out to the hallway as Officer Haskell quickly walked the perimeter of the entire room. A moment later, Blake came back in. “Sir, from that position, there’s complete visual control of the hallway.”

Haskell rejoined them and told them what they could plainly see for themselves. “There is no other exit.”

They turned to look at Darcy.  He said nothing.

Furious, Braque turned around and stared at the spacious, empty study – two opposing sides of windows that overlooked the rear garden and the front driveway, a half-height book shelf along the corridor wall, a pair of sofas with two upholstered club chairs in the center on a red Persian rug and a long wall of ornate, floor-to-ceiling built-in mahogany wood shelves displaying thousands of books.  Braque strode to the bookshelves and began tugging and testing the woodwork.  Haskell left Blake to guard Darcy and joined Braque.  Inspector Joplin frowned, then he stepped forward and pointed. “Try that section.”

Braque quickly shifted over.  A moment later he pulled out his torch and shone it into the joint between two shelf sections.  He stepped back and looked at the section, then he reached out and began clearing it of books, then he used his nightstick to punch through the backing of the shelf.  He peered through the hole, then reached his hand inside and felt around.  There was a ‘click,’ the shelf disengaged, shifted forward and swung out slightly on hinges.

Joplin exclaimed, “An elevator!”

Braque pressed the call button.  A few moments later, the car rose up from below.  The door slid open.  It was just big enough for three persons, but it was a tight squeeze with big, broad-shouldered Braque, so Joplin got inside with him and they descended to the ground floor.  The door opened on the opposite side, into the four-bay garage. They turned to look at how the elevator was concealed behind another façade of storage shelving, then to consider the four sedans parked inside the garage.  After checking them all, they both returned quickly to the one locked vehicle.  Joplin called Haskell. A minute later the elevator rose up then descended.

Haskell stepped out. “We searched him. Darcy had two sets of car keys.”

Joplin indicated the silver sedan. “See if either of them can open that car.”

All of a sudden, bright light and a cool swash of fresh air swept inside the stuffy trunk as the rear hatch was thrown open.  Bound hand and foot, with a wide piece of tape over his mouth, Pascal blearily opened his eyes to look up at three stern men looking down at him.

A half-hour later, Pascal, freed, with a new white bandage covering a cut and bruise on his temple, hiked stiffly up the grand staircase, protectively shadowed by a scowling Sergeant Braque.  A stone-faced Inspector Joplin with his men followed them.

Pascal explained as he climbed. “None of the guests recalled seeing the victim after dinner.  Darcy invited - we would say lured - his step-brother away from the dining room to the study to help set up a nice selection of digestives after dinner for their guests.”

They followed him into the room.  Pascal indicated the sitting area. “The trick was to fool the other guests that the victim had left.  Darcy struck him down here.” Pascal considered Braque’s handiwork, then indicated the opened shelf concealment door and elevator. “He carried him downstairs via the elevator and dumped the body into his vehicle in the garage. Darcy re-entered via the elevator to invite the other guests up to this study; all accomplished under three minutes.  Not a soul was aware that Darcy had left and returned via a secret exit.”

He gingerly touched the bandage on his forehead ruefully. “Neither was I…” Pascal crossed to the bookshelves to pick up a small black, slim object.  “… until I discovered this remote on the shelf… a very odd thing to keep in a room with absolutely no electronics.”  He pressed a button.

There was a barely audible click-click as the concealment door latch engaged and disengaged. “I tried it; the door opened and I was unexpectedly face-to-face with Darcy who was in the elevator where he’d been eavesdropping on Inspector Joplin and me.”
 © 2016-2023 T.K. Naliaka, All rights reserved

INSPECTOR PASCAL MYSTERIES 1000
#16, Washed Away by T.K. Naliaka ©2016-2023

“I don’t think you’re crazy, sir!” Sergeant Braque called down. “They just don’t understand the way you work!”

The voice below asked. “But, you do?”

“Of course, sir!”

“I appreciate that; since I need you to pull me out of this!  I want it very clear that I’m not here because I enjoy slogging through decrepit drainage systems... just for the record or my obituary, preserving the family honor, of course!”

“I won’t let that happen, sir!”

“Thank you Sergeant Braque!”

“You’re welcome sir!”

