Chapter Two: Investigation

Retired and most honored detective, Liam Olivier, is called back to duty when the police are stumped as to how the Fox Thief managed to escape the eyes of the law, and the cameras.

A cell phone lit up and vibrated on the night stand as it emitted a loud, obnoxious ring tone; one that was not heard in a long time.

Hidden underneath the covers of his warm, comfortable feather bed, a disembodied hand reluctantly stretched out and groped around to answer whomever had called.

Sorely tempted to ignore the restful disturbance, especially since he was retired and too old to chase after criminals. Liam Olivier picked up his phone, and looked at the time through squinted eyes; five in the morning.

Groaning, he answered the call.

“This had better be good.” He yawned groggily; his voice was slightly muffled from lying in the feathery pillow.

“Sorry for disturbing you Detective Olivier,” a strict, fully awake, heavily French-accented voice spoke hastily, “but le Voleur struck again, this time at the Louvre. We need your help.”

“I’ll be in soon Renée,” Liam Olivier yawned and hung up on the police chief. “Why now, you stupid fox…” he said to the room at large and fell back asleep.

 

 Eight fifty-nine turned to nine o’clock on the holographic alarm clock.

A long forgotten song blasted in the room with the one and only occupant. Liam yawned, and slowly pulled himself out of bed. His grey eyes scanned the lonesome abode, upon looking at his phone, it had just dawned on him that it was the three-year anniversary of his divorce.

His phone vibrated again, it was a picture message from Chief Inspector Renée Delon; the image showed an empty wall with nothing but a single business card.

“The Louvre.” Liam murmured with a slight nod.

 

Showered and fully awake, Liam drank the fresh, bitter coffee and caught his reflection in the gloomy mirror. His black hair had grown past his ears, along with a five o’clock shadow that enhanced his high cheeks. However, darkening circles formed under his eyes from all those lonely nights he spent flipping through the pages of his and his ex-wife’s wedding photo album; a glint of gold caught his eye. He still wore his wedding band even though he had not seen her, nor talked to her since they had separated.

Pushing the dampening thoughts to the back of his mind by studying his ruggedly handsome features, Liam grabbed his beige trench coat and headed to the underground metro near his apartment.

Thirty minutes later, Liam exited the Palais Royal metro stop to see five police vehicles parked unceremoniously on the curb of the Louvre.

“Liam!” one man called out.

The detective turned to see the chief approach him, they shook hands briefly, “What painting was stolen?”

“Follow, I’ll show you, but first you have to see this.”

Renée was a stout middle aged man, even though he still looked like a teenager. Under his cap, tresses of grey and blond stuck out.

Knowing each other for nearly ten years, he and Liam had worked on almost every case together; or rather, Liam reported his findings to Renée.

Since being made Chief of Police four years ago, Renée made sure everyone went to him about every single case that came under their noses. He wanted full control as to what’s going on and what their leads were.

Although he did not say it aloud, Liam found that Renée redefined ‘micromanagement’.

 The chief led Liam to the entrance of the Louvre; there on the floor was the metal lock and chain, melted away.

“Who could do that?” Liam bent and studied the metal; it was stone cold.

“Has to be someone who knows evil mysticism; a dark mage.”

“Magic doesn’t exist, Renée.” Liam stated angrily. “Can you get any finger prints?”

“Oui, if there were any…” Renée answered solemnly and crossed his arms.

“What do you mean, everyone has a print.” However, when Liam kneeled and picked up the melted metal, he saw long slender finger impressions, nothing even remotely close to a grooved printed pattern was embedded in the metal.

The chief explained further, “Our forensic lab ran a test with their gizmos. Not a single trace of any fingerprint; there was no oil on the hands, not even a strand of hair. It’s the same from the past five incidents.”

Liam sighed, stood up and brusquely threw the metal down, “You should have called me after the first incident.”

The Chief ignored his comment and led him through the entrance, up the steps, and into the first floor hallway. Holographic tape with the word ‘Attention " Ne Traversez Pas’ cornered the empty space.

