by Agnès Ruiz
Double Murder in Attractive Districts
Agnès Ruiz
Translated by James Wung Zeh
“Double Murder in Attractive Districts”
Written By Agnès Ruiz
Copyright © 2017 Agnès Ruiz
All rights reserved
Distributed by Babelcube, Inc.
www.babelcube.com
Translated by James Wung Zeh
Cover Design © 2017 Agnes Ruiz
“Babelcube Books” and “Babelcube” are trademarks of Babelcube Inc.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Double Murder in Attractive Districts
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
About the Author
Bibliography
Double Murder in Attractive Districts
Agnès Ruiz
Chapter 1
With a boiling mind, Grégoire Caron drove fast. He wondered whether he would arrive ahead of them. He wanted to be the first to announce the appalling news to Annabelle Rambouillet. Grégoire sighed again and parked along the sidewalk. He wiped a cold sweat on his forehead and in his neck.
So little accustomed to taking care of his appearance, he cast an anxious eye toward the rearview mirror in the overhead light. His face was scary.
“She’ll know, just on seeing me,” he thought.
Enraged, he closed the mirror and strode out of the car. The elevator was long in coming. And so he chose to take the stairs. He went up the three floors in giant steps, which led him to his best friend’s apartment.
He gave two short and close knocks, directing his gaze at the closed door. He had many a time imagined coming here.
However, this was not in such circumstances. The fatal accident was upsetting.
Annabelle came, without expecting to see him.
“Grégoire?”
He bowed to her without saying a word.
“Come in; do not stay on the threshold.”
Annabelle covertly watched Grégoire, her childhood friend.
He was a tall man, with broad shoulders, a regular face and eyes she had always liked. He wore a tee-shirt tugged into his jeans and an open-topped shirt. She noted that he had not changed anything in his outfits.
It had been several months since they last saw each other. Suddenly, she resented having abandoned him for some time.
“I should have called you,” she said awkwardly.
“You did not have time,” Grégoire lied, looking upset.
Now that he was near her, he felt unable to tell her the real reason for his being there.
“I should have invited you at least for my graduation,” Annabelle went on confused.
“I would have come with your parents,” Grégoire confirmed in a hoarse voice.
Annabelle laughed at this unlikely statement. Annabelle’s parents had never really liked the young man.
Embarrassment would not allow them to say a word because of this prolonged absence. She pinched her lips, and then forced an awkward and entangled smile. She saw her suitcases on the floor and stretched out her arms to identify them.
“As you can see, everything is over. Well, I’m leaving college.”
Grégoire would have liked to hear her say she was returning to Montreal.
“I could have missed you, then, today.”
Annabelle confirmed nodding her head. A fold barred his forehead and faded away in less than no time.
“Precisely, what brings you here?” Annabelle finally asked. “Can I offer you something? A juice, coffee, eggs, or so?”
“Annabelle, we need to talk...”
The brown-haired girl stopped as she made her way to the small kitchen in her studio. She turned round slowly to face Grégoire.
“It seems so serious all of a sudden.”
“I’m sorry, Annabelle.”
Grégoire could hang a smile on his lips to reassure her. He would have liked to take her in his arms. To erase what he had to say. Forget everything and take it away, safe from everything and all.
“I’m sure you did not come all this way just to see me?”
“I could have, if you had let me do...”
“We’re not going to get back to this old story, Grégoire, please.”
Grégoire had kissed her once.
Annabelle had repulsed him. She loved him as a buddy, not like her boyfriend. Grégoire had felt hurt. He still regretted his stupid gesture
“I was too young and stupid. We moved on to something else, you and me.”
Annabelle seemed to look into his eyes to see if he meant what he said. She discerned something else; suffering that worried him all the more.
Grégoire came forward nodding in assent. Then, in a whisper, he said:
“Yes, it’s serious, Annabelle. Do you want to sit down? It would be better, I think.”
Annabelle shook her head. This movement led her long brown hair into a farandole inappropriate to the painful moments.
The phone rang at that moment. Annabelle watched the handset, then Grégoire.
“Do not pick. Not yet.”
Chapter 2
Annabelle hesitated and idled on the old couch. The springs squealed as the bell rang again for a fourth time before shutting down. Grégoire sat down next to Annabelle and took her fingers.
“You must be brave, Annabelle.”
“I do not want!” the young girl shouted.
She tried to take her hands in captive off Grégoire’s, but he would not move.
“Your parents are dead, Annabelle. Both.”
“That’s not true... I talked to them on the phone... yesterday.”
The words came out choppy from Annabelle’s lips. Her eyes fled from Grégoire’s look laden with grief.
“I’m sorry, Anna, so, if you knew.”
