Flykiller (45 page)

‘Could Céline have been trying to protect Blanche and Paul, Louis? She must have known they'd taken the earrings for Ménétrel, would have known de Fleury had been given them and had been told to tell her to wear them.'

‘Mademoiselle Charpentier was her friend and confidante, Hermann. She would have wanted to protect Olivier if only to protect the sculptress.'

‘Then Olivier didn't walk her to her death – is that what you're saying?'

The Sûreté's plate of soup was offered and accepted, Herr Kohler's empty one set aside.

‘Not at all. What I
am
saying is that, by openly confiding that he suffered from night blindness, was Monsieur Olivier attempting to convince us that he couldn't possibly have done it? Ten minutes, Hermann. They walk from light into darkness and Céline escapes when they reach the Hall. She goes to ground having realized it and he …'

‘Holds the doors shut while the other one – Edith – hunts her down and kills her.'

‘Why?'

‘Because she knew too much, had become a danger to them.'

Their sausage and sauerkraut arrived. More beer, more pastis and bread were called for, noted Inès, the two of them digging in as if at a last meal. Some cheese and even a few of the petits fours the ladies were enjoying were also requested. The noise of the dining room was seemingly everywhere, yet they ignored it totally.

‘Even if Olivier did send messages for Inès Charpentier to deliver to the FTP in Paris, Hermann – and I'm not suggesting he didn't, given the opportunity, or denying that the girl would probably have willingly agreed to carry them – Lucie Trudel would not have been aware of them. Olivier's no fool. After that first letter of his to Mademoiselle Charpentier, all others would have been enclosed in the envelopes from Madame Dupuis. He'd have insisted on it.'

Herr Kohler gestured with his fork, stabbing it towards his partner to emphasize the point, but what point? wondered Inès, still unable to take her eyes from their table.

‘Lucie could have opened one and read it, Louis, and if so, and if he'd learned of it, as he surely would have, Olivier would have gladly smothered her.'

‘I found no such letter in her room.'

‘Precisely! It had been removed because it had to be!'

‘And when she came downstairs to fetch a candle for that room of Noëlle Olivier's,' muttered St-Cyr, ‘Edith Pascal realized Olivier had confided to me that he was the FTP's district leader, and had called him a fool. The night blindness would cover him for the death of Mademoiselle Marie-Jacqueline Mailloux, Hermann – an unlighted
Grande établissement thermal
, in a few minutes which were certainly not enough time for the blindness to clear. It would also suit with the death of Camille Lefébvre since how could one so afflicted readily escape into darkness as our Secrétaire général fired at him?'

‘But Lucie would have gone from darkness outside into light,' said Hermann, cutting off another piece of sausage and then heaping his fork also with sauerkraut.

‘But … but you're forgetting that her killer would have had to step into darkness to escape.'

Herr Kohler took a pull at his beer and then put two sausages on his partner's plate, some ham, too, thought Inès, and potatoes, gesturing that St-Cyr absolutely must eat.

‘Now what about the husbands, Louis? Each of them had a great deal to lose and Ménétrel would certainly have put it to them in no uncertain terms that their girlfriends were informants.'

Good for Hermann.

‘Create the myth of a Resistance threat, Louis, by leaving that little V for Victory. Get the Garde to paint a few slogans, et cetera, and use it all not only to get rid of the traitors, for that is what the doctor would have thought of those girls, but to emphasize the need for increased security before that responsibility is taken from him.'

‘Find someone everyone knows about. A recluse,' muttered Louis. ‘A cuckold, Hermann. One who must hate Pétain with a passion.'

‘But do they suspect he's of the FTP? Could they? If he does suspect it, the doctor would damned well make certain Vichy took care of its own. He'd not want Gessler knowing that the resident recluse had had his ear so close to the ground that he'd found out everything ahead of time and had made a mockery of the Government.'

‘But does Olivier have that ear,
mon vieux
?
Bien sûr
, he implied he was well informed and couldn't reveal his sources, but …'

‘Ménétrel could damned well have left that little V for Victory, Louis, knowing Laval would be certain to have a look at the corpse and become convinced of the campaign of terror.'

