MYSTERY: Pascal Tourret Private Detective (Mystery, Suspense, Crime, Murder, Detectives, Fiction, Unsolved Mysteries, Mysteries, Thriller, Intense, Drama) Read online

  MYSTERY :

  Pascal Tourret – Private Detective

  By Johnny Scotland

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1 – The End of a Case

  Chapter 2 – Pascal

  Chapter 3 – A Family Reputation

  Chapter 4 – The List of Names

  Chapter 5 – Observing

  Chapter 6 – The Hospital

  Chapter 7 – Missing Links

  Chapter 8 – Putting the Pieces Together

  Chapter 9 – Claude Geraud

  Chapter 10 – The Arrests

  Copyright 2015 by Johnny Scotland - All rights reserved.

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

  Chapter 1 – The End of a Case

  “You have two choices. Tell me what I need to know or explain to your wife how you lost your penis,” said Pascal, holding the knife close to the man’s groin. The public toilets were empty, and it was unlikely that they would be disturbed at this time of day. He pressed the knife harder against the man’s trousers and could see the panic on his face.

  “Okay, okay,” Eric screamed. “I tell you what you need to know.”

  It wasn’t going to be as simple as that and Pascal knew it. This wasn’t a guy who gave away information that easily. That’s why he had taken the precaution of investigating what was important to Eric Bogarde. As Eric pulled away from the blade of the knife, Pascal was ready.

  “Your daughter goes to school in Les Lilas, I believe,” he said, looking the man in the eye.

  “You leave her out of this,” snorted Bogarde. “I have already told you, I will tell you what I know.”

  “Then make sure you do. You have your daughter and your masculinity at stake.”

  “The name you are looking for is Marcel Thomas.”

  “It’s a bit of a common name. Give me more.”

  Pascal held the man by the collar of his overcoat. He knew that the answers would come, but that it would take time and persuasion. He pulled the photograph of Eric’s daughter from his pocket and held it up to his face. “Connard!” Bogarde gritted his teeth as he said the word. This man was a bastard and bringing his daughter into this filthy business was the worst kind of blackmail.

  “He lives in Avenue d’Ivry in the quartier de la Gare. He lives above the Chinese delicatessen,” Bogarde mumbled. That made sense because that would mean that Marcel Thomas had easy access to the site of the robbery and could disappear into obscurity very easily when the robbery was over. He had masterminded the whole deal. Bogarde knew it and so did Pascal.

  Pascal pushed Bogarde away from him and placed the photograph of his daughter into his hand. “Think yourself lucky this time,” he said, as he started to walk toward the Mercedes. Bogarde grabbed the photograph in his hand. “No one will ever know you talked,” he assured Bogarde.

  “Do you swear that no one will know? I have a wife and child. I don’t need this shit.”

  Pascal turned. “You have my word, but you need to be a little more particular about the company that you keep.”

  As he drove his car toward the center of Paris toward the area which housed one of the stations that serviced the city, Pascal churned over the information he had already obtained. There was almost enough for him to hand the case over to the police, though he had one last port of call before he would be satisfied. Thorough investigation was his trademark and Pascal left no stone unturned.

  Avenue d’Ivry was part of the one way system and the navigation system in the Merc took him directly to the top end. As he drove down through the blocks of apartments, he wondered for a moment if Bogarde had lied. He didn’t imagine so, because there was too much to lose and Bogarde also knew that had he lied, he would be answerable to Pascal and that Pascal didn’t mess around. His reputation with the underworld of Paris was a serious one.

  Parking a short distance from the deli, he waited and watched. The car parking to the block was underground and next to the deli, there was a ramp that led downward. It would have been simple for Marcel Thomas to disappear into that garage and to be completely missed from the inquiry. After all, there was nothing unusual about a resident letting himself into the garage area. He imagined the car driving fairly sedately so as not to draw attention to it. There were security cameras all up the street which would give the times of day. All he needed was to see that vehicle and he had time to wait. His report had shown it as a dark blue Renault Megane Expression and there weren’t that many in this area. When the car pulled up, Pascal took the photos of it as it turned onto the ramp leading to the garage. He could clearly see the man’s face as the vehicle turned and besides, the police would be able to check from the license plate.

  It had been a long investigation, but now he had all of the information needed to turn over to the police and the case was theirs to end. As a private detective, he had ended what had been a long journey into the jewel trade and his client would be satisfied with the results. Using his cell, he dialed Patrick Dubois on the private number he had been given. It was satisfying reporting back to a client that an inquiry was finished and that the results would be that the criminal would be put away. “It’s done,” he said, and immediately Dubois responded in an enthusiastic way.

  “Then you are worth the fee you asked,” he said. “I will have the funds transferred to your bank account as soon as I get home.”

