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“Victor Tremblay in: Paper Blood” by Pascal Farful (part 1 of 2)
Detective Victor Tremblay is called in to solve the case of a downed airliner. But the plane has a few secrets of it’s own...
Today’s story is the first of two parts of “Victor Tremblay in: Paper Blood” by Pascal Farful, who is a writer, fursuiter, musician and railway photographer. You can find more of his stories on his Furaffinity page.
Read for you by Rob MacWolf — werewolf hitchhiker.
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https://thevoice.dog/episode/victor-tremblay-in-paper-blood-by-pascal-farful-part-1-of-2
Transcript
You’re listening to The Voice of Dog.
Speaker:This is Rob MacWolf, your fellow traveler,
Speaker:and Today’s story is the first of two parts of
Speaker:“Victor Tremblay in: Paper Blood”
Speaker:by Pascal Farful, who is a writer, fursuiter,
Speaker:musician and railway photographer.
Speaker:You can find more of his stories on his Furaffinity page.
Speaker:Please enjoy “Victor Tremblay in:
Speaker:Paper Blood” by Pascal Farful,
Speaker:Part 1 of 2 Bang.
Speaker:I awoke. The room was dark.
Speaker:Moonlight bled through the window blinds, casting shadows throughout the bedroom.
Speaker:The phone rang on the table next to me and I could feel my partner, Charles, stirring.
Speaker:Picking up the phone, I was met with the
Speaker:voice of Justin Walker,
Speaker:CEO of North Am Airways,
Speaker:a budget airliner running out of Seattle to and from locations in Washington,
Speaker:Nevada, Arizona and California.
Speaker:“Hello Victor, sorry to wake you.”
Speaker:He said “We’ve just had a plane explode mid-flight north of Portland, we need
Speaker:you to come and take a look at it.”
Speaker:I sighed, looking at the cold digits on the digital clock on the bedside table.
:22AM. “I’ll meet you at your head offices, shall I?”
:I said. “Yes. As soon as possible.”
:He replied. I staggered to my feet. “It’ll
:cost extra out of regular hours.” “The cost
:is worth it.
:Justice waits for no-one.”
:“Understood. Set up a meeting,
:I’ll be with your receptionist in a few hours.”
:I said. “You don’t need directions?”
:“I wouldn’t be much of a detective if I couldn’t look up an address.”
:He agreed and I hung up the phone.
:I washed, then returned to the bedroom to get into my suit,
:sun beginning to dribble over the hilltops.
:I felt Charles’ arms wrap around my shoulders.
:“Be careful.” He whispered,
:pressing his nose to my cheek.
:“I promise.” I said, leaning my head back to give him a kiss, then making my way out to the car. -
:“Morning leem’” Rhys said, climbing into the car.
:A wolverine. Big guy, small eyes, built like a battle tank.
:My assistant. Solving crime alone is like booking your own funeral. He was dressed in a large red and white varsity jacket, jeans and a t-shirt.
:“Good morning.” I said,
:waiting for him to strap in,
:then driving off towards the North Am building.
:Rhys lived in Seattle, which
:made our case right in his back yard.
:“Mr. Walker’s in quite the hurry.”
:He grumbled, toothpaste still smeared on his lips.
:“Apparently so.” I said,
:turning onto the street bearing the offices of North Am.
:A large office block. 1960’s architecture. Lazy Brutalist.
:Nested squares. Tiny windows. Chipping paint.
:The forecourt was slowly beginning to fill with news crews, but it wasn’t bustling
:just yet. Rhys remained quiet.
:More quiet than normal.
:I parked the car and undid my belts,
:looking over to him as I prepared to leave the vehicle.
:“You okay?” I asked.
:He nodded. “I’m fine.”
:He said, in a way that heavily implied the opposite.
:Leaving the car, I reached into my suit pocket, pulling out a small microphone and clipping it to my shirt,
:snug under my collar on the left side.
:I hid the wire down my shirt to a cassette recorder in my jacket pocket.
