Chương 6: Chapter Six
Inspector Riley sat at his desk, staring at some paperwork and the newest article on the notorious Art Thief.
He sighed as he looked to his corkboard, several images of potential suspects, he thief's outfit, his height, suspected eye colour, hair colour, area of activity, list of suspected and claimed acts of crime. The Inspector had been appointed a year prior to investigate a missing Italian portrait, The Madonna at Prayer. Since then, the thief had run circles around the department. What confused the inspector was the level of sophistication during the heists, only to have then returned, in prime condition, mere days later.
"It doesn't make sense…" he muttered as he stroked his moustache in thought. He had recently seen the thief's face, properly. A young boy, a strangely well-dressed eighteen-year-old boy, who appeared to know details on security patrols, museums, residences, artworks and handling of artwork. This boy, a mere child, could commit these large crimes and no one was able to stop him.
What was worse was he mocked the Inspector. Like any child would.
He groaned as he turned in his chair and rested his hand on his temple, leaning heavily on his desk.
The Paris Police Prefecture was always a busy environment. While a large building, Inspector Riley could hear the Fire Brigade sirens when they were called. Looking across the room he saw several desks, each in a similar state of disarray, and many officers working. Light streamed in through stained windows and the ceiling was an ugly yellow from cigar smoke lingering. Behind the Inspector was the Chief of Police's Office, with clouded windows so one could see the silhouette of a stalking figure, but never a man.
The Inspector glanced at the picture frame on his desk of his wife, Olivia, and his daughter, Samantha. He smiled at the sight of such an old picture, his daughter would be close to fourteen now. "Where're we at with Tea in the Countryside?" the Inspector called out.
A man across the room from him, scribbling into a notepad, looked up and flicked through some pages. "Well… Tea in the Countryside appears to be in fine condition still, like all the other artworks."
"Are we sure about that?" he asked standing.
"We've consulted art analysists, they say it's the real deal, Sir," he explained, "Like all the other artworks. This thief returns them." The officer stood up from his desk and walk over to the Inspector, "We've got a list of potential next targets. He's only gone after older, expensive paintings, we've compiled a list from the surrounding museums." He passed his notepad to the Inspector.
The Inspector took one look at it and shook his head, "Money isn't a motive of this thief," he informed, "Expensive paintings isn't the only component we have to consider."
"Inspector Riley," someone beckoned.
The Inspector watched as on the younger men approached, dressed in navy blue uniform and iconic helmet and baton. In his hands however, he had a piece of paper.
"What is it?"
"This arrived for you sir." The Inspector saw it was a folded letter.
He made a loud groan, snatching it from the officer and begrudgingly unfolding it.
"What is it?" the officer asked.
"You know that art thief? The one that returns the paintings?" The Officer nodded. "Every now and then he'll send something to the Inspector, either mocking him or telling him what he's going to be up to next. Its happened four times now and he's escaped by mere seconds. He always delivers them without anyone seeing his face. Who gave it to you?"
"Some little girl on the street. Said a man gave her lolly money to deliver it," the Officer explained. He looked at Inspector Riley, watching as his eyes glared at the paper.
"What's it say, boss?" the other Inspector asked.
Inspector Riley's hands scrunched the paper from how hard he was holding the paper. He pressed the back of his hand as he thought about what he had just been given. "We've been given a tip off," he flicked the paper across his desk. The other Investigator glancing at the neat handwriting, "Apparently that thief will strike tonight, he's after the new exhibit in Louvre. Part of that new jewellery they found overseas."
This caused an eye brow raise, "Jewellery?"
Investigator Riley brushed his fingers through his moustache in thought. It was the thief's handwriting, same method of delivery, but very straight forward. He consulted the other letters he had gotten from this Phantom of Paris. A dozen sat in his desk, some pinned on his wall. He glanced over a couple;
'Hello dear Inspector…'
'It seems as though I have a new name…'
'You can add Phantom of Paris…'
'Phantom…'
'Art Thief…'
'Ghost of Art…'
'Thief…'
'… You were so very close to catching me, I must applaud you.'
'I do rather enjoy our little cat and mouse exchange.'
'Is that a new a belt? Perhaps you trimmed your moustache.'