  Driving back through the countryside to his secondary residence the next day, Pascal watched the skyline over the French countryside. It seemed to widen once he had left the busy streets of Paris far behind him. The motorway allowed him the privilege of being able to step away from the city and to enjoy the mountainous region of Quercy. The skies were a clear blue the further south he traveled and the landscape changed from wide open fields to hills and valleys, dotted with little houses with red roofs and turrets that pointed toward the heavens. This was where he belonged. It was where he felt relaxed and could forget about the city for a while.

  Chapter 2 – Pascal

  There had been times when Pascal regretted who he was. The loss of his wife had deadened his emotional senses. It had been a cruel reminder of the fragility of life. One moment, she had been standing naked at the end of his bed teasing him and within twenty four hours was lying in the morgue. That’s what city life did to you. Pascal was a reasonably good looking guy, but there was a sense of sadness in the scars on his face. These were not scars caused by wounds to the skin, but wounds to the soul. It had taken him years to learn how the underworld worked but what made this work perfect for him was that he felt no sentiment, no loyalty and had seemingly nothing to lose. In the police force, he had been restricted by regulations and formalities and had seen criminals walk away from charges he knew them to be guilty of because the law allowed them the element of doubt. These same criminals had been responsible for the death of his wife and that fuelled his enthusiasm for the work that he did as a private investigator. There were no rules. There were no restrictions. He pitted his wits, his physical strength and his intelligence against those that the law couldn’t touch. He owed that, at least, to Jaqueline.

  His lean body was honed to perfection in
the gym that he had created in his home in the Lot area of France. Overlooking the Dordogne River as he used the treadmill, Pascal had learned to appreciate the peace of this particular area. There were no reminders of her death, only of the life that she shared with him. Her photos graced the mantle. This way, he could separate the bad memories from the good which was one of the reasons this house was so comforting.

  It was always like coming home to her. Sometimes, he had even bought flowers for her to remind him of the love he still felt for her. The local market in Martel had a stall that sold the most amazingly colorful flowers that she would have loved. If indeed, there was a life after death, she would see and appreciate them. He had visited her grave every year for All Saints, though somehow couldn’t go there at other times. It was too sad. With the decoration of all the graves for the Toussaint celebrations, somehow it made a difference. Today, the camellia flowers were tumbling from the bush in the garden, the only flower to grace the garden during these winter months.

  Being clean shaven and smart in appearance, he fit into this area well. The land of rich bounty, the Lot region offered wonderful fresh food to its wealthy inhabitants, and there was always somewhere to go and something to look forward to, even in the out of season months when the trees were bared of their leaves and the countryside seemed to stretch out for miles.

  Looking toward the turrets of Montvalent, Pascal considered himself lucky to have such a wonderful home, though the regrets from the past were served well by his service of providing private investigation to the rich, who financed the life that had helped him to distance himself from the darker parts of his past. Within easy driving distance from Paris, Bordeaux, Toulouse and even Nice, this central location suited him.

  “Bonjour Madame Robert. Je suis chez moi.”

  He always told Madame Robert when he arrived at the house. She was his anchor. The elderly lady knew all the local gossip and provided him with all the telephone numbers of people he needed to tend the forest and to look after the house when he was away. She was like a mother to him and this served him and her well. He knew that he owed her a debt of gratitude as he had never really known how much country house ownership meant change. She had helped him to settle and her wisdom had been something he came to depend upon.

  The gardener that she had provided and proved useful in more ways than Pascal could have anticipated and over the years, they had become good friends. The guy was retired, but apart from having a story to tell, he was useful in that he had worked as a pathologist before retiring. He and Pascal had spent many evenings together, talking shop and he provided such useful information and had contacts that could help from time to time. He had walked away from his career early because he said that he wanted to spend some time with things that are alive. Pascal liked that about Jean-Yves and knew exactly how it felt to step from the shady side of life back into some semblance of sanity.

  He brushed his hair away from his face and read over the report. It was complete. The addition of the final photographs was all that was needed. One copy would be sent to the Criminal Investigation Force and the other to the client. That would be an end to the story that had haunted Patrick Dubois since the theft of the jewelry. He enjoyed putting people’s minds at ease, especially when the stakes were high and, in this case, they were. The printer whizzed in the background as the photographs of Marcel Thomas churned their way onto the out tray of the printer.

  Listening to his phone messages, there were two that were of particular interest. One was from his in-laws who always worried about him and the other from Madame Duclos. She sounded desperate for help. He had a memory for faces and names that was extraordinary and could picture the woman as she spoke. She was a frail lady but a forceful one and he had met her at a cocktail party in Paris. Her husband was a politician and the family were noted for their wealth and for their status in French society. The Legion de Honor had been presented to her father in 1948 and the stature that the family had gained had permitted them a comfortable lifestyle in the best area of Paris.