He sighed and looked around, then he sloshed through thigh-deep water carefully examining the subterranean junction by his flashlight.  Crouching, he peered inside the wide, dark outlet pipe.  The flashlight’s beam went a long way, then dissipated in a deeper gloom.  After a few minutes, he called up, “Sergeant Braque!” There was no reply.  He frowned, “Sergeant Braque?”

The voice was cool and venomous. “I’m so sorry Inspector Pascal!  Your Sergeant Braque was called away for a moment…too bad for you!”

The line Pascal had used to climb down into the big cistern suddenly dropped to slap on the surface of the water.  He splashed over before it sank, gathered it up quickly in big loops and hung it over his shoulder, then shined the flashlight beam up, but he didn’t see anyone. There was a loud clang, then a grinding screeching. Pascal pointed the flashlight to his right and watched the old rusted iron metal sluice gate start to move.

Pascal quickly stepped back to look up. “Wait!”

“You will be washed to the river! It’s a two-hundred meters-long conduit!  I do not believe that you will be able to make it… alive that is!”

Pascal shouted. “That’s how you killed Ferdinand!  You lured him here, gave him a shove and his body was found floating eight kilometers downriver!”

“Almost effortless, yes; one of the easiest things I’ve ever had to do, next to disposing of you, too - just flushing my problems away!”

The water level was rising, swirling around his waist.  Pascal jumped to catch at a handhold, but fell short.  He shouted. “What did Ferdinand do?”

The voice was contemptuous. “He never did anything!  So why should he inherit this estate and not the one who worked it?”

Pascal countered. “But it’s all going to Lady Paulina’s nephew, Martin!  He’s never even stepped foot in this country, much less this estate!  At least Ferdinand came here often!”

There was a low chuckle. “He’ll come; provided the authorities permit him a visa!  It will take a while so Martin will need the current staff to care for it for him! It’s in immaculate condition, therefore everyone will recommend this!  Martin will not be able to resist his new role playing lord of the manor, so it will be status quo for a little while.  As for Ferdinand, he came, he drank, he staggered away, every one of his visits here a fog!”

“Martin will sell!  Then where you will be?”

“Living well off the sales of the valuables that none of them knew about because they forgot there exists a catalog of them!  It was very helpful to me to select what to tuck away year after year, none the wiser!”  He mimicked. ‘Are you sure, my Lady… you instructed to replace the blue vase with the green, to match your curtains two years ago.  Ferdinand, don’t you remember you broke the clock during your party in May?” He snorted. “It was so easy!”

The water was up to Pascal’s chest.  He grabbed at an iron ring above him as he could feel the strengthening pull of the flow towards the outlet pipe.  He missed, then lunged up again and again, but was still short.  Quickly he felt along the wall, but the smoothed cement denied his fingers a good grip.

He heard a laugh.

“Having trouble? Just think how your bodyguard will be disciplined for negligence for leaving you - even for just five minutes - underground in a 200-year-old drainage system!”

Pascal jumped and hooked his fingers in the ring.  He quickly fed the end of the line through it and knotted it.  The rising water was lifting his feet off the bottom and his body floated as he held onto the line and worked to wrap a loop around his waist.  Just in time, the sluice gate opened wider and the water surged through, crashing and churning around him.

Pascal clung to the rope. There was shouting and lights flashing, but with the water gurgling and rushing by his ears, he couldn’t make out what was being yelled; suddenly there was a huge splash.  He turned to see Cédron’s head break the surface of the water close to him.

Frantically, Cédron grabbed at the loose end of the line, then he pulled himself towards Pascal.  Pascal elbowed him as Cédron tried to climb up on Pascal to force his head under water.  Pascal stiff-armed him away. “It’s over Cédron!  Everything you said was recorded!  It’s far past dealing only with me!  Ferdinand was weak and flawed, but he didn’t deserve being murdered!”

There was a grinding clang and rumble as the sluice gate began to close.  Cédron’s face twisted with fury as he tried to grab Pascal again.  Pascal kicked out.  Cédron lost his grip on the line, then he thrashed and caught it.

Pascal coolly held his gaze. “One murder, then the next seems as easy… and easier to justify!  No court in the world would have convicted you of Ferdinand’s murder!  There was no evidence!  But now you’ve given us the confession we didn’t have!!  You’ve sealed your own fate!  You’ll hang for that crime!”