“You never loved them,” she whispered.
She wanted to hurt him in addition to his own pain. The worst was that it worked. Grégoire freed Annabelle’s hands. She took advantage of it to rise from a dry jump.
“It’s true that my relations with your parents were... complicated. Yet you are my friend. I know you’re suffering. So, I’m here. For you.”
The most confused ideas now came to Annabelle. She was trying to collect the pieces over the past twenty-four hours. She grabbed her head in both hands, as if she wanted to get her thoughts out or run away from the atrocious news
“How did it happen? Was it a car accident? They had to go to the movies,” she recalled suddenly.
The hardest thing was still to be done, Grégoire thought sadly.
“They were murdered, Annabelle.”
Grégoire took matters into his own hands and searched the kitchen for a strong drink. Annabelle was in a state of shock. He was aware of it. At the same time, the phone rang again. Annabelle did not pick it. She suddenly remembered what Grégoire had said. Earlier.
“It’
s them?”
Who was she talking about? Grégoire asked briefly. Was it about her parents?
“Anna, you’re doing yourself no good, Grégoire whispered as he saw her suddenly rush to pick the phone.
She started shouting “allo”, “Is that you, Mama?”
Her tears flowed and veiled her haggard voice. Grégoire intervened. He took the handset gently from her hands. He replied in her place. Annabelle would not continue to listen and she sat down again on the couch; and Grégoire hung up quickly.
“That was the investigating police officer calling. Detective Rachel Toury.”
Annabelle did not react. Grégoire decided not to continue. He served two glasses; one of which he handed to her.
“I do not want it!”
Annabelle snarled and threw the glass away. It crashed against the wall spilling the amber liquid around. She looked at the damage, and then at Grégoire.
“I’m sorry. I have to clean it up. I...”
“Never mind, I’ll take care of that. You’re not in your normal state.”
When Grégoire stood up, Annabelle said she was going to call her parents. He decided to let her do it.
Now he was there and no matter the person she would fall on, he would be the shoulder she would find to lean and weep. For tears, he was sure, would soon flow over him.
Annabelle was rebellious, a daredevil, but greatly sensitive person. And he knew who she really was at the back of her rebellious mask.
While gathering up the pieces, Grégoire remained attentive to his friend. She waited, with her phone glued to her ear. Finally, when she got the person on the other side, she demanded to speak to her parents, in a voice sharper than usual.
Grégoire quickly understood she was conversing with the detective, the very one who had tried to reach her earlier. Annabelle hung up and promised to be there the next day.
Again, Grégoire thought it wise to have come. He could drive. Considering Annabelle’s state, it would be more prudent.
“Thank you... for cleaning,” she said with difficulty.
“You want us to leave now?”
Annabelle frowned and then reached for the phone.
“I had other plans..., she ventured, unhappier than ever.”
“I suspect.”
Grégoire knew nothing about what she planned to do after leaving college. Did she want to come back and live near her parents? Working for a law firm in Montreal?
“We can leave right now, if you’re ready. I’ll put your suitcases in my car and hop. You’ll be able to rest. You need it!”
“Sleep is not what I need!”
She sent a violent blow to his shoulder to repel him when he bent over to take her luggage.
“What are you doing!” He protested.
The suitcase fell as he let go the handle.
“I’ll leave later. Then I didn’t want to hurt you... It's just that...”
“You prefer I shouldn’t meddle in it!” Grégoire finished the statement.
He felt angry, in spite of himself.
Annabelle bit her lips. She was in panic. Her heart was in a thousand crumbs. She was now criticizing herself. She knew that Grégoire was only lending her a hand. He acted as a faithful friend. And she, a poor idiot, rebuked him.
“I’m sorry, Grégoire.”
“I thought I was doing the right thing,” the young man insisted, now undecided.
“You’ve done it all, you do not deserve it...”
“We can leave tomorrow without worry. I’ll find a place for the night. Just give me the time that suits you.”
His voice was sad and that touched Annabelle.
You can sleep there, on the couch. It’s not that comfortable, I know...
“That will be very good, I am sure.”
“Perfect then.”
They stayed put for a while, intimidated to meet face to face and aware that they had nothing to say... nothing important, at least with the difficult times Annabelle was facing. The young woman finally came back to her senses.
“I have to tell Jonathan... Would you excuse me for a while?”
Grégoire wanted to know who Jonathan was. Unfortunately, she went to another room, probably her room. She closed the door behind her.
If he had dared, Grégoire would have stuck his ear against the door. He decided that he had no right to do so. Despite the burning desire he had to know. He was not going to spoil everything by acting foolish, he reproached himself.