'If you so do seek my presence I shall be found at the residence of Winifred Jarvis…'
'The museum of Louvre…'
'…After Tea in the Countryside…'
'Très Riches Heures du Duc de Berry…'
'…The Last Supper…'
'At the shipping centre to detour a certain Dedham Vale painting…'
'In search of The Four and Twenty Elders…'
Inspector Riley pinched the bridge of his nose, smoothing out the newest letter and pinning it by the other letters.
"Inspector Riley,
I apologise for my inconvenience, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to be a tad meddlesome earlier then expected.
This evening, on the first night of Fete De Paris, I shall break into the Louvre once more to take the newly discovered Ring of Liberty.
Hope to see you there, my good man.
Art Thief.'
"He's never taken an artefact before…" he mumbled. But the Art Thief had never lied or been misleading, he was just cunning and slippery. Yet also still a child.
That was something many of the officers failed to recognise.
He recalled the officer who had demanded others to shoot the thief when he was fleeing, and being the only one to stop it. While he was a criminal, the boy wasn't hurting anyone, he returned the pieces, wanted someone's attention, he was stealing and returning paintings from wealthy locations, but no one had ever gotten hurt.
He was a child.
The Inspector seemed to be to only one to remember that.
"Call all extra officers for nightfall. Fete De Paris begins this evening, and this thief is going to strike amongst the chaos at the Louvre," he explained turning to the Inspector and Officer. "All hands-on deck, gentlemen. This will be the time we catch him."
*
Anita felt the corset against her ribs, every breath was a wheezed strain. "I'm not enjoying this…" Anita managed to rasp, taking small breaths.
"You wanted to wear a corset, Anita," Raphael reminded buttoning up his royal blue waistcoat. He winked at himself in the mirror before turning to Anita, "Do you want me to loosen it?��
Anita squeaked as she eagerly nodded, "I don't think I'll be able to move in this." She shuffled herself around so he could loosen the corset dress. Raphael had picked out a royal blue and red corset dress for Anita, with long sleeves etched with elegant patterns. Anita released a long, relieved sigh as Raphael adjusted the tension in the dress. He retied the strings and nodded, "Better?"
Anita sighed, "Yes." She twirled around, making a tiny curtsy.
"You still able to run?" Raphael asked.
Anita nodded, lifting her skirt to show her leather boots, laced tightly and appropriate for running. "I can even climb in it too."
Raphael kneeled and gently patted against the skirt, checking to see if anything concealed was obvious. She seemed normal.
"Does it look okay?"
Raphael took a step back and observed. Anita's dress was designed to be tightly tied up to assist the skirt's ability to fly during a spin or twirl. While it now looked loosely fitted, Raphael nodded, "Simply gorgeous, Ann."
She flushed, rubbing her cheeks to hide it.
"How do I look?" Raphael asked rising and giving a quick twirl and pose.
Anita giggled, applauding his showmanship. "Very handsome," she said.
Raphael looked at himself in the mirror. "Do you think I need a tie? Bow tie?" He fixed the white shirt under his coat and gave himself another look over.
"That would be too much," Anita informed sitting on the edge of Raphael's bed. "Can you fix my hair, please?" Raphael nodded, moving by her and pulled back her hair.
"Tail, braid or bun?" he offered gathering her blonde locks. She passed him a comb and requested a bun. Anita's hair had never been well maintained, combing it was a hassle and constantly frightened Raphael that he was just pulling out bits of hair. Moments later, Anita's hair looked clean and neat.
She rose and stood by the mirror, checking Raphael's handiwork. "How did I go, milady?" Raphael questioned.
"Hmmm…" Anita tilted her head and shrugged, "Oh, it'll do."
Raphael rolled his eyes as he rose to his feet, quickly feeling for his lock-picks and mini smoke bombs in the inner pockets of his waistcoat. "If you're ready, milady," He made a dramatic bow, holding an arm out to his friend, "Shall we depart for the festival?"
Anita smiled, curtsying, "Indeed we shall." She took his hand and the pair walked down the stairs to the front door, heading down the streets and immediately being met by the bulk of the Fete De Paris.
The city had been getting ready for its little festivities gradually over the past few days. By late afternoon, people had hung up colourful lanterns, illuminating the growingly busy streets. There were giant flower bouquets on every street lamp, stalls were selling colourful treats and preparing banquets for later in the evening, while others offered strange knick-knacks including jewellery, spin tops and bells.
