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It had been a few weeks now since the killer had given any sign of life, or rather of death, Fred thought. He had a lunch appointment at noon with Mrs. Graglia at Daniel’s. Indeed, she had asked him for some additional information — he had even sent her the confidential ones — because she had an idea in mind… She had called him yesterday to say she wanted to talk to him as she had a lead to suggest. Fred found that lunch at Fran Calin was, in any case, a privileged moment to discuss the current case and enjoy himself at the same time.
“Vélou, he’s here!” exclaimed Daniel from the back of his kitchen as Renée rewarded Fred with a well-local “baieta.”
“You look quite tired, Mister Ségur. You need to rest to have the clearest ideas possible,” advised this former teacher wisely.
“You’re right, Renée. You haven’t seen his octopus head, not even a fresh eye on top of it,” joked Daniel, immediately picked up by Elvira, who sent him back to the kitchen with two slips in hand.
“Inspector, I wanted to see you because I am almost certain the killer is a cook or someone who works in the food industry. Look at this photo, Latour is tied up like a paupiette or a roast. It’s quite crude, but you can clearly see the way of tying by someone who knows the trade. And then, also look at the vegetables used for Ramage. Well-prepared, artichokes well-turned… It’s a professional’s work!” explained Mrs. Graglia to a Fred who couldn’t believe his eyes and ears.
Four cops, three experts, and a few other police officers, and everyone had missed this “detail.” “Mrs. Graglia…” Fred tried. “Renée, my dear Fred, Renée…” insisted the President, taking the policeman’s hand.
“Renée, thank you for your help. No one on our team had thought of that. This will certainly help us in our research,” Fred concluded, appreciating the friendly and benevolent attention.
“Ah, I have a surprise for you too. Close your eyes, Fred,” ordered Daniel to his friend, who immediately complied.
“Go ahead, you can open them, pailhassou…”, Daniel almost shouted.
“Hooooo, damn… But, it can’t be, Francky…” exclaimed Fred, embracing his friend.
“How are you, buddy, it’s been a while! So glad to see you, old pal?” asked Franck, a rugby friend of the group, an old and good friend.
“You’ll laugh, Fred, you know what. Franck just won the Nice edition of ‘An Almost Perfect Dinner,’ and no kidding, don’t say anything, or he won’t get his 1,000 quid.” Daniel exclaimed so loudly you could probably hear him from Place Rossetti.
“That’s excellent, Franck. And when can we see it?” Fred asked.
“In two weeks, I think. And you know what, I used his famous sweet pan bagnat for dessert, I even think that’s what made me win,” explained Franck.
“And wait, it’s not over, Mister is also on the Mayor’s list for the next municipal elections. We’ll have to call him Mr. Deputy now…” joked Daniel again, giving Franck a hearty pat on the back, which made him jump.
The end of the meal was most pleasant, and the hardest part, for Fred, was leaving everyone to return to the police station.
Before leaving, Fred called Céline to ensure everyone was at the police station, and he asked her to schedule a meeting upon his arrival, briefly explaining the discovery. Just in time to reach the HQ, and the entire team was in the large meeting room on the first floor. Fred entered and took off his coat. Everyone was seated facing him, and for a moment, he felt like a teacher.
“I just met with Mrs. Graglia, and I have new information. The technique used to tie up Latour is one used in the culinary, butchery, and charcuterie worlds. Our killer, therefore, has good knowledge in one of these fields,” Fred explained. “Don’t ask me why we didn’t think of it…”
“Maybe because we’re not butchers,” Jeff thought it would be funny to say but reconsidered upon seeing his boss’s face.
“Certainly, but let’s try not to overlook these kinds of clues anymore.” Fred concluded.
“This is indeed an important element. Thank you, Fred,” Marine said calmly while entering the information into her tablet.
“What should concern us now is that there’s been no activity for almost three weeks. This means that either he has disappeared, left, or died, or a murder might be happening right at this moment as we speak,” pointed out Nicolas, the chief of the experts, who didn’t think the killer had stopped permanently.
“At least let’s rejoice that there haven’t been other victims yet,” Fred uttered, starting to find it hard to bear.
“Yes, of course, Fred,” the Parisian boss agreed, not wanting to make an enemy of Fred.
The meeting ended, and everyone returned to their quarters to dive back into the case. Certainly, Mrs. Graglia’s lead was relevant and needed to be explored, but there are many people knowledgeable in cooking, both in restaurants and on TV now… Even the mysterious calls had ceased, Fred thought. His time in uniform came to mind, a moment that kept coming back quite often to his mind these days.
“Fred, I was thinking we could have lunch or dinner together one of these days?” Marine suggested from just behind Fred.
“With great pleasure, if you’re paying,” Fred joked, which triggered a shared laugh.
“Francesco, my son, went to visit his mother in Paris and will be back tomorrow. If you have nothing better to do tonight, I invite you to a tour of Vieux-Nice, and also, it’s the end of the Carnival, and they’re burning the King before a big fireworks display,” Fred proposed, still surprised by the request.
“That’s perfect. Pick me up at the hotel at 8 PM as we have a video conference with Paris at 7 PM with the team. See you later,” Marine concluded as the elevator doors closed on her.
The end of the day was approaching, and Fred took a moment at Cours Saleya to enjoy a drink on the terrace. One of those magical moments when time seems to stop. Time to watch others, to look up, or to listen to life. Francesco’s call came just in time to make this end of the day an even more precious moment. It was almost time to pick up Marine at her hotel, located on the Promenade des Anglais. Fred loved walking on the Prom’, as they call it here, and it was only the sight of his colleague waiting at the bottom of the hotel steps that managed to tear his eyes away from the big blue.
“The good thing about cops is that they are always exactly on time,” the Parisian lady quipped.
“Let’s go, we’re heading to Vieux-Nice, on foot, right? It’s about a 10-minute walk…” Fred asked.
“Well, I’m glad I didn’t wear heels. No problem, Fred, let’s go,” Marine replied.
And the two colleagues retraced the path Fred had taken to delve once again into what is undoubtedly one of the most beautiful neighborhoods in the world. Fred then transformed into a true tour guide: The restaurants, the artisans, the shops, the anecdotes, everything that made up his neighborhood surfaced to Marine’s delight, who listened intently. Then it was time for a drink at the ID Halles, where the two settled in, continuing to chat. The topics gradually became more personal. One round, then a second that Marine found hard to pay, and the third had just been served when Fred’s phone vibrated.
He turned the device over, and it was Céline.
“So let me explain, I’m in the middle of a drink in the Old Town and….” Fred tried to say, cut off mid-sentence by Céline.
“Fred, get back immediately. I’m at the Port in the apartment of a new victim. Fred, I think you know him well? It’s Franck Viano.”
