Marquanteur And The Godfather From Corsica: France Crime Thriller

By Alfred Bekker

Marquanteur And The Godfather From Corsica: France Crime Thriller

by Alfred Bekker

 

 

When the star takes a real bullet during the shooting of an action movie in Marseille, the investigation of Commissaire Pierre Marquanteur and his team begins - because it is not an accident, as it soon turns out. There seems to be a connection to Don Giorgio Andreotti, a Calabrian 'Ndrangheta godfather who resides in Corsica.

An action star deeply involved in the machinations of organized crime, against which he always fought in his films, and a power struggle within the underworld - that's what Marquanteur has to deal with in this case.

And soon Commissaire Pierre Marquanteur is also on the hit list...

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alfred Bekker
• Release date: Sep 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223655251

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

Marquanteur And The Godfather From Corsica: France Crime Thriller

by Alfred Bekker

––––––––

When the star takes a real bullet during the shooting of an action movie in Marseille, the investigation of Commissaire Pierre Marquanteur and his team begins - because it is not an accident, as it soon turns out. There seems to be a connection to Don Giorgio Andreotti, a Calabrian 'Ndrangheta godfather who resides in Corsica.

An action star deeply involved in the machinations of organized crime, against which he always fought in his films, and a power struggle within the underworld - that's what Marquanteur has to deal with in this case.

And soon Commissaire Pierre Marquanteur is also on the hit list...

Copyright

A CassiopeiaPress book: CASSIOPEIAPRESS, UKSAK E-Books, Alfred Bekker, Alfred Bekker presents, Cassiopeia-XXX-press, Alfredbooks, Uksak Special Edition, Cassiopeiapress Extra Edition, Cassiopeiapress/AlfredBooks and BEKKERpublishing are imprints of

Alfred Bekker

© Roman by Author

© of this issue 2023 by AlfredBekker/CassiopeiaPress, Lengerich/Westphalia

The invented persons have nothing to do with actual living persons. Similarities in names are coincidental and not intended.

All rights reserved.

www.AlfredBekker.de

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Everything about fiction!

1

Marseille 1997

Antoine Macraux uttered a grim scream between his immaculate white teeth. His face was a distorted mask. The restless gaze of his dark eyes slid over the crumbling facades of the dilapidated houses, which were little more than ruins.

Macraux grabbed the huge flamethrower with both hands. The weight of this terrible weapon didn't seem to bother Macraux in the least. His shirt was in tatters. The sleeves had been torn out, clearly revealing Macraux's enormous muscles.

Cautiously, he put one foot in front of the other.

Brownish-yellow fog crept in thick swaths over the asphalt.

Out of the corner of his eye, Macraux suddenly perceived a movement. He whirled around. An assailant dressed in black had jumped out of one of the building's entrances and jerked up his submachine gun. The barrel pointed at Macraux.

The attacker was masked. He wore a black balaclava, which only exposed the eyes.

Macraux reacted ice-cold.

A muscle twitched just below his left eye. At the exact moment when the muzzle flash of the submachine gun darted out like the hungry tongue of flame of a dragon, Macraux fired.

The jet of fire from the flamethrower caught the masked man with a hissing sound.

Macraux dropped sideways as several bullets whizzed close to him. They carved their unmistakable signature into the facades on the opposite side of the street.

The masked man cried out as the fire caught him. The force of the fire jerked him backwards and swept him against the wall.

Macraux, meanwhile, whirled around. He reached for the scabbard hanging on the side of his belt.

An oversized special pistol with an ultra-long barrel was inside. It could be used to send special explosive projectiles on their way. Macraux yanked out the gun and fired without aiming. The projectile shot out and whistled into one of the windows. A second later, there was a deafening bang. A huge explosion made the asphalt floor tremble. The wall broke apart for a length of several meters, and a human body was thrown out of the building. The death scream was lost in the sound of the explosion. Heavy as a wet sack, the body hit the asphalt, where it remained in a strangely contorted position.

Stones flew through the air. Whole sections of wall broke off and slid into the depths. A red sea of flames flickered out of the window. The heat could be felt all the way down to Macraux. Sweat stood on the forehead of the unusually muscular man. His dark hair stuck to his head. He bared his teeth like a predator and then began a spurt across the street. Dark red flashed from a window opening. Macraux fired his pistol. The explosive bullet did all the work as it flew through the window opening and detonated there. A scream mingled with the sound of the explosion.

