Pel Under Pressure (Chief Inspector Pel)

by Mark Hebden

  Pel frowned, then he slapped the desk. ‘Who are we looking for, Nosjean?’

  ‘Whoever was responsible for what happened next door, Patron. The contact between people like Mortier and Cortot and Nincic – and the people in Paris or Marseilles.’

  ‘Someone,’ Pel said slowly, ‘who has more money than they ought to have. Someone with access to information about students interested in drugs, someone with facilities to travel.’

  ‘Marie-Anne Chahu!’ Darcy said. ‘She handles Foussier’s files all the time! She knows as much as he does about drug- taking at universities!’

  Pel pushed his chair back. ‘Let’s go and see this Mademoiselle Chahu,’ he suggested.

  Foussier hadn’t been near the University all day and when they went to his private office, they found Angélique Courtois pulling the stamps off old envelopes.

  ‘I save them for my young brother,’ she said. ‘We get mail from all over the world.’

  Pel picked out one with an Austrian eagle on it. ‘Do you get many from Austria?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Quite a lot. Marie-Anne lets me have all the envelopes.’

  ‘Does she handle the mail?’

  ‘That’s one of her jobs. Professor Foussier insists on it. He doesn’t like his business going round the University. It’s a hotbed of gossip.’

  ‘Does she get private mail for herself in with it?’

  She gave them a a beaming smile. It was mostly directed at Darcy. ‘I expect so. The students fall heavily for her.’ She smiled again at Darcy. ‘They do even for me sometimes.’

  ‘Ever heard of Alois Hofer?’ Pel asked.

  ‘Yes, I have.’

  ‘Who from?’

  ‘Marie-Anne.’

  ‘Does she write to him?’

  ‘She writes to a lot of people.’

  ‘Is he one?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve seen the letters. I post the mail.’

  ‘Where is she now?’

  ‘She’s with the Professor.’

  ‘And where’s the Professor?’

  ‘He’s on his lecture programme. It’s been arranged some time. Through the University. Slav languages. It’s in Germany mostly.’

  There was a dead silence. For a second no one spoke and no one moved. Then Pel glanced at Darcy and his brows came down.

  ‘It’s where?’ he snapped.

  ‘In Germany.’

  ‘What!’ Pel’s face went red and he looked as if he were about to have a fit. ‘In Germany? Who told him he could go?’

  The girl looked startled. ‘Nobody. He doesn’t have to ask.’

  ‘This time he does!’ Pel snapped. ‘He’s supposed to be under police protection and that means he doesn’t disappear into the blue without informing me first. Where is he?’

  She looked flustered. ‘I don’t know the itinerary. I don’t handle his appointments.’

  ‘Who does? The Chahu woman? And she’s with him! Name of God!’ Pel cursed. ‘Ring his home, Darcy. Ask his wife.’

  Foussier’s wife was away, too, but the girl who answered thought Foussier was at Munich University. A hurried call to Munich showed that he had indeed been there but had already moved on, and it was then that Angélique found a letter that showed he was due to lecture in Austria that night.

  ‘It’s one arranged by Professor Rosschnigg,’ she said. ‘In Innsbrück.’

  ‘Innsbrück,’ Pel said. ‘Nedergasse!’ His rage almost choked him, and he leaned over the desk, glaring at the girl. ‘Why weren’t we informed?’

  She looked worried. ‘I think you were. Marie-Anne rang up. They said it was all right.’

  ‘Did they?’ Pel’s eyes gleamed as he saw the opportunity to get a bit of his own back for all he’d suffered from the accusations of incompetence. ‘Did they indeed? Well, I want to know who, because there’s probably a gang – probably two gangs – looking for him, with more joining in as they hear of the pickings here. Doubtless he thinks they won’t follow him abroad. Well, he doesn’t know men like Pépé le Cornet and Tagliacci! They have a long arm.’ He swung to the girl again. ‘When did they leave?’

  ‘It must have been four days ago.’ She looked startled and a little scared. ‘They flew. He likes to pilot himself. They went to Dors – it’s a small field just outside Innsbrück. He’s been there before. He stays at the Tyrolerhof.’

  Pel fished for a cigarette and began to head for the door. His face was grim. ‘I think we’d better go and see the Chief,’ he said.

