The Saint-Florentin Murders (34 page)

‘So, Commissioner,’ said the Lieutenant General of Police
sternly, ‘I find you engaged in an unauthorised interrogation, without having requested permission of the Criminal Lieutenant, without even – I hardly dare utter these words – without even informing me! Of course, Monsieur Testard du Lys has already had to suffer on account of your illicit procedures! How am I to describe such an attitude which violates all principles and is an insult to the majesty of the law? Well? Aren’t you going to say anything?’

Nicolas felt annoyance rise within him like a desire for violence, but he restrained himself. Monsieur Lenoir’s prompt arrival proved that not everyone here was his friend and that envy was still rife. Or else – although he found this hard to believe – that the Duchesse de La Vrillière had been quick to act. Or the duc … Not that it really mattered.

‘Monseigneur,’ he said, ‘I am here on the orders of the minister, who expressly gave me the responsibility for this affair. When your untimely arrival interrupted the interrogation, I’m sure I was on the point of obtaining vital information that would have helped me to understand a case whose ramifications you are unaware of and in which the greatest haste is called for.’

‘I can’t believe your insolence! It’s beyond me. What on earth are you saying? If I’m badly informed, whose fault is that?’

‘It’s the fault of those who attack the Crown and its servants. How much time have I had, would you say, to devote to an investigation which at present involves four corpses, including three young women, one almost a child, affairs of State, secret societies, the moral failings of men in high places and the interests of a powerful enemy? It is quite unwise to give instructions from a distance to a subordinate and then leave him alone to confront
the difficulties. Since he has been entrusted with a mission, one should rely on him and not hamper him with other assignments which the constantly changing circumstances make it impossible to carry out.’

‘Monsieur!’

But Nicolas was launched. ‘An investigation in which I myself was the object of an attack which I narrowly escaped,’ he went on. ‘How else would you like me to describe such a sequence of events, and how, knowing nothing of the way things have developed, can you accuse me of violating laws which I have been serving for fourteen years under the authority of the late King and your predecessor, Monsieur de Sartine?’

‘I beg you to lower your voice and forget the absent and the dead,’ replied Lenoir curtly. ‘You’re letting your mind wander! How could you possibly think that, under an easy-going King and my authority, you would be justified in flouting the law and using means which are well known for providing confessions but no proof?’

‘Why don’t you ask me, instead of demanding but not listening? The only reason I set this solemn and terrifying apparatus in motion was precisely in order not to have to use it. I was hoping that merely displaying it would dissuade these false witnesses from lying. My intention was to dig deep into these frightened souls, to draw out the past and the future, the involuntary word, the barely concealed admission, the detail long held back. That said, Monsieur, allow me to tell you that your words hardly surprise me, coming from a man who, from the beginning, has shown me nothing but rejection and disdain, and made light of a devotion developed over long years.’

He knew, in saying this, that he was exaggerating, but that it was necessary to lance the wound. Otherwise, it would be impossible ever to establish trust between them, and he himself would lose his self-esteem.

‘You are forgetting yourself, Monsieur,’ said Lenoir, his broad face turning red.

‘I describe things as I see them. If you wish to remove me from this case, do so. If you wish me to leave the police force, demand it. If you are determined to conceal the truth and leave this case unsolved, then continue to hamper the work of your investigators. To someone whose loyalty has been called into question, it really doesn’t matter any more. I shall see His Majesty, who hoped that I would see this through to the end, and when he questions me on the progress of the case, I shall admit to him immediately that, on the orders of the Lieutenant General of Police, he can no longer count on his commissioner for special investigations. Exit Monsieur Le Floch. The Marquis de Ranreuil is off to hunt stags at Fontainebleau. I bid you farewell. Your humble servant!’

Nicolas was striding towards the door when Monsieur Lenoir ran to cut him off before he reached the gallery. ‘Monsieur, why didn’t you tell me all this earlier?’

Tense and inscrutable, Nicolas did not reply.

