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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her eyes widened and she flushed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her hand tightened around the hypodermic. “No!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She flushed. “I don’t care!”

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

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

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

Braque replied, “Of course, sir.”

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

“Thank you, Sergeant.”

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

She blinked, breathing heavily. “Ahh…”

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

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

She blinked, then nodded,” Yes!”

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

She cast about with wide eyes, “Ah…”

“After midnight?”

She nodded, “Yes!”

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

She frowned, “Ah…”

“Two… perhaps two-thirty?”

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

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

“He closed up at 3:15.”

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

Rodriguez persisted, “3:15.”

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

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

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

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

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

Ernesto glared with disgust at Pascal.

The woman stammered, “E-e-eight?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just following your instructions, sir!”

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

Pascal gave him a wry glance as Braque snapped handcuffs on the two men. “I didn’t.  We stopped by as customers. Your mother’s quick thinking saved us all.”
©2016-2023 T.K. Naliaka,  All rights reserved. TipTop duTop

Precisely 1000-word Short Story Fiction Mystery-Adventures of Inspector Pascal! Fast-paced fiction fun for all ages!

INSPECTOR PASCAL MYSTERIES 1000
#1 Pascal’s Plum by T.K. Naliaka ©2016-2023 all rights reserved

Madame Bleu, with elegantly-coiffed silver-streaked hair, curled her lip and tossed her burnt-orange cashmere shawl irritably over her shoulders, a studied theatrical gesture.  “Inspector Pascal, you have kept us here waiting for an hour.  My agent has scheduled audition appointments that I must keep.”

He was about to reply when he noticed Sgt. Braque discreetly signaling him before opening the door.  It was the housekeeper, Madame Brioche, seeming even more petite beside the big, broad-shouldered Braque, with her round cheeks reddened by the wind, bundled in her green wool coat and fur-topped ankle boots carrying a mesh shopping bag of long-leafed green leeks.  Her smile faded as she took in the sight of the uniformed police sergeant, the inspector, trim in a discreet grey suit, and the rest of them sitting tensely in the small library, the three tenants of the house, Madame Bleu, thin balding Monsieur Robinet in his tan sweater and brown corduroy trousers and burly Monsieur Travaux, still in his faded blue work coverall.  She hesitated, but Sgt. Braque directed her to a chair, so she sat down pensively.

Inspector Pascal considered the glazed turquoise blue ceramic bowl heaped with deep purple plums set on the sleek, polished brown mahogany table beside him as his audience waited.  He reached out, selected one of the smooth round fruits and raised it to examine it for a moment, then he spoke.  “Lady Claire died by blunt trauma – one well-placed blow to the temple.”  He frowned slightly. “The murder weapon has not been found.”

Monsieur Robinet blinked.  “Didn’t the police find a lead pipe in Monsieur Travaux’s apartment?”

Travaux colored and began to rise out of his chair. “I don’t know nothing about that pipe!  I never saw it before!”  Sgt. Braque raised his service revolver.  Frightened, Travaux quickly sat down.

Inspector Pascal lowered the plum to focus his keen gaze on him. “It was in your room and you are a plumber, in debt after your injury, including work owed to Lady Claire.”

“It’s not mine! “ Travaux’s ruddy face went pale when he saw the expressions on everyone’s faces.  ”I wouldn’t never do that!”

Pascal wasn’t finished. “Madame Bleu, despite your outward appearance, your regular sorties to theatre auditions are just that… theatre.  Daily, you take precisely one tea and one biscuit at Le Chat Café to read free newspapers and you are two years in arrears on your rent owed to Lady Claire.”
   
She gasped, then flushed as all the eyes in the room shifted to her.  At last she said in a quavering voice. “In my day Inspector, a gentleman would never strip off whatever was left of a woman’s dignity.”

The group’s eyes were wide and strained as they watched Pascal blandly roll the smooth dark plum in his palm for a moment more before carefully setting it back into the fruit bowl.  He flipped through a few more note pages, pausing at one to read.  He announced.  “Madame Brioche, you purchased a large quantity on credit at Marché Deluxe last month.  The total is quite beyond your normal means to repay.”

She paled. “Those weren’t for me… well, only the music box!  Lady Claire gave me the list and sent me to buy for her!  I always wanted that little music box so I slipped it into the list.  I was going to pay her for it later!  I was saving my money for it!  I didn’t want anyone else to buy it.”  Her face crumpled and Brioche began to cry. “Since it’s all in my name, now the store is demanding I pay for everything!  She’s gone and I don’t have my job anymore!”

​Pascal was silent.  After a moment, he leaned over, took a handful of the deep purple plums from the bowl and set them on the mahogany table.  “I have a confession.  We did find the murder weapon.”  He considered them coolly. “Lady Claire was killed here in the library, but Madame Brioche had arrived to clean so the killer hid the weapon and fled.  Blocked from recovering it by the police cordon, the killer heard the police discussing a heavy blunt weapon so the killer planted a lead pipe in Monsieur Travaux’s apartment to frame him – isn’t that what happened, Monsieur Robinet!”

Robinet froze, then he snorted.  “That’s ridiculous!”

“A perfect murder, except for one detail… the lead pipe!  Lead pipes haven’t been used since the fall of the Roman Empire in 300 AD, because of lead poisoning!  No modern plumber uses lead pipe, isn’t that correct, Monsieur Travail?”

Travail jumped up, “Yes! Yes!”

“You concur, Robinet?  Or should I say, Augustus Lefèvre, Associate Professor of Roman Archeology at the University of Chancyville!”

Two stacks of books went over with a crash when Sgt. Braque tackled Lefèvre as he lunged in fury for Inspector Pascal.  Lefèvre shouted as Sgt. Braque locked the cuffs on his wrists. ”You don’t understand!  This house sits over potentially the most fabulous Roman villa of ancient Investnivium!   I rented the basement apartment to do a test excavation.  It’s unparalleled! ”

Pascal agreed, “Where you unearthed a trove of lead pipe!”

Lefèvre snarled. “I tried everything to convince her, but she refused to sell!”

“So you killed her…”  Pascal’s hand went back to the bowl of plums.  They watched as he pulled out a string, then raised his arm to extract a bulbous thing with a pointed end hanging heavily from the end of the cord, “… with this lead plumb!”

Braque wrestled Lefèvre out the door.  Pascal turned to the others. “Please, my apologies.  Lady Claire’s estate provides generously for each of you. With your debts, it was damning motive for the courts, but I learned that none of you knew what she’d done.  So, I felt deeply the duty to discover the truth.”

The three sat overwhelmed, wiping their tears.  Madame Bleu rose with a smile, kissed Pascal, then stepped back to applaud, “A plum of a performance, Inspector! Bravo! Bravo!”                       
                                     by T.K.Naliaka, copyright 2016-2023 All rights reserved