Free The Art of Murder by Louis Shalako Page B

through his
hair, much of which seemed to end up in his hairbrush lately, a
little more of it going with every morning that came along. He bent
and picked up his daughter, fickle as all kids were, and she
struggled and wriggled in some spontaneous desire to run off
again.
    He gave her a quick kiss and let her
down. It was for the best anyway, as he was almost dead on his
feet.
    “ Vache sacrée.” Andre’s head
swam and he looked for the antidote. “Holy, cow.”
    It was right there, an old and familiar
friend.
    “ Do you want me to draw you
a bath?” She called from the kitchen as he slumped into his sagging
brown armchair.
    Andre had only been home a few hours
after his night shift, then off to find Maintenon again.
    “ Naw. I’m having a drink.”
Andre Levain was home, he had two whole days off and it was the
weekend.
    This event was kind of a rarity in
police work.
    “ We can have a bath
later.”
    Her giggle acknowledged the signal.
They would have a nice, quiet weekend together.
    She would bring him a glass of wine
when she got a minute. It was all he needed, really. The pair of
them would be in bed by ten o’clock, and according to her usual
testimony, he would be snoring five minutes later. But he had a
funny feeling they might be in for a little treat tonight, and he
was quite looking forward to it. They were still young enough and
their marriage still fresh enough, that sex had not become a weapon
or a bone of contention. For that he was grateful. Maelys was a
sound sleeper, which seemed to help. At four years of age, Maelys
was still totally innocent of guile, although lately she was
learning to manipulate her parents to some extent. For the most
part, she was completely absorbed in her dollies and her tea-set.
Having a daughter was pretty much the only thing in the world that
could have made him read up on the subject of children and
child-rearing. At first it had been God-awful, but Andre was a
quick convert to the joys of being a father.
    He yawned in a kind of surprise,
discovering a smile to go with it which made his fact twist, stiff
and awkward in its involuntary contractions.
    “ Aw.” It had been a long
time since he had enjoyed a good Saturday morning
lie-in.
    He only hoped nothing came along to
spoil it. Reaching for the paper, he put his feet up. Fatigue
flushed over him in a wave that when it ebbed, drained much of the
day’s stress and worry from his tense frame. The room was warm,
although windows opened a few centimetres to let in some air
promised a cool breeze later. Andre absently reached for his pipe,
but laid it aside again as he was too tired to mess with it. It was
like he just didn’t care, besides, he must have had fifty
cigarettes in the last twenty-four hours. It was a special kind of
taste in his mouth.
    That wouldn’t all come off in the
shower. He longed for his toothbrush, such a simple little thing.
People all said the same things. In the long hours of the night
shift, they longed for their beds, their armchairs, and their
toothbrushes. They longed for a drink, or even just a hot meal and
a friendly face. They longed for their wives, their kids and their
homes.
    He looked at the bottles on the
sideboard. It was just ten feet away. Inertia defeated him. Maybe
he didn’t need it after all. The smell of cabbage was making him
ravenous, and it would be a nice change from their more usual
staple diet of anything and everything that went with carrots.
These days, it was like everything seemed to go with carrots. There
was also the promise of pie in the air, baked this afternoon most
likely.
    There was something about pie that made
everything else all right.
     
     
     

Chapter Six
     
    His life had
changed.
     
     
    In the early days, he never would have
brought a valise bulging with work home with him. Back then, his
life was compartmentalized. His life had changed, to the extent
that he dreaded coming home. Weekends were the worst. All around
were objective reminders of