(Standard, all-purpose disclaimer) All pre-existing characters are the property of the creators and producers of "Due South." No copyright infringement is intended. All new characters and situations are the sole property and responsibility of the author.
Well, I missed Canada Day and the Fourth of July. So I figured, why not do a story about Bastille Day? This story contains mild swearing, implied violence, and a few rude comments about the French. Read it at your own risk.
by Katrina Bowen
Ray looked up at Ben, seated at the other side of his desk, and raised his eyebrows. "Somebody blew up a what?" He pushed the files he was working on into an even untidier pile and sat back. He'd been praying for a rescue from the paperwork Welsh had demanded he finish, but this wasn't quite what he'd had in mind. He made a mental note to be more specific as to the nature of his prayers in the future. With Ben around, anything could happen. And for some reason, that "anything" was usually the most bizarre "anything" imaginable.
"A bakery, Ray. To be more specific, it was Halloran's Bakery, about three blocks from my apartment building, early this morning. Fortunately, it was empty at the time of the explosion and no one was injured. It was one of Diefenbaker's favorites, actually, and he's quite upset." The Mountie looked down at the bereft wolf with a marked lack of sympathy. Dief gave Ray a pitiable whine, trusting that he, unlike the Canadian, would understand the depth of his loss.
"Tough break, Dief. But a bakery?" The detective shook his head in disbelief. "Who'd wanna blow up a bakery? What did they do, sell moldy crullers?"
"Well, the arson unit is examining the case, but the officer in charge of the investigation, Detective Cannon, seemed -- unwilling to give my theory much credence."
"Right." Ray nodded -- he knew Cannon, and the detective didn't like anyone's ideas but her own. "So what *is* your theory?" He knew there would be a theory. There was always a theory where Ben was concerned ... it was like the law of gravity, there was just no getting around it. He kept his eyebrows raised.
Ben shrugged. "Consider the date, Ray," he said, as if that would answer any possible questions.
"The date?" Ray looked at the calendar on the wall. "Okay. July 13th. It's not a Friday, so what's the problem?" He looked back at the Mountie expectantly.
"Isn't it obvious? Tomorrow is the 14th."
Ray let his eyebrows down. They were getting tired. "Fraser, I can do the math, okay? What does it mean?"
"Tomorrow is Bastille Day." Ben sat back, waiting for Ray to make the connection. Dief laid his head on his paws, apparently settling in for a long wait of his own.
"Bastille Day?" Ray frowned. "That's some French holiday, right? Is blowing up bakeries part of the festivities? I mean, I know the French are pretty weird, but even for them, that seems kind of excessive." Ray started rummaging through his desk drawers for something to cheer up the wolf.
"Ray, Ray, Ray, no. Bastille Day commemorates the beginning of the French Revolution, in 1789. One of the first events was an attack by the mob on the bakeries of Paris. And while the French are a ... shall we say, complex people, they don't typically go around blowing up buildings for no good reason. Or at least, not without what *they* would consider a good reason."
"All right. So why did you bring it up in the first place? I mean, what's that got to do with a bakery in Chicago being blown up?"
Ben paused. "Possibly nothing. But if there is a connection, there could be further incidents."
Ray rubbed at his eyes. He looked from the files to the calendar to Ben to Lt. Welsh's door to Dief and finally back to Ben. "Okay, what the hell. Wouldn't want my life to get predictable, would we? Let's get out of here before Welsh catches us."
*****************************************************************************
"Okay, let me see if I've got this straight. Because a bakery got blown up, you think we may have to worry about someone breaking out of jail?" Ray glanced at the road, and back at Ben. Behind them, the back seat covered by a towel Ray had learned to keep there for just such occasions, Dief slurped happily on the ice cream sandwich Ray had bought for him outside the precinct.
"It's entirely possible, if we're dealing with someone copying the French Revolution. After storming the bakeries, the mob stole a quantity of weapons, disabled the cannons of the French army, and finally liberated the Bastille." He glanced back at the wolf; turning back to Ray, he muttered, "Why do you encourage him? Losing his doughnut connection isn't going to scar him for life."