  Twenty

  The Chief didn’t argue. Since he had put the bodyguard on Foussier, he had to accept without protest Pel’s charge that the bodyguard shouldn’t have been removed without Pel being informed. Pel made as much of it as he could and the Chief was unable to put up too much of a resistance to his request to go to Innsbrück.

  ‘Can’t we leave it to the Austrians?’ he asked.

  ‘I think we ought to be there,’ Pel said.

  The Chief frowned. ‘It should go through the Minister for the Interior. We should submit a file to the Director of Public Prosecutions so he can make the approach through diplomatic channels.’

  ‘We’ll lose her if we do,’ Pel argued. ‘The Austrians want to break this thing as much as we do. They’ll cut corners.’

  The Chief thought for a moment then capitulated abruptly. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘I’ll telephone ahead.’

  ‘I’ll supply the warrant,’ Polverari added. ‘It’ll be up to you to make the formal application there. How are you going?’

  Darcy was already looking through a guide. ‘If we fly to Munich,’ he said, ‘you’ll still have sixty or more kilometres to drive. By car from here, it’s no further than to Marseilles or Le Havre. We could go by Belfort, then on to the autoway across Switzerland. We could be there in six or seven hours.’

  ‘Tagliacci and Pépé le Cornet move faster than that,’ Pel pointed out. ‘This damned woman’s probably putting the finger on Foussier already.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘If he can fly to this airfield at Dors,’ he said, ‘why can’t we?’

  Polverari and the Chief looked at each other. ‘Very well,’ the Chief said. ‘We’ll lay it on. I’ll telephone Innsbrück and get them to meet you. The rest I’ll sort out while you’re on the way. Who’re you taking?’

  ‘Darcy, of course. And young Nosjean. He’s done as much as anybody to crack this thing.’

  But when they reached Pel’s office, Nosjean had gone to meet Mortier’s parents and only Krauss was there. ‘Why not me, Patron?’ he asked. ‘I retire in a month’s time. It’ll be my last job. After this, the only travelling I’ll be able to afford will be to Royan or the Jura with my grandchildren. And I speak German well.’

  Pel was none too keen. Krauss had been loaded on to him when he had first set up his team and, while he’d never done anything very wrong, he also wasn’t noted for brains or energy. However, if anything broke while he was away, he couldn’t imagine leaving the office in the charge of Krauss, or Misset or Lagé either, for that matter. With Darcy away, only Nosjean had enough intelligence, despite his youth, to know how to act.

  He looked at Krauss. He was sound on procedure and would know what to do in an emergency, and it might be a good idea to have a German-speaking officer with him.

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Make sure we have all the documents we need.’

  He turned away, wondering if he could get Nosjean to telephone Madame Faivre-Perret on his behalf. Nosjean was a polite young man, well brought up by a respectable mother and father and a set of adoring older sisters, and didn’t make a habit of hanging about bars and chasing women. He would make sure the job was done properly. Pel was still wondering when Darcy stuck his head in the door.

  ‘Car’s ready, Chief,’ he said. ‘Krauss’ down there.’ He smiled. ‘We ought to enjoy this. It isn’t every day you get a trip to somewhere as pleasant as Innsbrück.’

  Pel said nothing. Normally he would have welcomed the trip but for once, weighed down by the feeling that t
here couldn’t possibly be time to go to Innsbrück, do what he wanted and return for his dinner date, he saw no future in it.

  On an impulse, he snatched at the telephone and asked for the number of the hairdressing salon in the Rue de la Liberté. His voice was sharp and the man on the telephone didn’t attempt to he funny.

  ‘She’s not here, Monsieur,’ a female voice informed Pel. ‘She’s in Paris.’

  Pel glanced at his watch, faintly alarmed. ‘Isn’t she back yet?’

  ‘Well, she may be, Monsieur. But she told us she wouldn’t be in today. If she is back, she’ll have gone straight home.’

  Frowning heavily, Pel dialled the number Krauss had given him. There was no reply.

