Alain Boulanger And The Killer Flic Of Paris: France Crime Thriller

By Henry Rohmer

Alain Boulanger And The Killer Flic Of Paris: France Crime Thriller

from Henry Rohmer

 

A new case about Parisian private detective Alain Boulanger and his charming assistant Jeanette Levoiseur.

In 1991 Paris, a self-appointed vigilante, the Killer Flic, preys on acquitted criminals. He wears a police uniform. But he murders without any consideration and takes the supposed law into his own hands. The Paris police force falls into disrepute. Parisian private detective Alain Boulanger has a particularly tough nut to crack.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BEKKERpublishing
• Release date: Jan 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215384923

Book preview

1

Paris 1991

The Minister of the Interior will see you now, said the man in the dark suit with the corpse-bitter face.

One could wonder if this man had ever laughed in his life.

At least that's what Paul Dubois was thinking about when he was now asked to join him in the minister's office, according to

Commissaire Paul Dubois of the Paris homicide squad felt completely out of place in this place. And that began with his appearance. Dubois was corpulent and shapeless. That's why his suit fit poorly. The coat he wore over it didn't close at all. Somehow this coat corresponded to a size that might have fit Paul Dubois many years ago.

Among all the perfectly dressed men and women here at the Ministry of the Interior, which had its headquarters in the Hôtel de Beauvau in the 8th arrondissement - right next to the Elysee Palace. A dark Citroen DS had picked up Paul Dubois from his office that morning and brought him here with an escort of motorcycle police officers.

Paul Dubois had never experienced anything like it in his entire, long career in homicide.

I'm sure you'll get a medal, a colleague had told him.

But Dubois had a feeling that would hardly be the case.

Rather, he feared that the opposite would happen.

He would get a more or less strong rebuke.

For what?

There was not always a comprehensible reason for this. Sometimes, Paul Dubois had the impression, the big shots in the government palaces simply wanted to show that they were also doing something.

This was especially the case when they were pressured by the public.

And there was already something making headlines at the moment - and making some people in the very highest echelons of Paris sweat.

So Paul Dubois was led to the office of the Minister of the Interior.

Monsieur le Ministre?

Sit down, Commissaire Dubois.

Thank you.

Commissaire, there has been a series of murders in the last few weeks that is of great concern to both the public and to me, as the minister responsible for internal security.

We are doing what we can and investigating with the utmost dedication, Paul Dubois explained.

The commissaire always did.

Regardless of whether or not a minister took a particularly sharp look at the situation and any suspects that might be present, Paul Dubois always worked with full commitment. He could not have worked any other way. After all, he knew very well that if you really wanted to work in this job, it was best not to let up.

I know you are doing your best, Commissaire Dubois.

I'm glad you recognize that, Mr. Secretary.

But parts of the public feel that your efforts may not be enough.

In a murder investigation, you can't just force results.

I'm already aware of that, Commissaire Dubois.

We are following every lead and I promise you we will do everything we can to solve this series of murders.

I have no doubt of your commitment, Commissaire Dubois.

Then I suggest that I go back to work immediately now. What do you think of that?

The minister looked at Commissaire Dubois thoughtfully for a few moments. And then he finally nodded. Perhaps you are right, he then conceded to Commissaire Dubois. But I want to be informed immediately of any progress you make.

That goes without saying, Mr. Secretary.

Then I wish you every success.

Thank you, Mr. Secretary.

Commissaire Dubois breathed a real sigh of relief when he finally left the monster's official residence. The air in there was stuffy, he thought. Very stuffy. How anyone could breathe in there at all!

Dubois loosened his tie.

Then he thought: I wouldn't dream of informing that monkey in the suit about any progress! And he trumpets this then immediately in the public on one of his press conferences! That would be even nicer!

*

Sometimes things are quite different from what they seem.

Appearance and reality.

And in this case, appearances were harmless - and being was murderous.

The killer looked like your friend and helper.

He was wearing a police uniform.

A Flic.

But he was still a killer, even if his victim had no idea of that at that moment. But that was probably just part of the rules of this deadly game, which was simply called murder.

Hardly anything could be made out of his face, for he wore dark sunglasses and his cap was pulled deep into his face. An icy smile played around his thin, bloodless lips.

He waited.

To his victim.

He waited and had all the time in the world to do so. He knew the habits of the man he had chosen as his victim well enough to know that he could show up at any moment. And then, as the metallic Ferrari roared around the corner, he loosened the strap of his police holster.

Almost like those old western movies, the killer thought, as the opponents prepared for a showdown.

Everything was inexorably heading for that one second when it popped.

But this would not be a duel, but an execution.

Yes, thought the killer. Execution! That's the right word!

The Ferrari was parked in front of the PARADIS, a somewhat run-down Parisian nightclub that had certainly seen better days.

It was still early in the morning - a sunny but freezing cold spring morning in Paris. And at this time of the day, of course, there was still nothing going on in the PARADIS.

You must have business here, you rat, thought the killer and slightly twisted his mouth, revealing a gold crown on the left side.

His hand tightened around the grip of the police revolver.

The door of the Ferrari opened and a man in a brown camel hair coat got out. He wore a twirled mustache that gave him something foppish. A gold chain jingled around his wrist. It could be seen glittering in the sun.

He looked like a man who had come into a lot of money very quickly - and now possessed more of it than he had ever imagined. He probably came from a small background, because in his whole demeanor he seemed to place special emphasis on making sure that no one overlooked his wealth.

A cheek muscle of the killer twitched uneasily.

Yes, he thought. Filthy riches! Money that was soaked in blood and with which one could buy oneself free if one was on the hook of the law.

But all that wouldn't do the guy in the camel hair coat any good now.

Mr. Chevalier?

The man in the camel hair coat looked over at his killer and frowned. With his right hand, he grabbed his twirled mustache and twirled it.

What's up? His tone expressed clear condescension.

He knows that the brand carriers are toothless paper tigers, the killer thought. But he will be surprised when he meets the exception to the rule!

Are you Monsieur Antoine Chevalier?

Yes, that's me. What's the point? I know there's no stopping here, but I've always parked here. No one has ever been bothered by it.

Chevalier took a few steps closer and stood up in front of the man in the police uniform with his legs wide apart.

This one remained ice cold.

So you are Monsieur Antoine Chevalier - drug dealer, pimp and murderer!

Chevalier swallowed. The thing became now simply too colorful for him. He hadn't had to put up with anything like this from a uniform wearer in a long time!

"Now don't get too important, little