Children and adults alike littered the streets looking at the possible things they could buy and eat as early festival treats. While it was still early, it was only a sample of what was to come in the evening. Raphael walked through the crowded streets easily, but everything seemed amazingly colourful to Anita. She watched as some children sat down to watch a puppet show. She stood at the back of the crowd and smirked as she watched.
Raphael managed a few paces before realising Anita had stopped following him. She was giggling along with other children at the random jokes of the puppets on stage, the strange over-the-top actions seemed central to the non-existent story.
Raphael stood by Anita and watched; two male puppets, roughly cut from wood dressed in blue and green school-boy outfits, were attempting to out-sing one another to the point they were slapping or knocking each other over. Raphael noticed, not the children, that the strings got tangled, forcing the puppets to slam into one another and stay nose to nose. Their actors continued to bicker, shaking them around as they improvised a means of detangling them.
Raphael couldn't help but chuckle along, largely finding that the amusement of the children made him happy. He found himself watching Anita mid-way through a belly-laugh, pure bliss glowing from her eyes, he almost couldn't tear her away from it.
He waited by a stall, examining an overseas man's strange 'lucky charms' and 'healing crystals.' His favourite was the 'Sunstone' which brought 'sunshine in a rock from outside of cloudy Paris.' Raphael enjoyed the imaginative description for what was merely a bright yellow stone. While beautiful, Raphael doubted sunshine lied within.
Anita stood by him, still smiling, as she too looked at the Sunstone. "You look happy," Raphael stated.
Anita made chittered giggles as she nodded, "They were funny."
"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself." Raphael returned the gemstone he was holding and farewelled the stall worker, pocketing his hands as he started down the street while Anita attempted to explain the story of the puppet show. Raphael couldn't follow half of what she said, merely smiled, nodded and laughed when she got so excited she jumped in place.
Raphael suddenly halted, turning his head to better hear what he thought was music. Anita stopped and turned, staring oddly at Raphael as he scanned the streets. In moments she too heard violin music, looking around herself for the source of it.
Raphael pressed his lips together. "One small detour," he said suddenly running down the next street.
Anita rolled her eyes as she quickly followed, holding up the edges of her skirt to keep from tripping or having muck flick up and dirty it.
Raphael took long strides. Stopping at the corner of the street to look for the music. He saw a gathering crowd further down the street, on the corner of a brick pathway with a widened amount of space. Anita managed to stand up Raphael, panting softly as she watched Raphael slowly approach the small crowd, watching him disappear amongst it.
He got to the front of the group, his eyes widened as he saw a girl, with long blonde hair in a gorgeous, festival dress dancing whilst playing the violin. But his amusement came from a mere recollection, "Miss Ave Maria…"
*
Maria felt very happy, playing her violin in public and having so many people enjoy her music.
The nuns had suggested she go celebrate the first night of Fete De Paris, if she stayed in the same district as the Church and Park. Maria had agreed, wearing a new, dark blue and white dress, taking her violin with her and setting up on a lonely corner.
She felt nervous at first, sitting on a stone bench in silence, listening to the excited chatter of early festival goers as they walked into the Park or down the street to get to the next one. She remembered playing in her town, often for the serenity for the elderly folks, and being comfortable and overjoyed, hearing her own music and dancing and knowing people were having fun because of her. It gave her a sense of accomplishment she couldn't quite describe.
What started off as a note, turned into an improvised fiddle, turning into a tune which turned into the longest, cheery song she had learnt from her music teacher. What started off as an old woman dropping a coin into her case, turned into a group of small children being mesmerised by her haunting tones, calling over their parents, attracting more adults and children, forming together to be a small crowd dedicated to simply listen to her song.
Maria beamed a smile, twirling her bow in her fingers to be tricky, as she started another song. A light, Irish Jig even she, herself, couldn't help but dance. Twirling around with her violin in hand and tapping about her feet. Children started dancing, one approaching her so they could dance together, hopping in circles and twirling. People started clapping to the beat, prompting the song to go quicker, become livelier, an energy forming in the air that became addictive for the crowd.
She sprung onto a stone bench, continuing to quickly glide her bow across the strings flawlessly.
