The Art of Murder by Louis Shalako

his social commentary, and he reputedly
had an encyclopedic memory of his subjects over the
years.
    “ That’s Theo Duval and
Elmira Dobbs. Ah, let me think. It was maybe October of twenty-two.
I’m not sure if she’s still around, or what.”
    “ Where was it
taken?”
    “ The White Hart, it’s in
Montmartre. I might have their card in my file.” Leblanc pressed a
button and his secretary appeared in the doorway. “Please have a
look and see if there’s anything in the files on the White Hart, a
club in Montmartre.”
    She left on her errand and he looked at
them with several obvious questions written all over
him.
    “ It’s owned by a fellow by
the name of Marcel. He’s all right to talk to, as long as you
reassure him with a few coloured bits of paper.” Leblanc rubbed his
fingers together in a universal gesture. “If he thinks you’re the
vice cops, or after any of his regular customers, he’ll clam right
up.”
    “ This photograph is
different.”
    “ All of my photographs are
different.”
    “ Yes, of course. But what is
your philosophy of creativity, for surely that is what it
is?”
    “ My pictures say exactly
what I intend them to say. They are created, not captured. They are
candid, not posed. What this implies is that I must take a lot of
pictures, most of which never see the light of day. My pictures
reveal what the eye cannot see. My camera looks deeper than you can
ever know, for it sees inside, to the person who hides within. We
all wear a mask in this society. You must have figured that out by
now.”
    There was a silence as the gentleman
assessed them. They sat there, impervious behind their professional
masks, figuratively speaking, and he grinned engagingly.
    “ There is a new interest in
social criticism in general, and in my work, a deeper examination
of character. I’m not that interested in pretty pictures. I work in
an intimate key pervaded by a subtle vein of decadence. The old
ideas are no longer valid, and the current of escapism in modern
life is strong. There is a mood of sensual restlessness and
insecurity in the world today, and many doubts about established
values. This is a good time to be an artist.”
    “ I see.” Gilles most
assuredly did not see, however, it was refreshing to get some
temperament from the man, otherwise he would not be the person he
was, which was a very successful and well-regarded artist and
entrepreneur. “Andre?”
    “ I have no more questions,
Inspector.” Andre spread his hands palms up in the universal
gesture for helplessness, which was not surprising, given the last
answer.
    “ When was the last time you
saw either of them?”
    “ Ah, I might have seen them
around at various clubs, although not together anymore. I don’t
think she lasted long, maybe a few weeks or so.”
    “ So Monsieur Duval was a
player?”
    “ That’s one way of saying
it.” Leblanc thought for a moment. “Theo wasn’t into trophies, or
carving notches on his bed-post, if that’s what you
mean.”
    He thought some more.
    “ She, on the other hand,
might have had an agenda. That would have turned him off quicker
than anything.”
    “ So he was looking for true
love, then?” Levain could be uncommonly perceptive at
times.
    “ Yes, I think so.” Leblanc’s
look was appreciative. “That’s sometimes a tough thing, for a rich
and handsome man.”
    There was a light tap at the door. The
secretary returned and offered Leblanc a file, from which he
selected a card and then wrote the information down for them. He
returned the card to the file and she took it away again. This
whole exchange happened wordlessly.
    “ In short, gentlemen, my
style has evolved over time. We live in an age that is so rich in
innovations, a decisive era in the history of European
civilization, that anything is possible, for a man like me, but
even more so for a man like Theo Duval. Oh, yes, I knew him well
enough. But he was a type of man…if you will forgive the
expression, he