Pel And The Staghound

by Mark Hebden

  Pel paused and went on slowly. ‘They also loaded one of Lausse’s carboys then they took the body up into the woods and dug a shallow grave for it. They were going to use the acid on it but, as it was unloaded – perhaps because it was cold and fingers were numb – the carboy fell and broke on the hard earth. The acid burned boots and gloves and there wasn’t enough left to do the job properly, so they threw the boots and gloves away and, instead, just covered Rensselaer up in the grave they’d dug and placed stones over it. They didn’t notice they’d lost his hat. Then his car was taken from where he’d parked it along the valley. They knew where it was because he’d once told Michelline where he’d left it and Retif had also seen it. It was driven to Chaumont to put us off the scent, with Michelline following in the van so there’d be transport back to the abbey. Michelline then dropped lover boy, who made his way back over the last stretch on foot, while Michelline arrived as if she’d been shopping. Their plan was good for one made up on the spur of the moment.’

  Pel stopped and drew a deep breath. ‘Unfortunately,’ he said, ‘they didn’t realise that, because of the clayey nature of the ground where they’d buried Rensselaer, the acid hadn’t soaked away. And they also reckoned without Archer. When he found the body, he tried to get at it and when he couldn’t, in his misery he lay down beside it, and only when the acid began to burn did he move. Eventually, he was in agony and knew with an animal’s instinct that he was going to die, so he trailed home. All that was left was to put the dog down.’

  ‘And the ransom hoax?’

  ‘To wring the last drop of profit out of the affair. Rensselaer could never come back, so why not? Michelline liked money. She’d had plenty from Rensselaer alive, no doubt, so why not more when he was dead?’

  As he finished, Pel rose and began to stuff cigarettes into his pockets. ‘We’ll have a watch put on the abbey,’ he said. ‘Then we’ll go and see what Doc Minet has to say.’

  Twenty-two

  They stood round the two open graves like a lot of sorrowing relatives at a funeral, sombre-faced men stooping among the tapes that had been laid down. A big black van stood to one side with a long shape inside it wrapped in plastic. Leguyader’s men, in rubber boots and gloves, were bent over the frozen earth, inching their way forward looking for anything that might help the picture.

  The winter day grew more grey and heavy, and they began to light pressure lamps. Pel and Darcy moved slowly back to the vehicles. Claudie Darel was waiting by Pel’s car and, as they appeared, she handed round a brandy flask.

  Pel nodded gratefully to her and gestured at the radio.

  ‘Nosjean and De Troq’ are watching the abbey with a couple of uniformed men,’ she said. ‘No one’s left.’

  ‘Right,’ Pel said. ‘Let’s go.’

  Five minutes later, two cars were heading down the slopes of the Fond des Chouettes. White flakes descended slowly.

  ‘By tonight,’ Pel said, ‘it’ll be thick. We’ll probably be snowed up at the abbey.’

  ‘Take heart, Patron,’ Darcy said. ‘We can always eat the hounds.’ He paused. ‘Somebody ought to give Lausse a reward,’ he went on slowly. ‘If it hadn’t been for him, we’d never have known about Michelline popping into bed with Rensselaer.’

  ‘Perhaps we didn’t. At least, it wasn’t Rensselaer that day. When Lausse was at the abbey Rensselaer hadn’t yet turned up.’

  ‘Who was it then, Patron? Guitton? And if Rensselaer’s dead, why is Michelline dead, too?’

  ‘Because her boy friend had been playing her false, too. He’d had another woman all the time. And when she found out, in a fury she went to where they’d hidden the ransom money – among the pedigrees in the office by the gate. It’s a good place to hide something. Fabre said you could hide a horse in there, and unless you knew exactly where it was you’d never find it. She’d spent half her life wanting money and she helped herself. But she was signing her own death warrant. When we found out she’d been spending and started making enquiries, she became not only a nuisance but also very dangerous. You know what these villages are like. Everybody knew we were checking on her to lead us to what happened to Rensselaer. Like Rensselaer, she had to go.’

  The Fond des Chouettes was growing gloomy as they descended. The snow was already beginning to settle on the higher slopes and dust the branches of the trees with white. In the half-darkness, the abbey looked more gaunt and grim than ever.

