Retrospective: Paris - After the mess was over

5.4 Tristan Leroux – New year, new town, old sorrows

Spring 1994, Nantes Police station 

Tristan closed the folder and checked his watch. It was almost midnight. He had been so deeply absorbed in his work, he hadn't noticed how the time passed.
But not only the time of day ran quickly. The calendar on the wall reminded him that it was already March.
"Merde", it slipped out.

His eyes fell on a certain box between all the other file boxes. It had stayed closed for quite a while now.
Tristan had been so absorbed in his work, he hadn't found time to look at its contents in quite a while. Nantes, being a harbor town, was paradise for all sorts of trafficking. Weapons, drugs, people.
He had his hands full to at least keep the crime rate from rising, lowering it seemed impossible.
Maybe instead of going home, he should take the box out again or he would never make any progress.

Never had a case caught his attention more than the last one he had worked on in Paris. He had been s so close to uncover something so scandalous, a big conspiracy that reached deeply into Paris' financial aristocracy.
And he could never forget the drama that had happened on his last day.

His friend, private inspector Girodet, had helped him solve a murder that had given him a lot of head aches. Not to his satisfaction, though, because once again, his suspect had slipped out of his reach.
He was more than enraged about it, but at least the evidence Girodet had provided was sufficient to put enough pressure on quite a few other lower criminals of the street. He had enough hope that to save themselves, they might incriminate the more important target: Monsieur De la Cruz.
It was proven now that he hadn't shoot his... lover – the mere thought of this perversity nauseated Tristan – but it was out of question that that man wasn't involved in Monsieur Diego Santiago's criminal activities.
Living together for five years, and the suspect claimed he had never noticed anything fishy? That enculé had to try harder if he wanted to sell such a story to an experienced inspecteur like him.

But the police officiers hadn't returned from the gang's hideout with the expected suspects and evidence.
This was just the beginning.

The man who had blackmailed Monsieur De la Cruz, and about thirty other men were brutally killed in their hideout while Monsieur De la Cruz was personally "confessing" to Tristan.
Some of them were policemen – Tristan was appalled of their depravity.
Nevertheless, it was a blood bath.

Tristan barely had time to digest the news, when his superior called to inform him that he was being transferred with immediate effect.

"There is no one more experienced with organized crime than you, inspecteur Leroux", he had said, "and our colleagues in Nantes and Interpol are in desperate need of support. The trafficking there gets worse every day. Please clean your desk, and move there by tomorrow. The police force in Nantes has already taken care of your accommodation."

While Tristan certainly was excited about the prospect of working together with Interpol, he couldn't be unhappier about the timing. But he had no choice than to follow the order immediately.
He didn't expect that his day could become any worse, but when he returned to his office, the evidence he had collected on the Santiago case had disappeared. The notebook with the names and the keys to the locker, even Tristan's personal folders!
The only evidence that was left, was Girodet's record of the blackmailing and his commentary on the investigation, and that only because Tristan had had it in his pants' pocket.
Not enough, no one was present that knew about it.
Even Arthur had left, and he got the notice that his partner had retired from the police, immediately, to take care of some family business.
Tristan's attempts to contact Girodet were also to no avail.
Everything that proved there was more than just the shooting, had disappeared.
It was so bizarre, Tristan followed his first instinct and decided to not delve deeper into it and risk to lose his last piece of evidence before he had more time to think.

A few days later, he heard that the case was closed as just another gang fight, and Diego Santiago declared an innocent victim that accidentally got caught in the crossfire.

Tristan knew this sabotage of police work must have been done by someone that had a lot of power and influence.
He was very hesitant to believe Monsieur De la Cruz had it, even though everything worked out in his favor.
No, but some of the people mentioned in Monsieur Santiago's notebook certainly had it.
Marchant, Roux, Vanlemmen, and some more, they were the top of the top of Paris' one percent.
Their power could be intimidating.
Very likely they were also intimidating enough to keep Monsieur De la Cruz from talking.
Because that he could talk a lot if he just wanted, Tristan didn't doubt for a second.
It only meant he needed to find a way to be more intimidating than those men. He had to bring down this conspiracy, and those criminals behind bars.

He sat back, lit another cigarette and skimmed over his notes once more.