‘I’m sorry if I gave you the impression that I did not trust you,’ continued Lenoir. ‘The cases in which you have been involved over the years were of such a nature as to give rise to an unreasonable feeling of suspicion in me. I fear I was mistaken, and that I have offended you so seriously that I feel angry at myself. But put yourself in my shoes. I was bewildered by the very small amount of information coming back to me, and angry
when I learnt that you were using torture. I was deceived by false information. I am sorry about that. You are an honest man, for who else would dare to talk to me as you have done? With such arrogance … Did you ever attempt that with my predecessor?’

‘As a matter of fact, I did,’ said Nicolas, whose anger had immediately abated. ‘I once presented my resignation to Monsieur de Sartine. It was at the beginning of my career, and he had seen fit to use me as a plaything in an intrigue of his. I told him a few home truths.’

‘And how did he take it?’

‘Lieutenants General of Police come and go, and are all pretty much the same. Like you, he made honourable amends, to which I responded as I respond to you: I am touched by your words and I am all yours. However, Monseigneur, we don’t have much time. Sit by this brazier. One can catch one’s death of cold in these underground chambers. Let me enlighten you.’

Nicolas spoke for a long time, in the dancing blue light of the coals. From time to time, Monsieur Lenoir would look up in surprise. He asked a few questions, reflected for a while, then stood up.

‘Monsieur, I fear I may have spoilt your skilful performance. You can’t catch birds twice in the same trap. This case may have repercussions we can barely begin to imagine. Did you know that Monsieur de Chambonas, to whom my attention has already been drawn, has some very highly placed friends? The Duc de Villars, the Duc de Bouillon, the Comte de Noailles and others of his kind are working on his behalf … Take care, the man has cutthroats at his disposal, who would be only too happy to silence anyone who talks too much. If your suppositions prove correct and you
remain the target of the English enemy …’ He paused for a moment. ‘I am pleased that the misunderstanding between us has been dispelled. It was quite unjustified, except perhaps by my constant concern for the King’s service. We must be grateful for this outburst, which has allowed us to put aside the false impressions under which we were both labouring. Rest assured that, from this point on, the Lieutenant General of Police grants you his full and total confidence and that he asks you to consider him as you considered Monsieur de Sartine.’

Nicolas smiled and bowed. ‘I would be very ungrateful not to defer to your wishes, for that, Monseigneur, is how I always understood my place with you. My position is an unusual one, forged year after year by my presence beside the late King, by my birth, and by the very unusual cases in which I have been involved. The only thing to which I aspire is truly to become once again the instrument in your hands of the King’s service, the only concern that drives me and gives me satisfaction.’

‘What are you planning to do?’

‘Continue with the surveillance, see what it brings us, and finally confound the guilty parties.’

‘Do you think that the Duc de La Vrillière is implicated in this series of crimes?’

‘I don’t think so, Monseigneur. But I understand your legitimate anxiety regarding the minister. Nothing will be done by me to implicate a person so close to the throne; you would be duly informed and the decision would no doubt revert to the King. In such a case, it would be sensible to avoid any kind of public reckoning. That would be contrary to the dignity of the State, and other measures would have to be envisaged.’

‘Commissioner, I am completely satisfied. You mentioned His Majesty …’

‘The King has been kept informed of this affair and is hoping for the imminent success of the investigation. So is the Secretary of State for the Navy; the presence of an English spy and the attack upon myself which seemed at one point to have been targeting the minister, all these things—’

‘Yes, yes, I understand, there’s no need to go back over all that. Until we meet again, my dear Commissioner.’

Lenoir withdrew, his old affable self. Nicolas took a deep breath. It was as if a weight had been lifted from his chest. The great confrontation had taken place; it had been necessary, and it had been complete. Its intensity had thrown light into the dark corners of a hierarchical relationship which could only be exercised happily when trust was given and accepted. The rest had been nothing but empty promises. He could now hope that on that front at least, he would be protected and have freedom of movement. Nevertheless, the Lieutenant General’s sudden appearance in the torture chamber remained fraught with consequences. Now, the slyest of witnesses – and the Gouet woman clearly belonged to that category – would clam up like oysters. He called Bourdeau. His deputy’s eyes expressed both amusement and anxiety.

‘Monsieur Lenoir just passed me, looking red in the face but surprisingly serene. What fly bit you and transformed you into that ranting and raving monster?’

