Hastings looked concerned at the glass window placed on inspector Japp's office; behind it Hélène had a strong argument with the inspector. Beside him several curious police officers gossiped.
-"She gets bouncy when she's mad, I like it"- Officer John Reeves said with a devilish smile, he was a large muscular man and it didn't take a world famous detective to notice the sign of chronical alcoholism in his face.
-"A psycho killed Clarke, all of London is in terror, the only person smart enough to figure this out is gonna get kicked out of the case and all you can say is that you like to see her bounce!"- Officer Joanne Bannon barked at him, she was a stern looking woman in her early forties
-"First of all, not looking at her is not gonna change the situation. Second, I don't think she would be of any help anyway, she's the kinda detective that babbles for hours and catches killers that poisoned their aunt for inheritance or something she has no idea of how to fight with a national threat, and third: shut up Bannon! You don't even like her"- Reeves said lying back on his chair and enjoying the show.
-"The fact that I find her tedious and posh doesn't mean I don't know how effective she can be, she solved every single case that came in her way. Besides, if she's so useless for this case in particular, why did the shooter sent her a death threat?"-
Before Hastings reprimanded both officers for talking about his friend behind her back Hélène stormed out of Japp's office and into her car, Hastings followed suit.
In all his years of marriage he learned not to talk to an angry woman until she felt ready to open up, it didn't take long, her car was only a few blocks away from the police station when she spat:
-"In all my years of experience I never thought I would find someone so stubborn! I cannot believe he dared to fire Hélène Poirot when she is the only one that might see the truth behind these hideous attacks."-
-"She does have the tendency to speak of herself in the third person when she's truly upset"- Hastings chuckled, unable to keep the thought from coming out of his lips. No wonder he was divorced he thought sadly, his mouth had always brought him trouble. The woman beside him didn't respond his comment but continued on her rant:
A few pictures with red ink and a single word"-
-"That just happened to be next to the dead body of a police officer. It is a serious threat Poirot I don't blame the inspector for getting you off the case if that keeps you safe"-
-"Excuse moi? Do you really believe he could get to me before I find who he is? I resent your lack of trust Hastings"- She gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white and then whispered -"I will prove them wrong"-.
-"Are you thinking about working on the case without the police? That is too dangerous"- Arthur said concerned
-"You are right mon ami. It is safer for you to stay at a hotel; I shall call my assistant to make a reservation for you. Do not worry you shall be safe"- She patted his shoulder in a motherly fashion and continued to stare at the traffic.
He didn't know is she was kidding or not, either way he felt insulted.
-"It is your safety I am concerned about Poirot, and I am not leaving your side until the killer is found"- He growled, before an argument arose they arrived to her flat.
The building was old but large, well preserved and still very elegant, located on a centric part of Belgravia. Once inside Hastings noticed the impeccable living room with a modern yet classy decor, on the right it was her room that out of respect he did not entered and on the left there was her studio where he would stay. The ceilings were very high so she took the opportunity to create a small guest room above her desk with a wood floor suspended at mid high, perfectly suited for her relatives from Belgium to rest in or in this case, her friend from the army.
He was impressed by her accommodations, considering the usual size of the London apartments he expected little over a couch.
-"This is very nice Poirot, you must be charging quite some feeds to pay rent"- He joked.
-"As a matter of fact I own this flat, or to be more accurate, I inherited it from my parents"- She said shy. Arthur knew she was an only child and when both her parents died at a car accident four years ago, she did mourn them. He knew it was the kind of subject better not to address.
-"I'll take a shower and unpack if you don't mind, the flight was terrible."- He said as she pointed him the bathroom door.
-"Of course, there is a white cabinet near the mirror where you can place all your toiletries. Later on we could have dinner in a lovely restaurant nearby, my treat."- She said friendly.
As he showered the warm water relaxed some of his taut muscles, the prospect of a new life in his hometown gave him a little hope about the future. Looking at himself in the mirror he saw a man in his late thirties and still in his prime, modesty aside he had always been a rather good looking man and in spite of the past year's hardships age had been kind to his body. His blonde hair was still in place, he had only a few discreet wrinkles and his constancy at the gym paid off giving him a decent shape. Perhaps dating again should not be such trouble.
Out of curiosity he scanned the feminine decorated bathroom searching for clues about his friend, he couldn't help noticing she wore scent less and hypoallergenic shampoo, hair and face cream. That is odd considering she never displayed a single symptom of allergies during their period in Afghanistan and all the grit and dirt she had been exposed to would have caused some trouble on a sensitive skin. Careful he opened her cabinet and found several perfumes, all of them expensive and some rather strong, if she was allergic those chemicals would be the death of her and he recalled not smelling any scent on her skin. Oh well, everyone has their secrets.
Once he got out with a fresh pair of clothes, he found her smoking on the balcony. At the fourth floor the flat gave a nice view of the city.
-"Lovely night"- He said casual
-"It is indeed, are you ready to go?"- She responded with a gentle smile but he could see the concern on her eyes, probably related to the case.