"Ahh, knock it off, Benny. He had a rough day, he needed a sugar fix, and it's gonna be a while before we can get him any lunch. Maybe you're
used to dealing with a depressed and hungry wolf, but it's a situation I'd rather avoid." Ray swerved around a double-parked delivery truck and back into his own lane, ignoring Ben when he discretely clutched at the dashboard. "So are we going to have to worry about a bunch of escaped convicts running around Chicago?"
"I'm not really sure." Ray looked at him sharply, and Ben hurriedly continued. "What I mean is, it's a popular misconception that the Bastille contained a large number of prisoners."
"Yeah, well, you know how it is with those popular misconceptions. One thing leads to another, and they always get way out of hand," Ray said philosophically.
"Exactly. The truth is that the Bastille functioned more as a symbol of oppression than as an actual prison. Actually, at the time of the Revolution, it only housed seven prisoners -- four forgers, two lunatics and a nobleman accused of incest ... who, legend to the contrary, was *not* the Marquis de Sade, although he was confined to the Bastille on at least one other occasion. One of the lunatics, who gave his name as Major White, became quite a celebrity of the day, in fact --"
Ray pulled the Riv into a parking space, turned it off, and looked at the Mountie. "Benny, why do you *know* this stuff?"
Ben stared at him, considering the matter as if it had never before occurred to him -- in fact, it hadn't. Finally he just said, "I suppose somebody has to, Ray."
"Better you than me, I guess. Let's go." The three of them got out of the Riv and went over to the remnants of the bakery. Ray flashed his credentials at one of the uniformed officers keeping the crowd back. "Have you seen Cannon?"
The officer shook his head. "Nope. She said she got a call from one of her informants on whoever did this, and she went to follow it up. Said she didn't need anyone tagging along to take care of her, either."
"Great. You got the address?"
"Yeah, down on Lakeshore Drive, near Division Street."
"Okay. Come on, Fraser. Maybe we can get this wrapped up without too much trouble ... Benny?" The Mountie was staring into space. "Hey, Benny, what is it?"
"Detective Cannon ..." Ben mused. His eyes widened and he sprinted for the car. "We have to hurry, Ray!"
"Why? It's just an informant, right? There shouldn't be any problem..." But Ray and Dief ran to catch up.
Ben faced Ray over the top of the Riv. "Ray, earlier I told you that the mob disabled the army's *cannons*--" he said urgently, emphasizing the last word.
"Oh, hell." Ray yanked open the door and climbed in; he tore away from the curb before Ben had his door all the way closed. Dief growled as he slid into the corner of the back seat. "And just how did they do the disabling?" He had an unpleasant feeling that he didn't want to hear the answer.
"They drove spikes into them," Ben said grimly.
"Oh, hell." No, he definitely hadn't wanted to hear that at all.
*****************************************************************************
Ben and Ray stood back to let the crime scene officers do their job. Cannon's body had been removed, leaving only a chalk outline on top of a pool of blood. Ray paced back and forth, Ben and Dief watching him.
"This doesn't make any sense, Fraser. Okay, maybe some wacko *is* trying to recreate Bastille Day, so he blew up a bakery. But how would he know the investigating officer would be Cannon?"
"It's quite possible that he didn't. Perhaps he simply saw the coincidence as -- I don't know, divine providence?" Ben shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, answering his own question. "No, that isn't very likely, is it? After all, not much time elapsed between the explosion and Detective Cannon's murder. The suspect would have had to learn the investigating officer's name, and set up a meeting." Ben fell silent, considering something. "Oh dear."
"Geez, Benny, you know I hate it when you say that." Ray leaned against the car next to him. "So what is it?"
"The bakery was empty this morning."
"Yeah. that's what you -- wait a minute." Ray stopped and frowned. "Why would a bakery be empty in the morning? That's when they do most of their baking, to hit the breakfast crowd."