The doctor would have too. Ah
merde
, it didn't bear thinking about, but had they stepped into a power struggle, each side now desperately making its countermoves – the rats, the corpse; the corpse, the knife and then the identity card, and then … then the dress and sapphire beads, the love letters, too, not only to complete the costume and the legend of the unfaithful wife but to emphasize the guilty husband?

Except that Hébert, and presumably Ménétrel, had not known the dress and necklace had been left in Céline Dupuis's room. The love letters too … Had they been left, then, by Olivier or Edith Pascal?

‘Admit it, we need answers, Louis.'

A curt nod was given to indicate the occupants of a nearby table, Inès noted and again held her breath.

‘From that one in particular,
mon vieux.
The one in the vermilion suit, the Indian brass and pearl necklace and the North African turban. That thing on her head is from Morocco, isn't it? My eyes … The lack of vitamin A …'

And Auguste-Alphonse Olivier, the years 1924 and '25 when the Victor of Verdun had been married to that one for four and then five years. ‘Wounded …
Nom de Jésus Christ
, Louis, that hatchet wouldn't just have threatened Pétain with his service revolver for fooling around on her, she'd have shot his balls off!'

‘Ah
oui, certainement
, but remember, please, that Ménétrel warned us to leave her out of things.'

‘Then go and talk to her and let's hope he's not been scheming and dreaming behind our backs.'

They were still at their table, St-Cyr now standing and about to leave to talk to Madame Pétain. ‘Inspectors, excuse me a moment, please. There … there is something I must tell you,' said Inès. She would have to endure their suspicious gazes, she must! ‘The vomit Albert found in that toilet. It … it was mine, I think.'

‘
Nom de Jésus Christ
, Hermann, what the hell is it with Vichy? Does it bring out the liar, the arch-schemer, the thief, corrupter, cheat and killer in everyone we meet? Mademoiselle.' Louis calmed himself. ‘Please explain yourself.'

‘Yesterday morning, after Dr Ménétrel had come to find you in the foyer of the Hôtel du Parc, but before I went to see Céline's body for myself and Herr Kohler was surprised to find me in the Hall, I was so upset I … I had to throw up. Albert must have seen me dash into that outdoor toilet. The men were clearing the snow. Has he confused me with her killer and is this why he feels I'm such a threat? It must be. It must!'

‘She did look like death warmed over, Louis. I thought … Ah! that the iron man and his flash were what had made her so pale.'

‘And sickly? Talk to her, then, Hermann. Try to force yourself to wring every last drop of juice out of this grape, but if she lies, give her a pair of bracelets to wear and throw the key away! You are not leaving us, mademoiselle. From now until the close of this investigation, you are staying with us!'

‘That might not be possible, Louis.'

‘Possible or not, she has just given us information we should have had long ago!'

‘I didn't kill her. I can have had nothing to do with any of the killings.'

‘But for some as yet unknown reason, mademoiselle, Albert Grenier has come to consider you a threat.'

‘Yes, but he's confused. The knife dropped in there after her killing, the vomit only yesterday – you yourselves and your questions … questions are always very difficult for one such as he is. The portrait mask … Perhaps I shouldn't have shown it to him. Maybe he has confused it with death. I … I don't know. Really, I don't.'

The kid was desperate. ‘Louis, for her to have come forward like this took courage. Go and talk to the ladies. Leave this one to me.'

‘With pleasure!'

The tightly bound, Moorish turban, a lamé of irregular patches of ochreous silk on a crimson background with thin, interlaced black lines, had flashes of silver everywhere. Beneath it, the wrinkled, well-powdered brow was further creased by a ruthlessly plucked and defiantly raised eyebrow, the expression accusative, the nose prominent, the lips wide, grimly pursed and turned down in distaste, the wrinkled upper lip, jaw and jowls fierce, the broad shoulders squared.

Formidable, thought St-Cyr, as he introduced himself, but then … then one of Houbigant's scents delicately emanated from her. A woman of great taste …

‘Well?' demanded Madame la Maréchale. ‘Why have you released the one and not arrested the other?' At sixty-six years of age, Eugénie Hardon-Pétain could still defy time, but this one, he felt, would fight it to the end. Large teardrops of pearl, ruby and brass, one on either side and curving inwardly, flanked the many strands as if the necklace was a breastplate of office and she the female counterpart of the Wehrmacht's
Kettehhunde.

