Paris Requiem (40 page)

As they neared the bottom of the stairs, the Chief Inspector’s voice reached them. It was raised high in angry threat. A woman’s voice matched it.

Madame Rosa, her black skirts spread like a vulture’s threatening wings, was blocking the door, barring the Chief Inspector’s progress. He had his arm through Madame Simone’s who cowered a little.

‘You’ll not get away with this, Chief Inspector. I run a perfectly legal business and you have no grounds on which to take my right hand with you. None at all. I shall lodge a complaint. My complaints, I should add, find their way to very high places indeed. You may find yourself not only reprimanded but demoted.’

‘Which high places are we talking of exactly, Madame?’
The Chief Inspector was surly, but for a moment James feared he might give in and wash his hands of the whole business.

‘And who’s this now? Oh no. No. You don’t take Eugénie with you. She owes me … she owes me a substantial sum which she hasn’t worked off yet.’

‘And whom did you pay that sum to, Madame?’

A black look crossed Madame Rosa’s face. ‘That is not what I meant. There is always an investment in taking on a girl. None of which is your business, Chief Inspector. You shall have Commissaire Caille to deal with.’

The Chief Inspector took on his Napoleonic posture, one hand in his jacket, his weight balanced on a single leg, his head held so high that the bowler seemed to metamorphose into a tricorne. ‘Indeed, Madame. I begin to quiver already. But I will have to take my chances. A murder inquiry is a serious matter.’

‘I’m coming with you.’ Darts flew from her eyes and landed on James. ‘You!’ She scowled. ‘I remember you now. I should have trusted my instincts. So very humble. So very gentlemanly. I knew it was all a fraud. Well, I’m coming with you.’

‘I don’t think that would be wise, Madame. Not now. Not today. For a woman of your delicacy and your contacts, a night behind bars might not prove the pleasantest of experiences.’

‘Leave it, Madame Rosa,’ Simone intervened. ‘And don’t worry. The Chief Inspector has promised me … He only wants a simple statement. It will do us no harm.’

‘No harm at all, ladies, if the crimes are not yours.’

‘This is an honest establishment, Chief Inspector.’ Madame Rosa’s face turned crimson. ‘Altogether honest. Nor are you to believe a word the young one says. For one thing, she speaks no French. You’ll have to get Madame Simone to translate.’

Durand tipped his hat. ‘It’s kind of you to offer her services, Madame. But I think I may just have an equally reliable translator to hand.’

T
he lower reaches of the police station, which bordered on the Palais de Justice and were connected to it by various passages, held a subterranean chill. Natural light had never penetrated here. The shadows the lamps cast were long and deformed by the repetitive guillotine of iron bars.

Despite the woollen shawl she had wrapped around herself, Eugénie shivered.

‘We won’t be long, Mademoiselle. All you have to do is identify the man as the one who met you in Paris and took you to the Hotel Monpiquet. You translate that for me, Arnhem.’

Arnhem clutched his black hat and did as he was told. The roll of the incomprehensible language went on for far longer than Durand’s words and James, who trailed behind them, had the impression that Arnhem must be adding a few comforting asides of his own.

There had been a touch of brilliance in the Chief
Inspector’s
sending for Arnhem to act as their translator. The notion hadn’t occurred to James. Eugénie had not only relaxed and opened up instantly to relay her ghastly tale, but it had
permitted
Arnhem and Madame Simone to confront each other.
Both James and Durand had been surprised by the fact that Arnhem didn’t know the woman who claimed a long friendship with both his daughters. But it made sense. The girls would hardly come running home and recount their friendship with a whore to their father.

But the sight of a grieving Arnhem had nonetheless had an effect on Madame Simone. Perhaps he woke memories of her own father, of a distant family. In any event, she became softer, more tractable. She confessed that all of them at the Monpiquet were afraid of Maro, even Madame Rosa herself, though Simone suspected that their relationship was a long one, and dated back to the days when Rosa was a simple
prostitute
who had no establishment of her own. Indeed, Simone let slip in one of her more voluble moments, she had speculated that it was Maro who had helped her set up and
provided
the essential protection.

She had caught herself then and protested that though Maro might be lustful, he had no need to stoop to murder. She was certain he wasn’t implicated in Olympe’s tragic end. There was no need. He had no reason to fear her. He had too many friends in high places. She repeated that several times. When they pushed her on the death of the girl in the metro shaft, she merely shrugged. Yes, she had been one of Maro’s girls, but again he had no need to kill her. She was worth far less to him dead than alive. And he hardly needed to fear exposure from that end. Who would take the word of an illiterate prostitute, a Jew at that, against a former police officer, a man with so many contacts? No it made no sense. The girl had simply done away with herself. And, yes, it had been wrong of Olympe to put ideas into her head. Not everyone had the talent and intelligence of an Olympe. As for Judith, that made even less sense. Maro might have temper outbursts, but he was a practical man.

