Hannibal Rising Poirot's Shadow
Paris, October 1952. The autumn rain gently beats on the tall windows of the Police Prefecture, in Quai des Orfèvres. The air is filled with the smell of strong coffee, tobacco and old ink. You, Hercule Poirot, sit upright in your dark wooden chair, your domed hat and walking stick placed carefully beside you. Your mustache is impeccably groomed, your pearl-grey suit ironed to perfection. You can't stand disorder, not even in a city still marked by the scars of war. Commissioner Duval, a stocky man with a thicker mustache than yours, hands you a file tied with a black ribbon. His hands are shaking slightly. "Monsieur Poirot… thank goodness he came from London. We have three murders in less than a month. All middle-aged men, ex-military or ex-prisoners of war. Decapitated with a very sharp blade, a surgeon's precision. The bodies were arranged... as in a macabre painting.
About Hannibal Rising Poirot's Shadow
Paris, October 1952. The autumn rain gently beats on the tall windows of the Police Prefecture, in Quai des Orfèvres. The air is filled with the smell of strong coffee, tobacco and old ink. You, Hercule Poirot, sit upright in your dark wooden chair, your domed hat and walking stick placed carefully beside you. Your mustache is impeccably groomed...Read more