"Yes, to cater to those who don't eat a well-balanced breakfast," Ben said, looking at Dief and speaking clearly. The wolf gave an indifferent snort and turned away. Ben looked back at Ray. "So doesn't it seem odd that the building would have been deserted during what should have been their busiest time of the day?"
"I wouldn't call it odd, Fraser. I'd call it suspicious."
"Well, yes. That too."
"Think we'd better do some checking on the bakery owner's background, don't you?" Without waiting for an answer, Ray turned and got in the car, Ben and Dief going around to the other side.
*****************************************************************************
Ben knocked on the door of the Halloran apartment. Ray stood at his side, hands behind his back, rocking casually back and forth. A portly, grandfatherly-looking man opened the door. "Why, Constable Fraser! And here's Diefenbaker." He beamed down at the wolf.
"Hello, Mr. Halloran. This is Detective Ray Vecchio, of the Chicago police department." Ray gave Halloran a friendly smile, but didn't offer to shake the extended hand. "May we come in?"
"Oh, of course. This is about the explosion?" Halloran opened the door wider to let them in. "So, Detective ... Vecchio? I assume you're taking over the investigation now that poor Detective Cannon -- well, you know," he said sadly.
"Yeah, I know. But how did *you* know?" Ray cocked his head and looked at Halloran curiously.
"Excuse me?"
"I believe what Detective Vecchio meant is that the murder of Detective Cannon hasn't been formally announced to the public yet," Ben said helpfully.
"Oh. Well, you know how it is ... Chicago only seems like a big city. Word gets around so easily, it's hard to pin down just where you hear these rumors."
"Yeah, I know."
"So, Mr. Halloran." Ben went a little further into the apartment. "Have you talked to your nephew lately?"
"My nephew?" Halloran asked cautiously. "Now, which nephew would that be? I have several, you know."
Ray looked down at Halloran, finally losing his smile. "It would probably be Daniel Brown. You know, *that* nephew. The one with a record for blowing up the monkey house at the Lincoln Park Zoo a couple years ago, and who was arrested by Detective Cannon?" Halloran didn't say anything, and Ray went on. "The same Daniel Brown who was arrested about half an hour ago outside the Sixth Precinct, trying to break out a bunch of prisoners being transported to the Cook County Jail?" He leaned closer to the baker. "And who, as we speak, is spilling his guts to everyone who'll listen to him -- which includes the District Attorney, who just can't *wait* to meet you."
"Yes, Daniel would be the one, wouldn't it?" Ben asked. He looked down at Halloran, who had visibly deflated. "It was, on the surface, a very clever plan. If Daniel had gotten away with it, both the police and the papers would have decided that someone had merely decided to recreate the events of Bastille Day, and the crimes quite possibly would never have been connected."
"Actually, though, you both had axes to grind." Halloran looked helplessly at Ray. "Your bakery was in trouble, and you needed the insurance money. And Brown hated Cannon for putting him away. The jailbreak was just to make it look good, right?"
Halloran looked from Ben to Ray. "I want a lawyer."
"Good idea."
*****************************************************************************
"So you see, Ray, a sound knowledge of world history can be a definite asset in police work," Ben said in what sounded dangerously close to a self-satisfied tone. Dief hesitated by the hot dog vendor; seeing that neither man intended to stop, he sighed and followed them down the sidewalk.
"Knock it off, Benny. This was a one time deal, okay? I mean, who's gonna go to all the bother of recreating historical incidents just to cover their tracks? Have you ever actually heard of anyone doing anything like that before?"
"Actually, Ray, yes. My father told me about an incident in the Territories, where a gang of fur smugglers attempted to duplicate the murder of Julius Caesar in order to prevent one of their associates from turning informant --"
"Well, sure, in *Canada* that might happen. You people just have too much free time."
Ben looked at his friend. "That's not fair, Ray. We simply have different ... priorities."
"Yeah, yeah. It's those long winter nights. They screw up your head. Hey, Dief -- want a pretzel?" Dief immediately perked up and trotted to catch up with Ray.
Ben opened his mouth to protest; deciding that neither one would listen to him, he simply said, "At least leave the mustard off, Ray. You don't have to live with him."