Marquanteur And The Madame Without Scruples: France Crime Thriller

By Alfred Bekker

Marquanteur And The Madame Without Scruples: France Crime Thriller

by Alfred Bekker

 

 

Cold-blooded and precise, a woman murders on behalf of one of the gangs in Marseille. She kills silently with a crossbow. Who is the client? She always seems to be one step ahead of the police, and she has no qualms about eliminating any obstacle in her path.

 

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: Aug 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223421795

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

Stop, Miss! Don't be in such a hurry!

The young woman facing the two bodyguards put one arm on her hip provocatively.

Don't tell me I'm scaring you guys, she breathed mockingly. Her black hair was pinned up. A precious mink flattered her figure.

We're just being careful, the guy hissed through his teeth with the automatic.

The dark-haired beauty raised her head confidently.

Mr. Barrolo is expecting me. But you're welcome to search me, boys. She opened the mink. Underneath, she was completely naked. I hardly think your boss will object to my being armed. A seductive smile played around her full lips. But there was a cold glint in her eyes. At least the big boss will have a nice sight before he dies, it went through her mind cynically.

2

The two bodyguards stared at the full breasts for a few seconds. The sexy figure of the dark-haired woman made the guys gulp. One was the first to regain his composure and pointed to the rather large handbag. Smiling, she handed him the piece of crocodile leather. The bodyguard glanced inside, took out the short umbrella that was inside. Meanwhile, the second bodyguard contacted his boss via his headset.

It is true, Monsieur Barrolo is expecting the lady.

The other one put the umbrella back into the handbag and gave it back to the dark-haired woman.

All right!

With you, too? You look so pale.

She gathered up the coat again. The door was opened. She walked through. A lanky guy in a dark turtleneck brought her into the living room, which alone was bigger than two average Marseilles apartments put together. But for the great Vincenzo Barrolo, only the best was good enough. And that included a luxury suite at the Palace Hotel, right in Le Canet, when he was in Marseille.

The dark-haired woman casually registered that the man in the turtleneck was carrying a Beretta in his shoulder holster.

I will probably have to kill him too, she reflected.

Vincenzo Barrolo had taken a seat in one of the extra-wide leather chairs in the living room. He weighed almost two hundred kilos. A real colossus of a man. He gave her a disparaging look. A deep furrow formed on Barrolo's forehead.

I had told Marcel that I wanted a blonde girl!

Are all on duty, Mr. Barrolo, the dark-haired woman replied. But I think you still won't be disappointed.

She put the handbag in an armchair and let the coat slide off her shoulders with a casual-looking movement. She had to go on the offensive now to keep the situation under control. Barrolo glared at the young woman. He was visibly impressed.

Well, did I promise too much?

No, you didn't.

My name is Monique. But you can call me something else if you like it better.

Beads of sweat stood on Barrolo's forehead. He turned to the lanky man.

Leave us alone, Olivier!

All right, chief! Olivier left the room.

Barrolo wiped his face.

Come here to me! he urged Monique.

Not quite so fast, Mr. Barrolo!

I want it fast!

Monique took her handbag, took out the folding umbrella.

Hey, what's that all about? asked Barrolo.

Marcel told me that you had a preference for very specific games.

Yes, I do, but ...

Her movements were lightning fast. The covering of the umbrella was loosened and went into the bag. With a few moves, what was left of the umbrella was transformed into a one-handed crossbow.

Vincenzo Barrolo wanted to scream for help. But he did not get the chance.

Monique pulled the trigger.

A clacking sound rang out. With murderous force, the steel bolt fired from the crossbow drove directly into Barrolo's open mouth. Blood spurted out.

Barrolo slumped down.

Monique picked up the mink and put it back on. From one of the pockets she took out a second steel-jacketed bolt, which she inserted into the crossbow.

She gathered her handbag and left the living room.

The lanky Olivier was sitting in the anteroom reading the newspaper. He looked up in amazement, but didn't even think about pulling out his Beretta.

Monique pointed the crossbow at him and pulled the trigger.

There was a click and the bolt drove right into the lanky man's chest. It pierced the body, then penetrated the chair upholstery and shredded into the carpet.

When she stepped out into the hallway a little later, she had long since folded up the crossbow again and hidden it in her handbag.

That was quick! said one of the two bodyguards smugly. It was the Uzi man.

Monique turned to him with a suggestive smile.

You should know your boss better by now, guys.

Why?

Well, he does like quick numbers.

Her voice clinked like ice.

Moments later, the dark-haired woman had reached the elevator.

3

When we reached the crime scene at the Palace Hotel in Le Canet, all hell broke loose. The homicide squad was there with several officers, as were the colleagues from the Marseille police identification service.

My colleague François Leroc and I had been on our way to the police station every morning when we received a call from Monsieur Marteau. The boss had ordered us here and informed us in broad strokes about what was going on here.

Vincenzo Barrolo, literally the heavyweight 'Ndrangheta godfather of Amiens, who came from Calabria, had been murdered.

And when someone like Barrolo died an unnatural death, it usually meant a lot of trouble.

Commissaire Roger Petit of the homicide division of the police department in charge welcomed us and led us to the 500-euro suite where Barrolo had been killed.

In the anteroom, there was an armchair with a fist-sized hole in the backrest. The surroundings were covered in blood. Scraps of a newspaper lay around.

That's where one of the bodyguards got it, Petit explained. The coroner was already here to take the bodies to the lab.

How many corpses?, I asked.

Petit nodded.

There are a total of two dead. We questioned the other bodyguards who were posted outside in the hallway. Supposedly, Barrolo last had a visit from a dark-haired girl.

Has a sketch been taken?, I inquired.

Yes.

And those bodyguards?

Live here in the hotel as well. But of course a few price ranges below this luxury suite. The personal details are taken.

We then followed Petit into the living room. The Commissaire stretched out his arm.

That's where Barrolo was sitting, Petit said, pointing to a blood-soaked leather chair that also had an almost fist-sized hole in the back.

What caliber was Barrolo shot with? groaned François involuntarily. They must have been huge.

It wasn't a firearm at all, explained Commissaire Petit. The projectiles are on their way to the ballistics laboratory. But from first appearances, they could be steel bolts, like those fired from a crossbow.

And this dark-haired woman could have had one of those things on her?, I asked in wonder.

The bodyguards claim they searched the woman thoroughly. But that's not entirely plausible to me either.

We'll have a look at those bodyguards, I promised.

Petit turned toward the window front. Two things are still interesting.

And those would be?

First, the room was bugged.

Barrolo is a big player in organized crime. Drugs and money laundering are his specialties, but he has otherwise dabbled wherever there were rich returns, François said. It's possible he was tapped by colleagues.

To be on the safe side, check with colleagues, but I don't think so.

I raised my eyebrows. Why not?

The bugs used are pretty primitive. It looked like the work of amateurs to me - at least in terms of telecommunications. By the way, the phone was tapped, too. And then there's the story of how we were notified.

I'm all ears.

A certain Jacques Calvaire has his apartment across the street at the same level. He claims to have seen the murder and notified us. Otherwise, Monsieur Barrolo's death might not have been discovered until the morning by the maid.

François and I spent the next two hours questioning first the two bodyguards and then the eyewitness from across the street. The bodyguards were named Robert Etienne and Georges Salvoire.