Pel And The Paris Mob

by Mark Hebden

  ‘Unless,’ Madame commented, ‘it’s still there.’

  ‘Still where?’

  ‘In the area where it was stolen. Perhaps they had someone waiting nearby they handed it to. Someone who knew the woods, for instance. Isn’t that the way they work?’

  It was indeed, Pel had to admit, and it might be an idea worth following up. Madame hadn’t been married to a policeman for long but she was already catching on to the methods of criminals.

  They had just settled down to enjoy their drinks when the telephone went. It was Darcy, and Pel exploded at once.

  ‘You didn’t have to telephone me tonight!’ he snorted. ‘De Mougy will keep until tomorrow!’

  ‘It’s not De Mougy, Patron,’ Darcy explained. ‘There’s been a shooting.’

  Pel sighed. ‘Where?’ he asked.

  ‘Montenay. I’ve informed the office of the Public Prosecutor. Judge Polverari will be out there.’

  ‘Casualties?’

  ‘Two, Patron. One serious. Name of Huppert.’

  ‘Do we know who did it?’

  ‘No, Patron. I’m going along there now. It’s that little metalwork factory just off the main street. The house adjoins the yard. Bardolle’s out there.’

  ‘I’ll join you there.’

  Madame raised only a token protest when Pel announced he was going out after he’d eaten. ‘What is it?’ she asked.

  ‘Somebody’s been shot at Montenay.’

  ‘Just be careful.’

  ‘I’m always careful,’ Pel said. ‘Especially with guns around. When I was a young cop, whenever guns were involved I always used to utter up a little prayer. “Don’t let me get shot, Lord, because of my mother.” I never was.’

  She laughed and reached out to hold his hand for a moment. ‘Don’t stay out too late, Pel,’ she said.

  She was so easy-going about his disappearances, he felt it was about time he suggested they had a holiday. He hated holidays but he was unselfish enough – but only just – to be aware that his wife might feel differently.

  ‘One day,’ he said, ‘we’ll have a day or two off. Get away from things.’

  She smiled. ‘You’d die of boredom. That’s why I’ve never done anything about that weekend house in the Jura.’

  Pel was faintly shocked. In addition to the splendid new house at Leu, she had already converted rooms over her salon in the city so they could use it as a flat if anything big cropped up to keep Pel in the city too long. But she’d also talked of a weekend house by a lake so he could do some fishing and the idea of owning not two but three properties had appealed to Pel. He’d always fancied being a plutocrat.

  ‘I like fishing,’ he said indignantly.

  ‘But not in the Jura,’ she said placidly. ‘On the River Orche. You’d die if something happened and you weren’t involved.’

  It was late when Pel reached Montenay. Fabrications Metaux de Montenay occupied a set of old buildings in the Rue Bucha, and all the lights were on. Alongside was the house belonging to the owner, an ugly red-brick building with a small and very formal front garden surrounded by a high fence and a gate which could only be opened by a key or by pressing a button inside the house. In effect, however, it was valueless because the small metalworks could be entered via two large red-painted wooden gates which filled an arch in a blank wall through which vehicles had to pass, and these led to a yard which backed on to the house. As Pel arrived, one of the gates was ajar and nearby, the pressmen, Fiabon, of France Dimanche, Henriot, of Le Bien Public, and Sarrazin, the freelance, were waiting. Sarrazin moved forward at once.

  ‘Got anything to tell us, Chief?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know anything myself yet,’ Pel snapped.

  A policeman was standing by the gate. ‘Look out for the dog, sir,’ he advised.

  It was a timely warning. As Pel stepped through the gate, a lean-looking young Alsatian, attached to a ringbolt set in a wall by a long chain that gave it the run of a large part of the brick-paved yard, hurtled from the shadows at him, to be stopped only a metre short with a neck-breaking jerk. The clamour as it leapt up and down with bared fangs made Pel jump back into the forge. The desire to take a flying kick at it was only restrained by the fear that it might have his leg off. Pel had no high regard for dogs, not even police dogs, which, he felt, did little more than fight every other dog they came across.

  He made threatening noises at the animal – having first made sure that the chain didn’t allow it within reach – and, advancing warily round it, headed for the door. Darcy appeared.

