The Art of Murder by Louis Shalako Read Free Book Online Page A

week. We’re bringing in a new product
line. I visit the various production centres to assist in training
high-level executives, and of course Theo was always interested in
what was going on. Off the record, the cooking’s not bad here,
either. Our discussions often came over lunch.”
    Seemingly uncalculated, it was an
admission of a little humanity of his own.
    “ Oh, really.” Gilles thought
for a moment.
    Unprompted, Babineaux went
on.
    “ The company has acquired
assets, other small firms that might have run into trouble, or
simply been offered for sale. Sometimes the owner wants to move on,
or the firm might be acquired from an estate. Otherwise, we would
probably concentrate all production in one location.”
    This was exactly the sort of
relationship he was after.
    “ How so?”
    “ In other words, if it was
an opportunity, and a good fit for us, we often made an offer. I
was very much involved in those deals.”
    “ So, as an accountant, you
would look over their financial situation?”
    “ Yes, among other things,
and of course others would be involved as well.”
    Now was not the time to ask. First a
little softening up.
    “ What other sorts of things
did the company do?
    “ Well, Theo was working on a
prototype for a better mousetrap, if you can believe it. It’s not
that the present ones don’t work, but the average housemaid or the
woman of the house doesn’t like the sight of a dead mouse, let
alone the thought of touching one for disposal, and of course they
have to be removed from the trap.”
    “ And?”
    “ Monsieur Duval had some
drawings which showed real promise. It was a flat-bottomed
half-cylinder, containing what is essentially a similar mechanism.
The thing is loaded with bait, and then when you shove the
mechanism in again, the door locks open, and only closes when the
trap is tripped by an unsuspecting mouse. Or a rat, even. The
person with the duty of disposing of the dead mouse only has to
check and see if the door is closed. There is a little red flag,
stamped out of metal. It pops up when sprung. Then they push a
button on the other end, and the thing pops open, and the mouse
goes right into the dustbin.”
    “ Ah, I see. Build a better
mousetrap, and the world will beat a path to your door.”
    “ That’s how we all saw it,
Inspector. But Theo was truly a genius at that nuts and bolts
visualization. Honestly, my explanation is murky at best. It
doesn’t cover the half of it, really.”
    “ But you had full confidence
that it would work?”
    “ Oh, yes. His prototypes
sometimes didn’t work very well, and that’s where his genius for
problem-solving in the mechanical sense came in.”
    Gilles duly noted it down.
    “ What if Monsieur Duval came
up short? What if he ran dry? How would that affect him?” Gilles
wondered if such a thing would be enough to drive a man to
suicide.
    It seemed unlikely, and Babineaux
agreed as Gilles figured he would. Suicides were about love, and
honour, and shame. Suicide was about atonement, or punishment, or
guilt, or sheer loss of hope. Suicide was about ending the
suffering. Gilles wondered when it would dawn on Babineaux that if
it wasn’t suicide, then it had to be something else.
    “ Oh, no. Monsieur Duval had
many, many years of ideas ahead of him. The truth is, he would
never come to the end of work that he wanted to do, and there were
never enough hours in the day when he really sank his teeth into
something. I don’t think he ever really abandoned a project,
although he might set it aside when higher priorities
intruded.”
    “ Yes, he impresses me the
same way, although I’ve never actually met him.” Gilles regarded
Babineaux from a few feet away, such a small distance but a gulf
which seemed insurmountable sometimes.
    If only he could get inside of the
man’s head for a few minutes. He was sure it would be a revelation.
There were too many things that would be hidden, and have to be
hidden, in the eyes of a man like