Commissaire Marquanteur And The Unmistakable Pattern: France Crime Thriller

By Alfred Bekker

by Alfred Bekker


A new case for Commissaire Marquanteur and his colleagues from Marseille on the Mediterranean coast. Who is killing according to a years-old pattern and tattooing the victims? The perpetrator is no longer alive, but his deeds are copied exactly. Investigators Marquanteur and Leroc are looking for a copycat killer. But what is his motive and where did he get this precise knowledge?


Alfred Bekker is a well-known author of fantasy novels, crime 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 Jack Raymond, Robert Gruber, Neal Chadwick, Henry Rohmer, Conny Walden and Janet Farell.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alfredbooks
• Release date: Apr 30, 2024
• ISBN: 9783745237610

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Copyright

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

Alfred Bekker

© Roman by Author

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

The fictional characters have nothing to do with actual living persons. Similarities in names are coincidental and not intentional.

All rights reserved.

www.AlfredBekker.de

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Everything to do with fiction!

1

I travel a lot for work, so I don't go out much in my private life anymore.

It's actually understandable, isn't it?

And since I meet a lot of people at work, I don't really feel like meeting a lot of people in my private life.

In my job, you don't have much time for a private life.

That's just the way it is. I have accepted that.

It's simply not possible to do otherwise because of the thing I'm mainly involved with.

I fight crime. And criminals don't keep to office hours. You have to stay on the trail or meet with informants at unusual times.

Recently, I went out for once and treated myself to a really good meal after work.

No fast food.

Not something you gulp down between meals or behind the wheel of your company car, but something delicious.

A little food culture is a must every now and then.

At least every now and then.

I can't afford to do it more often.

Anyway, I was sitting at the bar afterwards and an alien woman approached me.

Yes, you heard right: an alien.

I mean, there are people and creatures from all over the world in Marseille. There are the many international companies with their international professionals. There are the sailors from the ships that enter the port of Marseille. There are the stars from all over the world who perform in the stadiums and halls, and the hookers in Pointe-Rouge, who also come from all over the world. Why shouldn't there be a few aliens in between? After all, we have an institute for tropical diseases in Marseille. So foreign bacteria have also made it to Marseille. Not to mention the exotic poisonous snakes and other animals in Marseille Zoo.

Of course, the alien wasn't really an alien, she just looked like one.

And if I hadn't known that I wasn't sitting in a movie theater watching a science fiction film, I might even have thought they were real.

The woman was tattooed all over.

Not just some painting on the arms or a discreet tramp stamp peeking out of the combination of hipster pants and crop top, but a full-body tattoo that was only interrupted by clothing in a few places.

It was a jumble of bizarre ornaments, dragon heads, skulls, stars and characters. Some looked Chinese, others like intricate old Fraktur letters or Germanic runes. It was a diverse potpourri, the meaning of which the alien probably only knew herself.

What's your name?

My name is Pierre, I said.

I didn't ask her for her name.

I didn't feel like memorizing it.

Pierre. That's a nice name.

Like Pierre Richard.

Who's that?

Maybe you're just too young to know him.

Was that a singer?

An actor.

I see.

At the movies.

Pierre, to answer your question right away: I'm not in the erotic industry.

I didn't even ask that.

But everyone asks that sooner or later.

Oh, yeah?

Because of the tattoos.

I wouldn't have thought of that now.

Everyone always thinks of tattoos straight away.

Well, thoughts are free, as the saying goes.

No, these are nasty prejudices! We tattooed people are discriminated against and reduced to that.

Well ...

People always associate us with the erotic industry. But that's not necessarily true.

What industry are you in?

She wanted me to ask her that. She had set out to do it. And I didn't want her to suffer any longer. So I asked her, and so she could tell me what she had wanted to tell me all along.

I work in personnel consulting, she said.

I see, I said.

I imagined conservative banks turning to a recruitment consultancy and then sitting opposite this alien lady. It made me smile.

Tell me, are we still going to my place or yours? she then asked.

I don't think we're going anywhere today, I said. It's been a tough day today.

Oh, so.

The truth was: I just didn't want to be scared when I woke up.

My name is Pierre Marquanteur, by the way. I'm a commissaire and part of a special unit based in Marseille that goes by the somewhat awkward name of Force spéciale de la police criminelle , or FoPoCri for short , and mainly deals with organized crime, terrorism and serial offenders.

The serious cases.

Cases that require additional resources and skills.

Together with my colleague François Leroc, I do my best to solve crimes and dismantle criminal networks. You can't always win, Commissaire général de police Jean-Claude Marteau often says. He is the head of FoPoCri . And unfortunately he is right with this statement.

*

It was dark and had started to rain. Linette Michel switched on the windshield wipers of her two-door Honda Civic. The young woman followed the highway north. The last stop was less than ten miles away. She had refueled, had a coffee at the highway rest stop and eaten a sandwich.

But since this stop, something seemed to be wrong with the tires. The fear finally became a certainty. There was no more air in the left rear tire.

What a mess! Linette grumbled to herself and pulled over to the side of the road. For a moment, she wondered whether she should call a breakdown service straight away or take a look at the damage herself first.

Linette finally left the smartphone in her handbag and got out. A bad decision, because that was exactly what her killer had expected.

The drizzle ensured that Linette's hair was sticking to her forehead after a short time. The rear left tire was flat. And the right rear tire had also lost a lot of air. It was impossible to continue like this.

How can that be?" she asked herself.

The tires were new, it hadn't been long since the last inspection. Maybe I drove into something sharp , she thought. But she hadn't noticed anything like that.

At that moment, another vehicle stopped at the side of the road. It was an off-road vehicle with a cowcatcher in front of the radiator. The shadow of a curved bull's horn stood out on the hood.

But Linette was no longer able to see any of this the next moment. The driver of the off-road vehicle turned on the lights. Linette was so badly blinded that she was more or less blind for a moment.

The driver of the off-road vehicle got out. He left his car's engine running. He approached like a dark shadow. Linette backed away.

Can I help you in any way? asked a cutting male voice.

I don't know ... actually ...

Is there something wrong with your tires?

One is flat, the other will be soon. I don't understand it ...

The shadowy man came even closer. In the backlight of his off-road vehicle's headlights, he could only be recognized as a dark shadow. He was now pulling something out from under his clothes.

Linette couldn't see it clearly. But in the next moment, the muzzle flash of a gun went off. There was no sound of a gunshot. Just a sound reminiscent of a slight sneeze.

The first bullet hit Linette right in the forehead. She was still leaning on the fender of her car before she collapsed and lay motionless on the rain-soaked ground.

The shadowy killer approached. He looked down at her and let the gun with the elongated silencer disappear under his dark coat.

He was wearing latex gloves. With a very strong grip, he grabbed the dead woman under her arms and dragged her roughly behind him. A little later, he lifted her into the trunk of his SUV. Everything there was already lined with plastic sheeting so that he could now easily wrap her body in it. When he had finished,