There was an air of disingenuousness in all Simone’s
comments, James thought, but they had their own logic – the pragmatic, amoral logic of a woman who had an experience of brutal circumstances, but was yet oddly cloistered from the rest of the world. Caro or Maro, for her, was exactly the grand, the powerful and frightening figure he wished to appear. She could not see beyond the fear he engendered. He hoped that if this episode did nothing else, it would save Eugénie from growing into Simone.

They had reached the cell Durand had had the man
transferred
to. There were no bars here, but a solid wooden door with a peephole at the top, so that Eugénie could see the man without herself having to suffer the panic his presence so evidently produced in her. She was so small that she had to be lifted to look in. Arnhem did that and held her there for several moments.

When she nodded, he brought her down gently. In that tenderness, James had the sudden impression that Arnhem had found a replacement for at least one of his daughters.

‘It’s him. Maro,’ Eugénie said in French, her face fierce. She poured out a stream of words to Arnhem.

His translation confirmed that this Marcel Caro was indeed the man who had met Eugénie and her two friends and had brought her to the Monpiquet. She wished they could find the other two girls and free them too. Maro had done unspeakable things to her. Had indoctrinated her, Arnhem said, though the girl’s flush told them that perhaps her description had been more graphic.

They trudged back to the Chief Inspector’s office, grateful for the clang of the door and the turn of the heavy key behind them. ‘What do we do with her now?’ Durand muttered to James. ‘We can’t keep her here and the nuns who usually serve in such circumstances might not be suitable.’

‘She’ll come with me.’ Arnhem had overheard them and was definitive.

‘You can’t take her back to Madame de Landois’s,’ James burst out.

‘I wasn’t thinking of that.’

‘And she shouldn’t stay alone at your place. That wouldn’t be safe.’

They had reached the Chief Inspector’s office and Arnhem paused at the threshold.

‘I know where there’s a room with two other women. Women of her own kind.’

‘You mean prostitutes.’

‘No, no. Shame, Monsieur Norton. Eugénie is not a prostitute. She’s simply an unfortunate creature. We must try and change her fortunes. No, good women, honourable women. Of our faith.’

‘We have to be able to reach her at all times.’ The Chief Inspector urged them in. ‘I’ll need an address.’

‘Of course.’ Arnhem paused. ‘But you know the address. It’s the same building as Isak Bernfeld’s. The women are neighbours of his. And they have a small spare room. I saw them today.’

‘You went to see Bernfeld today?’

‘He came to me first. To mourn. The Inspector had told him … interrogated him about Judith’s death.’

James sank into an empty chair. Every part of his body ached now.

‘We needed to talk to each other. I walked him home.’

‘And …’ James urged him on, but Arnhem had sunk into some kind of reverie. He kept looking out at the trees which fringed the window and then back at Eugénie who stood utterly still in the corner of the room.

‘What did he say about Judith?’ James asked again.

‘He said she was perfectly calm, perfectly reasonable, but sadder than a soul in hell. She remembered him apparently. He held her hand and they wept together. Wept over Rachel.’

‘So until the Inspector told him, he knew nothing of Judith’s death?’

Arnhem shook his ragged head. ‘Nothing. Nothing at all. He was utterly devastated to learn of it. He cried, sobbed in front of me. He said he had helped to end the lives of both my daughters. I wept then too.’

‘And you would trust Eugénie to this man?’ James was aghast.

‘He will look after her with his own life. He will protect her. And the women are there. It is altogether respectable. Have you any better ideas, Monsieur Norton?’

‘Yes, let her go with him.’ Durand interrupted them. He had been reading a letter on his desk and he crumpled it now with an angry gesture. The anger was in his voice too. ‘But you’re responsible for her, Monsieur Arnhem. Should we need her, you’ll bring her to us.’

‘On my word.’

‘That’s fine. Off with you both.’ With a brief goodbye, he waved them from the room, then pressed the buzzer on his desk. ‘We’re going to send Madame Simone off too.’

‘What’s got into you, Chief Inspector?’

‘That letter’s got into me. All in vain, I knew it. Madame Rosa was right. Caro is all too well connected.’

‘Who was the letter from?’

‘The Deputy Head of the vice squad. He says we have nothing on Caro except alleged assault, which will most likely be proved to have been in self-defence. Nor can one trust the word of prostitutes. And so on. And so on. I knew it. I knew it in my bones. There is no way that any of these prostitute’s evidence will stand up. And Caro probably has so much dirt on everyone – on policemen, on politicians – that we’ll never get to trial.’

‘We need Dr Comte.’

‘We do indeed.’ The Chief Inspector paced, straightened
one of the prints on his wall. ‘One of my men is at the hospital with him. The last word, about two hours ago now, was that he was still out. And if Comte dies, that’s it. Only he can identify his assailant. If he saw him.’

He slumped into his chair, despondent. All energy had left him.

The two men looked at each other in silence, then James burst out. ‘We have to keep going, Chief Inspector. Dr Comte may still rally. And Touquet and my brother will find the other girls Caro sold. I think they already know who they are. If the women are as personable, as young and obviously innocent as Eugénie, a good lawyer will know how to let them impress a jury. And you really can’t let Madame Simone go just yet. She knows too much, far more than she told us I imagine. She’s a sly one. And she did have the charms in her room. We don’t want her suddenly to disappear.’