  Slamming the telephone down, he thought for a moment of sending Darcy to Innsbrück in his place, but that would have laid him open to charges of despatching a subordinate to do a job that required his own presence, and he began to wonder instead if he could send a note round or something and beg her to be patient. Then he realised, after all the fuss he’d made to the Chief about the urgency of the situation and with Darcy champing at the bit, there just wasn’t time and he decided to let it go, hoping that the thing would be over quickly and he could get back. The fact that his life was probably ruined and the new house at Plombières had gone up in smoke was the sort of by-product you got from police work.

  The journey to Innsbrück was murder. The mountains were full of air pockets and the pilot looked about sixteen. But he knew his job and they reached Dors without problems.

  Krauss had brought everything. It was only as they left the aircraft that Pel noticed the suitcases he had with him. They all kept a bag handy in case they had to shoot off in a hurry somewhere, but Krauss’ suitcases looked big enough to hold spare shirts, toothbrushes and toothpaste for everybody in the Hôtel de Police.

  ‘In the name of God,’ Pel said. ‘What’s in them?’

  Krauss grinned. ‘The documents, Patron. You said to bring them along with us.’

  Pel sighed. Trust Krauss, with his thick head, to botch the thing. ‘I meant the file off my desk,’ he snapped. ‘Not every damned piece of paper we’ve used.’

  Krauss shrugged, unperturbed. He didn’t perturb easily, which was probably why he’d gone through his whole career without ever getting too involved.

  ‘They’ll probably be useful, Patron,’ he said.

  The Innsbrück police had a car with an inspector and driver waiting for them and they entered the city along the Kranerbitterallee. Pel sat in the back, gloomily thinking of his dinner date. In his pessimistic fashion, by this time he was convinced that Madame Faivre-Perret had never had any intention of coming back from Paris, anyway. He didn’t flatter himself that she would make a special effort for him, and he felt she had probably decided in the end she was better off without him.

  The car swung into the Universitätstrasse then right by a set of yellow-painted barracks. Red-and-white sentry boxes stood in the dusty parade ground opposite the police building tucked among the trees. The word, Bundespolizeidirektion, in large black letters, hit them in the face.

  The building was a new one, strangely out of place among the ancient buildings of the old Austro-Hungarian Empire and it had a Germanic look of efficiency about it. The Chief had done his work well and they were shown at once to the Director’s office. The Director was a plump, pink-faced man with his hair cut en brosse. The telephone calls seemed to have satisfied him and he didn’t argue.

  ‘I think it’s clear enough,’ he said. ‘You’ll need help.’ He indicated a lean Italian-looking man alongside him. ‘Kommissar Bakt will be coming with you. He’s been engaged on the problem here and he’ll be as glad as you to see it cleared up.’

  The Tyrolerhof Hotel was almost opposite the station at the end of the Sudtirolerplatz. It was well organised for tourists and full of every nationality under the sun. The reception desk was crowded but they pushed to the front and Bakt didn’t bother to argue. ‘Polizei,’ he explained briskly and, as the clerk’s frosty face melted, Pel nudged Krauss.

  ‘Fräulein Chahu – Marie-Anne Chahu,’ Krauss explained. ‘French nationality. She’s staying here.’

  The clerk glanced at his book. ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘Room 87.’

  Marie-Anne Chahu was surprised to see them but she received them with a straight face. The room was clearly one of the best in the hotel. Immediately, Pel noticed a man’s leather bedroom slippers in the open wardrobe.

  ‘Whose are those?’ he asked.

  She frowned. ‘I think that’s my business,’ she answered tartly.

  ‘I think it’s ours too. You’d better answer.’

  She stared at them for a moment then she made a little gesture with her hand. ‘They’re Raymond’s. Professor Foussier’s.’

  ‘What are they doing here?’

  ‘We had breakfast together. We were organising his plans for the day. There’s nothing wrong with that. We’ve done it before.’

  ‘Is he sharing the room?’

  She gave them a cold look. ‘He has the room next door.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘I don’t know. He likes to go off occasionally. Especially before a lecture. He’s a man who lives at a tremendous pace and he likes to be alone. He could be at half a dozen places, all within easy reach of Innsbrück: Seefeld, Reith, Zir. They’re all only an easy train ride and the station’s only across the square. He’ll be back in time for Professor Rosschnigg’s lecture.’

  ‘He’s your lover, isn’t he?’ Darcy asked bluntly.