Cédron stared at Pascal.  He looked up, saw police.  Finally, he slowly shook his head.  He let go of the rope, sank under the churning water and was gone.

Pascal waited.  The water at last drained; he was alone.  Chilled, he called up wearily. “Sergeant Braque, I want to get out of here.” by T.K. Naliaka ©2016 All rights reserved

INSPECTOR PASCAL MYSTERIES 1000
#15,  The Seminar, ©2016-2023 by T.K. Naliaka

“Inspector Pascal?”

He took the note, read it, then left discreetly. Two police officers closed the big wooden doors.  Pascal walked down the corridor to the large, broad-shouldered uniformed man standing by the elevators. “Sergeant Braque, I thought you were going to the precinct.”

Braque glanced surreptitiously at the two officers at the other end of the corridor and whispered. “I came back.  Sergeant Roscoe happened to mention to me that Captain Gryzynsky is in Spain.”

“Spain?” Pascal blinked. “I don’t understand.”

“The man who’s leading this seminar is not Captain Gryzynsky!”

“Did he confuse him with another Captain Gryzynsky?”

“No! There isn’t another Captain Gryzynsky!  I just checked!”

Pascal controlled himself from glancing back.  He exclaimed disbelievingly. “Sixteen top investigators are in a day-long seminar with an imposter?” Pascal raised his hand to his head. “Are we all that gullible?”

“We’ve never met Gryzynsky before.  How were we supposed to know?”

“Obviously no one else here has either or someone would have reacted.”

Braque nodded, then he added. “The invitation was for Inspector Callahan; he sent you because he’s testifying in court all this week.” Braque glanced at the guarded wooden doors, then back at Pascal. “You know sir…that’s a lot of accumulated critical criminal investigation knowledge packed into one conference room.”

Pascal frowned as he stared at the floor.  He looked up. “That’s true.  I’m the only junior investigator there.  They’re all on the biggest cases.”

Braque straightened slightly. “How many men does he have?”

Pascal replied. “There are four - him, his assistant Tosi, and those two men posted right there.”

“What do you want to do?”

Pascal rubbed his neck. “I wonder what the plan is and how much time is left before he pulls the trigger.”

“Why hasn’t he killed everyone yet?  He’s got them!”

“I can guess. There’s a lot of information being exchanged in there.  Why not learn a few things first?  They’re talking freely.  They all have confidential clearances.”

“The problem I see sir is: if we call in for reinforcements, everyone’s phones will be messaging. They’re all inside together; he’ll know and he controls the exit.”

“First, we take back that control. Who is here, on-site?”

“Sergeant Jann, Sergeant Vankat, Officer Leon, Officer Saradan - with us, that makes six.”

Pascal glanced at his watch. “It’s forty minutes to noon lunch break.  That’s the most likely time he could be exposed – everyone will turn on their phones, get their messages, one or two of them might have to leave.  He’s got a perfectly closed and controlled environment for only a few more minutes.”

“Not perfectly - not anymore, sir.”

Pascal gave him a rueful smile. “That’s right, Sergeant.”

Pascal and Braque walked together back to the conference room doors.  Pascal stopped before the two guards, finished writing his note, tore off the small page and handed it to Braque. “If the forensics lab continues to give you excuses about why it’s taking so long for the DNA tests, call Inspector Diallo and get him on their backs.  I’m going to be here all day, and we’ll need that information tomorrow by 2 p.m. latest.”

Braque saluted. “Yes sir, thank you for intervening. Sorry to have bothered you.”

Pascal glanced at the two uniformed men cautiously monitoring them. “I can’t just keep going in and out.  Bring Sergeant Jann and SergeantVankat so they hear it directly from me, not just you.”

Waiting, Pascal paced slowly just in front of the guards.  He paused.  Three sergeants strode quickly as if to meet him; he smoothly stepped aside and they charged.  A minute later, Pascal slipped inside and went back to his seat.  The imposter Gryzynsky clicked to the next slide. “In five years, the drug routes have shifted from this corridor to a new one further east.”

