The Haunted Detective

by Pirate Irwin

  Junot indicated he take a seat and then brought him the list with the names of the firing squad and what had happened to them.

  The majority had not enjoyed happy fates for sure. Sergeant Morand had remained in the Army and risen to the rank of major by the time hostilities broke out in 1940 but had been shot in the back and killed early on in the German onslaught. That raised questions thought Lafarge, had he been shot by the invaders or one of his own men. He asked Junot to bring him his file.

  While he was doing that Lafarge looked down the list. Private Lambert had been one of the many who were wiped out by the Spanish flu outbreak, poor sod had survived the trenches and earned a reprieve from a death sentence and then not lived to celebrate. Privates Jeannot and Giroud it was not clear whether they had joined up again or stayed in the Army but the former had been deported in 1942 for being a Communist resistant and the latter hadn’t even got on a train for he had been executed by the Milice in 1943.

  The Basque Berazagui there was no news of, likewise for Kronsbach and Lequeux was noted as having been captured and had spent the rest of the war as a POW.

  “That’s pretty deep research you did there Captain, I am very grateful. How did you manage to get details of the men who didn’t re-enlist?” asked Lafarge when Junot returned with Morand’s file.

  Junot smiled.

  “As you could probably tell Chief Inspector I spend most of my time staring into space in here,” said Junot.

  “Thus when I am given a challenge like you set me I put all my resourcefulness into play. I called up some contacts of mine in other ministries plus the POW and deportees groups. They proved more than capable of providing me with the information we wanted.”

  Lafarge tapped the table in recognition of Junot’s achievement.

  “Well Captain if I were able to hire you I would do so willingly. We need more of your type in the police force. People like you who think outside of the box are in short supply there,” said Lafarge, who despite Junot’s handicap he could see playing an effective role at the Quai sifting through evidence and eye witness statements.

  “Besides, your liking for cognac is extremely appealing to me too! Now let’s have a look at Morand’s file and what that may be hiding!” added Lafarge taking a sip from his flask and handing it to Junot.

  He flicked through it to the end notes which would give a description of how Morand met his end.

  Morand had been in the 59th Light Infantry Division which had taken a real pounding as they had formed part of Centre of the Allied Armies. In just two weeks they had suffered such heavy losses that they were forced to surrender. Morand, a good looking muscular man judging from his photograph and a leader too as his expression was one of determination, it appeared had acquitted himself well in rallying some of the troops and had been recommended for a Croix de Guerre.

  He had never lived to have it pinned on his chest for he had been killed on June 12 the eve of their surrender near Montmirail 100 kilometres east of Paris and in the Champagne region. No fizz for him to celebrate his heroism just his life fizzled out thought Lafarge wisely keeping the bad joke for himself.

  Despite the chaos and the surrender of the remnants of the division the next day evidently someone at Headquarters had thought it worth conducting an investigation into the death of the officer. For that Lafarge praised the gods for their bestowing wisdom on at least one staff officer.

  The officer in question had interviewed members of the division who had been in the area where Morand had been hit and pretty much to a man they all believed he had been killed by one of their own. The physical evidence supported their suspicions as Morand had been facing the advancing Germans when he had been shot.

  Even though the front lines were fluid and the enemy infiltrated French lines often, as they were in full retreat, the manner in which Morand had rallied his men suggested strongly that it hadn’t happened in this case.

  Lafarge leaned back deeply troubled and stroked his unshaven chin.

  Ordinarily he would put Morand’s death down to a soldier who had reached the end of his tether and saw the only way out of the fighting and escaping being maimed or killed by murdering his commanding officer. However, he couldn’t ignore Morand’s part in the firing squad and the execution of Lieutenant de Granville.

  His father, Neveu, Philliperon and Morand had all been murdered and they couldn’t be treated as individual murders because of the common thread that connected them.

