“Céline, Jeff… I’m seeing the boss tonight, I’ll call you after I’ve seen him.” Fred had grabbed his jacket and, while putting it on, informed his two assistants before heading back into the field in search of more information.
It was starting to feel like dinner time and Fred made his way to Daniel’s place with the idea of enjoying a good carpaccio and some panisses. He even skipped his motorbike and decided to walk the distance separating him from his friend’s restaurant. It was the perfect opportunity to take that Paillon promenade where Fred, Seb, and Daniel used to skateboard as kids and, a bit later, stroll with their sweethearts of the time. The garden, suspended in time and above the Paillon, has today returned to ground level to everyone’s delight, and Fred thought he should take some leisure time with his little one more often to come wander on a Sunday amidst the water jets and scents of local vegetation.
“Well then, twice in two days, next time come earlier and help me make the gnocchi.” Daniel joked but quickly noticed it wasn’t the mood of the day for his childhood friend.
“Come on, let’s sit in the back, Elvira, make us two pastis, my love. Tell the kitchen to heat up two pieces of pissaladière and prepare a carpaccio and some panisses for Fred. Thank you, my divine beauty.” She smiled at him, as usual, and got on with it.
“It’s crazy about Latour, two chefs in two days, at this rate, I’ll start working with a bulletproof vest.” Daniel’s joking tone was really no longer appropriate either.
“Yes, as you say Dany, it’s strange, and I can’t stress enough how attentive you need to be, even if we’re not quite sure yet that a lunatic is roaming the city to shoot down chefs,” Fred advised his friend, grabbing his wrist.
“Here you go, gentlemen, two pastis, and the pissaladières are coming up.” Elvira had placed the two aniseed elixirs on the table and gave her man a tender kiss.
“Well, I have to get back to the dining room, leaving you guys.” Her Italian accent was a pure delight and Fred never got tired of hearing it.
“Did you know the two of them?” Fred questioned.
“Meh, not really. Not more than the other chefs around here. You know, we always work at the same times. But I knew Latour a bit more because we had been on two or three contest and CAP juries. He was quite nice, although, with all due respect to him, I wasn’t a customer at his restaurant. By the way, did you call Mrs. Graglia like I told you?” Daniel replied.
“No… Oh well, I’ll do it right now.” Fred said, taking out his cell phone and calling the number his friend had sent him by SMS. “Yes, hello Mrs. Graglia, this is Inspector Ségur, Daniel’s friend from Fran Calin, I’m calling to see if you’re available for me to visit you… Yes, of course, Mrs. Graglia… I’ll do that right away (he passed regards to Daniel)…. Thank you very much, Mrs. Graglia.” The appointment was set, and Elvira arrived once again at the table with her hands full of food.
“And a carpaccio for handsome Fred,” Elvira delighted as she placed the plate in front of him.
“Thank you, Elvi, I’m starving and your man got me drinking aperitif, I need to sop!” Fred said, mouth watering as he looked at the plate.
“Come on, you go back to the kitchen because we just got a table of 12.” The beautiful Italian snapped at her chef husband, who promptly obeyed the orders of his headwaitress wife.
“Bye, beu’ and drop by the house on a Sunday so the kids can see each other a bit.” Daniel said to his friend, giving him two loud pecks. The meal was quickly devoured, and Fred headed back to the station.
“Boss, we received the report for Latour. He was drugged when we tied him, and the technique used indicates the murderer was good with knots. He died frozen, actually, and it seems he woke up before succumbing because the knots were tightened, probably when he tried to struggle to free himself. The coroner estimated the death at four in the morning, about three hours after the restaurant closed, around one in the morning, according to the establishment’s employees. Latour had stayed to finish some paperwork and had an appointment, according to the young woman from the bar who, I think, must be more than just his bartender, judging by her state this morning.” Celine had given a complete picture of the situation which unfortunately hadn’t really progressed.
“So, we have nothing definitively linking the two murders, although we’re almost certain they are likely related. No trace, no compelling evidence… Damn it!” Fred was losing patience, and the digestion wasn’t helping.
“We’ll meet at 4 pm with the president of the Restaurateurs’ Union in which the two victims were members, and then we’ll visit the Azurean Chefs Guild to see if they can tell us anything.” Céline continued, putting on her chestnut jacket.
“Okay, I’ll do one last check of the file and head to Francesco’s game at Arboras.” Just enough time for one last briefing, and Fred arrived just in time for the kickoff of a tough match that ultimately went in favor of his son’s teammates, who won at the end of the game against the Marseille neighbors, with a score of 21 to 9.
