Dead

He knew it wasn´t Thénardier. Cosette knew him, and would have recognized him if he´d been the one threatening them that night. All right, he´d worn a mask, but Javert was still sure that either her or her boyfriend would have recognized the voice. And recalling the figure he´d chased through the streets – he should have stayed with Valjean, he should have known it was a trick – he could tell that the man he was looking for was too small to be Thénardier. But the old pocket thief knew Valjean. He goddamn knew him.

Javert found him at his preferred place. The corner of the street where he used to hang around with his gang, waiting for unsuspecting pedestrians, to either beg alms from them or simply empty their pockets. There were things in this world that never changed. And this maggot was one of them.

Javert marched towards him, straight on. The old thief was surrounded by his pals, idly standing or sitting about, as if they had nothing to do at all with what this man was doing. Inbetween all this bustle in the street they barely stood out. It was a mess. But today this mess could only aid Javert.

Thénardier turned around, noticing this man that approached him so quickly, and Javert sped up, grabbing his collar before he had a chance to react. All around them, his men flinched into action, but so did Vidocq´s men. For each of Thénardier´s criminals, there was one pedestrian, that suddenly moved very quick and very professional, grabbing those men and dragging them behind the curtain that had been meant to shield Thénardier´s deeds. Now it would shield how they got detained, while Javert had a chat with their boss.

He dragged the gaping Thénardier behind the column, and pushed him against the wall.

"Inspector." this piece of scum addressed him with a smile. "To what do I owe the honor?" And as if he just spotted the scratch on Javert´s cheek, he hissed in sympathy. "What happened to your face?"

Javert pushed against the filthy throat. "Don´t you dare to mock me, maggot." he hissed. "I have exactly three questions for you, and you better don´t try lying to me. If you try … there will be pain. You got this?"

"Completely."

"First question: You do know why I´m here, don´t you?" When Thénardier seemed to honestly think, Javert added, just to make sure: "You know whose house burned down in this fire, don´t you?"

"I seem to get your drift now." the criminal smirked, but stopped at Javert´s warning push. "I heard about it. That it was the house of my old friend. A certain … ex con." he seemed to watch Javert for his reaction, but Javert would not give him any. So Thénardier went on. "Yes, I know of this. Wasn´t sure though if he made it out of there." His eyes jumped around for a moment, and he smirked again. "Since I don´t see him anywhere … I guess I have my answer."

Javert pushed again, choking this son of a bitch.

"What do you want to hear from me?" Thénardier croaked.

"The truth. You knew Valjean. I want to know who else knew. Who did you tell?"

"Who did I tell? No one. Why should I give up information I wouldn´t get payed for?"

"Maybe someone did pay you. Did they? Remember my conditions regarding lies."

"I assure you, inspector … Oh, I´m sorry. I forgot the title doesn´t apply anymore. But I assure you, I didn´t tell anyone. And neither did any of my men, as far as I know."

"As far as you know?"

"I could find out. If you ask me nicely. Which is, I guess, what you´re doing right now."

When Javert didn´t answer, the smug criminal smiled. "It would be a pleasure, working for you, inspector."

Javert grabbed him tighter, yet again. "I´m not an inspector anymore." he recalled. "Just as you stated earlier. And I´m not bound to the law any longer. Which means you better not try to mess with me. Believe me … you don´t want me as an enemy."

"Certainly not." Thénardier returned to his very cautious self. "I value our friendship way too much for that."

"We´re not friends." Javert growled. "Here´s my last question. I want to know who set the fires. I want his name, and where I can find him." He released the criminal. "Bring me these information and I´ll pay you. Other than that, I want nothing from you. But I will find you, no matter where you hide. So don´t you try to run. "

Thénardier answered with a respectful bow. "I will see to serve you well, ins … monsieur."

Javert was fuming. Deep inside him there was a boiling anger, one that would break lose if he didn´t watch out. So he simply turned around, giving Jacques a signal, to let his men release the pathetic gang.

"Oh yeah …" Thénardier spoke up as if he´d just thought of one more thing, and Javert halted, glancing over his shoulder. Thénardier smiled, before his face turned into a ridiculous mask of pity. "I´m very sorry for your loss."