  There was little he could do to protect the remaining members of the group, who had thought they had earned a second chance at life when reprieved from their death sentences only unwittingly to have been condemned to death a second time.

  The only thing in theory he had power over was to track down the killer but he didn’t fancy their chances unless they found Vandamme.

  Here he had to count on a partner that had severely shaken his faith and he only hoped that Levau was intent on restoring it. If Levau let him down again then the consequences would be severe not only for the younger man but also the investigation.

  “You look worried Chief Inspector,” said Junot offering him a cigarette from a well-polished gold cigarette case.

  Lafarge nodded and said thanks for the cigarette. He scratched the back of his head thinking what should be his next move and decided perhaps best to phone the Quai and see if Levau was there or at least had left a message.

  He asked if he could use the phone and Junot said of course he could and did he wish for some privacy.

  “No Captain I don’t think you are a security risk and I’m not making another ill-considered remark with regard to your injuries,” said Lafarge, careful to not cause offence.

  Junot smiled and pointed to his own desk on which a telephone rested.

  Lafarge asked the operator to put him through and tapped his fingers impatiently on the desk waiting for someone to answer. However, when someone finally picked up the phone it wasn’t Levau but Inspector Greffard, one of the few of the old school still in the service as he hadn’t besmirched his reputation during the Occupation mainly because he was inherently lazy and found the Brigades Speciales far too enthusiastic and energetic for his tastes.

  “Ah Francois, it is Gaston Lafarge here. Is Levau around please,” said Lafarge preferring to use the Inspector’s first name as he eschewed formality and the Chief Inspector may not have appreciated Greffard’s attitude to work but he still respected an old man’s wishes.

  “No Gaston he isn’t. He came in and left pretty sharpish about an hour ago. He was looking for you too, and seemed annoyed you weren’t here. The young these days pushy lot aren’t they! Thought they might have learned their lesson from what happened to the young zealots in the Brigades Speciales, you get burnt if you go too fast,” said Greffard knowingly.

  Lafarge groaned inwardly at Greffard’s lassitude but gritted his teeth and remained silent.

  “Anyway he did find the time to leave a note for you,” said Greffard.

  Lafarge was pleased by this, it suggested Levau had discovered something and if that was the case it implied he hadn’t had anything to do with the murder of Fayette.

  Levau wouldn’t have returned to the Quai to pick him up if he was intent on dealing with Vandamme on his own and remove the one remaining link to the mystery third man.

  “Anything else you want Gaston?” asked Greffard sounding as if he had a very important task to attend to, probably nothing other than the newspaper’s crossword.

  God give me strength thought Lafarge the man can’t be that stupid.

  “Well yes as you ask Francois. What does the message from Levau say?” asked Lafarge trying not to sound neither patronising nor impatient although he was finding it difficult to be so restrained.

  Greffard mumbled an apology and put down the receiver to walk the few yards to his desk to collect the message. No doubt he will think that is a day’s work to be proud of thought Lafarge.

  “Ah here we are Gaston. Sorry my mi
nd was on other things. Levau has written ‘Tracked down Vandamme, off to the morgue as Alliot said he saw him there. Meet me there if you get this message.’ That is it,” said Greffard.

  Lafarge thanked Greffard and rang off. The message was a bit elliptical and required Lafarge to take a swig of cognac to see if that helped his thought process. One part was good news as Vandamme had resurfaced but the second part was really dire because if another of their colleagues Alliot had seen him at the morgue then he wasn’t going to be responding to many questions.

  All is lost thought Lafarge despairingly.

  Then whether it was the cognac, he liked to think so, his brain clicked into gear.

  He made a hurried departure from the dusty archives room, to the extent he rather brusquely pushed Junot to one side in order to leave. Junot called after him but Lafarge was deaf to his protestations over being bundled aside like a piece of furniture that was blocking his way.

  Levau wasn’t going to the morgue to look down on a corpse being cut open by Durand. He was going to arrest a live suspect. He hoped Levau got there on time because Vandamme had gone to strike another name off the firing squad target list, his friend Durand.