:A small click of a heavy button and I was ready to document the occasion.
:I had a notepad and pen,
:as did Rhys, but nothing convicted like irrefutable evidence.
:We walked up the steps into the reception.
:Mr Walker was waiting for us.
:A raccoon. Slender physique.
:Pale blue striped suit.
:Pressed. Spotlessly clean.
:“Ah, Victor Tremblay,
:thank you for coming.”
:He said, holding out a paw to me, that I took and shook.
:I noted that Rhys held out his hand and was ignored.
:“Please, gentlemen,
:join me upstairs where it’s more suited to discussion.”
:Mr Walker said, turning and leading us across the smart foyer towards an elevator.
:The trip up to the conference room was silent.
:He didn’t speak, and neither
:did I. Out of the elevator, a high floor. We walked down the brown corridor to a large room.
:This conference room contained a big oval table,
:a view of the city in the blooming sun on the right,
:with little models of various aeroplanes on the left.
:It was a rich abode indeed.
:“Take a seat.” Mr Walker instructed, we complied.
:Rhys took out his notebook immediately, me following.
:He sheepishly went to put his away but I rested a hand on the book to stop him.
:Why he was so hesitant I didn’t know,
:but that could be dealt with later.
:“Tell me what happened to the aircraft.”
:I said. “It was Flight 44, took off from Seattle, bound for Tucson,
:and crashed just north of Portland, near the Lewis river.”
:The raccoon said, sitting down.
:“What do we know of the cause?” I enquired.
:“From initial reports, there was a
:detonation aboard
:and the plane plummeted into the ground.”
:He explained. “Do we have the black box?”
:“They’re recovering it now.”
:I nodded. “Let me know when it comes in.”
:“Absolutely.” He said.
:“How do you know it’s an explosion?”
:Rhys asked. “The fragments they’ve recovered show excessive burns.”
:“Which fragments?” I asked.
:He gulped. “The bodies,
:Mr Tremblay.” I stared into his eyes,
:then over at Rhys,
:then back out of the window.
:“They’ve recovered the bodies and are waiting on the box?” The wolverine clarified.
:“Correct.” “Any other information you have at this point?” I asked.
:“Yes.” He said. “I’ve got the manifest and the names of everyone on the flight,
:as well as a couple people of interest you may want to pursue.”
:He said, sliding a few documents across the table.
:The top document was details on the aircraft in question, a small Boeing craft.
:The second one down was the manifest, detailing all cargo onboard.
:The third was a passenger listing,
:giving a full list of everyone on board. And the rest were
:files on individuals of interest. I began to look over the first one.
:“Jack Anderson, one of our employees.”
:The raccoon said.
:“We’ve had a tough time with Jack.
:Doesn’t seem happy with the changes to his
:role, his hours and so forth.
:His standard of work became sloppy. We suggested that if he didn’t
:buck his ideas up that he wouldn’t be keeping that job much longer.
:He’s got a bee in his bonnet and he checked the plane over before it departed Seattle.”
:He said. “Our prime suspect in many respects.
:He’s been turned over to the feds. I suggest you start with him.”
:“Noted", I said, glancing over the remaining suspects I had been offered, then gathered
:the documents together neatly.
:I looked to Rhys, he nodded.
:“Alright, we’ll get to work.
:work." I said "Do keep in touch and inform us when the black box arrives.” -
:“You seem troubled.”
:I said to Rhys as we climbed into the car and I turned off the cassette recorder.
:He signed and nodded. “There’s
:a lot of dead folk on that craft.”
:“Before that.” I said.
:“You seemed troubled
:from the moment you got in the car this morning.”
:Rhys gulped and sighed
:as I started the engine and proceeded towards the office.
:“I don’t feel like I contribute anything to our cases.”
:He said. He had a habit for speaking blunt as a brick.
:It was a quality I valued like solid gold. “What makes you say that?”
:He seemed to mull it over.