Retrospective: Paris - How things got messy

4.7. Tristan Leroux - The worst day

Fall 1993, Paris police headquarters

Tristan fumed after his contact man left. This was possibly the worst day of his life. Just when he - inspecteur Tristan Leroux of the the préfecture de police de Paris, was about to lock up the enculé he had hunted and investigated for so long, Girodet had to ruin it! This should have been a day of triumph, another day justice got served, but instead, the private investigator he had solely hired to tail his suspect and dig out any possible dirt had come and ruined everything.

But Tristan's friend worked well throughoughly as usual, and his evidence was not to to be denied. He brought a recording of someone confessing the murder on Diego Santiago, and - blackmailing the enculé to confess it to the police by abducting the young woman. And also rat out some of the unknown man's henchmen.
Girodet also had witnessed the murder on Etienne Armand, the lawyer, by the hands of the same unknown man.

Only that the unknown man had a name - Louis Duhaut was already known to the police for a while, and under suspicion for trafficking weapons, but there was never any solid proof that could have been traced back to him. Until Girodet apparently had found his gang's warehouse by following him and his target there.
A small comfort compared to what Tristan had lost, but nevertheless, a great victory. He had already assembled a team to storm the warehouse, to lock up who was present of the gang, and find out where the girl was held hostage.
This was the only thing Girodet hadn't managed to find out yet.

Tristan himself, needed some time to breathe first, though.
And think.
Sure, it was suspicious that the suspect came back to confess so shortly after he had been released from custody, and even more so when his lawyer got murdered.
But it didn't matter to Tristan for what reason he would arrest him, as long as it prevented a criminal to commit more crimes.
Tristan was more than convinced, that the enculé was not an innocent victim, as Girodet believed. Just because the private investigator hadn't found any suspicious activities yet!
That man was slick as oil.
Every time Tristan had thought he caught something on him, he had escaped his grip. But there was no way he was not involved in Monsieur Santiago's crimes. Tristan wouldn't be able to convict him for murder - yet, but sooner or later he would find evidence for his criminal activities.
If they got Monsieur Duhaut and his henchmen into arrest, Tristan was convinced the gang leader would be more than happy to take his revenge over their failed plan and tell him anything he knew about his rival in crime.

His eyes fell on the polaroid photo, another piece of evidence Girodet had brought in.
Tristan cracked up bitterly.
His instincts were right that the enculé had seduced her.

How dared they to smile as if to spite him.
And that stupid, shameless girl...

How could she not be disgusted to let scum like him touch her?

Dirty...

Deranged...

Sick...

Scum...

Not even screaming and trashing his office helped to calm down the wrath that raged in Tristan's heart over all those disgusting images that haunted him, more and more each time after he had spoken to the suspect.

Francesco De la Cruz.

"Francesco." The name dripped like honey from his lips, sickly sweet and burning at the same time.

No.
Tristan would not give in and let the enculé corrupt him with perverted desires. He was a man of honor, he never had given in to the lower animalistic instincts like other humans, and even less he would do so now to some of their twisted abominations.
He had to focus on what was really important - finding the proof to lock up the enculé once and for all!

"Inspecteur Leroux...?"
Tristan had barely noticed the door had opened.
The man looked confused around the mess in the office but didn't say a word.
"I have searched for a file", Tristan said, wiping an invisible flake from his sleeve. "Report."
"Officier Charpentier just called... the warehouse - they found the loot, as expected. Firearms were stocked up to the roof. And -"
The officier stopped.

"Talk, for god's sake." Tristan didn't have any patience. "Did they find witnesses? The girl?"
"N-no...", the officier stuttered. "But - it was horrible... they found a lot of the men we suspected to be involved, including Duhaut, and some more... even some of our own officiers, Boucher, Fournier and Pelletier..."
"And?" an uneasy feeling crept up Tristan's chest.

"They're all dead!", the officier burst out, "It's a blood bath, Charpentier said!"

"WHAT?!"
This couldn't be!
Tristan cursed. "How could you let that happen?!"
"But inspecteur -"
"No but! How are we supposed to get confessions and testimonies now?"

Again another chance to find something incriminating on his suspect came to nothing.
This was too messed up - Tristan slowly started to wonder if he was cursed.
He had to think.
Maybe those officiers that were in the warehouse could lead somewhere. According to their position, they shouldn't be involved in the firearm and drug trafficking investigations, so they were most likely some of the dirty policemen Paris was infected with.
If he checked on their partners, maybe he could -

But before he could finish his thoughts, the door opened again.
"Inspecteur?", another officier entered, "The suspect... he's gone..."
"What??! And where's that imbécile that should watch him?"
"Also gone...", the second officier flinched, "we don't know for how long..."