  The man who thought he had successfully hidden himself away in the nether world of the morgue and protected himself from seeing human beings blown to bits was about to have his illusions of security shattered.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lafarge made it to the morgue in around 20 minutes, making the most of the bulk of the Citroen to muscle his way through the traffic, earning himself some fruity remarks on the way.

  Dusk was drawing in as he parked his car up on the pavement, and a thick fog was descending fast. However, he didn’t think the danger lay outside, so long as he had arrived in time. That was a moot point because Greffard hadn’t been able to give him a timeline, thus he had no idea how much time had elapsed since Levau left the message.

  He guessed Levau had taken Alliot in with him, because there was no sign of the plain clothes man outside. Lafarge unholstered his gun and entered the building, swinging from one side of the doorway to the other to give himself a protected view of the lobby.

  A slightly startled receptionist put his hands up, but Lafarge said he could relax. He flashed the elderly man his badge and asked him if had seen two of his colleagues enter before him. He replied that they had come running in around 30 minutes before.

  Lafarge cursed under his breath and asked the man had he seen anyone exit the building since. The receptionist looked alarmed and said no just a few members of staff. He said he had been about to leave too and Lafarge replied he could so long as he rang the Quai and asked for back-up to be sent.

  Lafarge then took off taking the marble staircase two steps at a time.

  They led down to Durand’s world, the operations centre where he wielded his scalpel and other instruments with such consummate skill and precision. However, Lafarge knew they could just as easily be used as weapons and that meant Vandamme had an arsenal at his disposal, if he preferred that to the noise of a gun which would alert those still in the building.

  Lafarge, though, couldn’t care less about making noise. However, once he reached the lowest staircase of the two, he crept down them, so as to avoid making too much noise. The entrance to Durand’s room was just a few yards from the bottom step and if the door had been left ajar any noise would be picked up instantly.

  The door was closed so Lafarge pressed his ear to the frame but he could hear nothing from within. He bent down and looked through the keyhole and could see little save that the key wasn’t in the lock. He hoped the door hadn’t been locked because then he would have to make an almighty noise and alert whoever was inside.

  He held his breath and tried the handle but to his relief it gave way and he opened it gently. He slithered through as narrow a gap as he could make as the room was light, although it was not very bright as Durand preferred it that way.

  He realised immediately there had been a gunfight or at least someone had fired a gun because there was a strong whiff of cordite. He crouched down in case Vandamme had a gun trained on him but the only noise he heard was groaning coming to his left behind one of Durand’s slabs.

  Still crouching he made his way over to where the noise emanated from. Peering round the corner of the slab he saw the prone figure of Alliot. The detective’s face was creased in agony and sweat covered his brow. Lafarge patted his leg to reassure him, but it hid his real feeling for the stomach wound Alliot had looked fatal unless medical aid arrived soon.

  Lafarge whispered in Alliot’s ear asking him where Levau and the others were. Alliot summoned up as much energy as he could muster and his hand shaking uncontrollably pointed to the rear of the cavernous room.

  Lafarge got down on all fours and gun in hand crawled to the next slab in the line of three, still without apparently attracting any attention. He glanced up as he made his way past the base of the metal object and saw blood was dripping down splashing his face. He didn’t dare risk standing up to check whose body was lying on the slab.

  He proceeded on although he was having trouble keeping his balance with the revolver in one hand. He made it safely to the third slab and stopped. He thought he caught a flash of a white coat running to his right at the other end of the slab. He crawled as fast as possible to the end and peered out down the room.

  However, the person had disappeared and he discovered within seconds to his dismay where he’d gone. Lafarge felt a muzzle of a gun touch the nape of his neck.

  “Put your hands up Chief Inspector, and make sure you leave your gun on the floor as you get up,” said Vandamme.