  As they stopped the cars outside the gateway, the light of the little office under the archway was on, and papers were scattered everywhere. As they walked into the courtyard, the place seemed deserted. The smell of boiled flesh seemed stronger than ever and the hounds, scenting humans, began to bay and whimper in a low chorus of welcome and protest, half a hundred voices blending in a sound that was at once pleasing and savage.

  ‘We’ll need an army for this place,’ Darcy growled.

  ‘Lagé,’ Pel said. ‘Have everybody fan out. Half of them inside, half of them outside.’

  He was growing worried and wondering if they wouldn’t have been wiser to leave the business until the following day. Picking up someone who hadn’t hesitated to use a gun was always a tricky business in the dark, but if they left it any longer they could lose their quarry.

  ‘Get the cars in the yard with their headlights on,’ he said, and a few moments later the cars appeared through the archway, their headlights blazing, filling the courtyard with light, picking out the stark branches of the old cedar and the pump.

  ‘There!’ Darcy’s arm shot out and through the drifting snowflakes they saw a shadow flit through the archway at the opposite end of the yard that led to Lausse’s old galvanising shop.

  ‘Warn them outside,’ Pel snapped.

  Darcy’s radio clattered and almost immediately, they heard a shot. Uproar broke out in the kennels at once as the hounds began to yelp and bay with excitement. A dark muffled figure appeared, snow dusting its shoulders.

  ‘What in the name of God’s going on?’

  The shout was ignored as they raced across the courtyard, their feet crunching on the iron-hard frozen mud. Reaching the arch at the opposite end, they saw a bunch of policemen gathered round a torch.

  ‘Patron! He’s got Brigadier Sony. Shotgun pellets. Extreme range. Not much damage.’

  ‘Get him away then and get the light out.’

  The torch was extinguished and a shadowy figure in a flat-topped képi appeared.

  ‘He’s holed up, sir. Over here somewhere.’

  There were three men at the entrance of Lausse’s old factory.

  ‘Let’s have one of the cars round here,’ Pel said. ‘But keep the lights down until I say.’

  As the car arrived, they slipped inside the old building. through the big double doors. Pel gestured.

  ‘Torch!’

  A torch blazed and immediately there was a flash in the darkness. Pellets slapped at the brickwork above their heads and the yelling of the hounds intensified as the plaster showered down.

  ‘Lights!’

  As the headlights came on, the interior of the large working chamber with its rusting equipment was flooded with light. Immediately, there was another shot, more falling plaster and a shout from the darkness.

  ‘I’ve plenty more! You’ll never get me out of here!’

  ‘He’s behind those crates, Patron,’ Darcy said, crouching in the shadows with Pel.

  Pel frowned. They were faced with a classic siege situation. They couldn’t go in and their quarry wouldn’t come out. It looked like being a long job. They had no idea how many cartridges he had but they couldn’t take risks.

  Fabre appeared in front of Pel. ‘I’ll get him out,’ he said.

  ‘He’ll blow your head off.’

  Fabre frowned. ‘I’m not going in after him,’ he said.

  ‘What’s on your mind?’

  ‘Leave it to me.’

  Fabre disappeared and a moment later reappeared with a rifle.

  ‘
What are you going to do with that?’ Pel snapped.

  Fabre gave him a sour look. ‘Shoot,’ he said. ‘I was a marksman in the army. I told you.’

  ‘We want him alive, not dead.’

  ‘He’ll be alive.’

  Shielded by one of the vats, Fabre pulled a sawing horse into the shadow then, lifting the rifle, knelt down and laid it across the wooden cross-piece. There was no sign of the figure at the far end of the great chamber, but the lights threw large shadows on the walls and gleamed on glass. Fabre raised his voice.

  ‘That’s acid in the carboys alongside you,’ he shouted. ‘Undiluted hydrochloric acid. It’ll burn anything. You should know.’ He worked the bolt of the rifle and pulled the trigger in a single movement, and they heard the carboy smash. ‘And you,’ he went on, not a scrap of emotion in his voice, ‘are now surrounded by it.’

