Flykiller

Flykiller by J. Robert Janes Page B

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Authors: J. Robert Janes
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leather – below dark blue serge trousers that were neatly pressed – no turn-ups these days, a concession to the shortages of fabric; the grey woollen overcoat was open and immaculate; the suit jacket double-breasted and with wide lapels, no shortages there; the grey fedora neatly blocked; the round, boyish cheeks of this thirty-seven-year-old freshly shaven, the aftershave still not dry; the dark brown eyes livid.
    â€˜ Pour l’amour du Ciel , why can’t people do as they say they will? Inspectors, why was I not taken to meet you at Moulins? The Secrétaire général promised to include me.’
    Doctor Bernard Ménétrel was clearly up early and in one hell of a huff. ‘It was very late,’ tried St-Cyr, giving him a shrug.
    â€˜Pah! That was nothing. Nothing , do you understand? It is I who am in charge of security. I who was left waiting at the train station here when I should have gone with them to meet you. Isn’t the Maréchal my responsibility? Don’t I look after his every need? An assassin? An abduction from our hotel? Another killing? Three … it is three of them now!’
    â€˜And this?’ asked Louis, indicating the goose egg and not bothering to ask who had got the doctor out of bed or why Bousquet had chosen not to include him in the welcoming party.
    â€˜Ferbrave?’ demanded Ménétrel.
    â€˜The very one,’ mused Louis.
    â€˜He will apologize. For myself, I regret the discomfort you have suffered, but you should have had clearance from me and I was not taken to meet you. Henri-Claude was just doing his duty. Surely a veteran such as yourself can understand the reflex of a defensive action?’
    Oh my, oh my, thought Kohler. The nose was fleshy, the mouth not big, not small, the neck close down on the squared shoulders. A medium man all round, the voice cherubic but acidic, the chin narrow and recessed so that the nose led the way in emphasizing everything he said. ‘Fix him, Doctor. Stitch him up. I need him.’
    â€˜And you?’ demanded Ménétrel, stung by the intrusion and still incensed.
    â€˜Kohler, Kripo, Paris-Central.’
    â€˜Gestapo. You belong over on the boulevard National * with Herr Gessler. Have you checked in with him? Well, have you?’
    â€˜He sent me here,’ lied Hermann. ‘He told me to keep an eye on you.’
    â€˜ On me ? Well …’
    The doctor gave a shrill laugh. Quick-tempered, jealous of his place in the scheme of things, this court jester to some set down his bag and, motioning to Ferbrave and the others, called for a chair. ‘Sit,’ he said to Louis. ‘Let me have a look at that.’
    In addition to an ample desk, propaganda posters of the Maréchal, designs for a. new postage stamp and banknotes, children’s books, school books, maps of France, directions to housewives on the baking of bread without flour or sufficient of it, to farmers on the need for their work, et cetera, Ménétrel’s office held a made-up cot that, judging by the scattered items on it, hadn’t been recently used.
    The taint of moth crystals was mingled with those of disinfectant and aftershave; the doctor was clearly agitated. The needle went in. ‘Don’t move, Inspector!’ he breathed. ‘Five should do it and we still have four to go. In a few days they can be taken out and I’ll be pleased to do this since it will give us another chance to speak in private, and speak we must. Is that understood? These walls have ears, though, so one must whisper, and I don’t want the Maréchal upset any more than he already is. He knows nothing of Madame Dupuis’s murder, was completely unaware that she was even to have paid him a visit.’
    It had to be asked. ‘Were there billets doux ?’
    Love letters … ‘If there were, you will see that I receive them immediately. Come, come, we can’t have a scandal. We

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