  Lafarge grimaced and scolded himself for being so stupid in chasing the shadow instead of finding proper cover.

  He left the gun as instructed on the ground, he didn’t think it would win him his life but at least it bought him some time and perhaps some answers. Much good that would do him he thought bitterly as he would take them to his grave and Vandamme would be clean away because no one would have the slightest clue as to what he looked like and he was running down the members of a firing squad from 30 years ago.

  Lafarge had not had the time to note down his findings and suspicions. He only hoped that were he to die Junot would come forward and reveal what the Chief Inspector had been researching.

  Vandamme pressed the muzzle hard into his neck which propelled Lafarge forward onto the metal slab. He cracked his head on it and yelped in pain. Vandamme then whipped him round and thrust him towards the second slab from where the blood had dripped down onto him.

  He gasped as he saw that lying on it was Levau and he was clearly dead. He had taken a bullet to the throat and it looked like one to the back of the head as the back of his scalp was missing. Perhaps he had spun round when he was hit in the throat. It was irrelevant, however, because either shot would have killed him outright.

  Lafarge felt tears stinging his eyes but he tried to stifle the sobs. He was distraught not just for what had happened to his partner but that also they had ended on such bad terms. Levau would not even know that he had come to help him.

  “Don’t worry Chief Inspector, you can save your grief for when you meet him in the afterlife,” said Vandamme coldly.

  Lafarge recoiled from Vandamme’s fetid breath, a mix of alcohol, garlic and stale tobacco. He also smelt as if he hadn’t washed for several days. He hoped that at least he had lived those few days he had been on the run in fear.

  It was of little consolation now, though, to Lafarge.

  “So Vandamme you have no answers for me before you send me to my death,” said Lafarge.

  Vandamme sighed.

  “I think you have the answer you needed most Lafarge, that it was me who murdered your father. I think that is sufficient information,” said Vandamme.

  Vandamme moved the pistol down Lafarge’s back to the base of his spine. Lafarge wasn’t going to relent in his final moments and say a prayer, he wished though he could take
a final slug of cognac, but that was denied him too as Vandamme felt inside his pockets and withdrew a reserve hip flask he kept for emergencies.

  “Forgive me Chief Inspector but I think I will have more use for this,” said Vandamme laughing before he poured a few drops over Lafarge’s head.

  Lafarge, whose eyes were now burning as the cognac dripped into them, sensed Vandamme stepping back and heard the click of the gun. He steeled himself, his last thoughts for his son and who would take care of him and get him out of the awful clinic and also for Aimee. They were fated after all never to be together forever.

  He tried to close his eyes but that proved impossible, he realised Vandamme had poured the cognac expressly so he couldn’t, and waited.

  The waiting seemed to be interminable, and then he felt a tap on his shoulder.

  “Oh come on Vandamme for Christ’s sake, just pull the bloody trigger,” he snarled.

  There came no reply just a hand pulling him round from having to look at Levau’s corpse. Lafarge thought great now my son will not even be able to look down at me in a casket, should Antoinette deign to give me a proper formal burial.

  He turned round and was prepared to at least bow out with a note of defiance by spitting full into Vandamme’s face. He released it and whilst it hit its target to his utter amazement and delight he was not staring into the barrel of a gun but at Durand’s tired and pallid features.

  Durand grimaced and wiped the spittal from his face whilst Lafarge knelt down and felt for Vandamme’s prone body for a pulse. He breathed a sigh of relief as he found one, handcuffed Vandamme and rose to his feet and hugged Durand, who looked surprised at this out of character gesture and smiled.

  “Good grief Frederic where did you spring from? I thought my time had come!” said Lafarge.

  Durand turned and pointed into the darkness.

  “I ran for cover when Levau and the other man entered and distracted this fellow,” he said nonchalantly.

  “They started firing at each other and I hid in a little room that is only known to me. I use it as my haven from the daily influx of death and corpses. You should stop by some time,” he added a smile springing to his lips.