“We’ll do it like that and I’ll receive the Parisian experts who should arrive in less than an hour. I hope they don’t send us a bunch of big shots this time…” finished Vincent, who returned to his office…”
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Traffic on the Promenade was quite smooth, and the Guzzi weaved between vehicles to arrive precisely on time in front of the school gates where Francesco was waiting.
“Dad, can you drop me off at Auntie’s, we need to work on my French homework for tomorrow?” asked the son, giving his father a firm kiss.
“Alright, get on, I’ll drop you off and then I have to meet Vincent at the Mayor’s. I’ll pick you up after, so we can go to the nighttime parade of the Carnival, and then we’ll grab a bite at ‘l’Agua’. Alex left me a message saying he received a little surprise from his fisherman.” Fred replied.
“Great, plus Alex told me he has an unreleased Kiss album to lend me,” Francesco said eagerly while putting on his helmet. He hopped on the motorcycle and hugged his dad tightly, as the two bikers sped towards the hills of Nice. Just enough time to drop off his son, and Fred joined his boss.
“They’re waiting for us upstairs. I’ll tell you about the Parisians later…” Vincent summarized quickly as he waited for Fred in front of the city hall gates, and the two men entered the almost empty building at that hour.
“The Mayor is expecting you in his office.” The secretary had stood up when they arrived and opened the door leading to the vestibule of the official’s office.
“Come in, gentlemen, please,” the Mayor said, who was alone, somewhat surprising the two officers and, frankly, reassuring Fred.
“So, do you know more about this case?” quickly asked the city’s chief magistrate. Fred gave him a full report on the situation.
“A serial killer using Nice’s cuisine. What madness is this?” The Mayor seemed bewildered and somewhat distraught. It was true that a case like this, just weeks before the municipal elections and in the middle of the gastronomy carnival, was not to his liking.
“We’ve received reinforcement from a special brigade that just arrived from Paris, Mr. Mayor, and they’re waiting for us at the precinct for debriefing,” explained Vincent, confident that this news would be reassuring.
With the situation clarified, details given, the elected official thanked and congratulated them once again for their work. He finally handed each of them a business card: “This is my personal number; you can call me any time, day or night, gentlemen.”
“I came on foot, can you give me a ride?” Vincent asked as they reached Fred’s motorcycle. “No problem, here you go.” And Fred handed him Francesco’s helmet, which he had just taken out of his rear saddlebag.
They arrived at the office in minutes, then moved to the large meeting room. Celine and Jeff were already seated, and beside them, three people were sitting—a woman in a bluish suit and two men in gray suits—who appeared quite young.
“Hello Inspector, I’m Nicolas Pommier, and here are Marine Nierbren and Julien Sborgni, my two colleagues. Pleased to meet you.” The one who seemed the oldest of the three stood up to make the introductions, extending his hand. One, two, then three handshakes followed, and the work session could finally begin. Fred gave a full report of the various leads, while the three specialists frantically noted everything on their mini laptops.
“Thank you for your presentation, inspector. Now, we’ve already worked on a possible profile but, without the information you just provided us, we’ll have to make a more precise assessment. Nonetheless, we lean towards a man, not necessarily young, with some connection, albeit remote, to the culinary world, and particularly to Nice’s cuisine. Indeed, as the President of the ‘Cercle de la Capelina d’Or’ mentioned, it seems the killer punishes his victims by executing them where he believes they’ve sinned. It’s fairly classic, but the recurrence of the murders will force us to act quickly if we want to avoid accumulating victims.”
Nicolas’s presentation was found to be very clear, full of self-satisfaction, the three “Northerners” stood up as one to head to the office provided for them, carrying their laptops.
“But, it’s still a crazy thing!” Céline exclaimed.
“Tell me about it, Céline, and none of us had made this connection. It must be said, finding this motive was a challenge!” Fred replied, doubtful.
But, he continued, “We need to gather the others and give them a complete briefing on the situation. I want all teams on alert and maximum personnel around restaurants serving Nice’s cuisine. Céline, call the Tourism Office and request an appointment with Denis Zanon on my behalf. Mrs. Graglia told me he manages the ‘Cuisine Nissarde’ label, which ensures the respect of Nice’s culinary heritage. Also, ask him to send you a list of all these restaurants as soon as possible and share it with all the teams in place. I want 24/7 surveillance of all these establishments.” Céline noted as quickly as possible on her pad, thinking Fred was going crazy, and promptly headed to her office in search of the famous list.
