Flatfoot in Belgian tulips
Chp 2 murder, balls, marriage, murder
Ghent Belgium, railway station 7am.
I arrive in Ghent by way of Nuremburg: With four older (most by fifteen years or more) bigger, meaner policemen; I command the escort for a murderer back to Belgium. A sad wasted embezzler, who when caught. Killed his wife and three children escaping into Germany. He confessed to a priest outside Nuremberg, who convinced him to turn himself in to the police. Thus, I in charge of a police detail to escort the lone madman, who's smaller, and lighter than me, home to Brussels and the hangman noose. I am exhausted stepping on to the railway platform at Ghent. I need sleep and a bath; five day from my last one. Exhausted I just want sleep.
"Inspector Poirot?"
"Yes, Aspirant Inspector Poirot."
"Please come with me the Chief inspector has a case for you." The very large and intimidating Police Segreant tells me. I'm exhausted and all I want is to sleep, wash and eat in that order. Before getting some time to see my Cate.
"Lead on."
We walk toward the roadway. I wonder what this is about?
"Hercule. My love." Cate grabs me, kissing me. Making the world bright and happy. She ignores my putrid smell. Secretly dashing cologne on me.
"Segreant? This is Katherine Lelièvre. My fiancée"
"Segreant Leclerc. Please to meet you Miss Lelièvre. WE MUST GO, the Chief inspector."
Cate hooks my arm.
"I will accompany you to the murder scene, Hercule: a wealth merchant is dead, supposedly killed by his nephew, a flower eater (opium addict). Discovered by his housekeeper this morning about two hours ago. Also, his business partner arrived just after the discover. The Deadman was fifty, in very poor health. Several witnesses speak about the bad blood between the nephew, the uncle, and the business partner. The house keeper was telling everyone she expected a large stipend on the man's death." Cate fill me in on the players of this most evil play.
"Interesting, who do you suspect?" I tease my Cate.
"I suspect everyone, my dear. Especial the police. Who, not letting you freshen up from your train ride, (she holds her nose; smirking at me) how was Cologne?" She teases me. I lean away to only have her draw me back to her side. Whispering in my ear. "Is this what you will smell like after a night of sinful passion, Hunter?"
"Nuremburg; was loud, noise and especially trying with the judge being nearly a century or two with eyesight worse than a blind man and hearing like chamberlain surrounded by petitioners. The Priest who convinced the poor man to surrender expected me to pay an Indulgence to the church for his misdeeds and mine. The train cab was lacking heat, manners, and the toilet, do not even ask about the medieval splinter spiked toilet seat.
"How have your days in Ghent preparing for your Brother's wedding?" I say to shift the subject from images in my mind of her, us in passionate naked meadows, large bed while the snow floats down from the heavens like dandelions petals in summer breeze. Image of me licking the freshly falling snow from her shoulder, neck, lower into her. These thoughts tickle my mind when she is near.
"OH! The days spent as cousins arrived; even the stupid evil petty ones; Aunts of all type and relation battling to the death for domo-ship. Father, Uncle, and most of the males have gone; gone to Aalter for shooting, so they say. I suspect; they seldom venture far from warm hearth and cold ales. Mam-Mama and the sane ladies are in Bruges looking at anything, everything to avoid the wedding planners and the bride's maelstrom: a whirlwind, nay tornado of changing themes, colors, and temper tantrums. The Groom's locked in his hotel, afraid to leave for fear his intended want to change the wedding again, the last count is forty-seven since the fifteenth. An I, Saint Katherine Lelièvre, am the number one suspect if the bride turns up bludgeoned to death with a bloedworst. I'm exiled till the wedding practice; for telling the bride she looks like a whale in heat with an ox for thinking purple, pink, and blood red are good wedding colors or that a twenty-meter bridal veil is not a good look. Segreant Leclerc how's you week going?" Cate laughs with me. Since she said all that without break, or breathe. She practiced that little speech.