:I could hear him starting sentences,
:not finishing them. “You’re the smart one.
:You’ve got a cassette recorder in your pocket, you ask all the clever questions.”
:He said. “I only ask the dumb ones.”
:I parked outside our office block.
:“If nobody asked the “dumb” questions”, I said,
:“Then we’d still be banging rocks together.” -
:“Jack Anderson. Flight Engineer for North Am Airways for the best part of 8 years.”
:Rhys began, reading from a large pile of documents he’d assembled.
:“He used to fly inside the planes, though as microcontrollers in jumbo jets have gotten more advanced,
:his duties have become an on-the-ground only role.
:This seems to correlate with his increased dissatisfaction with his work.”
:He said. “He was recently threatened with termination of employment by North Am, something it is noted that he took poorly.”
:“That’s a possible motive. He hates his employer, he’s about to lose his job,
:probably has a lot of bills to pay and feels hard-done-by.”
:I said. “Any significant fiscal oddities in his file?”
:“Nothing.” Rhys said.
:“Though that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a few fiscal oddities in the pipeline.”
:I nodded, bringing a coffee to the table and sitting down.
:“Who else do we have?”
:“Bruce Edgar.” Rhys said.
:“A wanted criminal, who made it aboard the plane, we believe, on a faked ID.”
:“Do you think he smuggled anything aboard?”
:“Possibly. You’ll have a tough time asking him, his last known location was in a body bag.”
:I grumbled, taking a sip of coffee.
:“A hard one to rule out definitively.”
:I ponder, “What’s the presumed scenario?”
:“Presumption is that Bruce got on the plane, tried to hijack it,
:or otherwise got in a scuffle. Then,
:either a bullet was fired or something else happened and caused it to explode, tumbling
:into the ground.” Rhys explained. Rhys nodded. “How about we start with Mr. Anderson, since he’s still breathing the same air we are.” He suggested.
:I nodded. “Perfect.
:Gives the salvage team more time to look into the aeroplane and find any extra pieces of Mr.
:Edgar.” - Inside the station, we were taken into a small room where Mr. Anderson was being held.
:He was a fox. Slender build.
:Wearing his overalls. They were grubby.
:He had hate in his eyes. Though
:he seemed acutely aware of both myself and Rhys entering the room.
:He was alert. On edge.
:“Hello Mr Anderson. Detective Victor Tremblay and Detective Rhys Jones.”
:I said, sitting down, Rhys next to me.
:“We’re here to ask some questions.”
:“Sure, but let me ask one first.”
:Jack said. “Go for it.”
:I said, shrugging. No reason to object.
:“Are you hired by North Am?”
:He asked. “Yes.” He groaned.
:“So much for impartiality.”
:I raised an eyebrow. “Do you distrust me?”
:He grunted. “I distrust North Am.”
:He said. “Why’s that?”
:“Overworked, underpaid, they ignore everything we say.
:Maintenance times and budgets are cut back over and over again. Which, given how much cocaine is being smuggled on those flights, is ridiculous.”
:“Cocaine?” We asked together.
:“Yes, those planes are full of drugs, animal skins, you name it.
:Coming in and out from all over the place.”
:Jack said, leaning back in the
:chair. “I reported them all to my superiors.
:But since I don’t trust them not to shred them.”
:He added, reaching into a pocket and handing over a folded document.
:“I handed them this report 3 months ago, my superior signed it,
:stamped it. It’s been seen and it’s in the system, with a log file.”
:I took it, looked over it,
:then handed it back. He wasn’t going to let me keep it, I saw his eyes stare unflinchingly at it the entire time, paw outstretched to receive it's return.
:“What do you know about Flight 44?”
:I asked. “Runs from Seattle to Tucson.”
:He said. “I did the checkover before boarding.
:I checked everything I was given time to.
:Including over a dozen pallets that I was told I wasn’t allowed to interfere with. But that was normal
:for North Am. I just figured they were full of drugs.
:Not full of explosives.”
