The Fleischer case was over.  

It seemed all the deductions made by The Pilot were accurate.  After a childhood spent in Germany, Thierrot had started life as a trainee surgeon, but after marrying Mrs. Thierrot he had bowed to pressure from her and her family and had switched to a more lucrative career as a research chemist.  Despite the fact that he was now fairly affluent, he had always felt that being a surgeon was his true vocation and so, as the years had slipped by in careful and remunerative but ultimately dull and frustrating work, the longing to do good and to be successful at something he had really valued had eaten away at him until …

He explained his reasons for murdering so many innocent people in a calm, reasoned voice as if the logic of his decision was faultless.  As a committed anti-pollutionist, what else could he do but carry his campaign right to the root cause of the evil?  And so, systematically and with the panache so clearly lacking from his everyday life, he had begun weeding out the useless and apathetic citizens who were casually draining Earth’s precious resources.

The man was clearly insane, and as Thierrot was being handcuffed, Janvier intimated as much to The Pilot.

“Isn’t it strange Superintendent,” he replied, “how one man with such opinions is clearly insane, but if ten men, a thousand, or even a million hold the same terrible opinion then they are called a government or a democracy.”

Once again, Janvier was at a loss for a reply.  Instead, she merely nodded, hoping The Pilot and Maxim wouldn’t take too long about leaving.  For once she got her wish.

 A few minutes later she was alone with Theirrot and the gendarme he was handcuffed to.  She gave an order and Thierrot was led away to the cells.

∞

The next day, the papers were full of Thierrot’s spectacular capture. Meanwhile, Baldon received a plaster cast and sling on his broken arm and a medal for bravery.  Janvier on the other hand had only a few words devoted to her, and in the end, had to be satisfied with a letter of commendation from the Prefect of Police.  Not that Janvier cared either way.  For her, the most satisfying part was seeing Fleischer behind bars.  That and finally getting rid of all his files.  

So, after the very neat conclusion to the Fleischer case, Janvier was a little disturbed when only a week later The Forever Pilot and Maxim walked into her office.  The Pilot had a blue Bakelite sandwich box tucked under one arm.  It seemed peculiarly out of keeping with his severe, almost military costume. 

“What’s up?  Come to share a sandwich ?” Janvier chuckled in spite of the agitation she felt at their return. 

“I’m afraid not Inspector.  Though if you’re fond of trotters I’m sure the rightful owner of my – er – picnic wouldn’t object to you having a nibble.”

Janvier sat bolt upright in her chair.  “What!  More severed limbs?”

“Not more Inspector, the same, or rather from the same source.”

Just as Janvier was leaping to her feet, The Pilot and Maxim each drew a seat toward Janvier’s desk and sat down.  An apologetic expression appeared on the exposed parts of their faces.

“Now Superintendent,” said The Pilot, “before I continue, may I ask how your investigations are progressing? As Thierrot made no confession as to his involvement I merely wondered if you had made any progress in catching the real killer?”

Now Janvier felt embarrassment and anger rising inside her, blowing away the fog of her earlier surprise.

"Look here Pilot, this is an official Police investigation.  Obviously, I’m grateful for your help with Fleischer, but if you think you can waltz in here and ask me to divulge confidential information…”

The Pilot studied the ceiling nonchalantly.  “As I thought, you’ve given up.  Case dismissed.  Or rather, case locked away in a dusty filing cabinet.”

Janvier angrily jabbed her thumb at a fresh pile of reports that teetered on the corner of her desk.  “Have you seen the number of cases I’ve got on…?”

The Pilot smiled again.  This time the effect was like ice down the back of her neck.

“Well, Superintendent, Maxim and I have not given up.   Whilst you have been burying files, we have been pursuing the trail of the two missing Metropole staff.  You’ll be glad to know therefore that we successfully traced Robichaux to a tawdry hotel room in Montmartre.  He’d absconded with some money of his father’s, and has been using it to entertain himself with an assortment of narcotics. Which of course leaves Benjamin.  There’s no trace of him, except, well - perhaps you’d like to take a look at this.”

Maxim popped open the Bakelite box and removed something from it. Between the forefinger and thumb of his right hand, he held what looked like an overlong tube of macaroni.

“It’s a toe-bone Superintendent,”  Maxim explained.  “The Chief and I went over to the Metropole and had a good look around.  On a hunch, I checked the hotel’s incinerator and ‘hey presto’: the charred remains of a body.”