...

It had taken Javert almost forever to finally summon the courage to mount the way to the front door. Too many times had he halted, stopping himself with the pathetic try to convince himself that this wasn´t necessary. That he didn´t have proof. That the body he´d seen could have been a random person after all, only looking like Valjean. The key could be coincidence. Maybe someone had had a similar corny heart shape carved into the damn thing, as a sweet present for his daughter …

It was too much. Too much coincidence. Who was he trying to fool? The cold and merciless truth was as simple as that. The great and holy Jean Valjean had finally stopped running. In the end even he´d been too slow, had dodged only one second too late in order to get away just in time, had been too unsuspecting to imagine that someone could be ruthless enough to kill others – innocents – along with him, only because they happened to be in the way.

Javert had known, the moment he´d seen the face of this burned creature before him, long before he´d spotted the key. He had known that in the end, it had not been him, who had caught up with Valjean, the infinite fugitive. And that this time he´d vanished to a place, where he couldn´t follow him. Not if he actually ever wanted to find him.

But would he ever? He still wasn´t convinced to have earned his place there. If he ever even had a chance for that, it would have been because of Valjean. But now … now even that was gone. Every chance of redemption, so it ever existed. Gone. Just like him. Valjean.

Javert had never been a man to visit church, aside from the duty of attempting the mass. But this had been just that. Duty. Actually going to this place, for contemplation, or a talk with God, as Valjean had liked to call it … he´d never understood. And neither did he understand why now from all the times in the world, he felt drawn inside a church. The only thing he knew was that a voice was calling him.

Valjean?

He doubted that. The dead couldn´t speak anymore. And maybe it was good that way. The living had spoken loud enough.

Javert closed his eyes, hiding in the shadow of the side aisle. Staying in the light had felt like intruding, so he´d made his way into the dark. Like a man guilty of the worst crime. But wasn´t that exactly what he was? In some way he was.

Again and again he saw himself walking up to the front door, knocking with a shaking hand. The things he´d said were a blur to him, the words he´d forced out of his mouth, to deliver the message of Valjean´s demise. It didn´t matter. Nothing of what he´d said mattered. There had never been a chance for him to say it the right way.

He recalled the slap. The first. The second. The third. Until Marius had stopped her. And her shouts at him, the accusations, the curses she had poured over him and his soul, for all eternity. And maybe she was right. Maybe he would burn in hell. But not before he was done here on earth.

"It goes without saying that you´re not welcome here anymore, monsieur." Marius had said instead of a goodbye, when he had shown him out. Not even his apologetic gaze could change the meaning of his words.

Yes. It wasn´t necessary to tell him that. He had caused the death of Cosette´s father. He was the last person on earth she´d ever want to see again. And could he blame her? He´d never had any right or place to be part of this life anyway.

His legs were shaking so he sat down, on the farthest spot of the bench. Just like all the other prayers in this house of God. But God was not there for him. He wouldn´t be, even if he´d call for him, now or ever. And all the sudden Javert was scared. So deeply scared like never before in his life. As if judgment day might come for him, right here and now. Any second. To burn him to ashes the way Valjean had been burned.

His hand grabbed the wood before him, as if he could keep himself from falling, and all he could do was stare, his vision blurring, his breath hurting in his chest and throat. Maybe he would just suffocate, and drop dead, right here, in this very church. God´s punishment in its most direct form.

But he didn´t die. He didn´t suffocate. And he didn´t burst into flames, like the falling angel that had always been meant to live in hell. All he did was sitting there, and after a while his breath evened, slowed down, and the spinning of his head got better. Something wrapped itself around his mind, a numbness, as if he were falling asleep. But it was far from peaceful. How? How could all this happen in such a short time?

"I´ll find him." he heard himself say, quietly, but somehow his own voice felt like something alien. As if some higher power made him say those words aloud. "I´ll find the man who did this."

Javert looked up, where exactly he didn´t know. The ceiling was high, and full of artistic details, simple but beautiful to eyes who knew to appreciate it. The curved dome lay in shadows, but somehow this darkness up there gave Javert a feeling of depth. As if he could see beyond all this. The way Valjean must have been able to see it.