Pascal leaned back in his chair and folded his arms.  He watched Tosi lift several cardboard boxes from the floor to place them on the table.  Gryzynsky paused to listen to Inspector Faraday.  Pascal checked his watch.  11:42 a.m.

“Pardon me!” Pascal raised his hand and stood up.

Gryzynsky paused. ‘Yes?”

“Do you have the longitude, latitude and GPS coordinates for this new corridor?”
Gryzynsky looked at him. “Who are you?”

“Inspector Pascal!”

“I don’t recall having a Pascal on the list.”

He held up his conference badge. “I am representing Inspector Callahan!”

Gryzynsky exchanged guarded glances with Tosi.  Pascal quickly walked forward to the podium as he pointed to the projected slide. “Do you have a zoom out picture so we can see exactly where this corridor is?”  He walked around the tables, stopped beside Tosi, propped his hands on his hips, tipped his head and peered up at the big screen.

Gryzynsky glanced at the room of investigators, their concentrations disrupted, slightly annoyed, shifting around in their chairs, glancing at their watches.  Tosi reached out to rest his hand on a small cardboard box.

Gryzynsky put his pointer down. “Excuse me everyone, one moment.”  He walked past his audience to the doors.

Pascal watched Tosi watching Gryzynsky.  Gryzynsky raised his hand slightly and signaled with his fingers as he went out. The doors closed.  Pascal’s hand shot out, seized Tosi’s wrist and Pascal slammed him hard against the head with his pistol.

Sixteen top criminal investigators drew their handguns and leaped to their feet.

The two big entry doors burst open.  They all turned to see five stern-faced uniformed police. Sgt. Braque announced. “Our orders are to evacuate these premises! This seminar has been infiltrated by an imposter!”

Inspector Groton called over, “Indeed!  We have arrested him!”

Perplexed, Braque hesitated. “No…we… arrested him.”

They marched their suspect forward.  Braque suppressed a smile, considering Pascal with his hands handcuffed behind him, in the firm grips of two top inspectors, “Sir! This is… unexpected!”

Pascal replied dryly. “Somebody needs to stop them giving that accomplice first aid and put him into custody before he wakes up and detonates the explosives in those boxes on the table.”  ©2016-2023 by T.K. Naliaka, All rights reserved

 
 

INSPECTOR PASCAL MYSTERIES 1000
#14, Persist by T.K. Naliaka ©2016-2023

 Her head tipped back and her brown eyes were full of tears as she looked at the white disk of the full moon. “I have nothing.”

He sat down as close as he could. “I don’t understand.  Can you tell me?”

She shook her head sharply. “No one understands. I give up.”

“Ah… I don’t speak English all that well.  It is my second language. Can you explain to me, in a simple way?  What they didn’t understand?”

She frowned slightly, then she turned her head to consider him. “That’s crazy! If everyone who speaks my language doesn’t get it, how can you?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes you must... you know, rephrase it. Then sometimes there’s a better word or someone assumed you used a word a certain way, but you didn’t; you had the other meaning in mind.  If you have to explain to someone like me - to help me understand, then sometimes it becomes very clear.”

Her mouth curved ruefully, then she asked. “Can you say something to me in another language? I never met anyone like that.”

He nodded, “Of course.  What would delight you… a poem?”

She laughed bitterly, “Delight me! What a thing to say! Nothing does anymore! Everything has been spoiled!”

“Well, let’s try anyway.”  He thought for a long moment then he recited:
"Ils m’ont traque et pris au piège.
Chez moi, ils m'ont fais prisonnier.
La meute hargneuse m’assiège.
Pourtant, je sais la liberté."
 
The breeze tousled her long blonde hair as she gazed over the dark river.  She looked at him at last. “That’s so pretty. What does it mean?”

He told her. “It means this:
"They hunted and trapped me.
In my home they made me a prisoner.
The ferocious pack besieged me.
Still, I know liberty.”
 
She gasped. “Is there more?”

He nodded, “Of course. When a person cries out like that, they have much to testify.
"À droit, la forêt très noire
 À gauche un pin couché, un lac ;
 Il ne me reste aucun espoir.
Tant pis! Advienne que pourra !"
 
She was listening intently.  He explained.
“To the right, a very dark forest,
To the left a fallen pine, a lake;
For me, there’s no hope left.
So what!  Come what may!”
 
