Three France Crime Thrillers In One Volume July 2023 (eBook)

Alfred Bekker (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2023 | 1. Auflage
500 Seiten
Alfredbooks (Verlag)
978-3-7452-3230-1 (ISBN)

Infos

This volume includes the following thrillers: Marquanteur And The Foundation Marquanteur And The Strangler Of Marseille Marquanteur And The Revenge Clément Degresse is actually in the old factory building to close an illegal deal. But he quickly realizes that it is a trap. Someone wants to make him pay for a crime he was involved in years ago. Commissaire Marquanteur of the Marseille Criminal Investigation Department must stop an ice-cold vendetta, but every detail of this bloody revenge seems well planned. Alfred Bekker is a well-known author of fantasy novels, thrillers and books for young people. In addition to his major book successes, he has written numerous novels for suspense series such as Ren Dhark, Jerry Cotton, Cotton Reloaded, Kommissar X, John Sinclair, and Jessica Bannister. He has also published under the names Neal Chadwick, Jack Raymond, Jonas Herlin, Dave Branford, Chris Heller, Henry Rohmer, Conny Walden, and Janet Farell.

Textauszug

​Marquanteur And The Strangler Of Marseille

Alfred Bekker

: France Crime Thriller

by Alfred Bekker

Drug dealers are killed in the southern French city of Marseille in an almost ritualistic manner, each receiving a hangman's noose around the neck, knotted from a skipping rope. A fight between two drug gangs? That's what it looks like, but who against whom? Because there are victims on both sides? Is there a third group involved? Commissaire Marquanteur and the criminal police of Marseille are faced with a mystery.

Alfred Bekker is a well-known author of fantasy novels, thrillers and books for young people. In addition to his major book successes, he has written numerous novels for suspense series such as Ren Dhark, Jerry Cotton, Cotton Reloaded, Kommissar X, John Sinclair, and Jessica Bannister. He has also published under the names Neal Chadwick, Jack Raymond, Jonas Herlin, Dave Branford, Chris Heller, Henry Rohmer, Conny Walden, and Janet Farell.

Copyright

A CassiopeiaPress book: CASSIOPEIAPRESS, UKSAK E-Books, Alfred Bekker, Alfred Bekker presents, Cassiopeia-XXX-press, Alfredbooks, Uksak Special Edition, Cassiopeiapress Extra Edition, Cassiopeiapress/AlfredBooks and BEKKERpublishing are imprints of

Alfred Bekker

© Roman by Author

© of this issue 2023 by AlfredBekker/CassiopeiaPress, Lengerich/Westphalia

The invented persons have nothing to do with actual living persons. Similarities of names are coincidental and not intended.

All rights reserved.

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1

A rather fresh wind was blowing across the harbor area of Marseille. François and I enjoyed a crab croissant at a stand.

My name is Pierre Marquanteur. I am a commissaire and, together with my colleague François Leroc, I work for the Force spéciale de la police criminelle, or FoPoCri for short, a special unit against organized crime based in Marseille.

"How's your croissant?" asked François.

"Good."

"I think there's a little too much creme fraiche on it."

"And not enough crabs?"

"Yes."

"As always."

"The old problem."

"You won't be able to break that habit with the crab croissant makers, François."

"I know."

"So there's no point in complaining about it."

"But it's okay to say it, isn't it?"

"Sure."

I noticed a rope.

A skipping rope, with handles on the ends.

It was in a puddle.

Someone had left it here.

Maybe children playing?

However, it had been a while since I had seen children playing with a skipping rope. Today there were smartphones and computer games. Who needed a skipping rope? But maybe I just wasn't up to date - as a single person without a family.

"Must have been lost by a jogger," said my colleague François Leroc, who had also seen the rope. "Run a distance, then do a few sessions with the jump rope and then run again. Supposed to do a lot of good."

"Sounds exhausting."

"Part of a good boxing workout."

"And where do you leave the rope when you walk?"

"That's what fanny packs are for, Pierre."

"Fortunately, we don't have to investigate how this rope got here," I said, stuffing the last of the crab croissant into my mouth. No matter what François said now - my answer would have to wait a few moments. Moments that I needed to chew.

"Can't turn off that investigative reflex," François said.

"Hmm," I said, swallowing.

"So the jump rope - I'm guessing the boxing school two streets over," François said.

"And me on children playing," I returned.

"Listen, Pierre!" returned François, shaking his head.

I raised my eyebrows. "What is it?"

"What age are you stuck in, Pierre?"