  There was a moment of silence then a yell of alarm, and a shotgun was flung over the top of the crates. ‘Stop! Stop! I’m coming out! I’m coming out! Don’t shoot!’

  ‘Hold your fire,’ Pel shouted as a figure appeared, dancing on its toes through a spreading puddle of acid.

  ‘It’s on my feet! It’s on my shoes! Get it off me!’

  ‘Get him to the pump!’

  Stripped of trousers, shoes and socks, the dark shape was dragged through the snow across to the trough by the entrance to the courtyard and dumped into it. As they hauled him clear, Fabre appeared alongside Pel. The hounds were going mad now and the air was filled with their yelling.

  Fabre said nothing, staring with sombre eyes at the soaked figure in front of him, its eyes wild, its legs bare, its arms held by two policemen. Pel was just wrenching at the bandage on its hand. As it came free, Darcy shone a torch. The hand beneath was covered with livid red weals. There was no sign of a cut.

  ‘Acid burns,’ Pel said. ‘Just as the doctor in Champette told me. He got them when Lausse’s carboy fell and broke as they were getting it out of the van. If there’d been a stream up there where they buried Rensselaer, he might have been able to wash it off but there wasn’t so he couldn’t, any more than he could wash it off the boots he wore – Fabre’s. He could get them on because his feet are small and if they were found it wouldn’t matter much because it would be a nice way of getting rid of a husband who was becoming suspicious. I expect when he got back to the abbey he washed it carefully; but it was too late then and the acid had started working, so he pretended he’d cut his hand breaking down a cow for the hounds. He’d got it all sorted out and bandaged by the time Fabre appeared, full of suspicion but lacking much in the way of evidence. He was probably also the motor cyclist Lausse saw as he went home.’

  He gestured at the panting figure through the falling snowflakes. ‘This is who Lausse heard upstairs that day when he came. Can you imagine Rensselaer discussing politics in bed? That needs a special type. Someone who’s ruthless, and contemptuous enough of the wealthy to take their money while still detesting them. Someone who’d enjoy stealing a rich man’s mistress and seducing his daughter. This is the man who shot the hounds when they grew old because Fabre couldn’t bring himself to do it, the man with a contempt for everyone, even for Michelline. He might have got away with it, too, but for the fact that he couldn’t keep his hands off women. When he found he’d put the girl in Champette in the family way and had to get married, it was the finish and Michelline turned against him. We’ll find the money in Rensselaer’s apartment, I expect. I imagine he’s just fished it out from where he hid it.’

  Fabre’s jaw had tightened as he listened and his face had become a grim mask. ‘Maurice Cottu,’ he said. ‘You bastard! It was you who killed poor old Archer!’

  It was only later that they remembered he didn’t mention his wife.

  Note on Chief Inspector Pel Series

  Chief Inspector Evariste Clovis Désiré Pel, of the Brigade Criminelle of the Police Judiciaire, in Burgundy, France is, according to the New York Times, in ‘his professional work, a complete paragon.’He is sharp, incisive, honest, and a leader of men and everything else a successful cop should be.’

  Outside of work, however, ‘he is a milquetoast, scared of his gorgon of a housekeeper, frightened of women, doubtful of his own capabilities.’

  It should be noted, though, things do change to some degree, and in the course of the series he marries - but readers are left to judge that and the events surrounding it for themselves.

  What is true, is that Pel is ‘Gallic’ to the core and his complex character makes a refreshing change from many of the detectives to be found in modern crime. Solutions are found without endless and tedious forensic and his relationships are very much based in real life.

  Pel Titles in Order of First Publication

  These titles can be read as a series, or randomly as stand-alone novels

  1. Pel & The Faceless Corpse 1979

  2. Death Set To Music Also as: Pel & The Parked Car 1979

  3. Pel Under Pressure 1980

  4. Pel Is Puzzled 1981

  5. Pel & The Bombers 1982

  6. Pel & The Staghound 1940

  7. Pel The Pirates 1984

  8. Pel & The Predators 1984

  9. Pel & The Prowler 1985

  10. Pel & The Paris Mob 1986

  11. Pel Among The Pueblos 1987

  12. Pel & The Faceless Corpse 1987

  13. Pel & The Touch Of Pitch 1987

  14. Pel & The Picture Of Innocence 1988

  15. Pel & The Party Spirit 1989

  16. Pel & The Missing Persons 1990

  17. Pel & The Promised Land 1991

  18. Pel & The Sepulchre Job 1992

  Further titles are available post 1993 See Juliet Hebden (author)