"My week, Miss Lelièvre, Aspirant Inspector Poirot: has been heavenly as my wife has gone to Waregem, with her four sisters. To care for her demonical possessed mother. The old woman tried to knife me and her other four sons-in-law at Christmas for not appreciating the raw goose she tried to serve. It's been heavenly, the quiet and pastoral peace in my house, and dare I admit, my brother-in-laws houses as well." He laughs as the carriage takes us thru the quiet early morning streets.
Pulling up to a large guild house; we enter. Segreant Leclerc prevents Cate from entering the lounge. I enter, the old man is sitting in a heavy arm chair with high back. A large knife handle sticks from his stomach, below the ribs. I insect the wound, no blood around the entry. No blood evident at all.
I see a chalice laying under a table. I check it, a liquid is in the bottom, an oily film on the surface metallic smelling. Vomit on the floor, Chocolate perhaps: I knee close to the putrid pile, also with the faint metallic smell. A fancy box labeled Timpel Fan Sûkelade, Marnixstraat Amsterdam: Box Tulips lay dropped on the floor. A half-eaten chocolate tulip lays under the couch.
"Cate? Timpel Fan Sûkelade, Marnixstraat Amsterdam?" I stare at the old man shallow, sunken pale pallor face. UMMM! metallic smells in food, drink? Pallor? sunk face, long illness, wasting body? I check the fingernail; yes, the tell-tale signs. I straight, turning to the door as three people, being pushed into the room by the Chief Inspector.
"Very, very expense Chocolate shop in Amsterdam." Cate says.
"Who gave them to this poor soul?"
"Mr. Bulerc. Master's partner." Says a grating voice of the female suspect. The housekeeper.
"Mr. Bulerc, Miss Deinz, Mr. Frederick Baarle. I see you've met Mr. Louis Baarle. Well?
"Mr. Bulerc did you give the victim these chocolate?"
"Yes, so what, Frederick killed him with his knife."
"Frederick?"
"I don't know, he took the knife away last month, when I threw it at him for telling me stop smoking. I guess it's mine."
"Miss Deinz, you found the body when you arrive, Yes? You do not live here?"
"No live on Eekhout, that's how I found him." the grating voice.
"how long have you worked for Mr. Baarle?"
"As housekeeper six months, after my sister died."
"before that?" Cate asks
"I was maid for ten years, why? Who are you?"
"We ask the question madam. Your sister died after a long illness; we will ask your neighbors."
"Yes."
"Mr. Bulerc; the chocolate from Amsterdam; was a peace offering, over bad blood between you?"
"Yes, we've had some setbacks: Louise blamed me in error. He loved his chocolates. I don't control the markets, he never understood that."
"You gave them to him yesterday?"
"Yes."
"Chief Inspector I believe the only innocent man here is young Fredrick. The liquid left in the chalice will certainly be arsenic, as well as the insides of this nearly intact chocolate tulips (pointing to it on the floor). Two murders using the same poison. The dosage was fatal, throwing off each's time line for murder.
"the knife?"
"if you look closely, there is no bleeding on the wound. The knife was inserted long after death to throw suspicion on the young Baarle. From his smell, and pallor; he was smoking opium all night if not several days. A wasted poor soul. I hope charity receive the wealth once he smokes himself to death. May I go, Chief Inspector?"
"your reputation is deserved, Inspector Poirot. Miss Lelièvre. Good day" he says, we head out. I am staying at a family friends house nears Cate hotel. Retired Police Inspector Henri Bouc. His younger brother is raising swiftly thru the ranks of the Compagnie Internationale des Wagons-Lits; Conductor Xavier Bouc; gets in a lot of trouble for a man of only twenty-seven. Particularly with and over women. He should have been a sailor with a woman in every port. Unfortunately, he has one in every train stop, sometimes several. I don't know how he does it; I have trouble keeping track and staying up with one.
Cate drops me off a the Bouc house. I knock, Henri bear hugs me, a hustle me off to bed. I need to be up, bathed, and ready by Three o'clock. The Lelièvres' and bride's family are having a reception for the extended families to meet. Cate has demanded I attend; mentioning the new suit hanging in my wardrobe.
