Marquanteur And The Contract Killer: France Crime Thriller

By Alfred Bekker

Marquanteur And The Contract Killer: France Crime Thriller

by Alfred Bekker

 

 

The former policeman Gerard Larôche is murdered. It quickly becomes clear that the killer was a contract killer. Who is behind it? Larôche had made many enemies, and at least one of them continues to rule his clan even from prison. But then there are more murders, and the trail leads in another direction.

Commissaire Marquanteur and his colleagues from Marseille pick up the trail.

 

Alfred Bekker is a well-known author of fantasy novels, thrillers and books for young people. In addition to his major book successes, he has written numerous novels for suspense series such as Ren Dhark, Jerry Cotton, Cotton Reloaded, Kommissar X, John Sinclair, and Jessica Bannister. He has also published under the names Neal Chadwick, Jack Raymond, Jonas Herlin, Dave Branford, Chris Heller, Henry Rohmer, Conny Walden, and Janet Farell.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alfred Bekker
• Release date: Jul 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223148098

Alfred Bekker

Alfred Bekker wurde am 27.9.1964 in Borghorst (heute Steinfurt) geboren und wuchs in den münsterländischen Gemeinden Ladbergen und Lengerich auf. 1984 machte er Abitur, leistete danach Zivildienst auf der Pflegestation eines Altenheims und studierte an der Universität Osnabrück für das Lehramt an Grund- und Hauptschulen. Insgesamt 13 Jahre war er danach im Schuldienst tätig, bevor er sich ausschließlich der Schriftstellerei widmete. Schon als Student veröffentlichte Bekker zahlreiche Romane und Kurzgeschichten. Er war Mitautor zugkräftiger Romanserien wie Kommissar X, Jerry Cotton, Rhen Dhark, Bad Earth und Sternenfaust und schrieb eine Reihe von Kriminalromanen. Angeregt durch seine Tätigkeit als Lehrer wandte er sich schließlich auch dem Kinder- und Jugendbuch zu, wo er Buchserien wie 'Tatort Mittelalter', 'Da Vincis Fälle', 'Elbenkinder' und 'Die wilden Orks' entwickelte. Seine Fantasy-Romane um 'Das Reich der Elben', die 'DrachenErde-Saga' und die 'Gorian'-Trilogie machten ihn einem großen Publikum bekannt. Darüber hinaus schreibt er weiterhin Krimis und gemeinsam mit seiner Frau unter dem Pseudonym Conny Walden historische Romane. Einige Gruselromane für Teenager verfasste er unter dem Namen John Devlin. Für Krimis verwendete er auch das Pseudonym Neal Chadwick. Seine Romane erschienen u.a. bei Blanvalet, BVK, Goldmann, Lyx, Schneiderbuch, Arena, dtv, Ueberreuter und Bastei Lübbe und wurden in zahlreiche Sprachen übersetzt.

Book preview

1

Marseille has a mild Mediterranean climate.

Even in winter it is not particularly cold.

This was also the case on this day.

It wasn't particularly cold, just rainy.

But the man still wore gloves. He was tall and quite powerfully built. The blond short haircut emphasized the angular facial features. He had parked his blue Peugeot at the side of the road. Now the blond was walking along the row of row houses. With his right hand, he clutched the handle of the automatic, which was hidden in his deep coat pocket.

He had to be careful, because the man he was going to deal with was not just anyone, but someone who knew how to handle a gun himself and knew all the tricks.

Not all murder jobs were the same.

2

The blond stopped, let his eyes glide along the row of houses and then had found the right number.

It was a convenient time. Ten o'clock in the morning. There were hardly any cars parked in the street, as most of the residents had gone to work. The blond would be able to do his job without attracting much attention. That was exactly what suited his style. He worked quickly, precisely and without leaving any traces.

An elderly woman was walking down the street. The blonde waited until she had gone around the next corner and then crossed the roadway.

A moment later, he stood at the front door and rang the bell. Normally, Gerard Larôche - his victim - had just gotten up at this time and was now sitting at breakfast. Exactly the right time for such a visit, then ...

The blond rang the bell a second time and tightened his grip on the pistol with the screwed-on silencer stuck in his coat pocket.

Finally someone came and opened up.

But it was not Larôche, but a woman who looked at the killer quite astonished.

But the astonishment was mutual.

She was pretty, the blonde thought. Long, auburn hair, dark eyes. Her face expressed disappointment. She had obviously expected someone else.

Too bad about her, the killer thought. But it was quite impossible that he could let her live.

Is Monsieur Gerard Larôche not here? he asked coolly.

No, I'm sorry, the woman replied as she gave the killer a thorough once-over. A few wrinkles appeared on her forehead, signaling a clear dose of distrust.

He had not expected the woman. He cursed inwardly. If there was anything he hated, it was surprises of this kind.

What do you want from Gerard? the woman asked.