"I´ll find him." he repeated, more secure now. "I swear." and as if he needed to explain himself: "I have to. Because if I do … if I stop him and keep him from harming any other person, including your daughter … then maybe you can forgive me."

...

The daylight was darkening when he finally walked home, like a sleepwalker wandering the earth. He was only half aware of his surroundings. There was a tiredness that had taken over his mind and body, and when he passed a bridge, he couldn´t help but stopped, and looked onto the water, numb and almost sad that considering this was not even an option anymore. Not as long as his task wasn´t fulfilled. Not as long as this bastard was still out there.

Valjean had left behind a hollow world. Unbelievable that he would ever think that about a man he had considered a criminal, for so long. And now … Javert was left behind, to stay alive, carrying his guilt and shame, knowing that it had been him in all those years who´d done wrong, not Valjean.

Stop pitying yourself, Antoine, a voice spoke in his head and for a moment Javert was scared. He turned around, but no one was there. The street was abandoned except for him. And yet when he turned back to the parapet, the voice was there again. Valjean was there again. Like a ghost that would haunt him until he got reasonable again. Just like he´d done it in life.

Self pity will not solve this case, he told him. You know that, inspector. Giving up is not like you. This is not the man I knew. Come on now. There´s still work to do.

Yes, Javert admitted tiredly. He was right. He had to focus.

Watch out!

The sound of running steps approaching fast made him flinch and swirl around. He didn´t see the runner, but he heard the person changed direction and the steps retrieved. Javert instantly gave chase.

He reached the corner and ahead he saw the fugitive dart into an alley, the place where all the criminals would try to hide. But this time he was faster. He dodged the corner, and his runner had ended up before a wall. A dead end.

Only it wasn´t a grown man, as Javert had expected – not his murdering arsonist. It was a boy, of maybe twelve years. The boy.

"You." he breathed. "What are you doing here? Were you following me?"

"No, monsieur." the kid seemed scared, and out of breath just as well.

"Were you running away from me?"

Again the kid shook his head. "No." But then he reconsidered. "Yes." he admitted, and Javert regarded him, frowning deeply.

"Why?"

"I heard what happened to monsieur Valjean." the kid then blurred, as if this would make any difference at all. And Javert frowned.

"He never introduced himself to you by that name." he stepped closer. "How do you know it?"

"You called him that." the boy skipped back. "When you thought I didn´t hear you. But I did."

Javert was shocked, instantly trying to think back if he said the name in public once. Ever. Was it his fault? Did he give him away?

"I wish …" the boy started. "I could do something. I …" but he didn´t know how to go on. He simply looked at Javert, like a grown man would look at a sad child. A gaze that wanted to council, to comfort, and just didn´t know how.

"There´s nothing you could have done." Javert informed him, trying to be brusk about it. "And there is nothing you could do now. Go home. And forget you ever met us. It´s better this way."

He didn´t wait for the boy to answer anymore, but turned around and left the allay.

"Are you not afraid they could come for you next?" the kid cried after him, and Javert stopped, shocked, but only for a moment.

"I hope they will." was all he said, and not even this sassy kid knew anymore how to respond.

Javert went home, and waited, the entire night. But no one came for him.

...

His walk was stiff the next morning. But his will kept him going. He needed to move on. He needed to know. And he needed to act.

Thénardier did not react quite as startled as the day before, but it was satisfying that he still flinched, at Javert´s sight, even if it was only a little. Javert reached out a hand, pushing with his fingertips only, but it was enough to make Thénardier withdraw, almost as if he really got pushed.

"Inspector." he smiled, nervously. "I didn´t expect you back so soon."

"What do you have for me?"

"You look tired."

"What do you have?"

"What I don´t seem to have is a lot of time. You only asked me for my help yesterday. That´s not much time to gather information."

Javert grabbed the wriggling worm by his collar. "I take whatever you´ve got." he hissed. "So what is it?"

The dirty thief craned back his neck as far as he could, as if afraid Javert might try to actually bite in his anger. "I´m afraid I know where your killer learned Valjean´s name." he admitted.

Javert only looked at him, waiting for him to continue.

"One of my guys was in a need for money." he finally did. "And he sold what he had. Information."

