An Awkward Situation

The house smelled of wood, of smoke, and of fresh tobacco. It laid down a layer of calm, freshened by the air cascading through the window opened but a crack against the wind and rain. The sounds of the squall pouring off the roof and the balconey outside, against the windows and on the street below was reverberant. He poked the fire, low lit, and sat back in his chair, relieved that the Grand Marnier had not lost its pleasantness for him. A long pull on his cigar, he exhaled, the smoke trailed along with the cool air towards the fire.

Henri had lived here but several weeks, and had filled the house with things, but things don't replace people, no matter how many things one collected. Nor did it replace his cat, he thought, staring into the flicker. He missed his cat, and took no comfort knowing his cat, of course, did not miss him. The loneliness was magnified by the realization some time ago that he had grown weary of his own company.

The bell of the phone on the table between the fireplace chairs startled him. He let it ring a few times before he lifted the receiver, to spite it.

 

"Hello?"

 

"Yes, hello, Inspector Levant. I am Lieutenant Francois Bellavue of the Gendarmerie. It seems there's been a murder."

 

The Lieutenant paused as if he awaited some expression from Henri. Henri was not in the mood.

 

"So you say..."

 

"Well, actually, the dead man with the note attached to his chest with a rather long knife says so, Monsieur. I am but painting the picture as it lays before me."

 

"I see. And what is of it to me?"

 

"The dead man is Inspector Henri Levant, Monsieur. This makes something of an awkward situation."

 

Henri was intrigued. "Ah. Yes, I suppose it is."

 

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