The gunshots died away. Part of the ceiling seemed to come crashing down. Acrid black smoke mixed with gray dust poured out of the building.

Macraux stood there completely frozen.

The sound of a single gunshot was lost in the din.

Macraux wavered.

His face was as rigid as ever. The eyes emerged from their sockets. No longer was there grim determination in them, but ...

Death!

A red dot was in the middle of the forehead and quickly grew larger. It seemed almost like a third eye that shed red tears.

Macraux slumped down. A second later, he was stretched out on his back.

Antoine Macraux, better known to an audience of millions as The Beast Killer, was as dead as a doornail as the legion of his countless enemies with whom he had made short work of.

2

I have in no way shown you this excerpt from the footage of the latest Antoine Macraux flick that has been completed so far with the intention of giving you an example of exemplary crime fighting, explained Monsieur Jean-Claude Marteau, Commissaire général de police, the head of the Force spéciale de la police criminelle, or FoPoCri, in Marseille.

We sat in Monsieur Marteau's office and enjoyed the special aroma of the coffee that his secretary Melanie had brewed. A coffee that was famous throughout the Bureau for its special taste. It was a shame that we had to drink it from paper cups.

To my right, my friend and colleague François Leroc had taken a seat in one of the plain leather armchairs with which Monsieur Marteau's office was furnished. Commissaires Boubou Ndonga and Stéphane Caron were also present and listened with interest to Monsieur Marteau's explanations.

Monsieur Marteau made a serious face.

As I assume, you have all read the newspapers or watched the news in the last few days. So you know that the shot Antoine Macraux got in the forehead was not a tricky feat at all, but reality. Someone killed him during the filming of his latest flick.

I heard about it, Boubou spoke up. Boubou took a sip from his coffee mug.

Mr. Marteau turned off the projector. He took a deep breath and buried a hand in his pocket. We now have the ballistics report. And it speaks a clear language. Macraux died with a weapon that was also used in two murders from the Mafia milieu. You can see the details in the report I've compiled for you.

Macraux was always said to have contacts with the Mafia, Caron said.

His mother is Italian, Boubou interjected. That, of course, makes him immediately suspicious in that regard. 

Caron frowned somewhat angrily. The irony in his colleague and partner's remark seemed to have escaped him completely. Oh, yeah?

Should be a joke, Boubou said somewhat meekly and moved the noble tie pin coated with 585 gold into the right position. A gesture of embarrassment on his part.

François said, In any case, Macraux wouldn't be the first to rise to the top in show business through connections with the Honorable Society.

Monsieur Marteau turned around and went to his desk. He returned with a few large-format black-and-white photographs, which he spread out on the table in front of us with a skillful gesture of his hand.

These men were killed with the same weapon as Macraux, Monsieur Marteau explained in response. People from the middle echelons of organized crime. General managers of well-run nightclubs used as money laundries or authoritative people in shipping companies involved in drug smuggling.

Always the same killer?, I muttered skeptically.

A professional, according to our findings so far. A silencer was probably used. The killer probably scouted his victims very carefully before he struck. He always knew exactly what he was doing. The attacks were planned down to the last detail. So well that he always found his victims alone. There are no descriptions of the perpetrator, no witnesses who could have provided any useful information. Only a bullet, almost always right in the forehead, a little above the eyes ... However, as far as the assassination of Macraux is concerned, the killer seems to have had no time for careful preparation. There must have been about a hundred people on the film set. Everything was cordoned off by private security to prevent fans from disturbing their idol during the shoot.

The perpetrator took a pretty big risk, said my colleague François Leroc.

Mr. Marteau confirmed that.

The murder took place, so to speak, in front of dozens of witnesses. The police colleagues have taken statements from all of them who were at the scene at the time of the crime. These statements are, of course, available to you for your investigation. Unfortunately, there seems to be hardly anything that could provide a clue. The killer fired from the roof of a house. At first, most of those present probably didn't even notice that it wasn't a trick. They saw the explosions on the screen. With the roar, a single shot doesn't stand out.

Nobody saw the killer? asked Boubou.