I really need to talk to him.

On what matter?

I'll have to tell him myself.

Are you an acquaintance of Gerard?

The killer hesitated only a fraction of a second to answer.

Yes, he said.

Lying without blushing was part of the business.

Gerard will be right back, the woman reported. He's just gone out for a little while to run some errands.

She did not know who Larôche really was. She could not know anything about his past or what he was doing now. That was immediately clear to the blond, because if she had known, her mistrust would have been greater.

The blond raised his eyebrows.

Can I wait for him at your place?

I'd rather not. I'm alone and I don't know you at all. Besides, this isn't my apartment and I don't know if Gerard would like it if ...

Aha!, thought the blond. Larôche hadn't known the woman for long. Maybe even only since last night. It could not be otherwise, otherwise the blond would have known about her. After all, he had thoroughly investigated Larôche's circumstances.

It would be fine with him! he asserted.

No, I don't want that! she said with great determination.

Gerard and I have known each other for half a lifetime.

But I you don't. Sorry.

She tried to close the door, but the blond put his foot in between. A quick grab, and he had yanked the automatic out of his coat pocket. The long silencer pointed directly at the young woman's torso and made her recoil in horror.

The blond entered and gave the door a push with the hoe, so that it fell noisily into the lock.

The woman shook her head silently. It took a few seconds before she was composed enough to say something again.

What do you want? she asked, gulping as she took another step backward, bumping into the dresser that stood in the narrow hallway.

Is there anyone else in the apartment? the blond asked coldly.

She shook her head silently.

Then the blond raised the silencer pistol a little and pulled the trigger. There was a sound that resembled a forceful sneeze, and a red dot appeared on the young woman's forehead, rapidly growing larger. She staggered backward and fell lengthwise.

The blond took a deep breath. The thing with the woman had not been planned, but she had now once seen his face. And that had been her death sentence.

The blond climbed over her lifeless body and looked around the rest of the apartment. One room after the other he took care of. The woman had told the truth. She had indeed been alone.

The killer pocketed the gun, grabbed the young woman under the arms and dragged her into the living room. Then he dropped into one of the clunky leather chairs and waited.

Not long, ten minutes at the most. Then noises were heard at the front door. A key was turned, someone entered.

That had to be Larôche.

Vanessa?

Seconds later, Larôche was standing in the living room doorway. He held a paper bag with the imprint of the nearby supermarket in his arms. Larôche dropped the bag, reached under his leather blouson and pulled out a P 226 as he dropped sideways.

The blond didn't even need to raise the gun. He sat there calmly and simply pulled the trigger. The first shot hit Gerard Larôche in the stomach area and the second went through the neck.

Larôche hit the floor hard. A pool of blood formed. His hand still convulsively held the handle of the P 226. A tremor ran through his body. His eyes were glassy, his breath no more than a gasp. Blood ran from the right corner of his mouth.

The blond stood up and approached the dying man, careful not to step in the pool of blood. Then he aimed at the head and pulled the trigger one last time before putting the gun back into the wide pocket of his cashmere coat, which he had had specially tailored for the long silencer.

A cold smile now played around his thin-lipped mouth, which had seemed like a straight line before.

Job done!, he thought.

3

I am Commissaire Pierre Marquanteur. Together with my colleague François Leroc, I work in a special department of the Criminal Investigation Department. It's called Force spéciale de la police criminelle, or FoPoCri for short, and it's based here in Marseille. We deal primarily with serious crime and organized crime.

In the office of Monsieur Jean-Claude Marteau, Commissaire général de police, our boss here in Marseille, quite a number of police officers had already taken their seats. In addition to François Leroc and me, our colleagues Stéphane Caron and Boubou Ndonga, as well as our internal affairs officer Maxime Valois, were also taking part in the meeting. I was sipping my coffee when my colleagues Josephe Kronbourg and Léo Morell burst in.

They earned a disapproving look from Monsieur Marteau for their tardiness.

I'm sorry, but there was a bad accident on the expressway. There was hardly any way through.

It's all right, Monsieur Marteau replied. Sit down!

Josephe and Léo took their seats, and Monsieur Marteau explained: Yesterday, Gerard Larôche was found shot to death in his house in La Villette, together with a young woman. The woman was Vanessa Cratisse, whom Larôche had apparently met the night before in a discotheque. She shared an apartment with a certain Genevieve Allonge, whose missing persons report is credited with the eventual discovery of the dead by officers from the La Villet police station - estimated to be a week after the murder occurred. Monsieur Marteau turned to colleague Valois. Maxime, if you would please continue.

Gladly. Maxime Valois turned on a projector, which was used to project photos of the two deceased and crime scene photos onto the wall. "This case falls under our jurisdiction for two reasons. First, the man who last lived in La Villette under the name Gerard Larôche was a former FoPoCri colleague. He investigated organized crime for years, providing valuable