A younger man, dressed in a navy waist coat, trousers and matching fedora, emerged from the crowd, offering his hand to a random lady. Flattered, she curtsied as she accepted his hand and the pair began dancing, together, in the space. Spinning each other around in an energetic and quick-paced version of a waltz. The woman laughed as the man twirled her, and gave a bow to her, to which she replied with a curtsy.
Other couples had started, grabbing their partners or strangers in a community of dances, connected by the sudden need to ball to Maria's song.
Maria continued dancing in her own space on the bench, making quick, little steps and sliding around, attempting to look fancy and show off. The man whom started the dance watched her momentarily and chuckled, amused.
The song came to an end with a long and satisfying note, followed by silence, even to the patrons. All Maria could hear was the sound of her shallow breathing, and feel the heat forming in her cheeks as she felt a bead of sweat drip down the side of her head. She dropped her arms down and lifted her head as everybody applauded her, throwing money into her open violin case. Some left immediately, but suddenly, a small man, with chimney sooted skin dressed in baggy black clothes and matching hat, revealed a trumpet, another had a saxophone, one man had a violin like Maria's.
They each started playing a very jazzy tune everyone started tapping their foot to.
The young gentleman offered a hand to Maria as she came down from the bench.
"You are truly amazing," he complimented.
Maria felt timid, adopting a shy appearance from being complimented by a striking handsome young man. "Thank you," she said smiling, "I love to play."
"It certainly shows," he said over an enthusiastic trumpet solo. He wiped his brow, taking off his fedora to scratch through his red hair. "I don't mean to sound creepy, but are you from the Catholic Church?" he asked. "Not the Notre Dame one, the other one."
Maria blinked, her bashfulness turning to scepticism. "Yes…?"
He nodded, "Forgive me, I just recalled hearing your violin on my way past is all. Ave Maria, I think it was."
Maria remembered playing that song earlier in the day, she had left her windows open when she played. "My name is Raphael," he introduced holding out his hand.
Maria took her bow in the same hand as her violin and took his hand, "Nice to meet you Raphael. I'm Maria."
He smiled as he kissed her hand, stunning Maria, then re-hatted himself as he nodded. "Maria… how fitting." She was frozen, her cheeks flushing, unable to be stopped.
A little girl suddenly broke through the crowd, glancing at Maria momentarily before tugging on Raphael's sleeve. "I'm afraid I must be on my way," he said politely, "But until we meet again, Miss Maria."
Maria nodded meekly, but quickly composed herself and reaffirmed her nod, "I look forward to it." Providing a small curtsy as he tipped his hat, he took the child's hand and weaved their way through the crowd, Raphael glancing back and waving before looking to the little girl, listening to what she was saying.
One of the men asked for an encore, urging her to play along to his brass instrument. Maria looked around to the people, watching the eager expressions of the crowd, whom wanted to continue celebrating with the music.
Maria looked to the man and nodded, pressing her violin to her neck, flicking her bow only to glide it across the strings, humming the beginning of another improvised jig.
*
As Raphael and Anita walked on, night time blanketed Paris. Anita continued humming the girl's violin song until the streets became busy. In passing many women complimented the pair's clothing, some commending their commitment to the colour scheme of the French Flag.
Fete De Paris was a festival largely celebrated by the commoners, the every-day person. The closer the pair got to the museum, the less lively the streets became. People passed them to go to the celebrations, some strange looking people such as a woman walking with a tea tray and many cups, an old man hobbling down the road with a chess board under his arm and several older children walking with wheelbarrows full of toys.
But the noise of the holiday was drowned by distance as Raphael and Anita stood before a bridge. The water which ran under it streamed calmly, the quiet noise being enough to hide the far away yells and merriments of the people. Opposite the bridge, the streets seemed darker, duller and lonely, home of the incredibly wealthy, tourism attractions, schools and the palace both could see the silhouette of in the distance.
Anita gulped, taking Raphael's hand, suddenly nervous.
Raphael gave her hand a squeeze and reassured her. "There's no need to be scared. I promise, I won't let anything happen to you." The longer they stood in silence, staring at the quiet streets, the more daunting they appeared.
"I know you will. And… I promise to do the same for you." Raphael could see the flickers of fear etched in her face the longer she stared at it as well.
Each took in a deep, long breath through the nose and in unison sighed through their mouth. Together, they walked across the bridge.
Tình trạng nguồn điện hàng tuần
-- Xếp hạng
Quyền lực 
-- Đá
Quyền lực