“But that’s impossible!” snorted Janvier, “My men went over every inch of the hotel with a fine toothcomb.”

“And yet the fact remains, we found pieces of a skeleton.  Not the whole thing of course, all the major fragments have been removed.  For instance, the skull whose teeth would easily have identified the corpse.”

Now that she had returned to her own side of the desk, Janvier collapsed heavily into her chair.  It was sheer incompetence.  Either that or…

With a sudden motion, The Pilot leaped to his feet.  His assistant followed suit.  “Maxim, do you know I’m suddenly very thirsty.  See if you can rustle up a cup of coffee, there’s a good chap.”  Maxim dutifully left the office, leaving The Pilot to pace up and down in front of Janvier’s desk.  

“It’s very possible this oversight on your men’s part may have a more serious implication.  One or more of them may be covering up for Benjamin's murder.  Our next course of action must be to question each of the investigating detectives.”  

Feeling too weak to voice an objection Janvier got up and walked to the internal door.  As she opened it she bellowed “Baldon!  Has anyone seen – ah René, there you are.  Can you come in please?”

When Baldon saw her visitor he recoiled, but with some effort managed to glue a smile on his face.

“Baldon was in charge of the Metropole work” explained Janvier, “he should be able to tell you more about it.”

Baldon came and sat down on one of the recently vacated chairs. Janvier tersely explained the situation.  

“I … I can’t understand it…” Baldon stammered, “I’d trust every one of the boys with my life.  If they said they didn’t find anything, well, they didn’t find anything.”

Janvier persisted, “What about the people in the hotel, could any of them have got to the incinerators?  Or was there anyone new hanging about?”

Baldon shrugged for a moment.  Then a new light suffused his face, smoothing out his look of confusion.

“You remember there was that visit from the examining magistrate, just to see how things were going she said.  And she was the prosecuting magistrate on the Benjamin case too...?”

For a moment there was a strained silence in the room while the two detectives tried to fit the clumsy, ill-cut pieces of the puzzle together. 

The Pilot began to pace back and forth across the room.  “You know Baldon,” he said “you may well have put your finger on it.  If you remember Superintendent I voiced similar suspicions to you myself.  The Metropole visit, taken with her eagerness to link the second murder to Dr. Fleischer certainly casts her in a suspicious light. The only problem is the motive and opportunity.  The most likely explanation is blackmail. But why should Madame Delouche wait until now to kill Benjamin, unless he had only recently begun blackmailing her? But then the same question more or less applies.  Why would he begin blackmailing her now?" 

“Then there is the matter of opportunity.  Whilst she certainly had one in which to remove Benjamin’s skeleton, did she have one on the night of Benjamin’s murder?  Was she at the hotel that night and not at home as she suggested?”

“Remember how she admitted she was a member of the philanthropists?”  Baldon interjected eagerly.  “Well she said she had an alibi, but how do we know she wasn’t lying.  Even if she didn’t have an invitation she could’ve said she’d changed her mind at the last minute.”

The Pilot grinned appreciatively.  “You know Baldon, you’re positively inspired today.”

Baldon turned to Janvier.  “Well boss, what do you say?  Shall I get on to it?”

“Oh, I’d save yourself the effort if I were you." Interjected the Pilot. "I think even you would find it difficult to magic up some false witnesses from amongst the members of the philanthropists.”

The two police officers stared at The Pilot.

“What are you on about?” spluttered Baldon.

“About your part in the murder of Benjamin my dear Inspector Baldon.” The Pilot shook his head sadly.  “I’m afraid I’ve already found out the answers Baldon.  I’m merely playing the part of quizmaster.  Just like on the ethervision, all the answers are written down for me.  They’re written in the files of Central Records, spelled out in expense forms and timesheets, in arrest records and interview transcriptions."

“I know everything about you Baldon.  I know for instance that as the organiser of Vernet’s party, you personally recommended the catering company.  A company that we all know to be no more than a front for a gang of English villains.  And furthermore, I know that you are on their payroll!”

Baldon leaped up and kicked an empty chair at The Pilot.  He threw the other at Janvier and dived for the door.  But just as he flung the door open, he was stopped dead in his tracks.  There stood Maxim, a pistol in each hand and a polite, almost apologetic smile fixed on his face.

∞

An hour later, Baldon was ready to make his confession.