:I nodded. “Your problems with North Am,
:what have you proposed to do about them?”
:“I filed a lawsuit a month ago, I have a lawyer and we’re going to court in June.”
:“Who’s your lawyer?”
:“Maria Campbell,
:I can give you her information and the case reference.”
:He explained. - With Maria Campbell’s information in hand, we got back in the car and headed back to our offices.
:“What do you think of Jack?” Rhys asked on the way.
:“It really hinges on this lawsuit. I’ll have
:a look into it, you see if you can find the location of the next suspect on the list.”
:I said. Back at the office, Rhys looked through the documents as I made enquiries with the local courts about the case reference I was given
:and laterly spoke with Maria,
:who confirmed what Mr Anderson had told us. “Case seems to be real, and, though I’m no legal expert, it seems that Jake has a good chance of winning it.
:If that document about the drugs he’d passed on to his superiors is fake, then he wouldn’t have minded
:me keeping it. Wouldn’t have made good evidence because they’d probably be able to prove a forgery.”
:I explained. I sat down at the table where Rhys was sifting through paperwork.
:“And if he’s got a court date with the company that wronged him, and he’s got a good chance of winning it, why would he blow up a jetplane belonging to them,
:heavily jeopardising his case?”
:Rhys appended. “Exactly.
:I don’t think he did it. It’s not in his interests to.”
:I suggested. ”As for Mr. Edgar, I’m not sure he’dve brought
:drugs along only to attack the plane.
:It’s strange for someone to try and go down with their haul. And,
:for that matter, to accompany it on it’s journey.
:Surely you’d want to be as far away from it as possible in case it gets caught.
:caught.” Rhys nodded. “Unless he needed it to be taken elsewhere?”
:“Filling a plane with drugs and then hijacking it
:to get it to where you want it feels like more work than is strictly necessary.
:If he was trying to fly cocaine and poached skins out to…
:Japan, Australia, Belgium,
:Brazil, surely you’d just load them onto the plane going there and
:have someone on the other end unload.”
:“You expect competency?”
:“I expect logic. Especially from someone capable of faking ID convincingly enough to get aboard the flight.”
:I stated. “That being said, the black box would hold the key to that one.
:You’d be able to hear if he burst into the cockpit, or any other struggle.
:But I’d argue that if he attempted something,
:then he wouldn’t have put the drugs there, if there are any.
:any.” Rhys nodded. “I think the next best idea is to look through what stuff they’ve found from the craft so far.”
:“Sounds good.” I said, getting to my feet again. –
:We had been provided the location of the crash site.
:The plume of smoke was still visible and vivid,
:fluttering up into the sky.
:We parked up on a backroad not far from the Lewis River,
:north-east of Portland,
:and met up with some of the investigators.
:We were taken to a nearby hangar where the evidence had been moved to, passing an ID check to enter.
:People in white coveralls were regularly walking in and depositing things carefully onto the floor,
:in cases of large
:metal chunks of craft,
:or onto tables in terms of documents, cargo and
:other non-aeronautical objects.
:I didn’t take much interest in the large chunks of aeroplane they’d recovered.
:I trusted them to know what different types of damage meant for the fate of the craft.
:That was far from my area of expertise.
:Some things showed signs of being buckled and bent, some things charred,
:some things relatively unscathed by comparison.
:They’d know what this meant in terms of plotting out its last moments,
:I just believed what they told me.
:What was immediately of note was that a rather large amount of identifiable stuff had been salvaged.
:I didn’t bother to look at the bodies. I intended to eat later this week. The first thing I went to examine were the ID’s. There was a small stack of them on one of the tables. With a deep, disquietened breath, I picked them up and started to look through.
:Comparing the names to the manifest,
:I quickly came across a driving license
:belonging to “Butch Williams”.
:The photograph matched the face of Bruce Edgar,
:I had a hunch it was him. It was charred in many places, but it was intact.