Just the time to hug and congratulate his offspring and his playmates, who would celebrate, as he also did in his youth, “Chez Jo” at Balico, and Fred headed towards the Fabron hill where the former commissioner had resided since his retirement. It’s quite funny because he lived in a house that was once one of the residences of a local mob boss who had sold it to him upon their respective retirements. The large wrought iron gate bearing a majestic Niçois eagle opened upon Fred’s arrival, and the commissioner was already on the house’s porch. “Good evening Fred, I see you still haven’t given up the two-wheelers.” The embrace was most genuine.
“Good evening boss. And no, I don’t think I’ll resolve to that for a few more years, at least I hope not.” Fred replied.
“Come in, Madeleine is preparing us the aperitif, we’ll settle on the terrace.” The commissioner opened the large glass window separating them from the wooden terrace sheltered under a large veranda. “I got some news from Vincent. So it seems a lead is pointing in our direction?” The conversation was launched, and Fred gave a detailed account to his former superior.
“That’s troubling and we will need to proceed very cautiously.” The doorbell rang. “I took the liberty of inviting one of our brothers who is at the head of the regional lodges because we wanted to talk to you about our plan.” Madeleine arrived from the living room with the unexpected guest who was not, in the end, unknown to Fred because he immediately recognized the CEO of one of the region’s largest construction companies, thinking that in this case, the word mason had never been more aptly named.
“Hello Mr. Ségur, we’ve crossed paths a few times before.” The invited guest announced.
“Nice to meet you, indeed, and thank you for agreeing to help us.” Fred replied.
“Two brothers assassinated in a few hours, it’s the least we can do, but I must ask you to keep all this just between us. You clearly understand, I suppose.” The tone was now more serious.
“Of course, you can count on me.” Fred said, beginning once again the account of the last two days with the help of the former commissioner who occasionally added some details.
“Well, you know that our lodges are rather inaccessible places, but I can assure you of our full cooperation. You can call me night or day at this number or send me an email to the address provided.” The builder handed Fred a business card, which he tucked into his shirt pocket while thanking him.
“I must leave, gentlemen, as I promised my grandson we would go to the hotel school this evening because his cousin is doing her first shift at the training restaurant. You know how it is, kids, like women, do not wait.” Fred followed the guest out, putting on his jacket and grabbing his helmet.
After the farewells, Fred quickly returned home, where Francesco was waiting, already sporting red and black, awaiting his uncle who usually took him to the stadium. Tonight, Lille was visiting the eaglets in their Allianz Riviera lair. “Why don’t you come with us, dad? I’m sure godfather would love it… and it would make me happy too!”
Francesco’s request was most sensible. Fred braved fatigue and the fear of encountering unwelcome people and accepted, to his son’s great delight. After a quick shower, they both waited in the street for Sébastien, who couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw his friend accompanying his son.
“But this is fantastic, you’re coming too. Surely, we’ll win tonight!” Seb opened the doors of his Jaguar to let his two guests in. A few minutes later, they entered the officials’ parking lot next to the new Nice stadium. Shouts of “Bravo President” and loud foghorns welcomed Sébastien’s exit from his vehicle. It is true that since he took over the club, the results have been there, even though this year, between injuries and an unusual series of losses, it was a bit more complicated.
The three friends entered the privilege club and climbed the steps leading them to the VIP box.
“Damn, I was sure he’d be here!” With one glance, Fred had noticed Olivier seated next to the Mayor.
“Dad, let it go, we’re here for the game.” Francesco once again demonstrated great maturity and perfect intelligence.
“You’re right, son, let’s go sit up top.” Fred let Seb go greet the Mayor and part of his cabinet and moved to the top of the stands to settle quietly with Francesco.
The first half hadn’t been spectacular, and the goalless score reflected the nature of the game. In the grand honor lounge, Fred continued to keep his distance from Olivier who, as usual, was glued to the heels of the city’s first official. A few pissaladières, pan bagnats, and a glass of Bellet wine later, it was now time to return to the stand for the second half.
The Mayor and his entourage had already returned to their seats as Fred and Francesco barely took the stairs to the stand. Reaching near the top of the last steps, Olivier presented himself at the entrance to the stand to descend back into the honor lounge.
As he passed Fred, he turned to Francesco, saying, “Well, you don’t say hello anymore, kid?” And then, everything flipped in a quarter of a second. Francesco, about to respond, was caught off guard by his father’s right hook, which landed on the face of the one who had never been his stepfather in life or in his heart.
Then, another hook struck Olivier full on the nose with a dull thud, synonymous with breaking bones. A crowd quickly formed around the two men, and Olivier’s white shirt was now stained with the blood flowing profusely from his nose and face cradled in his hands.
“Fred, come with me.” Sébastien seized his friend, who was staring fixedly at his opponent.
“You’re going to regret this, you bastard. I’ll make you suffer.” Olivier fumed, covered in blood.
“Shut your mouth, Olivier, or I’ll finish you off myself.” Seb turned to him, and his glare was enough to calm the counselor.
To be continued…
