Guide Pel & the Faceless Corpse (Chief Inspector Pel)

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She knew her Pel by this time, with all his little pecularities, all his doubts and all his strengths. She had been taking a big risk, she realised now, when she had married him, but it seemed to work. A bell rang and Madame Routy appeared. Pel knew she was addressing him because she never addressed his wife in that manner. Madame Routy thought Madame Pel was a gift from Heaven, even if she regarded Pel as something the cat might have dragged in.

Terrorists running rampant through the streets? A visit by the President? Brigitte Bardot about to marry one of us? Darcy chuckled. One called Navarro.

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Serrano Navarro. What happened to the man who killed them? Has he been stopped? Not now. He had a car and he could be a hundred kilometres away by this time. And, on a Sunday morning, with nobody about, I dare bet nobody saw him going.

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Darcy laughed. Where is it?

Pel Among the Pueblos

Big house as you enter the village. Local cop was called. Photography, Forensic, Doc Minet. When Pel arrived at Sorgeay-le-Petit, Darcy was waiting for him. The house was on the edge of the village, large, pretentious and expensive-looking. Police cars jammed the drive and the road outside was full of interested onlookers, men, women, children and dogs.

Pel frowned, but he weakly agreed to leave the decision for a later date. According to the experts, the best way to stop smoking was to avoid tension, but the Great Lord God of Stresses and Strains had long since adjudged that tension was something no policeman could avoid. He took the cigarette. It seems he was bodyguard to Navarro. But he was beginning to get on a bit — sixty-four last birthday.

Pel sniffed. What do we know about him? He took a degree in art at the Sorbonne. Not a very good one, but a degree nevertheless. He was an educated crook. Darcy agreed. He was believed to be involved in the theft of that Maillol manuscript at Reims seven years ago.

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He was never pinned down and the police never found the manuscript. He knows his way round art. Also getting on a bit. Fifty-nine and growing fat.

It seems Navarro kept him on his payroll as a bodyguard. Pel gave a small chilly smile. Darcy grinned. But Navarro had made his pile. We know that from the way he lived. Look at the house. Big ones. Darcy shrugged and led the way into the house. In the library there were signs of a struggle.

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  5. Serrano Navarro, a heavy harsh-featured man with his haircut en brosse , lay on his back near the fireplace, a bullet wound in his chest. Desgeorges lay towards the back of the room, near an overturned armchair.

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    There was a wound in his shoulder and another under the chin. He was fat enough for his body to look as if it had spread — even oozed — sideways. Publisher: House of Stratus , This specific ISBN edition is currently not available. View all copies of this ISBN edition:. Synopsis About this title An unidentified, faceless corpse is discovered near a memorial dedicated to villagers killed by the Nazis.

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    Buy New Learn more about this copy. About AbeBooks. Other Popular Editions of the Same Title. Search for all books with this author and title. Customers who bought this item also bought. I have his papers here. His name is Duche. Edouard-Charles Duche lived on fraud, bullying, threats, and theft, and was well known to the Brigade Criminelle of the Police Judiciaire. Edouard-Charles Duche had been a thorn in the side of the police for many years. A splendid place. Full of expensive furniture. His wife wears mink in winter and they own two colour televisions. One in the bedroom.

    I have black and white — an old black and white — and my wife wears wool. He knew Sammy Belec well enough.

    Last year, when he was involved in that business of wounding that kid from Lyons. We were looking for bloodstained clothing. He loo ked about him. The alley was full of policemen and the road at the end was crowded with police cars, their lights flashing in the darkness. There was also a fringe of people from the bar, standing in the cold, watching, their faces pinched, their noses red. The bar was a shabby place, drab, brown and cheerless, with a few men standing at the zinc. The proprietor looked up from behind the coffee machine and called his wife across to take over.