:Further scans of the others didn’t look too critical yet, though they may have uses in evidence later. I twirled it in my fingers for a moment and
:then put it in my pocket.
:A further scout of the table revealed a large, rather heavily damaged container.
:Scorch marks covered the mangled panels of the exterior and shrapnel was dug into the polystyrene inner container within.
:Pulling on some gloves, I eased the container open, taking each panel and
:placing it down neatly,
:as to disturb it as little as possible,
:making a note of how it went back together.
:I was now at the polystyrene itself.
:Some of it had deformed enough for further access.
:A modestly sized, loose segment was removed and I was able to access what lay inside. Ontop
:was cookery powder, stored in multiple small packets.
:Each packet had it’s contents labelled on it.
:The top few were flour,
:a few further down were baking soda,
:before I pulled out another bag labelled “Nose Candy”.
:A formal test would be required, but the label wasn’t exactly subtle.
:I collected the evidence that I felt was worth examining,
:Bruce’s drivers license, the “nose candy” and associated bags and Rhys took some photographs of the box cases and collected some statements from the investigation team.
:The team were informed and shown what I had taken away, and we returned to the office,
:dropping off the substances at the
:laboratory for inspection along the way. -
:I sat down and gave the driver’s license a more thorough examination.
:Up close, the fake was more clear.
:The font was wrong, it had a general cheapness to it on a purely tactile front.
:Most damning of course is that the picture of Mr Edgar on his actual ID,
:per the records we had,
:matched the photograph perfectly on the drivers license. A definite fake.
:“So, in conclusion, we’ve got someone with a criminal record flying on a fake ID,
:evidence of an explosion aboard the craft and, I do believe, a fair amount of cocaine.”
:I said. “Motive?” Rhys probed.
:“Not sure, potentially a deal went bad somewhere and somebody wanted to recoup lost costs.” I said.
:“A trap disguised as a test of faith, perhaps. Although,
:that being said, why would a cartel throw away a perfectly good amount of product and cause a national incident
:just to get rid of someone they didn’t like? There are
:much more subtle ways to do it.” The wolverine nodded. “So,
:if the voice recorder shows signs of Bruce entering the cabin, I would suggest a hijacking gone bad.
:If there
:are no signs of that,
:I’d wager it’s more likely that he and the drugs are unconnected.
:Two different jobs happening at once.
:An attempted murder or suicide of a criminal kingpin
:and a drug run by an
:unrelated client.”
:I smiled. “Astute suggestion.
:I concur entirely.
:Though I think killing him in a mass, public
:plane crash would be overkill.
:If it was a murder,
:I think it would be a quiet headshot in a controlled environment. Too much to go wrong, too many variables,
:too high-concept. Occam's Razor. I would
:err on a murder-suicide on his behalf
:if it were not a cockpit intrusion.”
:“You wouldn’t have any leads who know anyone in the drug or crime world who
:might know more about Mr. Edgar or
:drug flights in and out of Seattle, would you?”
:“No.” I lied. At this point I was interrupted by the phone.
:Picking it up, I was informed that the cockpit voice recorder was ready for me to listen to.
:I thanked them and placed the phone back on the hook,
:then relayed the information to Rhys.
:He didn’t want to do this, and neither did I. But, it had to be done,
:and it was going to be done.
:“You check in at the lab,
:I’ll go listen to this tape.”
:I instructed, standing up. Rhys thanked me silently and
:I made my way out to the car and the offices of the department of aviation.
:On site, I sat down in the room with the reel to reel machine,
:notepad out. I took a deep breath and they began
:the tape. This was the first of two parts of “Victor Tremblay in:
:Paper Blood” by Pascal Farful,
:read for you by Rob MacWolf, werewolf hitchhiker.
:Tune in next time to find out how Victor and Rhys unravel the pieces and
:how not even our detectives are without secrets...
:As always, you can find more stories on the web
:at thevoice.dog,
:or find the show wherever you get your podcasts.
:Thank you for listening
:to The Voice of Dog.