At least Annabelle was right here and she understood that she could rely on him no matter the situation. By the way, he knew he would soon get to know who this “Jonathan” was.
The next day, Grégoire drove alone. He had stayed to the end... In case a last minute change led to a different turn in events. But no, the famous Jonathan had arrived at the appointed hour and carried Annabelle’s suitcases without even allowing him to help.
“Jonathan, this is Grégoire, a good friend of mine.”
Grégoire would have wanted the opposite, that it should be to him that she introduced the intruder. Decidedly, nothing happened as such.
The proof was there. Jonathan stuck a little too much to Annabelle. He had kissed her on the lips as soon as he appeared on the threshold, leaving no doubt about their relationship. Annabelle had not repulsed him. Worse, she had even embraced him for a long time, as if he were the salutary shoulder after the drama.
What about him? He was there! He had travelled miles to come and see her, to support her. He did not deserve this humiliation.
Grégoire said nothing. Annabelle was his friend. That was the lone and only point. She had chosen to go to school in Ontario, probably to make a living there. She had wanted to get away from her family. She sought a certain form of emancipation, of freedom.
Had she found it? Grégoire wondered.
He had trailed the car having aboard Jonathan and Annabelle for a while. They had ended by distancing him. It may have been voluntary. Grégoire decided not to dwell on it. He knew they would end up meeting again.
Chapter 3
The two bodies lay on two separate tables, forever separated or united, according to each belief. Detective Rachel Toury cringed at these odious crimes.
She found it hard to believe.
She and her team-mate, investigator Jean-François Millet, had gone down to the morgue. Despite their presence, Raoul Corpus had not said a word. It was not for want of trying to make him say a little about the matter. They watched him finish a report, on another case, according to the detective’s understanding, staring at the papers before the forensic doctor.
“Well, it’s now our turn,” he finally announced.
He stood up, speaking and frowning, which could mean many things; but certainly not that they were welcome in his den.
Rachel used to rub shoulders with him. She appreciated his professionalism. He was certainly not warm with people alive, yet they treated the dead with all due respect. In sum, that’s what’s most important in his field.
The doctor went from one corpse to another, touching the sheet that barely covered them.
“It was violent and premeditated,” he told them all of a sudden.
He showed the numerous wounds inflicted on the two bodies.
“The wife was tied up on a chair. She was found as such. Her bonds touched the flesh deeply, as you can see on both wrists.
“Did they die at the same time?”
“No. I can say that she died first; an hour before her husband if we rely on the liver temperature.”
“The agony must have been horribly long, especially if he saw his wife in pain before him,” Rachel remarked.
“Indeed. People have no legitimacy on this earth. They are barbarians.
“There comes the specialist of the dead,” the detective thought, as Raoul Corpus uttered his bitter words. She reached the brink of imagining that if he could, he would be able to retreat to the depths of a cave and live there as a hermit.
Why did the forensic doctor always make that strange impression on her, to be nowhere at home save here, all by himself?
“Do you think the murderer deliberately left the husband to die, after committing this act?” Jeff asked.
Raoul stared at investigator Millet.
“What do you want me to say?”
Jeff, who was reading the emergency report, looked up and remarked in a loud voice:
“He managed to free himself, and then he called for help.”
“The husband died in the ambulance when being driven to the hospital,” Detective Toury said.
“In fact, the doctor said softly. I still do not see what you want me to say.”
“Could the husband have survived if he’d been treated on time?” Jeff clearly asked.
The doctor shook his head vigorously.
“Impossible. His wounds were far too serious. He had lost too much blood.”
“So we can say the murderer did not care about him... or that he wanted to make him suffer before succumbing to his fate, already decided anyway,” Jeff concluded.
Everyone paused for a few moments. Then Rachel broke off this long silence.
“I know it’s too early to draw any conclusions, but I think there were at least two murderers. Then I agree with your analysis, Jeff; especially as the man never regained consciousness, despite the first aid administered by the emergency physicians.”
“It’s up to us to do all we can to understand what happened,” Jeff said.
“We’re a team,” Detective Toury agreed. In this regard, Raoul, can you show us the murder weapon? You’re our eyes in all our inquiries, you know very well.”
The attention Rachel continuously paid to the forensic doctor worked. She had added a friendly smile; and Raoul Corpus had liked it. She realized that when she noticed his body was less set back than usual.
“A knife, Rachel. For sure. Perhaps it was picked up on the spot?”
“We’ll check. That’s a valuable piece of information.”
“The first victim, the wife, received nicks. First, two at the chest. The bodice she wore was torn into shreds. Here, let me say there was no sexual act. The criminal only wanted to get to the skin, uncovering it for the knife edge.”