'The Killing of Gentle People' by Michel Henri (best pdf ebook reader .TXT) 📖

around the block. That’s all, that’s it! I didn’t see anything. What was there to see, Sergeant? l don’t understand.”
The Inspector piped up again, looking at me like l was shit on the bottom of his shoe: “So you are telling us you didn’t see anything unusual happening then? Nothing at all. Is that what you are saying, you silly old man?”
I looked up at him. His face was etched into my memory. Soon l would remember!

“Please, Mr. Golden. Or should l call you Abraham?”
The Sergeant paused for a moment before gently touching my wrinkled old hand. “Look, Abraham! Just talk to me! I think you and l will get on just fine!”
“Sergeant Gold, you are very kind. But l do not have anything else to say. All this excitement has made it very difficult for me to think clearly. My head is spinning around. I feel exhausted, question after question; do you see this, do you know that. What is it all about?”
“Look!” said the Inspector, standing up: “Enough of this pussy footing around, get up, Jew! You are Jewish, aren’t you? Take that coat off! Do you hear me? Get up and take that stinking coat off!”
He then gesticulated to Constable Reagan to check me out: She pulled my coat off my shoulders.
“Well!” continued the Inspector: “Our Jewish friend sounds like he’s on something, and it’s not brandy! Take your jacket off old man, NOW!”
I took my jacket off and carefully put it on the chair covering the seat which was concealing my pistol and silencer.
The Constable pushed up my grubby shirt sleeves to check my arms for needle marks. The Constable missed a very important mark on my arm, but went back and checked my arms again.
“Inspector. You need to see this!”
The Inspector turned my arm over roughly, hurting my wrist so he could look at the mark the Constable had found.
“Well old man! We all knows what this is, don’t we, now? That’s your Jewish number, isn’t it? Which holiday camp were you in then? And please don’t lie to me! I will check it out. Was it in Germany? No, l think it must have been Poland. Am l right, old Jew man?”
His hand was squeezing my arm tightly over my Jewish number; l grimaced and tried pulling my arm away. Sergeant Gold saw the pain on my face; l looked up to her pleading for help.
“Inspector Mercedes!” she shouted at him:
“You are hurting Mr. Golden! There is no need for this cruelty. Please let him go! Take your hands of him! Now Inspector, please.”
He released his grip on my arm with a smile on his face and sat down.

“Well, Mr. Abraham Golden,” said the Inspector as if he was reminiscing about the good old times.
“What camps were you in then, sir; if l may be so bold as to enquire?”
My head went down onto my chest and l spoke softly:
“Auschwitz-Birkenau”
“What did you say old man? Please speak up!” instructed the Inspector.
He leaned forward and was sitting right in my face, and l knew all he wanted was for the other officers to hear what l had to say, adding to my discomposure. So l took a chance of upsetting him.
I move my face closer to his, nose to nose, and shouted out at the top of my voice, straight into the Inspector’s face:
“The Auschwitz-Birkenau killing camp in Poland. And you heard me the first time, didn’t you, you bastard!”
Then l collapsed back onto my chair.
“I think this may have been a good morning for all of us, after all! Team, take this old Jew down to the headquarters.” Then he turned to me again:
“I take it your name is correct. What is it? Can you remember? Quickly!”
“It’s Mr Abraham Golden, and l am proud of it: Do you hear me?”
The young Constable Maria looked into my troubled eyes, saying:
“So you should be” then she whispered into my ear “the Sergeant’s name is Becky Gold” as if to say, “You’ve got a friend!”
Then she helped put my coat back on and made me comfortable.
The Constable put her arm in mine; then gently helped me up from my seat and walked me slowly
out of the wine bar.
The fresh air made me feel better. I stood for a moment and stretched my arms out as if l was welcoming what ever there was to come my way. The Police car door opened and l was helped into the back seat. No one looked or suspected that l had hidden my pistol and silencer under the seat cover of the chair in the window l had been sitting on.
“How long will l be at the Police station, Constable?”

“Look, Abraham! I’m a new generation of Constables. I think you know what l mean, but l’m not allowed to talk with you. I have you in custody, so please do not make things difficult for me at the station. I will not answer your questions. You are a very nice elderly gentleman, so please just relax and we will do fine.”
We sat in the back of the car in silence, and waited for the driver who was still in the bar talking to the Inspector and the barmaid. I didn’t know what was going on in the bar. That made me a little nervous. But all of a sudden the officers came out together, quickly got into the cars, and we were on our way, l assumed to Police Headquarters.