He stopped his outburst as Madame Simone appeared at the door with an officer.

Durand tapped his fingers on his desk in a desultory rhythm. He eyed Madame Simone for a long moment. ‘I fear we need to keep you here just a little longer, Madame. No, no, don’t protest. I’ll make sure you’re very comfortable. A good hot dinner. Think of it as a rest from your labours. I know that in the morning, there’ll be more that you want to tell us.’

Simone spluttered, but with a wave of Durand’s hand and a murmur of ‘women’s quarters’, the constable dragged her away.

James grinned at him. ‘I guess I’ll be off too, Chief Inspector. I’m feeling a little the worse for wear.’

‘Yes, you should be in bed. I told you that this morning.’

With the gesture of an aesthete picking up a particularly repulsive object, Durand reached for the crumpled letter and smoothed it slowly. ‘Don’t think they’re going to get the best of Durand quite so easily, Monsieur Norton. No, no. Not so very easily. I’ve just thought of somebody I must go
and see. Yes, for the honour of the Republic.’ He picked up his hat and with a brief bow at James, preceded him from the room.

James had intended to go back to his hotel. He remembered just in time that the doctor was to come and see him in the morning at Marguerite’s, so he changed his instructions to the cab driver. In fact, he felt in need of a doctor right now. Repose was obviously bad for one, he reflected. It freed time to focus on the body’s plaints.

When he arrived, Pierre told him that Madame wished to see him. She was in the library. With the children, he added. His tone was even, but there was something disdainful in the position of his chin. It made James smile. Pierre was proprietary of his mistress. He was also probably the sole person to know about all of Marguerite’s doings, her masquerades, the place of Raf and Olympe in her life. Yet not even the Chief Inspector, he imagined, would be able to wrest secrets from that imperturbable presence.

Marguerite was sitting at the long table, a child on either side of her. In front of them lay vast tomes open at pages of fine drawings – insects for Adam, flowers for Juliette. All of them were busy drawing, but they looked up as James came in and greeted him with happy smiles.

‘That’ll be enough for today. You go to your room now and wash and get ready for dinner.’ Marguerite whisked them off. ‘I need to talk with Monsieur Norton.’

Juliette stopped to give him a curtsey as she and her brother dashed from the room.

‘They seem altogether cheerful,’ James offered.

‘They’re sweet children.’ Marguerite’s look was rueful. ‘I enjoy them. Does that surprise you?’

He hesitated. ‘No. Should it?’

She laughed. ‘Given your knowledge of some of my other
activities, I thought that perhaps …’ She changed track. ‘I’m grateful to you, James. For your discretion.’

He bowed.

‘It was, well, kind of you, not to mention all that past business to Rafael.’

‘I may still have to.’ He tempered his honesty. ‘But will only do so, if it’s absolutely necessary.’

‘Let’s hope the necessity doesn’t arise.’ She surveyed him. ‘You’re looking a little the worse for wear.’

‘I am tired, I confess. I may just take to my room, if that’s not rude of me.’

‘Is there anything you wish to tell me. I’ve heard nothing all day of developments.’

James gestured her to a chair, then sat down himself.

‘There isn’t much to report.’ He summed up in a few sentences. ‘But there is something I wish to ask. I want you to think again about whether Olympe ever said anything to you about her visits to the brothels? Or why she did it,
particularly
of late.’

‘I imagine it was for the reasons we’ve all talked about. She may have wanted to share her good fortune, her newly found wisdom with those poor girls.’ Her face grew pensive. She seemed to be examining some intricate pattern in the Persian rug at her feet. ‘There was something else, but it was an aside. I paid little attention to it, but it could just be linked. Her sister had asked her to trace an old friend of hers. She was worried that the woman might have died. Judith, as we know, was preoccupied by death and Olympe thought if she could find this friend, it would calm her. But she never said the friend might work in a brothel.’

‘She wasn’t afraid of the brothels?’

Marguerite raised her eyes to meet his and he was once again struck by her beauty, the vivacity of her intelligence. ‘There was no fear in Olympe once she shed the pain of those
early years. At least I never saw it. The worst in some way had already happened. But you’re fretting away at some knot,

James. Tell me about it. And help yourself to a drink.’ She pointed to a carafe and glasses on the table behind him. James poured them both a glass. He relished the burn of the alcohol in his throat. It juddered away fatigue, distanced the ache. He poured himself a second glass. ‘I’ve been worrying away at motive. A motive to tie Marcel Caro to Olympe and Judith’s deaths. I had thought that perhaps Caro was angry at Olympe’s interference with his girls, that he worried about exposure. But given what we’ve heard today about his status, his connections, that no longer makes sense. If Chief Inspector Durand can’t get a fix on him, Olympe would certainly not have been able to. And there’s nothing to tie him to Judith, now that Dr Comte is out of the picture as an ally. I’m stumped. Altogether stumped.’