Javert grabbed the criminal tighter. "To whom?"

"He said the person wore a hood and didn´t tell him a name."

"Which of your men was it?"

"I don´t see that this would make a difference."

"Which of your men was it?"

"I´m afraid I can´t tell you."

"Why not?"

"Because you´d probably strangle the poor fella. And no good would come of this. He only did what he thought best to survive."

"By selling another man´s life to the first bidder?"

"A criminal´s life." Thénardier obviously thought it wise to insult Javert´s perception of the man in question. "The life of a fugitive. I don´t understand in any case why you put so much effort into this." he let him know. "You wanted the man behind bars for so long. He´s gone now. And you´re not police anymore. So why the fuss?"

Before he had the time to consciously decide upon his reaction, Javert pushed, hard enough to force the air out of Thénardier´s lungs.

"He was my friend." he hissed but didn´t get another response. Only this slimy grin of the man, as if he truly understood anything. Eventually Javert let go of Thénardier. He was done here.

"Oh, before I forget it." the thief spoke just as he was about to leave. "I still have something else. Something I happened to come across by coincidence. It might interest you."

Javert stopped, glancing over his shoulder. He wasn´t sure if he wanted to be interested.

"What?"

"It concerns a man you recently brought behind bars." Thénardier started. "A man named … Lecomte?"

Javert turned back. "What about him?" his mind was already racing, chasing all the possibilities. Did he escape? Did he somehow hire someone to kill Valjean? Was he …?

"He´s dead, is what I heard." Thénardier interrupted his train of thoughts. "Killed by another inmate. Only yesterday."

Javert´s stare of total shock seemed to immensely satisfy Thénardier.

"I figured it quite a coincidence." he spoke. "That this happened … now. Wouldn´t you agree?"

...

"It´s true." Vidocq solemnly closed the door Javert had left open after storming into the office. "I heard it just before you came in." With a gesture of his head he pointed at Jacques, who´d idly stood by when Javert had almost broken the door.

The former inspector shook his head. "That´s impossible." Lecomte dead. Just like that. It was impossible.

"Why?" Vidocq asked, serious. "Because it was Lecomte?"

"I know how that feels." Jacques now finally stepped forward. His tone was neutral, almost as if he wasn´t even involved in any of this. "It´s unreal." he said. "It comes from out of nowhere and you weren´t there. It feels like a lie, made up to taunt you. But I assure you, it is real."

Javert fixed his eyes on those of this man. This spy. The former criminal, once convicted for crimes Javert didn´t even know. For all he knew it could have been murder. Or simply stealing nothing but a loaf of bread.

"How do you know?" he asked him, but it was Vidocq not the stoic Jacques who answered him.

"Who do you think brought me the news?"

Javert would not face away from Jacques for long. "But how do you know?" he repeated his question.

"I know it from a man who was there." Jacques told him. "He saw the body. It was Lecomte."

"Who is this man?"

"A guard."

Jacques´ tone was defiant when he revealed this information, almost as if he knew how Javert would react. As if he´d expected to see this blank face now, of disbelieve.

"You have contacts to a prison guard." the former police man, once prison guard himself, spoke. And he didn´t have to form the words: Are you kidding me? Jacques heard it anyway.

"Yes." the inscrutable spy affirmed, and on the other side of the small office, Vidocq smiled.

"Sounds crazy, right? A former criminal befriending a prison guard."

Seeing this mocking smirk, Javert could not help himself. He turned away from Jacques and warningly walked in on Vidocq.

"He is dead, Vidocq." he growled. "So do me a favor and knock off those silly jokes of yours. Could you?"

The burly spy did not cower before Javert´s anger, but the smile in his face faded and he lowered his eyes, ashamed. "I´m sorry." he said. "You´re right."

Before the idiot could say any more, Javert turned back to Jacques.

"What did this man say?" he demanded more information, but his brief intimidation of Vidocq was forgotten the next moment.

"I´m very sorry, but I must insist that we direct our attention to something else, inspector." Vidocq spoke loud and demanding, phrasing every syllable carefully as if afraid Javert might not understand him otherwise. "Because there is something else you should know, Javert. About the case I initially gave you."