  She made no bones about it. ‘Yes,’ she said simply. ‘He has been for some time.’

  ‘And you liked going abroad with him, didn’t you?’

  Her eyes blazed. ‘What is this? Am I being accused of something?’

  ‘Just answer the question.’

  ‘Of course I like going abroad with him! The work’s tiring because he has a fearsome energy, but he never fails to see that I eat well and have a good room.’

  ‘We’re not interested in morals,’ Pel said. ‘When you travel abroad with the Professor, there are periods when you’re free to do as you wish, aren’t there? – when you can conduct your own business.’

  ‘I have no business.’

  ‘Not even drugs?’ Darcy asked.

  She stared at them for a moment in silence, making a clear effort to control herself. ‘Is this why you’re here?’

  ‘Yes, Fräulein.’ Bakt spoke for the first time. ‘It is.’

  Darcy leaned forward, his hands on the back of a chair. ‘You knew Fran Nincic, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How about Pépé le Cornet?’

  ‘Who’s Pépé le Cornet?’

  ‘Never mind who he is. Do you know him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Maurice Tagliacci?’

  ‘No!’ She almost screamed the word.

  ‘Did you know Nincic had been murdered?’

  For a second she stared at them, then her hands went to her throat. ‘Oh, God, no!’ she said.

  ‘He was another of your lovers, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Once.’

  ‘He was trafficking in drugs. Did he use your apartment?’

  She had recovered her spirits quickly. ‘Of course not! He rarely came.’

  ‘But students did, didn’t they? Why?’

  She laughed. It sounded strained and, after her shock over Nincic’s death, quite unreal. ‘Because I’m Professor Foussier’s assistant. They come to me about his business.’

  ‘Old examination papers!’ Darcy said. ‘Some of the students I saw visiting your apartment were hardly at the stage when they’d be thinking of examinations.’

  ‘They’re always thinking of examinations,’ she said irritably. ‘Examinations are something that brood over them from the moment they arrive.’

  Darcy produced a sheet of paper. ‘What about these students? They’ve been more than once: Renée Mazuy. Denise Monel. Nadine Weyl
. Christianne Tisserand. Lionel Pépin–’

  ‘Him!’ she said.

  ‘What do you mean – him?’

  ‘Pépin’s as queer as a straight corkscrew.’

  Pel was frowning. He lit a cigarette quickly. ‘Let’s have a look at that list, Darcy,’ he said.

  Darcy handed over the paper. ‘These are mostly girls,’ Pel said.

  ‘Girls take drugs, Patron.’

  ‘Have you seen these girls? Do they look as if they’re on drugs?’

  ‘Of course they’re not on drugs!’ Marie-Anne Chahu interrupted.

  ‘Then why do they come to your flat?’ Darcy demanded.

  Pel held out his hand. ‘The other list, Darcy,’ he said. ‘The list of people who visit the building.’

  As Darcy handed it over, Pel glanced down at it. ‘All wealthy,’ he mused. ‘Including Teeth and Trousers.’ He frowned and went on, half to himself. ‘But he’s not interested in girls. He’s interested in–’ he stopped and looked at Marie-Anne Chahu. ‘It wasn’t drugs you were supplying,’ he said. ‘It was sex. You were procuring girls for these men!’

  She was watching him closely, her eyes like stone.

  ‘And for Teeth and Trousers, this kid – what’s his name? – Lionel Pépin.’

  There was a dead silence.

  ‘Oh, mon Dieu,’ Darcy muttered.

  For a moment, she studied the four men, her mouth twisted in contempt. ‘It’s not a crime,’ she pointed out.

  ‘Don’t be too sure of that, Mademoiselle,’ Pel said.

  She was still facing them angrily. ‘They never used my apartment,’ she fumed.

  ‘No, by God!’ Darcy’s expression was full of bitterness and now he exploded. ‘They didn’t! Because you have two flats. Your own and the flat on the roof. The doorman’s flat. It’s perfect. “A bit warm in summer,” he said, but who minds that when you’re not wearing clothes? They picked up the money from you – eight hundred francs, a lot of money for a student – then they took the lift to the top floor. You made the appointments, and that mealy-mouthed bastard on the door rented it, provided bed linen and saw to the supply of champagne.’

  She stared at him, her face transformed.