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The night is harsh, the air tinted with obnoxious, avarice amok. We say little, talk even less and listen badly as the topics and arguments are discussed without empathy or sincerity. I can tell her parents are upset by the bride's tantrums and my presence. I nearly go berserk with rage on the families; dropping bitter words and whispers: That I'm some corrupt gold digger, some immoral man latching on to a weird bookish Heiress of 20-thousand marks a year. Till this party; I was innocent to Cate wealth. Her family in particular her sister Maria, the first time I have met her and her husband the former Governor of Hainaut. They have taken to daggers in my back, hoping to drive me away.
I nearly grab one of the swords off the wall and commit mayhem and murder. Except Cate takes my hand on to the dance floor, for a waltz. Hours later, we step off the dance floor. Walking Cate to her room, we kiss and I leave. All I will remember tomorrow was talking low and easy with my Cate
Xxxxxxxxxxxxx
The next three days are a whirlwind of parties, teas and shopping trips in Bruges, Ghent, and several market about. The morning of the fourth day starts with banging on the Bouc front door, shouts and banging on my room's door.
"Aspirant Inspector Poirot! You have been summoned to the chief inspector office! Immediately!" Says a hardened sergeant in the local police.
"yes, give me five minutes." I say wondering what has happen, a crime or more of the petty Lelievre family?
Hour later, leaving the chief inspectors office. Four older solid sergeants lead me to a farm house out the city. Arriving outside of Bierstal.
The nearly deserted farm barn withing pissing distance the canal. The looks speak of no legal activity in years if not decades. I walk into a charnel house.
Bodies lay about, spent ammo shells litter the floor. Weapons are all over the place. I walk about; clearly two groups of men, nearly twenty all together; I think maybe eight verses twelve; fought here, died here. I see no blood trails leaving the building, no scuff marks, or fresh prints in the courtyard, not of police issue. What has happened here. Luggage indicates one group was radical unionist from England. Why does England keep coming up? The second group appears to be the same, although Basque from Bilbao Spain. I walk outside. An old village policeman sits on a chair, shaking.
"Corporal? I am Aspirant Inspector Poirot. What can you tell me?"
"A farmer Brouc, woke me at half past four this morning. That he was awoken by the gun battle. once the shooting had stopped for about an hour; His farm house is over there (pointing down the canal about six maybe eight hundred meter). This place has been abandoned since Old Mr. Henri Muller died; the heirs have been in court for years to claim the farm. Several drovers graze their livestock here on the way to the markets in Ghent. Transients usually wander thru here as well; if they cause no problems, we, and everyone else leaves them be. Usually gone in a day or two. Something borrows a sickle to mow the grass or a shovel to clear the drains around the barn. Making the place clean, cared about some. Lessen the local bothering them. Farmer Brouc looked inside and then came and got me from my lodgings at Lo. I sent Mr. Brouc oldest son with a message to headquarters in Ghent. I've never seen anything like this?" He wearily says. I spent the morning searching every piece of evidence. Then write paperwork into the late hours of the clock. No one survived the battle. Dead men do not give up their tales easily nor quickly.
Its almost as if the Basque attacked the English; Why? different factions, different political believes, or something different and sinister. I begin to suspect these are not random events. but a spiral; circling and leading inward to the truth eludes me. I'm missing some piece of the puzzle; what clue am I missing?
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Day six-Ghent wedding hell.
We sit with the Lelièvre sisblings; having a lite snacking of sweets and tea. Cate older Brother, partner in a merchant house in Bruges, the bride to be. Her Eldest brother, who works with their father; his wife of one year, a willowy quiet timid creature. And the elder sister. Maria with the former Governor Auguste Vergote, ten years her senior. They make a strange pair. Maria seems to wear the trousers in the marriage. Commanding and dominating; a formable mind and will. Cates two younger brothers are not old enough to be here.
"So have you solved the Murders?" Maria asks.
"Which does madam refer to?"
The Unionist one in Bierstal and Namur. Of course," she demands
"No, as of today. We suspect an internal war. Possibly some industrialist plot. But evidence has not been for coming. We will find the guilty and remand them to justice.