The detective took the lead, crossed the tape that stated ‘do not cross’ and he pulled off the business card, on the one side it said:

 

Le Voleur de Renard Thanks you for your corporation.

 

On the other side:

 

Good can prevail, with certain bravery.

 

 

 

“Good can prevail, with certain bravery?” Liam asked, more to himself than the room at large.

“You should see the other cards we have.” Renée scoffed.

“You have more?” Liam spun on the spot, interest filled his every nerve; the adrenaline he felt when there was a new case always excited him.

“Yeah,” the chief was taken aback, “The Fox Thief left the cards at every painting taken.”

Liam thought for a moment as the police searched the entire floor for clues, if there are more of these passages, then, unless it is made up, the thief must have read a book… which book though…

“Are you okay detective?” Renée asked Liam, his quizzical look was almost disturbing.

“Yes,” Liam said without thought, “Can you send the other cards over?”

“Of… of course,” Renée whipped out his mobile phone and called his office, “Inez, I’m near the delivery port at the Louvre, address: seven, five, zero, zero, one. Can you send over the Fox Thief’s cards? Merci.” He hung up and turned to the detective, “They will deliver in the curator’s office.”

“Is he here?”

“Oui, but he’s not talking for some reason.”

“Let me talk to him, alone.” Liam was firm on this as Renée was about to follow him.

The detective left the nosy chief in the 21^st century hall, walked back down to the ground floor, and followed the signs to the curator’s office. It was not far. As he approached the office, Liam noticed two police officers and one civilian, who looked livid, occupied the enclosed office.

Without knocking, Liam walked in; the officers turned to see who entered, then quickly saluted and greeted, “Detective Olivier.”

The Curator, who sat at his desk, did not look any happier.

Liam dismissed the guards and they walked out without question.

“Sorry about that, I know how intrusive our management is, especially in the affairs of art.” He sat down in the chair opposite to Cyril de Lille, without waiting for a request.

“Are you a flic too?” Cyril asked with spite.

“No, I’m not a cop. I’m a retired detective. Liam Olivier.”

“Retired?” the former studied Liam with close eyes, “You look no older than thirty.”

“I’m thirty-three.”

“Come back to me when you are a hundred.” Cyril scoffed as if this was a mere joke.

Liam hesitated then asked, “Was it your mother or father?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Who bore the genetics of a vampire?”

Cyril studied him; he’s smarter than he lets on. “My mother.”

 “Ah, so you are only half.” Liam thought he had chatted up the curator enough, “I wanted to ask you about the painting that was stolen.”

“You and every other damn cop here.” Cyril spat as he crossed his arms and sat back in his chair.

“Unlike them, I can figure out who stole it and why, I just need some questions answered.” Liam too sat back in the chair and studied the supernatural being, “I want to know why this particular painting, and all the others the thief has stolen before?”

“Do you believe in magic, Detective Olivier?”

“No, my wife did.”

“You have a wife?” Cyril raised his brow, wondering how any woman could stand his prodigious, inquisitive skills.

This was the moment, Liam shifted uncomfortably, “Eh, I did, we divorced after seven years… Fell apart.”

“Not surprised…” Cyril muttered.

 

Before either could speak again, five small cards emitted from a waist height tube-like messenger from behind Cyril’s desk. The vampire reached behind him, picked up the cards and briefly flipped through them with his long pale fingers.

“Did you ask for these?” he threw the cards to Liam.

“As a matter of fact, I did. These cards are left after the Fox Thief steals the paintings.”

“I don’t know why you humans bother with the Thief. The paintings are always returned after a week, undamaged and looking better than before.”

“Either way, this thief is a wanted criminal. Plus I want to find out why these paintings are stolen and returned, unharmed. There is more to these paintings than just their beauty. And I’m going to find out why.”

Liam stood up, had his hand on the door handle when Cyril spoke he last.

“If you do not believe in magic or mysticism, then how will you ever figure out who stole and returned them? Good day, Detective.”

 

Liam turned back and faced the half creature. The curator knew more than he let on, and the retired detective was going to find out.

Author's Note

this is not edited and I will get around to it.