Alain Boulanger And The Saint Of Paris: France Thriller

By Henry Rohmer

Alain Boulanger And The Saint Of Paris: France Thriller

Crime novel by Henry Rohmer

 

Jeannot "Saint-Pierre" Janvier, the head of a charitable foundation, is the darling of millions as a popular televangelist. And yet there seems to be someone who hates him so much that he cuts his jugular. The murder appears to be the work of a serial killer. The station hires Parisian private detective Alain Boulanger to investigate, and he soon realizes that not all leads lead to the so-called celebrity killer. Alain ends up investigating Janvier's foundation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BEKKERpublishing
• Release date: Mar 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215101759

Book preview

1

Paris in 1995...

Jesus lives! the sonorous, pleasant-sounding voice of Saint-Pierre Janvier shouted through the microphone, while the gospel choir hummed in the background.

Actually, his name was Jeannot Janvier.

Saint-Pierre (Peter) was only his epithet because of his ability to carry away the congregation.

But he liked being called that.

And posters also announced him as Saint-Pierre Janvier.

Jeannot Saint-Pierre Janvier now turned a few degrees away from his audience, some of whom seemed to be in a trance-like state of rapture. Satisfied, relaxed faces, eyes closed in many cases and hands raised. Meanwhile, Janvier looked directly into the camera. The tall and somewhat overweight preacher with the graying beard and the pleasant voice could be seen in many living rooms and kitchens at that moment.

Janvier closed his eyes for a few seconds before repeating, Jesus lives! And he is in our midst now. He's in the midst of us, but he doesn't want us to just lay our hands on him. A small, rhetorical pause followed. A muscle twitched in Janvier's face, and he opened his eyes again. He wants us to practice mercy! Each and every one of us! To each of us goes the question: what can you do to share in your neighbor's suffering? And at that, his right index finger was pointed directly at the camera. What can you do to help the elderly and the sick? continued Janvier. We need hospitals and homes for the elderly, we need schools where our children don't just learn how to use drugs and brass knuckles and then go into life illiterate - people who aren't even able to read God's Word! Another pause followed. But all this costs money, a lot of money. More money than most of you will earn in your entire lives. But if each of you, each person sitting at the screen right now, watching me stand here, donated just one franc, it would add up to several million.

An account number was now displayed on millions of screens. Just one measly franc! Think how often you waste a franc on something useless!

The gospel choir was getting louder now, and finally the playback for the credits started.

2

Saint-Pierre Janvier walked down the hall to his dressing room. He felt tired and was glad to get the weekly show over with. Someone tapped him on the shoulder.

You were great, Saint-Pierre! someone shouted in his ear and then was gone again. Janvier recognized from the smell of the cigar that it must have been Jean Revére, the director of photography.

A moment later, Janvier was standing in front of his dressing room door. He had already pushed down the handle when someone suddenly grabbed him by the shoulder. 

Hey, Saint-Pierre! One moment!

Janvier scowled and turned to Simon Equert, who was a full head shorter than the preacher. Equert was a lanky-looking man with an unhealthy complexion. And a chain smoker. Now, too, there was another one of those glow sticks stuck between his fingers. Janvier couldn't stand the smell. And right now he wanted nothing more than to be alone. He had completely exhausted himself mentally during the show.

Janvier sighed in annoyance, What's so important, Simon?

A signature!

Couldn't it wait until tomorrow?

No, Saint-Pierre, this has to go out today!

Simon Equert held a ballpoint pen under the preacher's nose. Janvier growled something unintelligible into his full beard, took the pen and asked for the papers on which his signature was required. Janvier pressed the documents listlessly against the wide door frame and carelessly scribbled his name - or what others should think of it.

Was that it?

Yes, nodded Equert. Take care, Saint-Pierre! Will I see you tomorrow?

Absolutely! Because I still have a bone to pick with you.

Equert raised his eyebrows. Oh, yeah?

Not now. Tomorrow, Simon, tomorrow ... He rubbed his tired-looking eyes and turned toward the door. Say hello to Catherine for me!

Equert's face changed a little. His pale blue eyes suddenly flashed. But it lasted only for a moment. Equert grinned faintly and watched Saint-Pierre Janvier disappear into his dressing room. Seconds later, Janvier dropped into his chair and closed his eyes. He didn't try to do anything but just tune out, but even with his eyes closed he saw the crowd in front of him looking up at him and hanging on his lips as if hypnotized. It always took a while before he got rid of these images and could think normally.

Jeannot Saint-Pierre Janvier had no idea how long he had been sitting in his armchair when suddenly there was a knock on his dressing room door. That startled him out of his reclusion.

Yes?

Janvier stood up and opened.

Then it happened in a flash, and before Janvier realized what was happening, he was as good as dead. A razor-sharp knife had opened his carotid artery in a fraction of a second. Janvier's face went rigid, his eyes bulging unnaturally wide from their sockets in terror. With both hands he grabbed his neck, but blood ran in streams between his fingers. Panic seized Janvier. He wanted to scream, but not a single sound passed his lips. He knew it was over unless another miracle happened. He gasped while looking into the eyes of his killer, who spent a few horribly long seconds watching his victim die.

Then the killer turned away, closed the door and made off.

3

Her costume fit tightly, but correctly. And in her hairstyle, every single hair of her brunette mane seemed to have been styled precisely. She was probably one of those who functioned like a well-oiled clock in her job, sliding inexorably up the career ladder. If she had a fault at all, it was perhaps that she spoke very quickly.

Excuse me? the man on the other side of the desk therefore interrupted her, frowning.

Her name was Marie-Laure Challier and she was employed by a cable TV station that had recently made a name for itself within the industry due to skyrocketing ratings.

I'm here to see you about the murder of Jeannot Saint-Pierre Janvier, Monsieur Boulanger. I assume you have heard about it.

Alain Boulanger, the well-known Parisian private detective, let the cigarette glow briefly between his lips and then nodded.

I glimpsed it in the newspaper. Saint-Pierre Janvier? That's that TV preacher, isn't it?

Yes. Mr. Janvier had a weekly show with us that was wildly successful. We get laundry baskets full of letters from people demanding that the guilty party finally be held accountable.

So? asked Alain. Are there any clues yet?

That's just it, Marie-Laure Challier said. Our impression is that the police are treading water. The murder was on the thirteenth of this month ...

That was more than a week ago!

Yes, very true! And so far they don't seem to be any further along. They always make a fog of fine words around it, but it boils down to the fact that they have nothing in hand. Not a thing! She shrugged her petite shoulders. And that's exactly why I'm sitting here in your office now, Monsieur Boulanger! I hear you're very good at your job.

Thank you. But my services cost a little something, too.

No problem. I am authorized to offer you an advance. Otherwise, I assure you that our company will not be petty. A smile flitted across her face, but it seemed cold and businesslike. She opened her purse and pulled out a check, which she then placed on the table in front of Boulanger.

"Wait a minute! I haven't said yet that I'll send