‘Please don’t exaggerate,’ replied Nicolas. ‘We exchanged a few words. I only raised my voice a little.’

‘Yes … like the trumpet on the Day of Judgement.’

‘Nothing that went beyond the rules a subordinate of a certain rank sets himself with regard to a magistrate of a higher rank.’

‘So what happened?’

‘What I said was very well received, and I have reason to believe that it will facilitate our work. It’s just a question of knowing when to appear sincere … You know how things are, Pierre. There is always a risk in confronting someone when you are of unequal weight: it’s the earthenware pot against the iron pot. Nobody can escape it in the course of a life in which the mark of subordination is uncertainty. The fact remains that if, at that decisive moment, your moral strength abandons you, you will never regain it, nor will you ever again be in a position to convince others. We had reached that crossroads. From now on, the clouds are dispelled, except that it spoilt our little piece of play-acting.’

‘The Gouet woman hastened to decamp, along with the caretaker,’ said Bourdeau. ‘I made no objection, not wishing to irritate Monsieur Lenoir more than was necessary. Only little Jeannette, who was shaking and sobbing, didn’t dare move an inch.’

‘Send her in. Who knows? Perhaps she can help us.’

A red crumpled face soon appeared. The girl was trembling and looking wildly about her. Nicolas took her gently by the arm and sat her down on a stool.

‘So, Jeannette, you’re not like the others, are you? You’re a good girl, and we have no wish to harm you, you can rest assured of that. I just need you to clarify certain details, do you understand?’

She was breathing in convulsive little spasms. The sweat had
plastered her curly hair to her forehead, and in a flash Nicolas saw the Fausses Reposes woods, and Aimée d’Arranet’s face in the pouring rain. He shook himself, took out his handkerchief and blew her nose as if she were a child. This simple gesture appeared to relax her, and she gave a little half-smile.

‘There we are, that’s better. Now listen carefully to what I’m going to ask you. You don’t know anything, you were asleep, you didn’t see anyone, you didn’t hear anything. That’s fine, I believe you. But you were Marguerite’s friend, and the other day, before you were taken ill, you were about to tell me something.’

She lowered her head, and again assumed a stubborn, distant air.

‘Your friend was supposed to be meeting somebody that night. A young man, I assume. You were her confidante, did she tell you about him?’

She shook her head from side to side, blank-eyed. Nicolas clapped his hands and she stopped immediately, and went back to normal.

‘Just calm down. Admit it: Marguerite told you she was meeting someone.’

She looked at him for a long time before making up her mind. ‘Yes, she did, and she also told me she didn’t like it but couldn’t get out of it.’

‘Good! Was it her young man? The one you call Aide?’

‘No! It was the old man, the major-domo.’ She was expressing herself more firmly now.

‘Are you sure? Did you hear her arrange to meet him?’

‘No, of course not. I saw the note. She was supposed to be in the kitchen that evening.’

‘Did you read the note?’

‘No, I can’t read. But I saw it.’

‘Can you describe the handwriting?’

‘It was in big letters, that was all I could recognise. It was on an old piece of paper used for wrapping candles.’

‘And did Marguerite keep this piece of paper?’

‘She was so fed up with the whole thing that she tore it up into little pieces and threw it out of the window.’

‘I’m grateful to you. Is there anything else you have to tell me?’

‘No, Monsieur.’

‘You can go. Would you like a carriage to take you back?’

‘No, I’d be ashamed. I’ll go down Rue Saint-Honoré.’

‘As you wish. Don’t tell anyone what we talked about, your safety depends on it. Please don’t forget that.’

She left the room, glancing behind her in panic as if fearing that she would be recalled.

‘I’m starting to think we’re making progress.’

‘A fine haul, indeed,’ said Bourdeau. ‘A young girl, and the Lieutenant General of Police. By the way, I didn’t know you were now claiming your title of marquis.’

Nicolas smiled. ‘It was intended
ad usum Delphini
, a little oratorical fig leaf. I think Monsieur Lenoir is sensitive to the prestige of rank. To return to our case, let’s sum up. The corpse in the cab is almost certainly not Eudes Duchamplan. He didn’t kill himself. We may assume it’s the gardener, Vitry, the Pindron girl’s former fiancé.’