René was found dead. Jean-Claude had never liked that Michel was her private confessor, her friend, her keeper of secrets, her emotional anchor. Nor did he like that Michel was a transvestite; to him… he was simply an undefined “queer” trying to deceive everyone—but of course, he would never succeed in deceiving Jean-Claude.
Michel needed to leave that blood-stained dressing room, thick with the scent of perfume and oxidized blood. He was removing his eye makeup, while tears rolled like a spring down his face.
“—Tell me, Michel, do you know if anyone wanted to kill her? Did she have debts, lovers, some kind of trouble?” the inspector asked.
He could only manage to reply, “—I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know…”
However, his soul was betrayed by the trembling of his hands and the small whimperings that escaped him as he wept. That man was afraid, and he was hiding more than he said. He shed his wig, earrings, and prosthetic breasts; now he was merely a poor wretch and not the great Diva on stage who entertained that vast audience, singing songs of another era that matched his own age. The inspector was certain that he must have suffered greatly throughout his life. He felt compassion for him and decided to accompany him along the Boulevard toward his home—the Boulevard of Broken Dreams, “a curious and fitting name for this particular person,” he thought.
“—Very well, I shall accompany you to your home. That way, I can ensure you are safe.”
Michel looked at him and smiled timidly with the little strength he had left.
The Inspector gestured with his hand for him to go first, and he complied. He had no desire nor strength to fight; besides, the Inspector only wanted to be kind.
“—Let’s go. By the way, I must speak to you about some bloody pearls,” the Inspector remarked.
Michel stared at the cobbled ground of the Boulevard as he began to unburden himself, providing more information for the case.
“—I gave them to her. They were fine ones, from the Philippines… did you know? They are a family inheritance. She was wearing them when he struck her on the head, and the blood began to flow hot until it stained the brilliance of those pearls red.”
Poor Michel had been the one to discover his friend’s body lying on the dressing room floor after her performance. He continued speaking…
“—She didn’t want to be with him. He was a pimp, a brute, a scoundrel, a parasite accustomed to getting his way. But my friend was intelligent, besides having a fine and beautiful body. That’s why she decided to leave him, but he wouldn’t accept it. René warned me: ‘If anything happens to me, anything at all, it will have been Jean-Claude.’”
The Inspector interrupted the monologue:
“—You have the pearls! They are evidence in the case. You must return them!”
“—Oh, my Dear, they are a family inheritance and a memory of her tragic end.”
“—Even so, you must hand them over, and they will be returned to you later. They will help us match fingerprints, to verify if only René’s blood is on those pearls or if the murderer’s is there as well.”
The Inspector looked at him seriously.
“—Do you have them on you?”
Michel seemed not to hear a word of what he was saying. After emerging from his deep thought, he asked the detective:
“—Did she fight, Inspector? Tell me, please—did she fight?”
The Inspector didn’t know if it was a question or rather a plea.
“—There were trampled flowers, the vase was on the floor, and the water was spilled. The vanity had all its tools scattered about, and the mirror has a small crack. So, I suppose she did fight; there was likely a struggle until his physical strength finally overcame hers.”
“—That is good, my friend,” Michel said aloud.
They reached the door of his residence and there they said their goodbyes.
“—Take care of yourself, Michel. And of course, you must not—you cannot—leave the country. We will speak again; try to get some rest. Tomorrow will be a very hard and complicated day.”
Michel thought it could hardly be worse than today.
“—Thank you, Inspector.”
The situation was truly awkward, and for a moment… silence reigned. The Inspector turned around and began to walk away from that block of flats when, suddenly, the peace of the atmosphere was unexpectedly shattered by three gunshots coming from the doorway. By the time he managed to get inside, there was no one left—only the soon-to-be corpse of Michel, who handed him the bloody pearls he had kept in his coat pocket. He placed them, almost without strength and with a final sigh, into the Inspector’s hands. The Inspector closed Michel’s eyelids and thought “how unjust life can be sometimes.”
Those bloody pearls would be the answer to the case, and he would see to it that that man paid for the murders.
Signed: Inspector Alesyus.