"Am I working only with incompetent imbèciles here - "
Tristan was interrupted before he could give them his piece of mind on his men's abilities to be police officiers - or rather, the lack of it, when a third one entered.
"Inspecteur..."
"What!", Tristan snapped. He couldn't take any more bad news today.
"The - the commandant asks for your presence...", the third officier winced. "Im-m-mediately..."
A string of all possible and impossible curse words came out of Tristan's mouth.
Today everything had gone wrong that could, and he was less than in mood to report to his superior.

"You all!", he yelled on his way out, "take all men you can get, and look for the suspect, and find any of the men we suspect being involved in that gang that still might be alive! No more mistakes! Oh, and -", he added, before he would forget, "look for the girl too, of course."

Retrospective: Paris - How things got messy

4.6. Francesco De la Cruz - Confession

Fall 1993, Paris police headquarters

A few hours after those gang members had forced Francesco to come with them, he sat in the same interrogation room at the police station as yesterday again.
Leroux barely even tried to conceal his excitement when Francesco told him he came to confess. He just listened quietly and snickered occasionally in his glee, while Francesco told the story as the gun man had instructed him, careful to not forget any details.
It was a struggle.

The pendejo's dirty smirk itched in Francesco's fists. He never had to suppress the urge to beat up someone as much as now the inspecteur. Not even Diego or the gun man.
But he had to keep his composure.
As soon as his confession would be recorded and signed, he'd go back to prison.
And that would be the moment the gun man had promised to release Mae.
Francesco just prayed that asshole would keep his promise.
He'd have to ask Arthur to make sure she came back safely and he hoped he'd get a chance to talk to him soon. The blonde officier wasn't there when Francesco arrived.

And about himself... Francesco didn't really know how he could get out of this mess anymore after his confession.
He'd probably rot in prison forever.
But he saw no other option to save Mae.
His suspicion that the gang had some moles inside the police had been confirmed by the gun man, and under no circumstances would he risk that they would harm her.
Just before he finished, there was a hard knock on the door, and someone burst in without waiting for Leroux' reply.

"That man's innocent", the intruder said, "I have the real culprits' confession on tape."
What?!
"What?!", the inspecteur jumped up, and for the first time today the nasty smirk was wiped off his face. "Girodet, how dare you interrupt -"
No... no, if the plan wouldn't work -

"Leroux, I need you to come with me! Now!", a man in a trench coat insisted, while another officier stood next to him looking like drowned rat.
The inspecteur cursed. "Let's go then! Fabron, watch the suspect!"
He left with the trench coat man and slammed the door, leaving the dumbfounded officier with Francesco alone in the room.

Francesco started to panic.
If the police didn't buy his confession and those gang members would find out...
Fuck.
Mae was god knows where, and if no one found her -
Francesco didn't dare to think about what could happen to her.
He barely could breathe.
Fuck fuck fuck.
He should have listened to his guts when she confessed.

"I love you", he could still hear her voice clearly, sweet and a bit shy, and it had sent his heart sky high all over the roof and all his concerns and doubts to the winds. She meant it.
But he should better have stayed away, never even have agreed to stay at her place at all.
Just - he couldn't.
And now she'd pay the price, and it was his fault.
He had to do something -

He shot a glance to the officier guarding the door with a blank face. He still had no idea who of the police officers were involved in the gang. The only one he knew for sure that wasn't, was that damn inspecteur -

The officier snorted when he noticed Francesco's gaze.
"Nice fuck up, isn't it", he said."Now who would've expected the inspecteur to send a hound to follow you around..." He clicked his tongue. "I pity alreadey my colleague that has to deliver the bad news to Louis..."
He was one of them.
"And envy those that will get to have some fun with your girl -"

The corrupted officier's voice dissolved into a gurgle.
"Where is she?", Francesco hissed.
The man only made some indefinable burbles, so Francesco loosened his grip a little. He coughed.

"Where. Is. She?", Francesco repeated, and pushed him harder to the wall.
Finally the officier spat out an address.

Before Francesco stormed out of the room he submitted to his urges and punched the man.
Damn, that felt good, even if his knuckles hurt.