Javert turned back to him, fuming. "You didn´t give me anything." he roared, walking in on the smaller man, yet again. "You´d do good not to forget that."

"I fact." Vidocq spoke, not wavering at all under Javert´s stare. "I did. And you´d do good, not to forget that!"

"I´m not working for you!" Javert was almost ready to smash something, right into Vidocq´s face.

But the burly spy remained adamant. "Jean did."

That was all he said, and it was all it needed, and Javert´s anger was fended. For a moment he´d been close to snap. And now, all the sudden, it decreased, quickly, one last wave of heat washing over his body, only to leave him in a cold wake.

"What is this other information?" he asked, and Vidocq cocked his head, approving yet chiding in one glance.

"It´s about those men you locked up in the woods. Those you ordered your former colleagues to arrest."

"The kidnappers. What about them?"

"They´re dead." Vidocq revealed, straight faced. "All of them."

Javert felt as if someone had kicked his legs away from underneath him. What?

"Whoever hired them to bring them this witness, must have been really disappointed when they couldn´t finish the task." Vidocq simply stated. "So now, Javert. What do you think? Is this case truly dead, the way you said it, or would you rather advise us to keep investigating?"

Javert tried to think. And found he couldn´t. All his rationality had abandoned him, and now all he could do was stare, and hope for the right choice to come to him.

"How did this happen?" he asked.

"On their way to prison." Vidocq answered, and Jacques took over to explain the rest.

"Someone attacked the carriage that transported them. Apparently no one was left alive. Neither guards nor prisoners. The carriage was found just outside of Paris. On the road to Bicêtre."

Javert frowned, catching up with a small but crucial detail. "You say apparently."

"There is no reason to believe anyone was spared. The place was covered in blood."

"What about the bodies?"

"There were no bodies. Just blood. A lot of blood."

Javert closed his eyes, trying to will the image away. Unsuccessfully.

"I think it goes without saying, that the man you questioned the other day, was right." Vidocq spoke. "These men are very powerful, and very dangerous."

"What do you expect of me now?" Javert was left without strength. "There´s hardly anything I can do."

"I wanted you to be aware of those facts. These men are still out there. It could have been them who killed Jean. And if any of those criminals you encountered told them about you, you might be in danger as well."

Javert thought about this possibility for a moment, and found that it didn´t worry him too much. "I guess that is something I can handle." he said, and before Vidocq could speak up again: "After all. If they come for me, I won´t have to worry about looking for them." When Vidocq closed his mouth, outsmarted at least for the moment, Javert turned back to Jacques. "And now." he said. "I want to know what your friend the prison guard said about Lecomte´s death."

...

It was a pain to wait until the end of the day, but there was simply no other way. The young officer would not get home before his shift was over and this way at least Javert wouldn´t have to hide out there in the streets.

He paced quietly about the place, idly inspecting the spare belongings of the man he was waiting for. It wasn´t much. A few small books seemed to be the only things that were not dedicated to the man´s duties. Something Javert could relate to – except for the reading. But Billinger seemed indeed to be a promising officer. Much better than those Javert had been forced to encounter lately. Somehow this knowledge reassured him, just a tiny bit, that something like honor could still exist in this world.

He tried to recall, once again, what Jacques had told him about Lecomte´s case. Every detail could be of importance.

"My contact said the man who did it, had a visitor, the day before the attack. He never had any problems with Lecomte before, never even seemed to care about him. And then … all the sudden … he grabs him from behind and snaps his neck? My contact also told me, they charged him with murder. Death penalty. He didn´t react at all. As if the charges didn´t concern him. If you get my meaning."

"They´re going to break him out."

"Seems that was the deal."

"If they really do it. What if they don´t? They could just let him rot and wait until he´s executed. No witness."

"He wouldn´t have risked the death penalty, for someone he didn´t trust to keep his word. No one would do that."

"He knows the killer."

"I believe if you could get this man to tell you the name, you might be able to find your arsonist. The man that killed your friend."

And that had been the moment when Vidocq had skipped in again, objecting of course.

"They will never let him in, to speak to the man. He´s on the run himself. They´d throw him in a cell the moment they see his face."