He then thought better of going outside, the tension in his body returned with a vengeance at the thought of a sniper hidden in the darkness waiting for a clear shot, aimed at Poirot's head.
-"Uh I would rather stay for tonight, I'm really tired. Besides its getting cold we should get inside."- He guided her impatiently inside and quickly closed the blinds.
She lifted an eyebrow guessing in a second his train of thought.
-"I am an excellent cook Poirot; let me make dinner for you. After all I do own a chain of restaurants in Argentina you know"- He went to her kitchen and begun looking inside her fridge for anything appropriate, good thing she kept it rather full, deliberately giving her no choice but stay home.
-"Hastings let me be clear about this, I have lived on my own for a rather long time now, your concern is heartwarming but it is unnecessary and if it somehow interferes with my investigation I will have to force you to stop."- Her tone was polite but stern
He sighed and shook his head while placing stakes and vegetables on a frying pan, a dark thought crossed his mind.
-"Hélène how many times did you receive a death threat?"-
-"Twenty seven times"- She said nonchalant.
His eyes widened at the number, he swallowed the lump forming in his throat and figured a different angle.
-"Very well, how many of them were serious?"-
-"Six, but none of them ended in an actual attack on my person"-
-"Oh so you were never attacked during your cases?"-
She took a deep breath and looked away whispering: –"Sometimes"-
It was clear she didn't want to address the subject anymore. Hastings wandered how many times she had to face danger on her own and felt sad for her; as long as he stayed in London he wanted to keep her safe.
-"I promise I won't bother you on the case, in fact I want to help. But until this shooter is caught I want to stay by your side, don't wander around alone through London"- He said preparing a salad
-"D' accord"- She said while opening a bottle of wine.
The meal had been wonderful, she only bought the best food products and his skill on the stove guaranteed a great dinner. She complimented him on it and even suggested several acquaintances that would be glad to help him with a new restaurant franchise in England. He still earned half of the profits on his Argentinean restaurants and also owned several ranches that Dulcie did not claim during the divorce, all of them gave a decent profit but a new line of business might be interesting.
Maybe it was the wine talking but his mouth once again blurted out things that his brain hadn't processed.
-"You are an attractive woman Poirot, why are you alone?"- At the still silenced way she saw him he tried to think of a way to excuse himself, but then she relaxed and told him sadly.
-"My grey little cells have solved many puzzles mon ami"- She said taping her temple with her index finger –"nonetheless love have always remained a mystery"-.
He shrugged at the commentary, she was a few years younger than him, if he considered himself able to start over with a new love so could she.
….
He dreamed of his ex wife crying on a hospital bed, bleeding. She lost her baby, their baby, again.
Hastings woke up crying and shaking with fear, the ugly memories of their ordeal throwing daggers at his heart. All they wanted was a child to rise and love was it too much to ask? The specialists and procedures only added more stress on the strained relationship, it wasn't the only cause of divorce but it was a bloody important one. He pictured himself with Dulcie and a chubby toddler running around the house, that dream was dead and gone now.
Arthur stormed out of the guest room running at the balcony, he needed fresh air. He stopped on his tracks when he saw Helene watching the tele on the dark, images of the shootings displayed on the screen, she was clad in oversized white silk pijamas that molded at her every curve.
-"Hastings are you all right?"- She said concerned, he forced composure over himself and responded stiffly:
-"I am fine Poirot, what about you?"-
-"I cannot rest with a case so far from being solved; the grey cells refuse to shut up. I sent the photos that I took from Clarke's crime scene to the television hoping they can show me something I have missed before. To make things worse Inspector Japp fired me only a few hours after I was assigned on the case, therefore I do not have much evidence to analyze"- Her cold voice floated on the air, so did her rich perfume.
When she rose from her couch and walked towards the morbid light of the screen the frail silk became translucent showing her voluptuous figure, her waist was small and muscular and like Seth predicted her breasts and bottom were firm and… abundant. It has been too long since he enjoyed the company of a member of the fair sex and he felt his body rebelling against his brain. He forced his instincts to drawn back into his subconscious and switched the light on to end that unabashed sight, -"It is almost morning I'll make some coffee"-.