‘Albert Grenier is constantly confused, madame, and for some reason feels the sculptress is a threat to your husband. But since she is to remain with my partner and me at all times, and his father is looking after him, the boy is no longer a threat.'

‘And the other?' she demanded fiercely.

It would be best to appear simple-minded. ‘Who?'

‘
Nom de Dieu
, are we to expect this from a chief inspector with an enviable reputation? Enviable, I say, if one is not guilty! Hébert, of course. That
fornicateur
deliberately introduced those girls to Bousquet and the other. He made certain they were tempted!'

‘The girls or the boys, madame?'

Ménétrel had been in a rage when he had learned of this one and his partner coming to Vichy; Bousquet hadn't liked it either, but the
Jamaick
had insisted on it. St-Cyr and Kohler and no others! ‘You know very well whom I mean, and if you so much as breathe a word of what was to have gone on in that room of my husband's, I will personally see that you are not just stripped of your rank, but are court-martialled and shot. Do I make myself clear?'

‘Abundantly, Madame la Maréchale. A few …'

‘
Questions
? Inspector, for your information, neither of these two ladies were anywhere near those girls when each of them was killed. I should think you would have discovered this by now!'

‘Then let me just jot that down. Ah yes, here it is. Friday 7 January at about 2.45 a.m.'

‘Camille Lefèbvre …' hazarded Sandrine Richard, as the three of them swiftly exchanged glances. Bousquet's woman of course.

Visibly withdrawn and obviously finding it hard to come forward, Élisabeth de Fleury said quietly, ‘One of my sons was ill, Inspector, and had a very high temperature. The flu – we all worry so much about it, for when it arrives it spreads like wildfire throughout the hotel and everyone can hear its first coughs and sneezes. I …' She looked to Madame Pétain for guidance.

The rock curtly nodded.

‘I hurried along the hall to Dr Ménétrel's suite in my nightdress and awakened him. He gave me a few of the aspirins he keeps in a special store and advised the damp cloths and a cold sponging, but … but it wasn't until nearly noon the next day that … that my little Louis let the crisis pass and slept soundly. He's only ten years old and looks so like his
papa
, I … Naturally I had moved the other two children out of the room and had let them sleep in my bed, daughter and son together, you understand, but only during such an emergency.'

Merde alors
, and not like Blanche and Paul Varollier, eh? ‘And your husband, Madame de Fleury?'

Downcast, her sky-blue eyes rapidly moistened until two single tears were squeezed. ‘Had not come home,' she whispered, her fists desperately clenching.

‘Didn't he have to go into the office that morning? A Friday, madame? It wasn't a day off, was it?'

How harsh his voice was, but her look must be frank, Madame Pétain had warned. You must face the Chief Inspector and answer truthfully as if your life was nothing more than an open book,
ma chère.
A little book, of course, and one not read even by your husband! ‘It would be best, Inspector, if you were to ask him where he was that night.'

‘He was with that woman of his, Inspector,' charged Madame Pétain. ‘Céline Dupuis, a widow, yes! First at Chez Crusoe and then … then,
mon pauvre détective
, in a hotel room those men had rented for just such a purpose.'

And damn Bousquet and the others for not having told them of it! ‘The Hotel d'Allier?' he bleated.

‘Pah! And advertise their identities like that? Isn't an element of secrecy necessary with such as they? An overcrowded hotel like the Allier would not have been suitable. People coming and going at all times. Friends knocking at the door or, as is usual, I understand, in that place, simply barging in.'

And never mind Lucie Trudel lying naked in hopes Deschambeault would come to her the morning she was smothered!

‘The Hotel Ruhl, Inspector,' said Sandrine Richard. A fresh packet of cigarettes lay in front of her but none had been taken since Madame Pétain did not use tobacco. ‘Room 3-17. An old bed with a sagging mattress that reeks of stale urine, a plain washbasin, second-hand water pitcher, mirror whose backing is clouded, thin towels … Always there are the hand towels and the notices, now in
Deutsch
, too, warning of unsafe sex!'