Retrospective: Paris - How things got messy

4.1. Francesco De la Cruz - New evidence
Fall 1993, Paris police headquarters

Francesco was in deeper shit than he ever had thought he could end up.
When the police had shown up at their door, his first suspicion was that they had found another witness to the murder case. But it was much worse.
While another witness would have only proven him and Mae lying about not being at the crime scene when it happened, the recent finds in the investigation suddenly put him in a position where it didn't matter anymore if he pulled the trigger himself or not.
They found Diego's keys.
Or rather, what they opened.
One of them fit into a warehouse, about 280m² big, down in the harbor.
Stocked up to the roof with brand new Mendoza HM-3s and a few kilograms of pure black tar. Only the finest quality, of course, freshly imported from Mexico.

Diego never accepted less than the best, Francesco thought with a grim smile.
All in all, everything was worth millions.

"That's why you murdered him, isn't it so?", the inspecteur had asked, his eyes glowing with satisfaction. "You both had a little business, but you got into a disagreement."
"And been so stupid to leave those keys on him?", Francesco had countered.
"Monsieur De la Cruz", the pendejo said with his shiteating crooked grin and a smooth voice, "in this chair many stupid criminals have sat before you, and I have brought them all to justice. Might be you did not know your - partner" he emphasized the word, "had keys to the warehouse with him. Might be your henchmen messed up. Or you simply had not have the time to take the keys, considering your little lady friend has looked out for you and maybe ran into you a little too early..."
"Vete a la verga", Francesco spat.

The noise of the pendejo's hands slamming the desk almost let Francesco jump up.
The man had more force in him than he looked like.
"Scum like you will not. Disrespect. Me.", he hissed.

And that's how Francesco had ended up here.
In a single cell, waiting to be transported to custody the next day.
Based on the fact that he had shared his life for almost five years with a grand criminal and l'inspecteur expressed his serious concerns that Francesco might flee the country before it could come to a trial.
Because of course Francesco had somewhere hidden hoarded a ton of money, and an army of henchmen greedy enough for it to help him out of any pinch.
What a bullshit.
If that were true, he wouldn't sit here, first of all.

Soft footsteps pulled him out of his grim pondering. 

"I think I'm deaf on my right ear", Arthur joked. Francesco had to smile. Mae's high-pitched voice hurt when she got upset. The young officier had promised to call her when it was clear that Francesco wouldn't come home tonight.
"Charlotte is there, she'll take care of her", he added.
"Thanks", Francesco said, cursing that he even wasn't allowed to talk to Mae on the phone.
Precautions.

But at least the inspecteur had limited his delusional crime fantasies to Francesco alone, and left her out of this mess.

"François...", Arthur still stood there and shifted uncomfortably in his place. "I'm sorry... if it was for me to interpret the evidence, I'd say it points to another direction, but -"
He scratched his head and didn't finish the sentence.
Francesco didn't say anything. He knew Arthur believed him. Despite keeping a watchful distance to Francesco at first, the blonde man had still warmed up to him quite fast in the last weeks.
Not that it was any helpful now, though.
"I think you should contact your family lawyer", the blonde man added.

Francesco cracked up. "Dude... I just barely make enough for food and rent. And... I don't have a family." These rich people, like Arthur, certainly lived in another universe.
"Oh... uhm...", the officier seemed even more uncomfortable now. 

"Anyway, thanks again Artie, and good night", Francesco offered him to escape his embarrassment.
Visibly relieved, Arthur told him good night back and left. 

And Francesco leaned back and returned to his dark ponderings. A selfish part of him wished Mae would be here with him.
How stupid.
Of course they would have locked them in different cells so it wouldn't make any difference.

But he missed her cheerful optimism, as irrational and naive as it was. Unwittingly her joy for life, her kindness, and most of all, her unconditional love for him had changed his whole perspective. And to what previously had been solely a grim determination not to give up, she had woken something that had been long lost.
Hope.
There was more in life for him than just success, there was love, happiness, passion. He just had to let go of all the fear and anger and desperation. 

"It will be fine. We'll find a way out", he could almost hear her voice.
He smiled at so much naivety.

The next morning a guardien returned and opened the cell. With him was another man in a suit jacket. Francesco hadn't seen him so far.
"You may leave now, Monsieur De la Cruz", the guardien said. "Please pick up your belongings at the reception."
Francesco was still drowsy, certainly this must be a weird dream. 

"My name is Etienne Armand", the tall man in the suit introduced himself. "I'm your lawyer now, and your imprisonment here is not justified concerning the lack of hard evidence. Please join me for an hour or two so we can discuss your case."