“Come on, let’s join our Parisian friends; they may have discovered something,” Fred invited, still having a bit of breath, and the two men entered, not without knocking, the office made available to the capital’s Experts.
“Enter Inspector, we might have something interesting. We’ve cross-referenced the files from our various offices and agencies, and two names seem to have numerous striking coincidences: Emile Gaspardi and Fernand Baral. Only one problem, neither of them is a Freemason,” Nicolas minimized.
Fred bounced back on what the head of the experts had just said: “I don’t know how valuable this information is, but I have to attend a meeting tomorrow night to meet with the brothers. We can’t rule out this lead; I’m on it. You continue your investigations on these two guys, and we’ll have a meeting tomorrow, okay?” Fred was the boss, and he intended to stay that way. He dictated his final instructions one last time before everyone could finally catch their breath and perhaps take some time for themselves, as good as possible.
For Fred, the evening unfolded as he had planned: a nighttime parade of the Carnival, then a dinner tête-à-tête with the apple of his eye. And indeed, Alex hadn’t lied since he had received wonderful Saint-Pierre that he prepared with chorizo crust and small gray shrimp from Villefranche with creamy polenta seasoned with sea flavors. The panna cotta with salted butter caramel and speculoos was the last pleasure of the evening before father and son went to their respective beds.
The radio alarm set to France Info began its first words in the middle of the 6 a.m. news, and it was still as crazy as ever in Ukraine, but the Nice serial killer had made it to the headlines. Fred got up at the morning show jingle and once again told himself that the new host wasn’t really to his taste.
A glance into Francesco’s room found him still deep in the arms of Morpheus, and then Fred headed to the bathroom for a refreshing shower and shave. The shave was, by far, one of Fred’s favorite moments. A start to the day in face-to-face contemplation with oneself, with the delicate mission of trying to make one’s face, tired or not from the previous night, as presentable as possible. Fortunately, the task wasn’t too challenging, Fred thought, as he spread his shaving gel, which instantly transformed into foam upon contact with his nascent beard. On the radio, the musical pause played the rather pleasant sounds of a Breton band. The first strokes of the razor blade removed the unsightly hairs, and Fred went over a recap of the latest events.
But a thought hadn’t left Fred since he awakened. It was the first time in his life that he was going to attend a Masonic meeting. Indeed, he had friends who had confided in him as being “brothers,” and he had also questioned some during an investigation when he was still an investigator. Yet, he had never been invited to join this “circle of thought,” as one of his mentors described it.
Upon reaching his wardrobe, Fred opted for dark colors and a similarly toned tie, having found the advice online. Bag, helmet, jacket, and a last kiss to Francesco, and he was already on Boulevard Carnot heading towards the port. The day promised to be beautiful, at least weather-wise, Fred thought as he rode at a near crawl, which certainly allowed him to feel the vibrations of his phone. Unknown number.
“Fred Ségur, hello!”
“Hello Mr. Ségur, keep your eyes and ears open tonight, and it’s not the Parisians who will be of much help in this case.” The same voice as last time, Fred thought, and he replied quickly: “I’m not counting on them, nor anyone else, really, but thank you for your help.” He was pleased with his remark.
“You are the ideal person to stop all this. And don’t thank me, Mr. Ségur, you don’t know me, and if you did, you might not be thanking me.” That comment marked the end of the conversation, lasting under 20 seconds, thus completely untraceable.
Fred decided to keep this new call to himself and headed back to the precinct.
The media were still prominently present with two mobile units set up at the annex entrance of the precinct, but the horde didn’t regroup at Fred’s arrival. Marie and Jeff were already in place. “Coffee, Fred?” offered Céline.
“Gladly, and join me in my office,” Fred answered, opening his glass door and placing his helmet and jacket on the coat hanger. “Here you go, Chief, a strong black, no sugar.” “Hmm, thanks, Bella.” Fred asked Jeff to close the door and told them about the new phone call: “We’re keeping this to ourselves and the boss, I won’t mention it to the experts, we’re not telling anyone, okay?” he made sure.
“Sure thing, boss!” replied the two subordinates at attention. Just in time, Fred thought, as he saw the three experts enter through the main door of the precinct and head toward his office.
“Good morning everyone,” Nicolas greeted warmly. Everyone exchanged handshakes or kisses. “We worked on our two suspects but without much success. We have them under surveillance and wiretapped since last night, but nothing has come up.” The updates were given by the young woman of the trio, Marine, whom Fred seemed to notice for the first time, despite having seen her the previous day.