Place: Police Headquarters. Late morning.
Well, l had arrived at the place l least wanted to be at this moment of my life; Police headquarters. The evidence l left in the Dumb Cow wine bar would prove without doubt that l was the killer the police were looking for.
As l walked up the steep steps as best l could, and through the big old wooden doors which had a large crest of Justice hanging over the top, it felt as if it was welcoming the damned. My mind ran backwards. I thought of the brick built archway the doomed trains steamed under when arriving at the death camp ‘Ramp’. Constable Maria Reagan, who was assisting me into the booking room, said in a stern voice:
“Sit over there Mr. Golden. And please don’t move!” She pointed to a chair among many at the side of the booking-in hallway.
“I will get the arresting officer to book you in, Mr. Golden. I won’t be a moment. Just sit there, and please be good.”
I had just sat down on the hard wooden chair when l heard the voice of Inspector Victor Mercedes shouting at the top of his voice:
“Meeting please! My office now, everyone! And l do mean everyone: Now, damn it! I said NOW! Everybody, and l do mean everyone in this bloody station!”

All the officers in the arresting room hurried into his office. I just couldn’t believe my luck; l had
been left on my own! Even the arresting officer at the front desk disappeared into the Inspector’s office. Quietly, but as quickly as l was able, l stood up and looked left then right. Yes. I was on my own! So l walked out of the door Constable Reagan had walked me in, down the steep steps and into the street. I was free! Without thinking about the pain in my body l walked quickly, climbed onto the first tram that came along, paid the minimum fair and then sat down on the first seat available. Indeed, l was free!

Inspector Mercedes Office.
The Inspector was in his usual aggressive and malicious mood.

“Sergeant Gold! Do you have any more details about the parents of the victims? l remember you

told me the team were checking them out. So what the hell has been going on with that situation?

And don’t waffle! Be succinct.”

The Inspector’s office was full of constables and officers who were on duty, and the Sergeant didn’t

want to be embarrassed by the way the Inspector talked to her in front of other members of the

team.

“Shall l check it out now, Inspector?”

The Inspector repeated what the Sergeant said in a very mocking way.

“Shall l check it out now, Inspector? You are a Sergeant and if you want to stay a Sergeant get it

sorted out now. This is the best lead we have had in years, so get on top of it girly, for Christ sake.

I thought we were looking for some kind of serial killing pervert. But who should walk into my

larder! Just a frail old Jew on a mission of sorts.”

The team of constables and officers were standing around the office making notes, or pretending to;

they were trying to look busy, without eye to eye contact with the Inspector.

“I want a large photograph of our suspect, Mr. Abraham Golden.”
The Inspector looked around the office then pointed his finger at the photographer who was a friend of his.
“You, Jon. You take the photograph now. Blow it up and make two hundred and fifty copies. Ten minutes maximum! Go and get it done now, then we can distribute the copies. I want to know of anyone who knows this man. Yes! I also want a large copy on the “Most Wanted” notice board outside this building. Right now, children, back to your stations; got it?”
Jon the photographer left the office in a rush with the other officers. He knew the Inspector well and didn’t want any trouble.
“Right, Sergeant Gold! You are Jewish: correct?”
He waited a moment and Becky just looked at him, not saying a word.
“Have you lost your voice? You are Jewish or you are not Jewish. Which is it then? Surly you know, don’t you, girly? Your name should give you a clue.”
The Inspector was smirking and leering at her at the same time.
“Well, yes I am. But what has that to do with anything?”
“As you are Jewish l need you to be the liaison officer. And as all the victims seem to have been non-Jewish it will take away any stupid bias. I think you know what l’m getting at, don’t you, Sergeant Becky Gold?”
“Yes, l know sir! But what do you want me to start with?”
“Make contact with the last ten victims’ families. At first just talk with them. Get as much background information about their parents as possible. Log all the information into the main computer. I have told your friend, that forensic guy Gustav Droysen, to arrange a special computer program for the team to use. It will be empty and clean. That way we will not have any contaminated information to contend with. It is all new, especially for this Killing of Gentle People
case. So get on with it, Sergeant, be a Sergeant! And don’t mess it up.”
He looked her up and down resting his eyes on her ample breasts saying:
“If this goes well, Becky, we could spend a long night eating, drinking and getting to know each

other better. You would like that!”
Sergeant Becky Gold made her way out of the Inspector’s office. At the door she stopped and looked back at the Inspector, saying:
“Not in your wildest dreams, Inspector! Not in your wildest dreams!”
Becky walked into the computer room, which was full of officers on duty.
“Has anyone seen Inspector Gustav Droysen?” she asked.
“Probably interrogating a hot