"Well, I for one! Don't care if you catch the men killing these radicals. they disrupt the natural order. My replacement has done nothing to cure this plight on the provinces. When I become chamberlain to the King, these radicals and anarchist will feel the might, and determination of a strong man leading. I shall round them all up, sent them on ancient wrecks to the North Sea. Let their corruption refeed the fish stocks." Auguste speech. more suited to a rally than a parlor over tea.
"You are not proposing mass murder of men and women whose only crime is demanding justice and livable wages." Cate argues.
"Yes. I am! My simple Katherine. These times call for bold and strong action; Not the weak feeble-minded hand wringing the current government has. We must act boldly, strongly and with determination to preserve the status quo. My dear?" Auguste turns to his wife, Maria
"Yes! When Auguste is in charge, things will be better for us. The poor shall dread the day they let these radical into their minds and heart." Maria smiles, evil I would say; but cannot because of Cate.
"We have heard your view before Maria, Auguste. Let us talk of more gentle and happier things." Cate breaks the argument.
"Yes? Let's? Andrea the wedding planner; has hired a boat to cruise down the canal this weekend. We may lunch and enjoy the pastoral splendors of our home land. She's hired a French chief from Paris to cook. It's just us young people. Far from elder eyes." The bride winks at her betrothed. I see her hand dangerously close to his essence.
"Yes, an excellent idea. We shall love to attend." Maria smirks. The conversation leads to gentler topics and safer fields of discourse.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Pleasure cruise down the canal outside of Ghent.
We head up stream into the current. Marking slow easy pace behind the draft horse. The crowd is Cate oldest brother his wife, the groom and bride, two other couples, friends of the groom and bride; Cate and I. The rest declined. As they say to the bold goes the spoils. The couples are in divided sections screened from crew and each other. A three-piece string groups play soft delightful tunes as the country side passes by.
From the odd sound the others are practicing sin. I just mellow with Cate in my arms. Talking low and meaningful about the future we want and will strive for. Watching the countryside drift by. I'm struck had how at peace my mind is; something I've seldom experience. I drift to sleep; visions of us old and married, naked in meadow of flowers, watching the seagull drift over the sea dike.
"Hercule?" "Hercule?" "Hercule?" An angel sings to me.
"Ow!" I startle awake with pain shooting thru my neck. I look at cate. She smirks at me. I rub my neck, feeling the indents. What the hell she bit me? She looks innocent with a mysterious gleam of the devil in her eyes. I grab her and bit her neck. She comes undo in my arms. We are mad beast in need of sinful release. Cloths loosen, my hands on skin as I pull her delights to my lips. She pulls back?
"We should have started hours ago; at last, we will shortly dock and head to our sperate abodes. Hunter, behave? Maybe I will see about a private boat or carriage ride to satisfy our dark sins." Cate smirks at me.
I grab her and pulling one lone breast to my lips, bit; leaving my brand of love on her creamy flesh. Pulling back, buttoning her blouse. Smirking at her smoldering eyes. "my love?"
"next time Poirot, I get to bit your breast." She slinks onto my lap.
"please my love brand me with your mark of love?" I beg.
"secure the lines! The cruise has ended!" Yells the captain of the barge.
"next time, lover boy. She rises from my lap; leaving me a lusting boy. She offers me a hand, helping me to my feet. She leads me off the barge to a waiting carriage.
"take the long way to the hotel!" She demands. Pulling the window shades down. Leaning on me she undoes the buttons of my tunic. "just tops Hercule; just us." Cate whispers.
"anything for you my lady."
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After the romantic carriage ride; Her body is a wonderland of delights. We enjoyed the skin-to-skin contact; yet feel waiting to do more is best after our wedding; Cate is planning for next spring. I must work hard to move up to Inspector. Everything is turning as the English say roses.
The next week floats by on tedious paperwork, interviews, and dead leads on the Bierstal massacre. I am frustrated on why the two groups of supposedly all radically unionist would fight to the death? I have more questions. I walk to a café across the Leie from Saint Michael's Church. Ordering a coffee with a nice lite sweet pastry they only make here. Thinking about what I know. I take the paper from my pocket, unfold it on the table. What I know.