  ‘What happened?’ Pel asked.

  Darcy shrugged. ‘Hard to tell, Patron. A major battle. We’ve already picked up seven or eight ejected cartridges.’

  ‘Seven or eight? Who was hurt?’

  ‘Owner and his wife.’ Darcy glanced at his notebook. ‘Jacqueline Huppert. Jacques Huppert. He says he heard someone in the yard and, because he found an intruder there three or four weeks ago, he went out. He says he was shot at on the other occasion – one shot. Tonight he was shot at several times and this time he fired back. When things had quietened down he turned round and found his wife lying in the doorway – with a bullet in her back.’

  ‘Dead?’

  ‘No. The local doctor – guy called Lachasse – sent her to hospital. He’s still here.’

  ‘Have someone sit alongside her bed, Daniel. In case she saw something. I’ll see the doctor.’

  Just inside the house, the owner of the yard was sitting in a chair. He looked deathly white and clutched a crimsoned towel. His jacket was on the chair back and he was wincing with pain. His shirt was stained with blood and the doctor was standing over him with cotton gauze, bandage and plaster. Judge Polverari was with them.

  Pel introduced himself, and the doctor gestured at the wounded man. ‘Huppert,’ he said.

  ‘Is it serious?’

  ‘No. Slight. A flesh wound. Painful but not much more. He’ll be using it more or less normally in a few days. It’s his wife I’m worried about.’

  ‘Is he in a fit state to tell me what happened?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Bit of shock, that’s all. He’s all right. Good as new now.’ The doctor patted Huppert’s shoulder and moved away.

  Huppert rose and with his good hand hung his jacket behind the door.

  ‘Inform me,’ Pel said.

  ‘Well–’ Huppert drew a deep shuddering breath ‘–my house adjoins the metalwork factory, as you can see, and I was sitting in the office going through the books when I heard a noise in the yard. So I grabbed my gun. I have one–’

  ‘May I see it?’

  Huppert fished one-handed in a drawer and produced an automatic in a holster attached to a belt. The dull blue gunmetal of the barrel was dark against the paler leather. ‘FAS Apex 6.35,’ he said. ‘I’ve had it a long time. I’m allowed one because I have money on the premises occasionally. I bought it some years back from the owner when he left the country.’

  Pel studied the gun. ‘Only you ever touch it?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s right. My wife’s frightened to death of guns.’

  ‘I’d better keep it for the time being.’

  ‘Why? That’s my gun. What if he comes again?’

  ‘You’ll be all right. There’ll be one of my men handy. For a while, anyway. Until we’ve reassured ourselves that you’re safe.’ Pel gestured. ‘Please continue.’

  Huppert drew a deep breath. ‘Well, as you know, someone shot at me about a month ago. Same sort of thing. I heard a sound and went out and a shot was fired.’

  ‘At you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Pel glanced at Darcy who nodded. ‘It was reported, Patron,’ he said. ‘We have the details at the office. Nothing was found and we had to assume that it was somebody who’d let off his gun by accident. A bullet mark was found on the wall above the back door. It could have come from outside and that’s what we had to assume. Nothing turned up. Nosjean went over it carefully. It was put on the
file.’

  Pel turned to Huppert and gestured to him to continue.

  ‘It must have been someone shooting at me, mustn’t it?’ Huppert said. ‘It frightened me. That’s when I dug out the pistol. I haven’t had it out of the safe for years but after that I thought I’d better. Then when I heard this noise tonight–’

  ‘What sort of noise?’

  ‘A sort of clink. As if something in the foundry had been moved. Something like that. I called to my wife to come down because there was somebody in the yard. She was reading in bed. Then as I went outside I was fired at from the darkness – more than once. I fired back at the flash. I thought he’d gone into the forge so I went after him. It was then he hit me. I staggered to the house and that was when I found my wife lying in the doorway with a wound in her back. I telephoned the police and the doctor.’

  ‘Where did the bullets that were fired at you come from, do you think?’

  ‘Near the forge.’

  ‘How near?’

  ‘Near the old pump.’

  ‘This intruder. What do you think he was after?’