“My God!”  She cried out, “How!  How?”  She reached out and gripped his hand. “More!”
"Jusqu’au bout, je persiste à croire
Que les envieux et les larbins
Devront admettre la victoire
 À venir de l‘esprit du bien."
 
He whispered:
“To the end, I persist to believe
That the envious and the minions
Must admit the victory
To come of the spirit of goodness.”
 
He stretched his arms out and drew her close as she clung to him and wept. “It’s all right now.  It’s time to take back your life from all that’s wrong and build it better and stronger.  There’s no mistake you made that can’t be forgiven.  Don’t carry that with you from now on.  This time, you surround yourself with people who care about you.”

They sat together as the night cooled and the moon set.  His arms were warm against the chill, strong and protective.  He murmured. “The moon departs to make way for dawn, a new day.  See how beautiful it is?”

She lifted her head from his shoulder wearily and looked at the river; the rippling liquid shifted from black to bronze as the golden light strengthened in the east.  She rested her head against him again wistfully. “I’ve never seen that before.”

“How much you didn’t notice was here, waiting for you?”

She sighed. “Is it a dream, a magic fantasy that will vanish?”

He replied. “Magic always vanishes, but what you have now is real. I will stay with you this new day, to show you what a true friend does, and you tell me who is good and who is bad, so you never go back again to what you fled.  You were right to leave; just not on this path.”

“They made me feel so worthless.”

He shook his head. “If God thought you worthless, why did He send so many people to help you?  Who in this city knew you were here?”

She shook her head, “No one.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You made sure, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” She finally admitted. “I suppose… it is a bit unexplainable, when you put it that way.”

“Will you come with me?”

She sighed watching the dazzling golden rays of dawn illuminate the green of stirring city trees, light the glass of the buildings like copper mirrors.  She nodded.

“Here.” He reached between the steel bars and held on to her, then they stood up together and he guided her carefully as she stepped on the steel girders and then eased around the frame of the metal barrier.

She hesitated when she saw the size of the waiting crowd, so he sat down.  She sat next to him. Finally she asked. “Are you a preacher?”

He shook his head. “I’m a homicide investigator.”

She shrank away from him, so he explained. “I’m on holiday.  I heard your city was beautiful so I came to see it.”

She exclaimed. “You’ve never been here before!”

“Never.”

She considered him. “Disappointed?”

He looked at her. “No! I work for justice for the dead.  But that can’t ever bring them back. Sometimes, I need to help the living; to encourage me.” He shrugged wryly. “But, you know - we’re not quite all the way there, yet.”

She took a deep breath, then she clasped his hand.  “Ok.  I’m scared, but I want to come back, now.”

Together they stepped carefully along the beam. Many hands reached out and pulled them onto the tower platform.

She turned to him. “I have a question, how did you know?”

He slipped his hand inside his jacket, then held out a slightly crushed flower. “It’s not every day that a rose just drops out of the sky onto my head.  So, I looked up.”
 
by T.K. Naliaka ©2016-2023 All rights reserved
 
The poem, Le Prix Nobel, 1959 by Boris Pasternak, author of Doctor Zhivago,  from Fleurs d’encre, Français 3e, Bertagna and Carrier, Hachette
 

INSPECTOR PASCAL MYSTERIES 1000
#13, Verify by T.K. Naliaka ©2016-2023

“Inspector, I came back - our room was this!”  She wiped tears from her eyes as her hand swept around at the disarray.  “I’m frightened of him! He’s crazy jealous and wants to kill me!”

From the hallway, Pascal considered the bedroom, then he stepped inside and walked slowly around without touching anything.  Dresser drawers of disheveled lingerie were open, clothes that had been hung in the closet were dumped on the floor of the closet, half of the master bathroom towels and toiletries were strewn on the bathroom floor.  He turned and came out of the bathroom.

“You have nerve bringing a man home today - on our anniversary!”

Pascal was still.  A very angry man stood in the bedroom doorway with a large pistol in his grip. Pascal raised his hands slowly. “I’m Inspector Pascal, with the police department.”

The man kept the pistol aimed at Pascal as he snorted sarcastically. “Good catch Verona!  A detective!  Covering your tracks?"

She gasped. “No Jeremy! It’s not like that! He doesn’t mean anything to me!”