And all Javert had done, was turn around and look at him, in utter silence.

"You want them to …" Vidocq had stopped mid sentence, totally aghast. "You´re crazy. What good would that do? You´d never get out again."

"I´m not asking your permission."

"You´d die in there. If not by the hands of the prisoners – and I assume that a lot of them are in there because of you – then by the hands of the guards, who still hate you for building a case against some of their own. Believe me. It´s better we watch the prison from the outside."

"Do you have enough men to put the whole thing under surveillance twenty-four-seven? Every single angle? That´s what I thought. No. The only chance I have to get to this man before he´s gone, is from the inside."

"It´s a suicide mission."

"Maybe. But if I get the man who set those fires, it will be worth it."

Javert closed his eyes from the tiny apartment he´d broken into. Neither Vidocq nor Jacques had objected anymore and it was good they hadn´t. He still meant every word of it. The spies had done what little they could to assist him in this. But from here he had to go this way alone. Or almost alone.

When Biringer finally came home, the police rookie had only one chance – only one – to fend off the attack. He missed it. And when he met Javert´s gaze, it was full of suppressed anger.

"I need to talk to you." Javert rasped.

...

The prison Bicêtre was 5 miles from Paris, easy enough to reach if you were only traveling. But if you were on the run … it was hell. Open roads almost the whole way, and even if you managed to reach the forest, there were open roads again beyond it. Almost impossible to stay hidden after – or rather if – anyone would ever manage to break out of this prison. But breaking out was impossible. The walls were high and the gates well guarded. Every window bared, armed guards with dogs circling the building inside and out. No way to ever get away from there.

But somehow one man would try anyway. Someone from outside would try. And Javert was certain that they knew how to do it. He knew from experience that it was possible to break out of jail, no matter how well guarded it was. He´d seen escape attempts that had worked. Sometimes they worked. Sometimes the desperate soul indeed got away. And sometimes they got caught and sentenced for even more years in prison.

He closed his eyes, only for a moment, when the fiacre stopped, trying not to think about how he´d gotten here. How he´d gotten that desperate to go this distance. Especially this one. It was too late for doubts. He was here now and there was no going back.

Biringer stepped out first, before he reached back inside to drag him out. Javert followed, stumbling. He struggled, but Biringer jerked him forward, and he almost lost his balance. The young police man didn´t seem to care. He just kept dragging him, so Javert followed.

He could see the guards at the gate, glancing curiously at them. Sweat ran into Javert´s eye, making him blink. God, it was hot under those bandages.

"What is this?" one of the guards demanded to know. "What´s your name, sir?"

"Lieutenant Biringer. Prefecture of Paris."

"And this?" the man gestured at Javert.

Biringer jerked Javert forward. "I just arrested him." he said. "He attacked me. Tried to rob me. I have an important appointment in Montreuil, so I can´t stay and take care of this. I need to leave that to you guys."

The guard looked over Javert, mostly the bandages on his head and left hand.

"What happened to him?"

"No idea." Biringer shrugged. "He looked like that when I caught him. I thought it´s a mask to hide his face when robbing fiacres but …" he stopped the man from inspecting the bandages closer with a simple gesture of his hand. "I already checked." he assured him. "He´s burned underneath it. Trust me. It´s not pretty."

The guard withdrew his hand in disgust. "What´s your name, criminal?" he demanded. And Javert simply glared at him, from underneath his bandages.

"Seems he doesn´t talk." Biringer explained. "Maybe he´s mute."

"Maybe." the guard mocked. "I guess he will talk sooner or later, if he can."

"That´s your business not mine." Biringer handed him over.

"How am I supposed to treat him?" the guard demanded to know, but would not get an answer.

"Don´t know, don´t care. I need to keep going. I simply can´t be late for my appointment."

With that Biringer would be gone – no more words, no more help – and he, Javert, would be a prisoner, as soon as his foot touched the ground beyond the threshold. He caught Biringer´s eye one last time, before the guards led him inside. A tiny nod, unseen by the anyone, but Javert knew to read it.

You´re on your own now, inspector.

And Javert gave back the nod, just as quietly. Thanks, Lieutenant. For everything.

From here the was no going back.