Speak Softly My Love by Louis Shalako

done, and this one was definitely
challenging. If they solved it, it might help their careers
considerably. If they failed it would be a humbling experience they
would not soon forget. Someone would make sure of that. It might
even be him.
    “ She made the identification. We made sure she didn’t get a
look at Monique in there, well. The one picture—they’re really
young. Hubert wonders why she didn’t ask about the other woman. I’m
not sure I agree—they have their pride, or whatever. We couldn’t
really ask, but there were no Paris papers lying around—she had the
Lyon paper and a few ladies’ magazines right there on the coffee
table. She’s real smart, don’t ask me how I know that. We also went
through the family album and came up with one or two more photos. I
don’t know if they’re all that helpful.”
    Hubert
settled into his seat. Let Tailler rattle on for a
while.
    Hubert
nodded and indicated Levain’s telephone.
    “ What’s up?”
    “ My prisoner is all set to go. Interview Three.” With that,
Andre Levain stabbed out his cigarette. “Another sad
story.”
    Smoke
curled up from the ashtray as some sort of conflagration was still
going on.
    Apparently.
    He put
his thumb on the offending butt and squashed it some more. Some of
them took on a real life of their own. They were
un-killable.
    He took
a fresh notebook and a mental list of questions and left without
further comment. Tailler’s eyes slid to Firmin, who was immersed in
his notes, but then his fingers spurted up and the words began to
flow from the battered old ironclad on his desk.
    Firmin
smacked the return and kept going in the syncopated hunt-and-peck
of the truly self-taught.
    Hubert
winced, sipping at the hot coffee. Still on their own,
then.
    Tailler
pulled out notes and then carefully went through everything. While
pretty much everything they had was a copy, their own notes from
Lyon were original and losing anything at all was strictly a
no-no.
    He
looked up at Hubert.
    “ I guess we should go and have another chat with Monique…”
There was some hesitation evident in the statement, but it wasn’t
like Hubert had any ideas. “I don’t know, we could ask around the
neighbourhood. Ask about other women…things like that. We haven’t
spoken to his employer yet.”
    He
trailed off.
    Hubert
nodded.
    “ Just give me a minute. Where’s Gilles?” This aside went in
the direction of Firmin, who looked up as if becoming aware of
their existence for the very first time.
    “ Court. Brevard. Done today, he hopes.” He grunted in
speculative fashion. “Maybe tomorrow.”
    There
was a moment of silence, and then Firmin’s eyes dropped to the
keyboard and he rattled off another thirty-odd words while whatever
thought was fresh.
    They
weren’t going to get much more out of him. Neither one was a
dog-fucker, but a little direction from the other guys might have
been welcome.
    Tailler looked at Hubert and shrugged. Tailler had been
sorely tempted, over the last few months, to inquire. Surely Firmin
had a first name. He must have. The opportunity to ask such a
question, after so much time, was long since gone, and now
the real question
was how to go about asking. They must have been introduced at some
point or other.
    Tailler
gave a short, sharp nod. He looked happy, like a puppy with a
brand-new tail.
    Hubert
nodded.
    Tailler
had nabbed that mother-stabber a month or so ago, and it would seem
the confidence was at an all-time high.
    Detective Hubert, in his role as senior man, set the cup down
with a clunk.
    “ Anytime you’re ready.”
    “ Yeah.” Tailler grimaced, but without direction from above, he
was more than prepared to go on with it.
    Bodies
don’t just get up and walk away.
    He threw
the notebook and a good pen or two into his jacket pocket, standing
up quickly and reaching for the hat-rack.
    Holy,
crap, he’s right on it, thought Hubert. There were worse people to
be stuck with. That much was