  ‘It could only be money. Wages. That sort of thing. He wouldn’t want to cart away lumps of iron or metal sheeting or strips of brass, would he?’

  ‘When do you pay your people?’

  ‘Tomorrow.’

  ‘And you have the money in the house?’

  ‘No. I pick it up tomorrow from the bank and pay it straight out. It’s not a lot anyway. We only have twenty employees.’

  ‘Could anybody think you’d drawn it today?’ Huppert looked puzzled. ‘Have you been to the bank, for instance? Have you been out and come back carrying a bag that might seem to contain money?’

  ‘Not today.’

  ‘Who knows when you pay your people? Apart from them.’

  ‘Only the bank. And Connie Gruye.’

  ‘Who’s Connie Gruye?’

  ‘She comes here to do the accounts. She does the wages.’

  Pel was silent for a moment. ‘This intruder,’ he said. ‘Did you see him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Could your wife have? From her bedroom?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so.’

  They went upstairs and, looking from the window, decided it was unlikely. The bed was disturbed and the book Madame Huppert had been reading was still open alongside the telephone on the bedside table.

  ‘Do you have much occasion to use the telephone at night?’ Pel asked.

  Huppert shrugged. ‘Not much. Just once in a while. But it saves coming downstairs if the bell goes. Sometimes a customer telephones late to save money. You’d be surprised how mean some of them are.’

  Returning downstairs, Pel stared about him. ‘Did you hear the intruder himself at all?’ he asked. ‘His footsteps, for instance.’

  ‘Not really. I thought he was in the forge but I didn’t see anything and I didn’t hear anything after the first clinking sound until he started shooting.’

  ‘Any indication where he got in?’

  ‘Through the gates. They’re secured by a chain and padlock but the chain’s been cut.’

  As Huppert passed a hand over his forehead and seemed to sway, Pel gestured. ‘I think that’ll do for the time being,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you when you’re over it a little. And you’ll be wanting to see your wife, I expect.’

  ‘Is she bad?’

  ‘She’s not good,’ Doctor Lachasse admitted.

  As Huppert disappeared, Pel turned to the doctor. ‘How soon after it happened did you arrive?’

  ‘Within minutes. Quarter of an hour at the outside.’

  ‘On your own?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I’m surprised the dog didn’t bite you.’

  ‘I was aware of it. I’ve been here before.’

  ‘It nearly bit me,’ Pel said. He turned to Darcy. ‘Let’s have enquiries made at the hospital,’ he suggested. ‘For dog bites. If there was a man in the yard he’s probably in hospital minus a leg.’ He turned back to the doctor. ‘Where was Madame Huppert when you arrived?’

  ‘She was lying in the hall. On her side. The wound was in her back, just below the shoulder blade. The bullet’s in the upper abdominal region and I think it’s perforated the liver. Huppert told me he found her lying on her face and was going to turn her on to her back when he saw the wound, so he propped her up on her side. It couldn’t have been easy with only one hand.’ Doctor Lachasse indicated a pile of bloodstained cushions lying in the corner of the kitchen. ‘Then he telephoned – for me and the police.’

  ‘Was she unconscious when you arrived?’

  ‘Yes. But she rallied a little. She opened her eyes.’

  ‘Say anything?’

  ‘She muttered something I couldn’t hear. Then she called for her husband. “Jacques,” she said.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘No. Just “Jacques”. Twice. “Jacques”, then a pause and “Jacques” again. She tried to say something else but then she became unconscious.’

  ‘Know anything else about them?’

  ‘They’ve been my patients for some time. Huppert’s a hardworking man. His wife’s probably the brains, though. There’s also Madame Gruye – Connie Gruye – who comes in to do the books. She’s a widow who lives next door.’ The doctor gestured. ‘That side. The other side’s Arthur Démy. I gather he’s just gone to Paris. He goes a lot. He’s a computer expert. A bit of an odd type.’

  Judge Polverari interrupted. ‘What’s this Connie Gruye like?’ he asked. ‘Young?’

  The doctor gave a sad smile. ‘I can see the way your mind’s working. But I doubt if there was anything between her and Huppert.’

  ‘Why do you doubt that?’