  Synopses of ‘Pel’ Titles

  Published by House of Stratus

  These can be read as a series, or as stand-alone novels

  Pel & The Faceless Corpse

  An unidentified, faceless corpse is discovered near a memorial dedicated to villagers killed by the Nazis. Pel is on the case searching for a way to name the faceless corpse. The trail leads him from Burgundy to the frontiers of France, aided by a canny Sergeant Darcy and the shy, resourceful Sergeant Nosjean. Follow the irascible, quirky Chief Inspector on a road to solving the mystery of the faceless corpse.

  Death Set To Music (Pel & The Parked Car)

  The severely battered body of a murder victim turns up in provincial France and the sharp-tongued Chief Inspector Pel must use all his Gallic guile to understand the pile of clues building up around him, until a further murder and one small boy make the elusive truth all too apparent.

  Pel Under Pressure

  The irascible Chief Inspector Pel is hot on the trail of a crime syndicate in this fast-paced, gritty crime novel, following leads on the mysterious death of a student and the discovery of a corpse in the boot of a car. Pel uncovers a drug-smuggling ring within the walls of Burgundy’s university, and more murders guide the Chief Inspector to Innsbruck where the mistress of a professor awaits him.

  Pel Is Puzzled

  New varieties of crime are popping up everywhere in Inspector Pel’s beloved Burgundy. Raids on a historical chateau and the surrounding churches have led to the plunder of priceless treasures. But when theft becomes murder, Pel is called to uncover the true nature of who’s behind the crime wave. The case leads him from Paris to Scotland Yard and a climax involving the famous Tour de France cycle race.

  Pel & The Bombers

  When five murders disturb his sleepy Burgundian city on Bastille night, Chief Inspector Pel has his work cut out for him. A terrorist group is at work and the President is due shortly on a State visit. Pel’s problems with his tyrannical landlady must be put aside while he catches the criminals.

  Pel & The Staghound

  Violence, the mugging of gay men, and the disappearance of a wealthy local business man, Rensselaer, troubles Chief Inspector Pel who is baited by his superiors in Paris clamouring for more teamwork, technology
, and sociologists. What remains is a harrowing question - has Rensselaer been kidnapped or murdered? Rensselaer’s family don’t seem to mind. Only Archer, his favourite staghound, is anxious for his missing master.

  Pel & The Pirates

  As Chief Inspector Pel honeymoons with his long-time love Mme Genevieve Faivre-Perret in St Ives, a local taxi driver is murdered on their first night. More puzzling is his attempts to reach Pel before the brutal killing and his message is one of murder, arson, and smuggling. But, can Pel break the silence surrounding the Islanders, and catch the killer?

  Pel & The Predators

  There has been a sudden spate of murders around Burgundy where Pel has just been promoted to Chief Inspector. The irascible policeman receives a letter bomb, and these combined events threaten to overturn Pel’s plans to marry Mme Faivre-Perret. Can Pel keep his life, his love and his career by solving the murder mysteries? Can Pel stave off the predators?

  Pel & The Prowler

  The irascible Chief Inspector Pel basks in the warm glow of his marriage until a series of young women are found strangled, with macabre messages left next to them. Pel breaks his idyllic life in honeymoon heaven and begins an investigation among a student community. What ensues is a deadly game of cat and mouse.

  Pel & The Paris Mob

  In his beloved Burgundy, Chief Inspector Pel finds himself incensed by interference from Paris, but it isn’t the flocking descent of rival policemen that makes Pel’s blood boil - crimes are being committed by violent gangs from Paris and Marseilles. Pel unravels the riddle of the robbery on the road to Dijon airport as well as the mysterious shootings in an iron foundry. If that weren’t enough, the Chief Inspector must deal with the misadventures of the delightfully handsome Serjeant Misset and his red-haired lover.