-"Merci Hastings I would like some"-
Seeing her grim expression he knew she hadn't found much on the case, looking distant at the large window she explained him: -"This case reminds me of the "Black Dahlia" and "Jack the ripper" do you know why?"-
-"Uh… is it because they were never solved?"-
-"Oui, mais non. Those cases weren't solved because nobody could create a proper profile of the murderer, the experts could not decide whether the attacker was an esquizofrenic, a psychopath, a surgically trained doctor or a deranged butcher. That is because the patterns of the wounds and modus operandi were conflictive, a rough jagged laceration here, a clean precise cut there. This is very similar, some shootings were immensely precise where the victims were shot in the middle of the head on a crowded street and a strong wind, through several trees! While others were shot several times at a relative close range and many shots missed the target yet the weapon has always been the same. To make things worse, there is no age or gender pattern on the victims, nothing that could lead us to a psychological profile."-
-"Is there anything I can do to help?"-
-"Non mon ami, what I need is the evidence and reports of the police officers on the case and I cannot ask for them because of Japp's foolishness. Maybe I could try to reason with him"-
-"Seems like a determined fellow I don't think he would bulge"-
-"Why do you think that?"-
-"Because he is certain he's doing the right thing, I can see his point"-
-"You would not agree with him, non?"- She threatened
-"Yes but I think I have a way to get to those files, while you were fighting with the inspector I overheard Officer Bannon and Reeves, they might be able to give us access to the evidence and reports if we ask them nicely"-
-"I do not think they might jeopardize their career in order to help us, especially Bannon"-
-"I think that a little kind persuasion from your part with Reeves would get you a lot, as for Bannon do not worry I'll handle her"-
-"Kind persuasion? I do not understand you Hastings"-
-"You are as I said, an attractive woman, Reeves noticed that. As for Bannon she thinks you are the only one who could solve the case, I'll talk to her"-
-"Are you suggesting I flirt my way into those files?"- She said incredulous –"I don't think it will work, he will be reporting me to Japp at once"-
-"My oh my, is it possible that the great Helene Poirot is insecure about her appearance?"- He joked, daring her.
She looked at him angry and serious, like a rigid teacher would regard at a mischievous student:
-"I am not insecure Hastings but I find your idea rather immoral, to use seduction in order to achieve something that was legally denied is wrong at the very least."- Then she sighed defeated –"Nonetheless the circumstances might force us to be creative so I will take your advice."- She rushed into her room and came out in a tight grey dress with stiletto red heels; it wasn't overly revealing or tartly in any way but it was more exposed than her usual clothing. -"Do you think this might convince him to give me the files? - She said a little shy.
-"Poirot he'll give you the evidence of every case he worked for in his entire career"-
…
By noon they had all the photographs, reports and information the police had managed to obtain, Hastings had use a little of his charm over Bannon while Poirot got not only Reeves reports but several secret data from the criminalist lab. That dress was more effective than any security clearance.
She stared at the pile of evidence with a serious expression, he didn't understand much of it so he resigned to limit his role to serve her coffee and look for any potential threats. When she left the table of her large living room and stretched her sore back muscles he knew she had something.
He saw her expectantly and she said sad –"I do not know who is responsible for the shootings but I have a strong suspicion on who might be his accomplice"-
-"He has one?"-
She nodded –"We were given every single piece of evidence in that police station yet several minutes on the security cameras from the streets are missing and according to the criminalistic report 89 bags containing evidence were filed, yet according to the last evaluation only 70 were processed, the rest seems to be missing"-
-"You think our shooter has someone on the inside"-
-"Oui and it is not a single shooter, our criminal is in fact more than one, perhaps a whole group."-
-"What makes you think that?"-
-"The angles of the bullets trajectory do not add up, different persons with different heights and strength fired the rifle. It would explain the difference between the MO of the shootings"-
-"Who do you think is the accomplice?"-
-"I do not know yet but in order of catching this perpetrator we have to visit every single crime scene, most victims were shot in public places with lots of transit so most of them will be useless now but the rooftops were the snipers shot from might be of some help"-
….
Nine persons were shot, so 18 crime scenes were scanned by her piercing brown eyes, one for the victim and one for the shooters place. When they were done with the last one it was 2 am, he could tell she was exhausted after climbing so many stairs and running around London because she started to limp again but her pace was as fast and driven as always. He was beaten as well not used to all this activity, maybe he was getting old.
-"So Poirot do you know who might be the accomplice now?"-
-"The list of possible suspects have gotten much shorter now but I do not know who is the responsible yet. Tomorrow I will speak to the inspector and we will catch the corrupt officer, with any luck that might lead us to the real perpetrators"-
-"I don't understand, how you are supposed to tell who the corrupt officer is tomorrow if you don't know who he is now?"-
-"In the year 500 BC in China the priests could decipher the paternity of a bastard child with great accuracy by mixing the blood of the child with the blood of the alleged father and observed the reaction it caused, do you know why?"-
-"No and I don't know how that relates to the case"- Hastings muttered exasperated
-"They didn't care for the reaction of the mingled blood since there is no chemical reason for two liquids that are of the same composition to react when mingled, non, the reaction they analyzed was the one of the alleged father. If he looked worried or scared he was the real father, if he had no reason to be the biological father he would be calm. Nowadays with the DNA samples everyone looks at the blood, nobody cares about the faces anymore."-
It took a while for Hastings to understand what she was implying, by then she had already ordered a pizza since it was too late for eating outside and they were too tired to cook.
-"So you will convince them you know who the guy is and accuse the one that looks guilty? Doesn't seem right"-
-"I shall speak of the new findings I made with precise detail and claim that I have key evidence that will lead to catch the accomplice. After observing the reaction we will focus on this person until we find actual evidence of his doings before making a formal accusation, unless we are very lucky and obtain a confession right there"-
-"You think someone would confess just because they heard you talk?"- He laughed
-"It has happened before"- She shrugged.