Pascal considered her in her robe and nightgown, then the irate husband in his canvas jacket, jeans and work boots.  He spoke up. “Sir, she called the police department with a complaint.  I was dispatched to do the report. I take it that there has been a history of this?”

Jeremy rolled his eyes at Pascal. “Nice try! Drop the fake accent”

“Well,” said Pascal. “It would only be fair if you would take a minute to confirm my statements rather than dismiss them.  I have my own life and plans, which didn’t include either of you up until ten minutes ago.” Pascal gestured slightly with his chin. “Permit me to give you my phone so you can call and verify.”

She flushed. “This is ridiculous!”

Pascal countered her dryly. “I don’t find having a .45 caliber semi-automatic pistol aimed at me to be any sort of ridiculous, but a very serious and dangerous matter.  I want him to confirm.  There is no way we can communicate effectively if he doesn’t believe I am what I say I am, and more critically, the reason I am here, and  I don’t like being accused of something I haven’t done.”

She was conciliatory as she adjusted her robe. “Honestly, there’s nothing between us.”

Jeremy ordered him. “Keep your hands up, turn around and put them on the wall, with your legs apart! Where’s the phone?”

Pascal did as he was told. “It’s in my left pocket.”

“Your gun?”

“I have a belt holster on my right.”

Pascal felt the gun press against his head, then Jeremy’s hand feeling along his belt then tugging out his pistol.  A moment later, he was quickly frisked for any other weapons, relieved of his wallet and badge, then the man stuck his hand inside Pascal’s pocket and took his phone. “All right - sit down there with your hands on your head!”

Pascal sat on the floor as Jeremy went back to the bedroom door to set Pascal’s gun and phone on the corner of the dresser so he could monitor Pascal as he scrolled through to peer at all the numbers on Pascal’s phone. Finally he demanded, “OK, which one?”

Pascal replied. “Call SB.”

He found the number and called.  A moment later, Jeremy frowned, perplexed and looked at the phone as he heard a loud ringing.  He turned around.  Behind him a large, uniformed police officer pushed a pistol against his face.

Sergeant Braque reached out quickly and yanked the gun out of the startled man’s hand. “Now, you sit down with your hands on your head!”

Pascal climbed to his feet. “Thank you Sergeant!”  Pascal held Braque’s pistol until  Braque finished hand-cuffing Jeremy.  Pascal jerked his head towards Verona. “Handcuff her, too."

She stepped back, “Wha...?”

Jeremy’s frown eased slightly when he saw Verona sitting on the floor like him with her hands secured behind her back with steel cuffs.

Pascal collected his gun, wallet, badge and phone, then sat on the bed.  “I need to check their records.”  He was silent as he accessed the databases.

Verona started to complain, “Is this really necess…”

Braque glared at her. “Be quiet! He’s working!”

She cringed.

At last Pascal stood up. “I think you two have finally found the ultimate solution to your marriage incompatibility.” Pascal shook his head somberly. “Jeremy, you committed at least three crimes holding me here hostage at gunpoint, even for only ten minutes.  You don’t seem to have any other history apart from a couple of speeding tickets, so this is rather sad, actually.”

Pascal turned to Verona. “You however, tried to use us against him, hoping that he would be killed by either me or Sergeant Braque or he would have killed me – a murder by proxy.  Either outcome would have suited you just fine – Jeremy dead or in prison, at only the cost of one life – possibly two, killed in the exchange of fire, just so you could move on with his money to your next conquest.”

Jeremy paled as he stared at her, then he flushed.

She shook her head, “No! That’s insane!”

Pascal considered her coolly. “I have no problem asking the judge for leniency for him.  Despite his fury, he didn’t shoot me outright and he did indeed give me the benefit of the doubt by agreeing to verify.  You however, did not manufacture this confrontation just today.  You planted the seeds of distrust early on so Jeremy would rush to get here at the precise moment he would find another man in his bedroom, which you provided by calling the police department.  Then you kept feeding him insinuations that only served to make him doubt me, made him angrier, putting us all at greater personal peril.  I will advise the judge that you are a very cold and dangerous person who should not be allowed to roam free any more to use, manipulate or harm other people.”
by T.K. Naliaka ©2016 All rights reserved