“You know me chief,” Baldon said with an almost defiant tone.  “You know I’ve never put a foot wrong before.  My only problem is a gambling habit.  I guess I got it pretty bad.  That’s how they got to me.  It was the Krays Chief, they sucked me in through all my gambling debts.  Nothing big though, I’d never have gone for that.  It was strictly small-fry stuff, you know, turning a blind eye here, losing a file there, that sort of thing.  The catering contract was just another piece of business.  I just had to give them the ok and say no to the rest.”

“My bad luck was that Benjamin knew the gang.  He was an ex-con remember, and he knew some of ‘em from the old days.  So when he saw me with ‘em he just put two and two together.  He came to me and demanded money or he’d squeal, simple as that.  What could I do?  I ask you Chief, what would you have done in my position?  I love the Force, it’s all I know, and I wasn’t going to throw it all away.  I was nearly clear of my debts.  A few more months then I could’ve cleared it all and quit the Firm for good.  Then along comes Benjamin sucking at me like a leech.

 “Next time I saw him we were alone in the kitchen of the Metropole. It was a couple of hours before the party.  We’d arranged to meet and I was supposed to give him the money.  Only I decided that the best way to deal with a sniveling dog like that is to say no outright; backed up with a punch in the guts."

 “When I refused to give him his money, he started laughing about how he was going to shop me and I just saw red Chief.  I started laying into him, kicking and punching ‘til he went down. Next thing I know he’s dead.  I managed to hide his body for a while in the basement, but things were getting too hot.  Everyone was turning up for the party and the kitchens were heaving with staff.  I had to get him out.  Then I had a brainwave.  Fleischer was in town; why not make it look like him?"

"I stole some overalls so I wouldn’t get dirty and cut him up.  Then I hid the overalls where I could find them later, dropped the foot in the tureen, and went back to the party.  I would’ve hidden his body somewhere better later, but then when I heard about your delivery I panicked. So, I slipped away in the confusion, stuck Benjamin and the overalls in the incinerator, and started the investigation.  Then, later on, I smuggled the skull and some of the bigger bones out and dropped them into the river."

“I guess I always knew the truth would come out, but when you’re on the slide...!”  He gave a shrug and took a drag of his cigarette.  The confession was over.

When the last few formalities had been completed, Baldon strutted out of the room handcuffed to a uniformed constable.

Once again, Janvier and The Pilot were alone.

The Inspector slumped wearily in her chair.  The Forever Pilot stood rigidly at the window, hands clenched behind his back.  He was framed against the sunset and seemed nothing more than a flat piece of black paper, a living silhouette.

The heat of the office was suddenly too much for Janvier, she felt as if she were being choked to death and slowly roasted alive at the same time.  She needed a drink like never before.  She needed a dozen and then maybe a dozen more.  A few hours ago she could have simply put her head round the door and called for Baldon to join her, but now…

“Why the hell are you here?” Janvier barked angrily.  “Why don’t you go and fight someone your own size instead of bothering with small-fry?”

“I take it you would rather Maxim and I had let Inspector Baldon go free?”

“If you only knew some of the villains he put away…”  Janvier’s words trailed off into nothing. 

The Pilot continued: “You should know better than anyone that people such as us must frequently undertake unpleasant tasks.  We have a code to uphold.  And to us, the code is everything, even if it means we must turn against our natural inclinations.”

“I have gazed into eternity, Superintendent.  I know that it is a meaningless void with no values except those we impose upon it. The code is an important part of the order of the universe.  As important as the very atoms that hold you together. If we abandon the code, then we abandon meaning and order and open the way for perhaps the greatest of evils; chaos and oblivion."

“It is not a pleasant thing to face, but then the truth seldom is.”

Janvier rubbed her face wearily.  She closed her eyes gratefully against the pressure of her fingertips.  When she opened them again, The Pilot was gone.  

A fresh breeze poured in through the window, flowing through the muddy heat like a clear, cold stream.  On the breeze came the sound of two Norton Skyrangers, roaring into the distance.  Then the noise of the engines was gone, leaving only the normal bustle of the city behind.

Beyond the window dusk had rushed in like a tide, drenching the crowded streets with shadows.  One by one the lights were going on.  A blazing dam of light was being erected between the darkness and the people.

Janvier reached for her desk lamp and then paused.  Instead of turning on the lamp, she sat back in her chair, letting the shadows slowly creep in.