“Fred, come right away. I’m at the Port in the apartment of a new victim. Fred, you know him well, I believe? It’s Franck Viano.”
Fred stood stunned for a moment, and it was only Marine’s hand on his shoulder that brought him back to harsh reality. “A new murder has just happened… it’s a friend…” said Fred, struggling to hold back his tears.
“Fred, I’m truly sorry,” Marine said in a compassionate voice.
“Thanks, come on, I’ve parked my bike two streets away, I have my son’s helmet, I’ll take you,” replied Fred, heading back towards the pedestrian area. It was just a moment to get to the Guzzi, put on their helmets, and the motorcycle was already on the Promenade des Anglais heading toward the port.
A large police cordon was already set up along boulevard Carnot when Fred parked his bike in the parking lot of Christophe Pinna’s club, another of his childhood friends. Céline was waiting for them at the bottom of the building and was surprised when her boss’s passenger removed her helmet, and she recognized the Parisian expert. She hugged Fred, whispering comforting words in his ear.
“Come, the others are waiting for us upstairs. Your colleagues have already arrived, Marine.” The first sentence was rather cordial, the second, much less so.
Fred climbed the stairs leading to the third floor of the building two by two. Two police officers were on duty in front of Franck’s apartment door. They both saluted their superior, who entered directly without even looking at them. Upon arriving in the kitchen, Fred had a vision of horror. He had seen corpses for years, but upon seeing his friend’s body, a wave of nausea gripped him for the rest of the day.
Franck lay on the floor, his body covered with several fruits planted all over him like the floats at the Lemon Festival in the neighboring town of Menton. There were oranges, grapefruits, kiwis, and even apples. Fred stood frozen, unable to utter a word.
“Fred, I’m really sorry.” Jeff had just entered the kitchen and had dared to put his arm around the shoulders of his superior and ultimately friend. “I know why he was killed,” Fred’s vocal cords, numb with grief, managed to utter. “Come with me to the terrace, Fred, we’ll smoke one. You’re as white as a sheet.” Vincent had just arrived at the crime scene. “Yes, let’s go.” Fred agreed.
“I just saw him at Daniel’s during lunch. I’m sure this new murder is related to the sweet pan bagnat that Daniel invented. Franck just won the show ‘A Nearly Perfect Dinner’ using Daniel’s recipe. I think the killer was also aware and made him his next victim,” Fred analyzed, puffing hard on his cigarette.
“We need to set up increased surveillance around your chef friend,” Vincent suggested. “Yes, I’ll ask Céline to organize that as soon as possible,” Fred replied as he re-entered the apartment.
The forensic team had completed their sampling, and Franck’s body was already on the gurney that would take him to the morgue. Fred approached his friend one last time: “I’ll find him, Francky, I swear I’ll get that bastard.” The forensic assistant pulled the blue sheet over the victim’s face, and the gurney disappeared down the hallway leading to the entrance.
“I’ll inform Daniel; he’s Franck’s son’s godfather. I think it’s better if he informs his wife.” Fred had taken out his phone. “Ciao, it’s Franck,” Fred started. “I know it’s you, clown, it says so right there like on Port Salut cheese,” replied Daniel, amused.
The seconds that followed were far less joyful, with tears replacing the usual laughter. “I’ll let you inform his wife and if you can pick her up to bring her back, I think it would be more prudent,” advised the cop who had finally pulled himself together. “I’ll call her right away, she’s on vacation in Auron with the kids. Damn, I don’t believe it…” Daniel concluded, his throat tight and breath short.
“Well, call me when you’ve reached her and don’t let her come down alone from up there,” Fred repeated once more.
The night began to set in, and everyone headed to the police station to review this new homicide. The Mayor’s official car was already parked in the large courtyard of the police hotel when Fred arrived.
“Hello Mr. Ségur,” greeted the Mayor, extending his hand to Fred. Fred replied with a firm handshake.
“You certainly know that Franck was one of my running mates?” the official began.
“Yes, I had just learned that this afternoon because we met at the restaurant. Do you see anyone who could have a reason to do this, Mr. Mayor?”
“No, absolutely not, even though he was someone who could sometimes disturb certain people, I don’t see why anyone would have killed him, and especially like that,” the mayor replied.
Fred gave a quick rundown of the situation and explained his version of events. “I think the press will have a field day with this new murder. With less than 15 days to the first round, they’ll make the most of it,” Fred supposed.
“I think so too, I’ve gathered the other running mates to announce the terrible news to them and I’ll ask them to keep silent about all this,” concluded the city’s first magistrate, taking his leave.
“Everyone in room 10 in 5 minutes!” ordered Fred. And everyone set off to gather everything necessary for the meeting.
As he had been doing for a few days, Fred gave a complete rundown of the situation, explaining in detail the story of the sweet pan bagnat which, given the nature of the homicide, seemed to be the perfect motive. “We're going to set up increased surveillance around Daniel and his restaurant. I think the killer made his first mistake by eliminating Franck, but when he learns that it's Daniel who is behind the recipe, he will definitely want revenge,” declared Fred.“That’s exactly it. The press must absolutely not find out, we’ll gain a few days of respite,” added Marine.
“The press conference is scheduled in 30 minutes. Do you want me to go for you?” Vincent offered.
“No, it’s fine Vincent. I’ll take care of it. If they see you arriving, they’ll find it suspicious,” Fred continued as he stood up from his seat to go to his office to prepare his intervention. The first cars and trucks of various media outlets were beginning to arrive in the back yard.
15 minutes later, Fred had recharged his batteries and had erased all traces of tears from his face. He arrived right on time in the press room, filled with journalists jostling each other to be closest to the podium.
“Ladies and gentlemen, as you know, another murder has been committed today. It is Franck Viano, tasked with a mission for the city of Nice and a running mate of the mayor of Nice for the upcoming municipal election. We cannot tell you more, for the moment.” Fred had tried to be as brief and quick as possible.
The first questions started pouring in when all Fred wanted was to leave!