"Why?"

"Kids don't play with a jump rope anymore, do they?"

"No?"

"Not for a long time, Pierre. It might have been when you were a kid, but it's changed a bit since then."

"Do you know any kids at all - I mean personally and from your background?"

François shook his head. "Nope."

He was single like me. And just like me, he had a full-time job that left little time for his private life. Family life wasn't really compatible with that.

"Then how are you going to rule it out so sweepingly, François?", I asked him back.

My colleague looked at me quite astonished.

*

Georges Rennie parked his convertible at the side of the road and got out. He took off his sunglasses and looked around. A Rolex flashed on his wrist. The dark leather coat reached to the ground. The row of houses on the street looked deserted. A garbage can had been knocked over. Half of its contents lay on the ground. Some vehicles stood at the roadside. Some of them were missing tires.

Rennie glanced at his watch.

Come on, don't take so much time! he thought.

Suddenly Rennie heard a groan. Instantly he was alarmed and had his hand on the gun he carried in his waistband. A man was staggering out of one of the building entrances. His face was covered with blood. He tried to say something, but only made unintelligible sounds and stumbled to the ground. Georges Rennie pulled out the gun.

Armed figures dressed in leather suddenly appeared from all sides. Automatic pistols, baseball bats, brass knuckles and even MPs were among them. The rattling sound of a pump action rifle being loaded made Rennie whirl around. A man with curly hair and an angular face grinned wryly.

"He who will not hear must feel, Georges!"

"Antoine!" Rennie groaned. His eyes widened in shock. He jerked his gun up, but before he could pull the trigger, his opponent had fired. Rennie took three staggering steps back and slid to the ground on the fender of his convertible.

2

Those dressed in leather came closer.

"I'm glad you still recognize me," Antoine said, his face contorting.

He was undoubtedly the leader of the group.

Rennie's right arm, with which he held the gun, no longer obeyed him. With his left, he tried to stop the bleeding on his shoulder. But that was hopeless. It ran red between his fingers. Rennie breathed shallowly. His face had become a mask of pain.

Antoine took the gun from him.

"Forty-five caliber - far too bulky a weapon for a game kid like you!"

"Antoine, I ..."

"Shut the fuck up!" Antoine rose and tossed the .45 to one of his men. "Put him on his feet!" he ordered afterwards.

Two of his men roughly grabbed Georges Rennie and yanked him up.

Antoine spat out contemptuously.

Then the barrel of his pump action rifle bumped Rennie's injured shoulder, making him groan in pain. Antoine grinned.

"Why so sensitive all of a sudden, Georges?" He patted Rennie's cheek in mock patronage. "You know, Georges, you hurt me, too. Not physically, but ..." He withdrew his hand, clenched it into a fist and pressed it to his left breast. "In here, you know? I thought you would respect my word. I thought you understood that you have no business here anymore and exclusively we do business in these areas. But you don't seem to have taken me seriously, and that hurts me deeply."

Rennie swallowed. He was trembling slightly.

"Antoine, we can talk after all!"

Antoine's fist whizzed right into Georges Rennie's face. He had to be held down to avoid sliding to the floor. Rennie's mouth became a bloody cavity from which a painful groan escaped. Antoine grinned cynically.

"Talk?" He laughed hoarsely. "You hardly do anymore, Georges!"

The others laughed hoarsely.

3

Meanwhile, two of Antoine's men had roughly grabbed the shoulders of the injured man who had staggered toward Georges Rennie from one of the building entrances. The man was wearing a parka with the inscription ADVENTURER on the chest and shoulder. The inscription at chest level could hardly be read, because the parka was stained all over with blood. His face was a single wound, his eyes so swollen that he could hardly see. He could apparently no longer step with his right leg, and his left arm hung limply from his shoulder. He was trembling. The blue eyes flickered restlessly. It was obvious that he had been beaten extremely brutally.

"What should we do with this guy?" asked one of the men holding him by the arms.

Antoine grinned wryly.

"You came here to buy your stuff, didn't you?" he addressed the man with the Adventurer jacket. The latter, however, was unable to say anything. Antoine pointed to Rennie. "Search him for dope - and then stuff the stuff in his customer's mouth! The customer is king, after all, and should get what he...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 27.7.2023
• Verlagsort: Lengerich
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Krimi / Thriller / Horror ► Krimi / Thriller
• ISBN-10: 3-7452-3230-5 / 3745232305
• ISBN-13: 978-3-7452-3230-1 / 9783745232301