  ‘Because I know her. She’s older than Huppert and hardly ever speaks. What you’d call solid. Good with figures, though, I believe. She worked for the original owner and I think she was once hoping to be taken into the firm as a director. But he let her down, sold out to Huppert and went to live in the south. She got over it, though, and stayed with Huppert. She comes in two days a week to do the accounts and type letters. I expect she’ll be around before long. I can’t imagine her missing a thing like this. This place has been her life.’

  Six

  As he did first thing every morning, Darcy appeared next day for a chat in Pel’s office. They liked to call it a conference but it was really just a get-together to swop ideas. Claudie Darel arrived with coffee and Darcy fished out his cigarettes. Pel eyed them warily.

  One of these days, he promised himself he’d clear everything connected with smoking out of the house, empty the drawers where he kept his spare cigarettes and the cupboards where he kept the spare spare ones in case, by some mischance, he should run out not only of cigarettes but of spare ones too.

  He took Darcy’s cigarette sadly. It was a problem getting over smoking and unfortunately it was a problem that required a cigarette to help solve it.

  ‘Pity you can’t breathe through your ears, Patron,’ Darcy said. ‘It would save the smoke going down into your lungs.’

  He sat back, enjoying his cigarette in a way that made Pel envious and set him wondering why he couldn’t also be a devil about it and ignore the dangers, why he always had to worry about dying of lung cancer when Darcy obviously never gave it a thought.

  They discussed Montenay. Bardolle was still out there.

  ‘We’ve asked at the hospitals,’ Darcy said. ‘They all had a quiet night. No emergencies. No dog bites.’

  ‘Which,’ said Pel, ‘is strange. I’d have expected something. How about local doctors?’

  ‘They report none either.’ Darcy frowned. ‘What was he after?’ he said. ‘There couldn’t have been much of any value about the place because they seem to be running on a shoestring. Bardolle’s talked to all the workers. They can tell him nothing. It’s true what Huppert said. There was no money on the premises.’

  ‘Somebody seems to have thought there was. Has Bardolle c
hecked the backgrounds of the people who work for Huppert?’

  ‘Yes, Patron. Still at it. All straightforward. One or two motoring offences. One assault. But that was years back when the guy was twenty. He’s forty now and he’s lived a blameless life ever since. One other–’ Darcy paused ‘–drugs. Four years back. He told Bardolle he’s kicked the habit now, but you never know.’

  ‘Got the name?’

  ‘Charles Tehendu. He’s twenty-five. He’s clever. Went to university but dropped out. Madame Huppert took him on because he’s good with his hands.’

  ‘Madame Huppert?’

  ‘She seems to have done the hiring and firing. She even seems to have been the expert. Huppert runs the buying and selling, and if anything big comes up they contract it out. It’s a bit of a Mickey Mouse outfit, with a lot of home-made gadgets. This Connie Gruye does the letters and the books.’

  ‘Have you seen her yet?’

  ‘Yes. Funny-looking dame. Looks like that terrifying aunt everybody claims to have but never does. Tall. Bust like a frigate under full sail. Doesn’t say much. She turned up very early. Just after you left. Said she might be able to help. She didn’t have much to offer, but she was useful for making coffee. Bardolle and the boys were beginning to feel the strain by then.’

  ‘What about the bullets we found?’

  ‘Ten altogether.’

  ‘Ten? Was someone putting up an anti-aircraft barrage?’

  ‘Ten, all the same, Patron. And all 6.35s.’

  ‘All of them?’

  ‘All of them. Whoever it was, he had the same calibre gun as Huppert. We found a 6.35 slug in a wooden beam near the door of the forge and another one in the plaster nearby. One of them must have been the one that nicked Huppert’s arm. The other must have missed. There are also marks on the walls outside. Two of them on the wall near the Hupperts’ back door. And three in the outside wall of the forge. It looks to me as if when Huppert came out, three shots were fired at him. Two missed and one hit Madame Huppert. He fired three shots in return. Then he went into the forge and two shots were fired at him there. The one in the beam and the one in the plaster. He fired two shots there, too. We found them at the opposite end of the forge, as if he’d fired from the doorway where he was standing. Ten in all. And all 6.35s.’