The railway and bridge murders are against unionist; the cabin in the woods hired thugs; hard men when identified could easily be the murders to these two events, most certainly the bridge. Both had multiple murders on their records. The Bierstal massacre and Hendrik Terbrugghen murder by two German thugs: similar to the ones in the cabin. What is the link? I feel we are being lead around the market to be slaughtered by the nose. I need a break. What am I missing?
I smell the perfume, the feeling of intense desire and want. Looking up into Cate beautiful eyes. I stand and pull out a chair. She sits, looking worn and frail. "Cate?"
"you don't know how lucky you are to be a male in the wedding. All your need to do is arrive in your police dress uniform and shaved, washed and Mustache trimmed (she runs her finger along the mustache). I just had to endure eight hours of dress fitting as a bride's maid. My future sister-in-law may not make it to the wedding. The vacant airhead tramp wants to change the colors of the dress again. I don't know how mam-mama deals with it. She just sat there and smiled the whole eight hours. Good, My herr waiter. Coffee Irish and two café pastries. (he turns to go,) Second thought make it an Irish whiskey with a shot of coffee." he looks at me in my police uniform. "The lady as had a bad day with her soon to be sister-in-law wedding changes" I offer. he nods.
"Drinking Madam; what will your parents say?"
"After today, not a damn word. Hunter, I had a talk with one of the junior seamstresses. She tells me word is filtering to the coast that the Walloon is ripe for rebellion. That several of the moderate's unionist have disappeared. The people suspect the industrialists of murdering them. Also, that arms are flowing into the region with several groups of outside unionists agitating for open rebellion." Cate tells me. I think about what I know. I need information.
The waiter brings two plates of pastries, me a new coffee and Cate her mud tinted whiskey. She takes a health gulp; eats one pastry. looking up at me. "did I mention we never left the dress shop, nor had anything other than finger sandwiches. or that my future sister-in-law has twenty-eight bride's maid. So I got half of one sandwich and one pastry since breakfast this morning; where mam-mama decide to try the health food from America, Dr. Kellogg miraculous flakes of corn. Which requires a lot of sugar to eat? Mam-mama and Mrs. Bloemen; Ghent's foremost authority on health living scolded me when I dumped a bowl of dried cherries in the cereal."
I take my new pastry and move it to her plate. "you deserve this more than me. My poor Cate." I pet her hand. when I feel two hulking shadow over me. I look up into rough bargemen. "Yes?"
"aspirant inspector Poirot?"
"Yes?"
"Come with us, a important man wants a private word." They don't threaten, but i understand the threat. Rising, tossing money on the table. "cate stay here." I start to move, when she takes my arm. "cate!" I demand
"Yes, hercule. Where you go, i go. Shall we gentlemen!" She commands. Even the two bargemen are afraid of her. I smile as we walk to stairs onto the Leie waters. An oarsman waits to take us away. Once seated we head down stream at a good pace.
"you what to talk to me?" I demand of the oarsman.
"I'm just a simple boatman?"
"with those pants and shoes; i doubt a true boatsman. If you are bent on murder, let the lady go."
"I just want to talk, and now unsure in front of the beautiful and secretly suggested brilliant Miss Lelièvre." He smiles the rogues handsome face under the wide brimmed hat.
"you can talk freely, Miss Lelièvre is brilliant and discreet. Mr.?" I ask
"you can call me Ongebonden, although my Netherlands police file calls me Joseph Kooiker. You may read: I'm a radically extremist unionist and anarchist. That was before several moderate friends died in the past months. Like you, aspirant inspector; I am recently engaged. It changes one outlook. You will never see me, we, my bride to be; ships out tomorrow for America."
"why the meeting?"
"I owed a debt to a friend, a brilliant, quiet passion man of books. He believed deeply about the dignity of all men, and a moderate in the Unionist movement. Someone tied him to a chair and burned his house down on top of him, alive. I was there. I tried to safe him and his wife. The police Buried the crime." he speech passionately and heartfelt.