No, Mr. Marteau shook his head. Even the security guards who searched the entire area didn't notice anyone who looked suspicious. Apparently, the killer cleverly used the chaos to disappear. How he stole onto the premises in the first place is a mystery to everyone. Perhaps he mingled with the packers who were unloading props on the set. In any case, he made it.

So the question is, who is this killer working for, I noted. Because it's probably not safe to assume that he's on his own account.

You said it, Pierre.

So we have to look for more clues, François stated, making a little optimistic face.

At least we know that the dead were all in the way of the Andreotti clan, Monsieur Marteau noted. And this clan belongs to the 'Ndrangheta of Calabria, which operates throughout Europe.

And how does Macraux fit into that line then?, I asked.

Not at all, Monsieur Marteau replied. There are more than rumors that Don Giorgio Andreotti made Macraux's film career possible in the first place, or at least that he encouraged it a great deal.

I looked openly at Monsieur Marteau.

They're hoping that in the end we can not only take down the wage killer who had Macraux on his conscience, but also cripple the Andreotti clan, I noted.

That's right, Pierre.

You are an optimist, I noted. So far, you've never been able to prove anything against the Andreottis. Nothing that can be used in court, anyway. Everyone knows they have their fingers in the drug trade, gambling, and some other illegal and therefore very lucrative industries, but when someone has had to go over the top, it's always been the lower batches.

And that has been annoying me for a long time, Pierre! Monsieur Marteau now also sat down in one of the dark armchairs. He crossed his legs. His face radiated determination. He pointed to the photos on the table with a curt movement.

If a mafia godfather kills the middle batches of the competition, maybe he wants to expand his territory. But, if he has a man like Macraux killed, there must either be a damn good reason for it or one must doubt Don Giorgio's intelligence.

Possibility number two is probably absurd, François noted.

Mr. Marteau nodded.

I see it that way, too. After all, in a case like Antoine Macraux's, you can be sure that the investigation will be followed scrupulously by the media. This is not a matter that can be filed away at some point. The police, the FoPoCri, the public prosecutor's office - no one could afford to do that without having to put up with unpleasant questions. So there will be particularly persistent investigations. That's in the nature of things - and Don Giorgio can figure it out on two fingers. He's been in the business long enough to know that sort of thing.

Don Giorgio must be pretty nervous, I nodded.

And maybe he's making mistakes as a result, Monsieur Marteau added. After a brief pause, he added somberly, Something is going on that we have no idea about yet.

3

François and I spent some time in our shared duty room to get an overview of the facts. Our most important tool was the computer. Via the Internet, we were connected in seconds to all the important archives and databases, including the FoPoCri central archive in Paris.

In particular, of course, we were interested in all the available information that had been collected over the years about the Andreotti family.

Don Giorgio's wild Sturm und Drang years were actually long behind him. At least, that's what we had believed. There had already been rumors that the big boss wanted to withdraw completely from the illegal sector and invest his money only in clean business.

Marseille was a village - and the center even more so. At least as far as the speed of spreading rumors and half-truths was concerned.

As far as information about Antoine Macraux was concerned, our usual sources of information were probably rather unsuitable for this. He had never committed a crime, had never left his fingerprints on a weapon that had been used to kill someone, and had come into contact with the police only once. That was when he had beaten up his first wife and the neighbors had called the police. But back then, Antoine Macraux had not yet been a star, but a more or less unsuccessful actor who kept his head above water by appearing in commercials and taking the small sums he earned from them to gyms.

Later, I read in a magazine that the use of anabolic steroids to build muscle had changed his personality and made him aggressive.

Strangely enough, this story, which had only started as a big lead story, was not followed up. The suspicion was obvious that someone might have had a hand in it. Someone whose offers could not be refused.

François and I scoured everything that could be found online on our screens in terms of press information, film archives, or Internet pages of Antoine Macraux fan clubs. At the time of his death, Macraux may not have quite reached the status Schwarzenegger, Bruce Willis, Van Damme, and Ralf Möller have today, but the experts were confident that he would make it into the super league of bad-ass heroes.

For the later afternoon we had arranged to meet Jules Jabot, the director of the last Macraux film at the scene of the crime.

It was an industrial wasteland in Marseille La Villette, located very close to the South Elbe. In good weather, the typical skyline of Marseille La Villette could be seen in the background. The buildings looked like a collection of ruins. Former office complexes were here