  He listened to the message again. There were always clues when you did that and it seemed that the family feared being touched by scandal, though the details were not made clear. In France, private detectives take their work very seriously and there are two types. There are those who seek out husbands who are unfaithful or who search for missing people, and then there were those like Pascal, who were few and far between, who actually stepped a little out of their comfort zones to prove the guilt of the criminal element of society.

  He was known for the type of work that he performed. It paid well and his clients never questioned his fee, knowing that putting his life on the line was part of the deal. If he needed information, he got it. If it meant bending a few of the rules on the way, then he just had to be careful not to be caught. Having the respect of Advocates and Hussiers alike, Pascal felt he had nothing to lose and that made him dangerous. It also made him extremely efficient when working among the criminal sector of society. He acted like them, but within the bounds of the law. He thought like them and was able to dig deeper than the local gendarmes without staining the reputation of the uniformed officers who worked the streets of all of the major cities in France.

  Under the cover of relative anonymity, Pascal was able to do far more damage to the underworld than those who tread the path of law abiding citizens. Risks had to be taken and he had come near to death on many occasions though, since the death of Jaqueline, he was surprised at how near death he was prepared to allow himself to get. That edge between life and death was one that left him undecided about which way would be the better option.

  Tomorrow he would telephone Madame Duclos, but for tonight, he would watch the sun go down on another day and sleep. The sky was the deep reddish pink he knew so well with fluffy clouds that seemed to melt their way toward heaven. It had been a wonderfully sunny day and the sky always looked that delicious color of the best rose wine at this time of night. The wine at dinner had been superbly rich and still lingered on his tongue.

  As he turned off the light to yet another day, his eyes closed to the world of other people’s troubles and he slept, the country air filling his lungs with renewal. In the morning, he would be woken by the sound of the farm dogs waiting to be fed, and the mists that cloaked the river before the sun managed to force its way through the whiteness that shrouded the forest. A night owl hooted in the distance.

  Chapter 3 – A Family Reputation

  Madame Duclos was concerned about her daughter. Mixing with criminals, the child was becoming too much to handle. Madame Duclos knew that her daughter was getting too deeply embroiled in the darker side of Parisian life. She knew, for example, that some of the friends she was keeping were dealers of cocaine and that others were part of a circle who were smuggling stolen art out of France. She was worried that Claudine would be pulled into criminal activity and wanted these men put away. Apparently they had, until now, only been investigated though no one had been able to touch them. She assured Pascal that there would be a bonus in it for him if he could separate Claudine from this destructive element within her life. She was young, she was impressionable and the only way to show her the dangers that she faced was to make sure that criminals got justice. So far, they had not. They sneered in the face of confrontation and Claudine was beginning to think of herself as indestructible.

  “A mother knows,” she said, “and I caught Claudia using cocaine several times. Since then, I have been watching who she associates with, but there’s little that I can do on my own and my husband would certainly give up on her if he knew what she was up to. This has to be a discreet inquiry between you and I.” she concluded. “I don’t want my family to fall apart.”

  “Do you have a list of names of any of Claudia’s associates?”

  “I have names, addresses and a list of the activities that I believe these criminals to be involved in,” said Madame Duclos. “She needs to see that these criminals can’t be beyond the bo
unds of the law.”

  “Where can we meet?” asked Pascal, knowing that meeting a client discreetly was always better than leaving written traces.

  “Can we meet at La Tour D’Argent?” she asked, taking it for granted that Pascal knew where this was located. In fact, it was a happy coincidence that he had tried that restaurant in the past month and had been impressed with its variety of food.

  “Yes of course, but when?”

  “It will have to be early next week, as I have too many engagements before that.”

  They agreed a date and time. It had to be during the day because it was difficult for a woman of her status to simply go out unaccompanied at night. Overlooking the city, the somewhat romantic venue was a gastronomic delight, influenced by country cooking from the coastal area of France. That gave Pascal time to enjoy the rest of the week and the weekend in the country which suited him. The Dubois case had been difficult to crack and taking a rest between jobs always strengthened his resolve when tackling the next case. Madame Duclos appeared to need his energy as the list of criminals sounded long.

  One name she had mentioned told him of the gravity of the situation. Maurice Gautier was a known criminal that had been on the verge of arrest for years, though had always managed to escape justice. Pascal remembered another case where Gautier had been involved and if Claudia was indeed getting mixed up with the like of him, she was heading in the wrong direction. Gautier used people, chewed them up and spat them out and there was no reason to think that Claudia would escape unscathed without his help.