"Where was this house, this crime?"
"Dunkirk."
"In France, I cannot help you."
"I am here aspirant inspector to give you all the information I can to help you save Walloon from disaster. Watching my friend and mentor die; makes me thirst for revenge and more importantly never see another man die needlessly. If this rebellion in the Walloon explodes, many innocent people will die. So, aspirant inspector first, groups of supposedly unionist have been moving into the voids the death of the moderate created. They are more interest in violence than change, several are former industrialist thugs masquerading as unionist; I believe that is what happened in Bierstal. Also, outside of Namur on the left bank is a played-out coal mine, the Estray."
"Yes, I know it. The haunted mine. The air flow creates a moaning effect." Cate speaks
"In the bottom of the mine now, are eight fake unionists; An Italian unionist recognized a thug from Vienna. He died alerting us to their treachery. The men at railway were mostly fake unionist, one of the real unionists sent a message about his fake comrades. How the puppet master found out, we don't know. Which is one of the reasons I'm taking my bride and running. The Namur bridge; were all dead moderates from France brought in to calm tensions and plan better more effective strategies. All we know is that whoever is masterminding this has thought a long game. What the ending is; beyond the rebellion I don't know?"
"Yes, the industrialist will lose in a rebellion in destroyed factories, dead craftsmen, and Bad public opinion. The unionist will lose people and the support of the public. In an open rebellion no one will win; the government will institute harsh retaliation; even military force could be brought to bear. Public massacres in the street; it could even topple the King." I say perplexed.
"If the railway massacre was because that group was found out, you have leaks in your leadership. Some turncoats, most likely one calling for calm and deliberate actions." Cate speaks to me.
"Why a moderate; why not one of the firebrands?" Oarsman asks.
"I'm sure one or more of the firebrands are in the purse of the masterminds;' But people hoping to stop the violence, the rebellion would not go to people screaming for rebellion. They would go to a moderate, one of the peacemakers." Cate says, I agree. the screams wouldn't listen fake or real. only the moderates would listen and act.
"Who is the leader of the moderates?" I ask.
"DeClercq in Antwerp. You can find him in the Stadspark most mornings, reading Friedrich Schlegel, August Wilhelm Schlegel, Novalis, Ludwig Tieck, and Friedrich Wilhelm Joseph Schelling; any of the Jena Romantics. You will recognize him by his invisibility. The man you think could never be a unionist leader; leader of anything for that matter. That is DeClercq. The 1870–71 Commemorative Medal on is lapel will also indicate him. Beware he was commended for actions during the Battle of Sedan; scouting the battle to make sure it didn't spill into Belgium." Joseph Kooiker speaks with bitter tears.
"Why the bitterness?" I ask
"It would break my heart that he could be a Trailor. Two of the moderates killed last year were his son and brother. I could not see him like that; for money?"
"Perhaps he is not, but one of those close to him. Perhaps the man behind the master. Cate?" I ask
"Who is the loudest unionist?"
"Théophile Wahis III. Félix Fuchs and Félicien Cattier,"
"The generals son?" I ask, incredulous.
"Yes, his bastard son by his father's housekeeper. Cattier is the most violence though. Whispers of French disease eating his brain. He becomes more unstable by the day. Fuchs is German from Bavaria, intense, driven, smart and ruthless; killed a unionist in Hamburg for not sleeping with him. All three are the major drivers of the coming rebellion. At last, the journey is over. Henri will row you back to the city." He alights off the boat, a young man jumps in and spin the boat and pulls hard back to Ghent. We see him jump on a horse and race away.
"I hope they make it." Cate says
"Yes, I hope they do. But we have our own problems, the crime, the wedding, the families. Which is easiest to solve?" I laugh.
"Well hunter! The wedding is next week, the families will never come around, and the crime will reveal its self in due course. Right now, lounge back and enjoy the ride home. For surely the Chaperons have alerted the families and your boss. Henri, slow down we are in no hurry to the firing squad." Cate laughs, pulling me into kiss. Henri smiles, meandering up stream.