Inspector Lafarge 04 The Haunted Detective by Pirate Irwin

Author:Pirate Irwin [Irwin, Pirate]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781719851404
Google: 5aEczAEACAAJ
Publisher: Independently Published
Published: 2018-08-21T21:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Lafarge let Levau go on his own to the café at Bastille. He’d had enough of his company for the night and thought a break might do them some good even if it was only going to be for 24 hours.

All the investigating he had to do the next day he could easily do on his own, Gerland was his own business anyway, and Levau would probably prefer to operate solo for a bit. He couldn’t chaperone him everywhere and he just had to trust his partner had been telling the truth and he wasn’t going to find a very dead Vandamme whenever he turned up.

Before he left the office to return home he jotted down a note and left it on another colleague’s desk, Detective Inspector Florian Riviere, asking him to saddle up with Levau the next day. Riviere was trustworthy and responsible and while he wouldn’t volunteer to be a telltale on his fellow detectives he wouldn’t lie either if pressed by Lafarge.

To ensure that Levau was aware of this temporary arrangement he also scribbled a note for him and left it on his desk.

Lafarge couldn’t be bothered to walk home. The metro was closed down again because of yet another strike ‘bloody Communists’ he cursed under his breath, so he took the car and made it back to his flat inside 15 minutes.

He thought he could have dropped Levau off as Bastille was not out of his way back to Pere Lachaise but then he thought no don’t make life easy for him. He’s going to have to work darn hard to regain my favour.

He looked at his watch as he climbed wearily out of his car and saw there was still time to have something to eat at his local bistro ‘Presque Mort’ – a name that always made him laugh for the dark humour it being down the hill from the historic cemetery – and decided it was best to get some proper food inside him.

The proprietor Jean-Luc Giraud and his amiable wife Julie – both as rosy cheeked and rotund as each other which to Lafarge was always a good sign of the quality of the food in an establishment – greeted him fondly and brought him a glass of champagne. Their well fed appearance made him ponder why the waiters and the maître d‘hotel at both the Crillon and the Ritz were so sticklike in appearance, there again he mused they were probably only fed the scraps.

Champagne had never been his favourite tipple – the bubbles got in the way of the joy of the taste – but he graciously quaffed it. He ordered a ducks liver terrine and then kidneys in wine sauce plus a bottle of red wine from Cahors, the town from where both the Girauds’ hailed, reasoning even if he didn’t finish it by the time coffee and cognac came round he could leave it with them for next time.

There had been eyebrows raised at quite how Jean-Luc

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